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jimxnslight · 1 year ago

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Fool's Gold || Part II

Summary: Sweet Y/N, with her fluffy pastel dresses, soft makeup, and ditzy mannerisms. She’s seen as a fool in a world where there is no place for such things, but little do they know, the only fools are them.

Pairing: mafia leader!Jungkook x mafia leader's daughter!reader

Genre: mafia au, arranged marriage au

Word Count: 10.2k

Warnings: most warnings associated with mafia fics (e.g. gun/physical violence, blood, dead bodies, etc), very vague indication of past sexual assault, additional warnings might be added as the story progresses

A/N: thank you guys so much for all the love you gave the first part, it means so much to me 🥺 Hope you enjoy this chapter too (Y/N and Jungkook bicker for like half of it 💀)

<< previous part || masterlist || next part >>

It was supposed to be simple.

You kill Jungkook, breaking up the alliance between the Lees and the Jeons, blame his murder on a rival mafia, and then be on your merry way back to your father’s home before you could be caught up in the chaos you’d have started. Sure it hadn’t been the most complex of plans you’ve come up with, you hardly had the time to map out a plan like that anyway, but sometimes simple was all one needed.

Unfortunately, this had clearly not been one of those times.

The problem was Jungkook. Your first husband had been an idiot and completely fooled by your featherbrained facade, so much so that even after you’d stolen the gun from his waistband and shot him twice in the chest he’d stared at you like you’d grown two heads. He just couldn’t comprehend the fact that a seemingly frivolous girl could have the courage to pull the trigger. Even after what he’d tried to do to you. After he almost-

You felt a shudder sweep across your spine.

But Jungkook was different. He had been assessing you the second you appeared before him during the wedding ceremony and, even though he had seemed to take in your carefully crafted performance, his gaze still refused to complete its assessment. At first you thought it was just lust -most men in the mafia couldn’t seem to be rid of that tenacious emotion- however, the lack of sexual initiation on his part despite being alone together in his room made you realise that perhaps Jungkook was a lot less like the mafia leaders you had grown up with than you realised.

For one, he was scarily observant, and it was this skill that had ultimately led to the downfall of your assassination attempt.

A huff escaped your lips at the thought, your hands continuing to expertly manoeuvre two pins inside the lock of the door you were currently crouched in front of. You had stayed sat on Jungkook’s bed the entire night, too wary to even attempt sleeping in the bedroom that was entirely unfamiliar to you. You half expected Jungkook to sneak into the room while you were out cold and enact a fitting revenge; you’d be unable to even blame him, you’d tried to kill the man after all. But Jungkook hadn’t left the mystery room all night, only emerging once the clock had struck 7 in the morning to wordlessly grab a black coat from the top of his dresser and disappear behind the front door with nothing but a single, hasty glance in your direction.

Your brow had raised as you watched him get into his black car and drive off through the window, wondering how he could just leave you unattended in his home after the threat you had dropped near the end of your conversation earlier. Sure he probably had people monitoring his house at all times, but there was still a lot you could get done in front of people that wouldn’t suspect the girl with fluffy dresses and doe eyes to be much of a threat.

Luckily for him though, you were beyond tired, and that meant that his absence was just a window of opportunity to get some actual rest without the constant fear of his retaliation keeping you awake. So following a long yawn, you had naturally felt yourself drift towards the bed, eyeing the soft duvet and fluffy pillows sleepily. But then, before you could lose yourself to the comfort of his mattress, your curious gaze had slowly wandered to the door Jungkook had disappeared behind last night and, next thing you knew, you were crouched in front of its gold lock and jabbing two pins into its keyhole.

Your focus snapped back to the door before you as a familiar click sounded from the lock, causing it to swing open just a few centimetres. You pocketed the two pins, muttering a small “finally...” while your fingers wrapped around the gold handle. But before you could push it open, the muffled sound of an object dropping suddenly startled you. You whirled around, eyes immediately scanning the bedroom with intense precision as your hand grabbed the closest thing to you: a vase. Had someone managed to get into the room without you knowing? Perhaps you weren’t as observant as Jungkook seemed to be, but you’ve never been so absentminded that you could’ve been this caught off guard-

“Oh my god,” you gasped abruptly, a recollection surfacing as you quickly placed the vase back on the bedside table and scurried over to the closet. You couldn’t believe you had forgotten something so important… She must have been waiting in there the entire night.

You hastily threw open the closet door, gaze scanning the space until it finally fell on a small shadow peeking from behind the white and fawn island. The black shadow stood still for a moment, as if identifying the intruder, before the familiar cat sauntered out of the small space, black fur gleaming under the light. She looked up at you with an expression that eerily resembled a scowl.

“Hi Persilla,” you cooed, crouching down to run a hand apologetically through the creature’s fur. Persilla evaded it at first, almost punishing you for forgetting her in the small, dark walk-in closet for the entire night, but eventually she gave in, purring as she brushed her soft tail against your still bare legs. While you could understand being stuck in a place like that for hours might’ve been slightly uncomfortable, she really had no right to act like that after how damn hard it had been to have her smuggled into Jungkook’s house without alerting anyone. It had been a huge risk, one that you might have a little trouble justifying, but you swear there was just something calming about her presence and you needed that desperately, especially in such a foreign place.

“I failed to kill him,” you frowned, watching as Persilla’s feline eyes raised to watch you, “which means we’re going to have to stay here a little longer than I thought.”

You pulled yourself from the floor, shifting your focus back to Jungkook’s mystery room as you felt a pang of irritation hit you. You needed Jungkook dead, the delay in his death getting in the way of everything you’ve been working towards. Yet here you were now, stuck in the house you thought you wouldn’t be spending more than a night in.

You cautiously walked over to the door you’d lock picked earlier, taking special care not to step on Persilla as she skittered between your feet, before grabbing the handle and pushing it open. The room turned out to be a seemingly simple office, which you found unsurprising for the most part. There was a wall full of books on one side, a glass cabinet of liquor wedged between its centre, while another wall was made up entirely of glass that showed off an enormous portion of Jungkook’s estate. It was the large desk to your right that really caught your attention, the sight of a map sprawled over its smooth surface particularly piquing your interest.

You walked towards the glass cabinet first, pulling out a crystal glass and a bottle of whiskey to pour yourself a drink, before you walked over to the desk and glanced at the map curiously. Persilla jumped onto the surface, circling the piece of paper like a predator surveying its prey.

“It’s a map of the North,” you noted, taking a sip of the drink in your hand momentarily as you recognised the illustration instantly. You’d spend months studying a similar map back home before marrying Jungkook after all.

Handmade lines ran throughout the northern portion of the country, separating the territories run by different mafia leaders. You recognised Jungkook’s territory first, one of the bigger ones in the region, while Taehyung’s was right next to his, both of which were detailed with the locations of different landmarks: docks, hotels, residential areas, etc. You noticed that the other territories hadn’t been labelled like that, with the territory above Jungkook’s labelled “Park Territory” simply containing one or two locations and the territory labelled “Min Territory” containing no locations. There was a region above those two territories that hadn’t even been labelled at all, similar to your own map of the North back at home.

“Aside from Taehyung’s territory, Jungkook doesn’t seem to know much about the northern region. I guess we’re similar in that aspect,” you muttered, speaking to Persilla as if you were giving her a report of the current situation. She turned towards you, tilting her head for a moment before she nudged the corner of the paper with her paw. You narrowed your gaze at the action, deciding to flip the paper. To your surprise there was another map, this time illustrating the southern portion of the country; the one where your father’s territory, the Lees, was situated and where you’d grown up your entire life.

You smiled at Persilla, scratching under her chin while she purred in delight at the attention. What would you do without her?

It was surprising to see this map so much more detailed than the first, you thought, taking another sip of the whiskey in your hand. While Taehyung’s territory had been the only one littered with details in the northern region, all the territories in the South were full of details upon details. You could make out each one labelled with its respective mafia leader, a number of important locations, and even predictions about possible actions each leader might take in the future, all of which you could confirm to be highly accurate.

You flipped the map back to how it had been initially, gaze raising to move onto scanning the rest of the room while Persilla dropped to the floor quietly.

“How could Jungkook know so little about the northern region, yet so much about the South?” You thought out loud, tracking Persilla’s movements as she began pacing around the room. He was clearly great at collecting intel, the amount of information he had on the southern region was evidence of that, yet the North, his own region, was practically blank aside from Taehyung’s territory. Having grown up in the southern region yourself, you knew it better than the back of your hand. So if Jungkook had grown up in the North, how could he know so little about it? Was there some kind of history between the mafias in the North?

Like your thoughts, you began absentmindedly drifting towards the enormous bookshelf, fingers brushing against the hardcover spines.

If there really was history between the northern mafias, then knowing that history could be useful. Once you killed Jungkook and blamed his death on Park Jimin, there would be war between the Jeons and the Parks, and since the Kims and Mins are allied with the Jeons and Parks, respectively, it would be a full on war of the North. It’s that kind of instability you were aiming for, but knowing the more personal history of the northern mafias might help you create further tensions between the alliances, making things even more unstable. It would be perfect; the messier the better. That’s what your ultimate plan called for. That’s how you’ll finally-

You suddenly came to an abrupt stop, your fingers freezing as they came in contact with a particular book. It was a hardcover, just like the others, entirely black aside from the title, which had been written in bright gold, and the off-white pages.

Persilla was back to skittering between your ankles once again, as if sensing the change in your thoughts. Her soft, black tail brushed against your bare legs as you delicately brought out the book with both your hands, wide eyes scanning it almost in disbelief.

The Choice of a Nation.

It was the book that had changed your life. A fictitious book about a protagonist that lived in a world of human rights, justice, and structure. A world where everyone, more or less, was defined by their achievements and hard work rather than who they were born to.

Reality was far from that. It was an enormous country cut up into territories based on which mafia leader ruled it. It was having to grow up watching innocent people be slaughtered because of petty disputes between said mafia leaders. It was watching people from mafia families be automatically rich and educated and powerful while people born to those under their rule automatically be poor, uneducated, and stepped on again and again and again. You were taught that this way of living was normal, that it was the only way of living in this world.

Reality was something you’ve always found difficult to come to terms with because of this, because despite being taught the normalcy of such a way of living, it never seemed right to you. You couldn’t wrap your head around the idea of people’s entire lives being dependent on who they were born to, something that wasn’t in their control. If you were born a servant, you and the rest of your generations would stay servants forever. If you were born a mafia leader, you and your future generations would stay in power forever. Your sentiments made you feel alien when you realised no one else around you seemed to share the same thoughts, so much so that you started wondering that perhaps you really were being too unrealistic.

But then came The Choice of a Nation, a book that introduced to you concepts like governments and elections and courts. It was all entirely fiction, every term having to be explained in great detail to be understandable, but all that mattered to you was that it was doable. Having different levels of governments, having a justice system that judged everyone fairly no matter who they were, and having the people decide who they want leading them. It was realistic.

And you’re convinced that the mafia families knew it too, because despite its fictitious nature, the book was immediately banned the second it was published, while its author had been killed just as quickly. You yourself had only gotten your hands on the book out of sheer dumb luck. Distantly you wondered how and why Jungkook had this copy.

After that you had become dead set on making the book’s world a reality. But in order for things to go as you’ve planned, you need things to be unstable, because unstable things are weak. The South has always been like that, with mafia leaders constantly at each other’s throats. You doubt any of them even know what the word ‘alliance’ even means. It was perfect for you.

The North, on the other hand, was a bit different. There were two alliances and the most northern region was a complete mystery to you. At first, you were stumped with how you were going to weaken the region, but then the opportunity had presented itself when your father had announced your hasty marriage to Jungkook. And once again, it was perfect.

All you needed was Jungkook to be dead, and the rest would fall in place just like you’d planned.

A meowing noise suddenly sounded from your feet, causing you to look down and find Persilla standing on her hind legs, her front paws brushing against your bare shins repeatedly. Her impatience was clear as day, making you smile.

“You’re right, that’s enough snooping for today I think,” you nodded, running a hand over her small head while the other clutched the book firmly, “you deserve some expensive salmon for being such a good girl.”

As if she understood your words, Persilla dropped to the floor and purred, rubbing her furry body against your ankle. You gave the room one last look, as if expecting to find something else worth surveying, but ultimately decided you were way too tired from your all-nighter to continue on.

At this point in his life, Jungkook could say with certainty that he was a pretty patient man. He wasn’t born with the trait, if anything impatience seemed to have been stitched well into his personality the second he’d entered this world. But, over time, he’d learned to get rid of the pesky trait and replace it with the much more effective and fruitful quality that was patience.

Yet, not even all those years of cultivating the characteristic could have prepared him for how late Kim Taehyung was.

Jungkook had been standing at the West docks, hands in the pockets of his long, black coat, since 8:00 AM in the morning, waiting almost 4 hours for his friend with furrowed brows and an unimpressed frown. He’d left the house as early as appropriately possible, partly because of your presence and partly because of the urgency in addressing the dock’s issue. Now it was almost noon and Taehyung, who’d promised to be here by 9:00 AM was still nowhere in sight.

An annoyed sigh escaped his lips as he felt the ocean air breeze through the nearly black strands of his hair. Taehyung being late had given him more time to think about earlier this morning, when he’d shot you a glance before he was out the front door. You looked like you hadn’t slept a wink, which Jungkook could relate to, but he supposed that was for the best. You’d threatened to kill him at the end of your conversation last night, so having you sleep deprived would probably work in his favour.

Not that you could really do anything anyway. Jungkook had made sure to set guards in every entrance to the kitchen and stripped the house of every weapon that wasn’t locked in a hefty safe. There was no way you could get your hands on any kind of gun or knife, so he was pretty confident that you couldn’t be a threat to him at the moment. Though, the memory of your fiery eyes from last night had seemed so determined…

“What are you smirking about?” Taehyung asked as he strolled along the boardwalk, making his way towards the younger man.

Jungkook’s scowl instantly returned, causing Taehyung to raise his hands in surrender, “it took Chaewon and I a whole hour to get Suho to bed, who’s also sick by the way. Cut me some slack, man.”

“I told you guys to stay over at my place and not some hotel,” Jungkook chastised, feeling bad for the little guy. He made a note to send some sweets to their hotel room when he got back, “the maid could have helped you guys out.”

“The newlyweds deserve to have the house to themselves,” Taehyung waved him off before he smirked, “besides, I didn’t know how freaky you guys were going to get and I couldn’t risk Suho hearing, he’s way too young for that stuff.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, motioning for Taehyung to start following him. They started walking along the boardwalk, Jungkook’s hands still shoved into his coat’s pockets while Taehyung’s were covered in black leather gloves.

“Okay,” Taehyung said, “I��m just going to ask one question, and then we’ll drop it and you can explain this whole dock’s situation to me.”

That earned him a raised brow, but the lack of the younger’s refusal spurred him on.

“What do you think of her?”

Jungkook didn’t answer for a moment, mulling over his reply before he finally answered.

“She’s fine.”

He didn’t know why he wasn’t telling Taehyung the truth about you, about how your entire ditzy personality was a front and about how hellbent you were on killing him to get a divorce. Maybe it was because he didn’t really see the need to. Jungkook had concluded that you were only trying to kill him because you wanted a divorce, allowing you to go back to whichever boyfriend was waiting for you back in the south.

“Your words are saying she’s fine, but your face is saying you’re mad,” Taehyung noted with a brow raised. But Jungkook waved him off, ready to end this conversation and get onto more important business.

“Anyways, as you know, the Parks decided to attack the West docks last week,” Jungkook began, pointing towards his left to show Taehyung the damage sustained. One of the enormous warehouses, which collectively formed a neat line leading farther than his eye could decipher, had caved into itself, its walls charred almost entirely. The two warehouses by its side seemed more salvageable, with only a wall or two affected by the evident fire that had taken place. Construction workers could already be seen surrounding the area, hard at work to replace the damaged structures.

Taehyung nodded as he took in the scene, “an attack at the docks… they’re checking to see how strong the Jeons are at the moment.”

“They’re doing it because they want to know if they can take over our territory.”

That was the standard protocol after all. When a mafia attacks another mafia’s docks, it’s usually because they want to test how weak or strong they are and whether they can take them over or not. The fact that the Parks pulled something like this right after their alliance with the Mins was no coincidence to Jungkook.

But to his surprise, Taehyung paused, as if mulling over Jungkook’s words. He watched Taehyung’s gaze drift over to the vast sea on their right, a contemplative look shadowing over his eyes before they flickered back to Jungkook.

“Is that really what you think Jimin is doing?”

“What do you mean?” Jungkook frowned, “this is the textbook procedure for taking over another territory.”

When Taehyung didn’t answer him, Jungkook placed a hand in front of his chest, blocking his path so the two could stand facing each other as they spoke.

“I’m just saying,” Taehyung finally explained, “it seems a bit out of character for him. Wasn’t he always the one that was going on about how dumb it is to want to take over other territories instead of cultivating your own?”

Jungkook scoffed, “yeah, in university, which was years ago. Jimin has changed since then.”

Taehyung’s lips formed a grim line at the animosity in his voice.

“Look, I know you both-”

“No,” Jungkook cut him off quickly, knowing exactly where this conversation was going, “this isn’t the hatred from what happened years ago talking. Jimin has changed, and I have the evidence to prove it.”

Jungkook turned around to resume his earlier path, Taehyung walking slowly behind him as they passed by the workers sighing in relief at the cool breeze of the ocean and large ships anchored alongside the piers. In a matter of minutes, Jungkook had led him to the entrance of an enormous warehouse. Taehyung’s brows furrowed when Jungkook turned around to face him, a grim expression washing over his strong features.

“When the Parks attacked the docks last week, I managed to prevent them from seizing control of it by bringing out some old blackmail. Obviously I didn’t think it would hold them off for long if their plan really is to take over my territory, but I didn’t expect them to retaliate so soon,” Jungkook explained, “nor did I expect them to retaliate in this way.”

He turned back to face the warehouse's door, hand wrapping around its handle, “the night before my wedding, I was called to the docks because some of the worker’s had found something in this warehouse.”

Then he turned the handle and pushed the door wide open, revealing its inside.

“This is what I found.”

It was awful.

The entire warehouse was full of dead bodies, some thrown haphazardly on the ground while others were thrown over the equipment spanning the room. Taehyung could make out bodies of men, women, and even some children -he couldn’t look at them for too long without thinking of his own son- all of which had clearly been killed in varying ways. Some looked like they had been burned, while others looked like they’d been thrown into a blender. Being in the mafia, Taehyung was no stranger to blood and gore, but this… this was too much, even for him.

But then his gaze caught onto a wall in the far corner of the warehouse, particularly the sight of dried blood smeared against the grey metal. He took in each stroke of red, processing each letter it had been made to resemble until he could read what had been written.

“‘We’re coming,’” Jungkook read out loud, keeping his stoic gaze fixed on Taehyung.

He shook his head, unable to comprehend what he was seeing, “I knew Yoongi was brutal, but I never could have expected he’d be capable of… this.”

Jungkook’s gaze drifted around the room, grimacing at the scene before him.

“Jimin and Yoongi clearly aren’t who they used to be,” he concluded, looking towards Taehyung for confirmation. Thankfully, Taehyung nodded this time, gaze becoming hard as he agreed without protest.

“Well, they’ve warned us that they’re coming,” he said, gesturing towards the bloody message, “what are we going to do about it?”

Jungkook motioned for Taehyung to follow him back outside, where the air didn’t smell like death and the sights didn’t make him want to crawl out of his skin.

“I’ve scheduled a meeting with one of the unaffiliated gangs located in the West in about an hour. As long as we pay them well, they’ll do just about anything for us. Having extra manpower should tip the odds in our favour. Not to mention, I’ll make good use of the Lees.”

Taehyung nodded as he watched Jungkook close the door of the warehouse, “are you going to contact Jimin first?”

“No,” he shook his head, beginning to walk back to the parking lot alongside Taehyung, “I’ve had a headcount done and it doesn’t seem like any of the people in the warehouse were one of ours. I think the Parks were just trying to send a message to scare us.”

“I’ll get a headcount done for my people too just in case,” Taehyung said, to which Jungkook agreed.

Once they had made it back to the parking lot, Taehyung turned to face him.

“I was thinking of heading back to my territory tonight, since I have a few things I need to take care of,” he explained, opening the door of his bright orange car before leaning against it casually, “but Chaewon wanted to have a late lunch or dinner with the bride and groom before we left. I hope you don’t mind.”

Jungkook’s interest piqued as a thought suddenly came to mind. This would be a good opportunity to assess how you and him were going to act like a couple in front of others. If the two of you failed, it would be fine since it was just Taehyung and Chaewon, two people that he trusted with his life. Then you and him could learn from the experience and hopefully get it together before having to make any public appearances.

“Does 6 work?” He asked, to which Taehyung nodded.

The two then exchanged quick goodbyes, Taehyung explaining that he should probably get back as soon as possible to get things in order, before Jungkook watched as he got into his car and drove off, standing for a few minutes until someone came to stand behind him.

“Sir?”

He turned to find a man bowing in his direction, waiting for permission to speak. Jungkook motioned for him to go on, already getting an idea of what this was about.

“Our informant within the Lees just contacted us,” he explained, “he said that Lee Y/N’s father believes his daughter to be a frivolous and naive girl, her sole purpose being to marry someone that will benefit the Lees.”

Jungkook nodded at the news. So you had been telling the truth when you said that you’d fooled everyone, including your father, with your performance… Distantly he wondered why you would decide to resort to such an act.

“Have there been any talks of betraying this alliance?” Jungkook asked, to which the man shook his head.

“The informant said there were none. Lee Y/N’s father seems dependent on this alliance to protect himself from neighbouring mafias. The South is quite unsettled in that aspect.”

“I see, and have there been any talks of Y/N having some sort of significant other in the Lee territory?”

The man seemed to hesitate for a moment, “the informant said that there weren’t really any talks of that… but he did mention that before your marriage, when Lee Y/N was still living in the Lee territory, he’d accidentally overheard a hushed phone conversation she’d had in her bedroom. He couldn’t make out what they had been talking about, but he was able to confirm that the voice on the other line was male. The informant hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but since you’re asking now, he decided it would be safer to let you know just in case.”

It could have been anyone, hell, you could have been talking to a relative or something, but Jungkook’s mind went straight to his initial theory. It made sense, especially considering you wanted a divorce so badly. He couldn’t really think of any other reason besides your heart already belonging to someone else… even though you were his wife.

“Sir? Was there anything else?” The man asked, causing Jungkook to reel in his scowl.

“Contact Lee Y/N’s father and schedule a meeting with him as soon as he can,” Jungkook said, “that’s all, thank you.”

The man bowed, instantly scurrying away from sight to get to the assigned task, while Jungkook turned to start making his way to his car.

For some reason, his mood had suddenly soured.

“So we finally get to meet the famous Y/N.”

You smiled shyly as you walked into the grand dining hall, automatically taking in the spiralling chandelier, marble floor, and dark brown dining table filled with formal decoration pieces. Only after this assessment did you let your gaze fall on the two sitting on the dining chairs; the first one you already knew to be Taehyung, who was dressed in a rich grey suit, while the other was a woman -you automatically assumed she was Taehyung’s wife considering the maid had told you you’d be dining with the two today.

She had been the one that had spoken, but the first thing you noticed when your eyes landed on her was that she was gorgeous. Her straight, long black hair and hazel eyes sparkled under the glittering light of the chandelier overhead, while her dark maroon dress fit elegantly into the rich ambience of the room.

As she stood from her seat, you felt yourself automatically tense. Back in the South, the wives of mafia leaders were always vicious and constantly at each other's throats, a reflection of their husbands’ animosity towards each other. Now that you were married, you supposed you’d have to be subjected to the same, but the only difference was that your ditzy facade would bar you from being able to fight back. Whatever Taehyung’s wife threw at you, you’d have to take it.

But after she made her way towards you, her actions as smooth as silk, you were surprised when she pulled you in for a quick and formal embrace.

“The wedding was absolutely beautiful,” she praised, even the flow of her voice silk-like, “and of course your dress, it was exquisite! You must tell me the designer you went with- or perhaps it was all just your figure. I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.”

For a moment all you could do was stare at her; this woman… she was being so… nice. Too nice, if you were being honest. It was a little unnerving, instantly making you sceptical of her intentions. Perhaps the wives of northern mafia leaders were more cunning in the way they sniped at each other? They greeted each other politely during occasions, but behind the scenes they would attack each other to obtain what they wanted? But then again, what could anyone possibly want from you? To them you were just some featherbrained girl that dressed like a fancy pastel tablecloth.

You’d decided to still dress the part this evening, with a fluffy light pink dress that fell right at your knees and a matching silk ribbon tied into a bow pulling up half your hair, even if you didn’t know for sure how much Jungkook would have revealed to Taehyung. You had the feeling that Jungkook wouldn’t tell him anything, since it would work in his favour having the least amount of people knowing, but you’ve also heard how close the two men were so it wouldn’t entirely surprise you if he had.

Taehyung certainly was staring at you like he knew your secret. Unlike his wife, he stayed seated at the dining table, offering you a polite greeting from there instead, but you could recognise the calculating nature of his gaze as clear as day. He was assessing your every movement as you interacted with his wife, which made you straighten up. It wouldn’t be the biggest deal if he did know, because who would believe him if he went around spreading that kind of news, but if he didn’t, then you would have to up the quality of your act.

“Has Jungkook told you anything about us?” Taehyung’s wife asked as she took the seat next to her husband once again, while you decided to take the seat across from her, “ah- who am I kidding? You’ve only been here a night. I’m Chaewon and this is Taehyung, he’s the leader of the Kims.”

You nodded, making sure to keep your voice light and airy, “you’re pretty.”

She tried to hide it well, but the comment had Chaewon’s eyes flickering to her husband for a moment. It was better that you started dropping a dumb comment here and there to really seal the ‘dumb as rocks’ trait.

Chaewon quickly recovered from the surprise, letting out a breathy chuckle, “you’re sweet, but you’re so pretty yourself. I love the light sparkles you’ve added to your lids, it’s such a subtle but dainty thing.”

Her tone was so formal that you couldn’t tell if she was passively mocking you or not. You would’ve preferred she just pull a gun on you or something; it would be way less confusing than sitting here and trying to read between the lines of her words. Confrontational individuals were dangerous, but individuals who planned their strikes in the shadows were the real threats. You’d know that best.

At that moment, before you could reply with an even dumber comment, the sound of the door opening caught everyone’s attention. You turned just to catch Jungkook closing the door behind him, his hair slightly damp, likely from a shower, and dressed in a simple black collar shirt tucked into matching black dress pants. He paused at the doorway, scanning the room for a moment until his eyes dropped on you.

Your brows furrowed when he held your gaze for a second longer than normal, a hidden question in your expression. He looked almost thoughtful, an idea clearly waltzing through his mind, before he finally started making his way towards the three of you.

You thought that was the end of the odd moment, and that Jungkook would finally initiate a conversation with the other two sitting at the table as he pulled out the chair next to you. But just as he was about to settle into the soft cushion, he stalled for a second, turned to face you…

And then placed a quick peck on your cheek.

You froze, shock making your limbs rigid as you used every bit of your self control to stop yourself from instinctively flinching at the action.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jungkook apologised as he casually plopped down into his seat, gaze fixing on the couple before you.

But Chaewon smiled, a graceful hand going to her chest.

“Aww look at how flustered she looks, aren’t they just adorable, Taehyung?” She said with a smile. Your hands instantly went to your cheeks, annoyed to find them burning underneath your palms.

Before you could think much of it though, the servers started spilling into the room to place steaming plates of food before you all. This evening’s menu seemed to be seafood themed, with plates of crab, lobster, and shrimp filling the initially empty surface of the dark dining table. It made sense to you, considering almost half of Jungkook’s territory bordered the ocean.

Once the plates had been placed, a server stepped beside you, bringing out a bottle of red wine to pour into the empty glass beside your plate. But you brought up a hand to stop him.

“Not a fan of wine, Y/N?” Chaewon asked as she noticed the gesture, and once again the ambiguity in her formal tone made it hard to tell whether she was mocking you or not.

You shook her head in response, “I don’t like alcohol, it tastes gross.”

Yes, ditzy Y/N didn’t like alcohol, but the real Y/N was seriously craving that expensive whiskey you knew Jungkook had stashed in his office at this very moment. He clearly had good taste, it was a shame you’d had to drop a gram of lethal toxin into the bottle before you’d left the room and passed out on Jungkook’s bed for nearly two hours. You scowled inwardly as you remembered how much more you could have slept had it not been for the maid who had woken you up to give you a tour of the house and then helped you get ready for the early dinner you and Jungkook were supposed to have with Taehyung and Chaewon.

“I apologise ma’am, is there anything else I can interest you in instead?” The server asked, moving the bottle of wine away from your glass. You mused over your answer for a moment, before you smiled up at him.

“I’d like some banana milk, please.”

Once again, Chaewon subtly threw an unreadable look towards Taehyung, but this time she wasn’t alone as Taehyung and Jungkook each threw their own odd looks in your direction at the wildly childish choice. Back when you first started acting naive your reaction would have consisted of an intense feeling of embarrassment washing over you, but now the others’ reactions only seemed to amuse you. Although, you were inwardly groaning at how gross having seafood alongside milk was going to be. But the show had to go on, didn’t it?

Taehyung cleared his throat when the server returned with a wine glass filled with banana milk -you had to pinch your arm to stop yourself from laughing at that- before he turned to face Jungkook, eager to break the awkward silence that had ensued.

“I hope you both enjoyed your wedding present, Chaewon spent so long on making that gift basket I thought it was going to be for your one year anniversary,” he joked, causing Chaewon to playfully slap his shoulder.

“I just wanted it to be nice,” she defended instantly, “we’ve known Jungkook for years, seeing him get married makes me feel like a proud older sister.”

It was such a contrasting sight seeing two mafia families be so fond and at ease with each other when you’d grown up seeing the southern mafia families at each other’s throats constantly. Chaewon seemed so comfortable here, and even though Taehyung was mostly quiet -you were starting to think he was trying to decipher the relationship between you and Jungkook with the way he kept staring back and forth between you two- even he didn’t seem to be guarded despite being in another mafia leader’s territory.

“We enjoyed the basket, thank you,” Jungkook said, bringing your focus back to the conversation. You watched him lean back in his seat as his gaze drifted to you, the ghost of an amused look haunting his features, “the champagne particularly was quite the ice breaker.”

You’d tried to kill him using that bottle and yet here he was practically mocking you about it not even 24 hours later. You threw him a sweet smile, as if you were reliving a fond memory, hoping he would pick up on the hidden glare in your gaze. But that only made his grin widen.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Chaewon clapped, not seeming to pick up on the tension between you both, “I wasn’t aware of your distaste for alcohol though, Y/N. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind in the future.”

You faced her with what you hoped was a grateful smile, “it’s okay, I really liked the scented candles.”

It had actually been Persilla that had been obsessed with them, the vanilla scented one seeming to be her favourite.

The dining room was mostly quiet following that, the four of you finishing up your food in a comfortable silence. Inwardly you were gagging at the combination of shrimp and banana milk you’d decided to torment yourself with. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, every few minutes or so you’d catch Jungkook trying to suppress a sly grin, the man being the only one in the room, to your knowledge at least, who knew the reality of your predicament. You scowled, annoyed by his satisfaction until an idea came to mind.

Well, you could always hit two birds with one stone.

You reached over your plate to grab your glass of banana milk, bringing it towards yourself to give the impression that you were going to drink from it. But at the last moment, you let the bottom of the glass catch on your plate, causing the entire thing to tip from your fingers. It clattered onto the table, splashing all over Jungkook’s plate and seated form, making him flinch.

You instantly gasped dramatically, hands going to cover your mouth and eyes widening as you squeaked, “I’m so sorry!”

With Taehyung and Chaewon’s focus shifting to the spill on the table, the roll of Jungkook’s eyes went unnoticed by them.

“It’s okay, it was only an accident,” he forced out, pushing his chair away from the table’s edge and widening his thighs to evade the rest of the milk. You had to hide your smile behind your hands as you watched the no doubt cold milk seep into his pants.

Taehyung picked up the box of napkins, which had been near his plate, and held it out to the younger man, causing Jungkook to stretch over the table to receive it. But just as Jungkook grabbed the box, you noticed Taehyung’s brows suddenly furrow, his eyes seeming to stay fixed at a particular spot on Jungkook’s neck.

You followed his gaze curiously. The first few buttons of Jungkook’s black shirt had been undone, revealing a sliver of his collarbone and chest, but as Jungkook stretched you noticed the fabric shift to expose more of the area, which you realised was covered in red patches that looked a lot like… hickies. You and Taehyung weren’t the only ones that caught this as you noticed Chaewon smirk, her gaze travelling between you both.

Jungkook himself was the last to notice the stares as he pressed some tissues against the wet material of his pants, most of which was prominent on his lap. Yet when he did notice them, even you knew that Taehyung and Chaewon’s questioning looks wouldn’t allow for him to get out of this without an explanation.

You expected him to wave them off with a lame excuse anyway, like it was a rash or he’d burned himself somehow. You could call Jungkook many things, but he didn’t seem like the kind of guy that enjoyed making suggestive jokes or conversation. Nor did he seem like the kind of guy to divulge in his sexual escapades.

But Jungkook didn’t do any of that. Instead he paused, similar to earlier when he had entered the room, and seemed to think something over. Then his gaze dropped on you, and the mischief in his eyes gave you the odd feeling that you should prepare yourself for what he was about to say.

You should have listened to that feeling.

Jungkook broke his eye contact with you, his lips twitching into what suspiciously seemed like a smirk, before he turned to face Taehyung and Chaewon.

“I guess Y/N got a bit carried away earlier.”

Your eyes widened and jaw dropped open as Chaewon gasped, her hands instantly going to her chest as if she couldn’t believe it. From your peripheral vision you could make out Taehyung slumping against the back of his chair, as if he had finally given up on trying to figure the two of you out.

“Y/N! I would have never guessed you were the freaky type,” Chaewon laughed, her gaze seeming to take you in a different light. Your hands curled into fists under the table.

Jungkook knew exactly what he was doing by dropping a comment like that, and you were far from stupid enough not to see it. By insinuating that there was a more suggestive side of you, he was slowly starting to break down your performance of an innocent girl capable of doing no wrong in the eyes of others.

You’d promised to kill him, and now he’d seemingly decided he wanted to kill the image you’d spent years cultivating.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself as Jungkook’s hand hooked under your chair to drag it towards him, allowing him to wrap an arm around your shoulder when he was close enough. Even in the midst of your subdued anger you noticed just how close the sharp cut of his jawline was in this position, and not to mention the tiny mole under his bottom lip that you hadn’t noticed before.

“It’s okay, princess,” he said, sounding sweet but you knew it was meant to be mocking, “you don’t have to be shy in front of them.”

You were going to kill him. You were going to shoot him so many times that by the time you were done with him he was going to look like a giant block of swiss cheese-

“Well, we should probably get going,” Taehyung said suddenly, his eyes focused on reading something on his phone before pocketing the device, “I think Suho is starting to get fussy again, plus we should get going if we want to get back home before it gets too dark.”

Taehyung offered a hand to Chaewon to help her get up from her seat, a classy smile gracing her lips as her gaze met yours, “that’s our son by the way. You must meet him the next time we meet.”

“I would love to. I love children,” you said with a tight smile as you and Jungkook got up from your seats, exchanging polite pleasantries all the way to the front door.

“You know, that’s not very surprising to me,” Chaewon commented while Taehyung looped an arm around hers. You waved to each other with smiles, watching him guide her into an orange car before driving around the fountain and disappearing through the tall gates.

The second the front door closed your smile dropped, replaced by an annoyed scowl that you threw in Jungkook’s direction. He regarded you as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“I don’t know about the North, but in the South we have this thing called personal space. You should try it out some time,” you said, to which Jungkook raised an eyebrow.

“Have you ever seen a married couple have personal space? Really Y/N, must I explain the birds and the bees to you?

You huffed as he walked past you, climbing up the stairs casually while you started following behind him.

“Why does it even matter if people know how dysfunctional this marriage is? We’re married, how is that not enough?”

It really did not make sense to you why he was so dead set on selling this image of a perfect marriage to others. Back in the South, there was not one marriage a mafia leader was a part of where it wasn’t in complete shambles, and that was very public knowledge to everyone in, and even outside of, the territory. Yet, that didn’t seem to affect the level of control or power the southern mafia leaders had. So why was Jungkook making it out to be such a big deal?

But the question stopped him in his tracks, causing him to turn around on the stairs to give you an incredulous look, as if what you had asked was almost alien.

“I don’t know how it works in the South, but in the North it very much matters,” he said slowly, gaze fixed on yours, “we must present ourselves as perfect in every aspect of our lives, or there are a number of enemies that would have no problem taking advantage of even the most miniscule flaw.”

You scoffed, “that’s dumb.”

Jungkook turned away from you, not bothering to comment on the mindless remark, as he continued to resume his path up the stairs. When he finally made it to the top and walked up to his bedroom’s door, he pushed it open and walked inside.

Your breath instantly stalled as you followed behind him, gaze darting around the room quickly to see if Persilla was anywhere in his sights. You knew you didn’t need to worry, Persilla was a master of remaining unseen, she’d managed to hide from everyone in the house when you’d been living in the South with your father after all. You’d even opened the door to the balcony slightly, allowing her to roam outside freely if she wanted to, so she might not have even been in the room anyway. You exhaled slowly, successful in convincing yourself that the little black cat you’d grown to care for and love would be fine.

Jungkook’s breath, on the other hand, came out as a low huff when he noticed the balcony door ajar. He walked over to it quickly, closing it before giving you a chastising look. One you ignored obviously.

Instead you casually turned away from him to enter into the bathroom, grabbing a few makeup wipes before returning back into the bedroom and plopping yourself down on the fluffy duvet of the bed. You began wiping off the various light sparkles and pinks that softened your face, as if you were taking off a doll-like mask.

“You’re an annoying little thing, aren’t you?” He commented as he watched your nonchalant demeanour.

Then it was your turn to watch him disappear into his closet for a moment, the muffled sounds of clothes moving around reaching your ears, before he emerged in a pair of grey sweatpants and a black short sleeve t-shirt.

But you particularly noticed his right arm, which was covered in a full sleeve of tattoos ending just above his wrist. The ink travelled over the smooth ridges of his skin, taut from the firm muscles underneath. Your gaze immediately dropped to the small trash can next to the bedside table, hoping he didn’t notice your staring, as you focused on throwing the used wipes into the bin.

You then leaned back on the mattress, arms holding you upright, trying to get your focus back on track, “I like how forgetting to close the balcony door annoys you and not the fact that I want you dead.”

That made Jungkook smile, amusement clear in his eyes, “I’m still standing here though, aren’t I?”

Your reply was quick.

“It won’t be for long.”

“Right,” Jungkook nodded, his words laced into a patronising chuckle, “but while you’re working on that, I need you to actually act like my wife. We’re lucky Taehyung and Chaewon didn’t notice anything, the public won’t be so inattentive.”

You tilted your head, “yes, I wonder what the public would have said about the hickies on your neck.”

Jungkook mirrored your movements, the edges of his lips twitching.

“I think they would be glad to be under the impression that we’re hard at work trying to produce an heir.”

“That’s only if your side piece stays quiet.”

“Careful, Y/N,” Jungkook tutted, “you sound almost jealous.”

“Jealous?” You repeated incredulously, sitting up straighter with an evidently offended expression, “your girl is sleeping with a dead man walking. Is that something to be jealous of?”

Jungkook paused for a moment, continuing to direct an amused gaze in your direction, before he turned away, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips as he ran a hand through his hair, “relax, princess, there’s no other girl. I just went hunting earlier and got a few mosquito bites. Nothing more.”

“It doesn’t make a difference to me,” you shrugged before falling back onto the mattress, the softness of the duvet making your limbs feel heavy with exhaustion. The position caused your dress to ride up to the middle of your thighs, a movement that didn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook. He looked away when he realised he was staring, choosing instead to focus his gaze on the bright moon outside the window.

“We may be as far from in love with each other as the moon is to the earth, but I still won’t risk messing around with others outside this relationship,” he said. There was a pause after his words, as if he were expecting you to say something, but you let the silence ensue. There really was nothing you wanted to add anyway.

A noise made you lift your head, allowing you to see Jungkook unlocking the door to his office before he turned his head to you, “just get used to whatever happened at dinner today. There will be much more where that came from in the future.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the room while locking the door behind him. Jungkook immediately walked over to the cabinet, pulling out a crystal glass and a bottle of whiskey to place them on the desk.

The loud clink of the glass against the wood of the desk made Jungkook frown, annoyed by his getting annoyed at your lack of reply. Yet, it was evident that he was indeed irritated by it. Of course you wouldn’t agree not to mess around with others, you had your ‘boyfriend’ waiting for you back in the South.

He certainly wasn’t messing around with anyone. After meeting Taehyung at the docks, Jungkook had gone to meet with the leader of an independent gang in the West, who, to his distaste, was a huge fan of hunting. So naturally they’d met in a forest to hunt for a few hours, before Jungkook had convinced the man to be at his disposal. Jungkook has always been prone to mosquito bites, but that day the mosquitos seemed to have taken a particular liking to his neck and arms, despite what Taehyung and Chaewon might have thought.

It didn’t matter to him, though, that you had a boyfriend. Yes, it really didn’t. He was just annoyed because if someone found out about him, then Jungkook’s reputation would take a hit. The news would spread like a wildfire, and the outcome would be far from good.

He didn’t even know how well you could hide a secret like that. What if you slipped up somewhere? What if the dude did? It would be a disaster.

Jungkook placed his glass down, the whiskey momentarily forgotten as he grabbed his phone and leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen in thought. This was for the good of his leadership, not anything personal. Yes, that’s right.

Mind made, Jungkook quickly dialled a familiar number, waiting barely a single ring before a male voice sounded from the device.

“Hello sir, was there something I could help you with?”

Jungkook’s fingers wrapped around the glass on his desk, “tell the informant I want him to investigate Lee Y/N’s room at the Lee mansion. I want to find out everything we can about the man Y/N was talking on the phone with before our marriage, and if there’s anything else unusual I want to be informed of it as well.”

“Yes, of course sir,” the voice said immediately, “I’ll let him know as soon as possible. Is that all?”

Jungkook paused for a moment, thinking over the question. This had been an impromptu call after all.

Stuck in his thoughts, he brought the glass into his hand, swirling the liquid in it for a second before taking a modest sip.

His reflexes acted before his mind did; the second he registered the hint of a metallic taste he lurched forward, spitting the liquid back into the glass in a matter of a second. Even with that little exposure he could start to feel his tongue burn slightly, causing him to instantly open the drawer of his desk and grab a water bottle. The water soothed his mouth as he quickly swished it between his teeth before spitting it out and repeating the process a few times.

“Sir? Sir?! Is everything okay?” The voice rang from his phone, Jungkook almost forgetting about him for a second. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, it was nothing. That will be all, thank you.”

He ended the call, grimacing in discomfort at the feel of his slightly sensitive tongue against the roof of his mouth. So you’d managed to find a way to sneak into his office. He shouldn’t have been very surprised by that, you seemed to have a talent for getting into places where you shouldn’t.

Jungkook sighed as he eyed his liquor cabinet, realising that he’d have to throw it all. But as his gaze raised, it seemed to catch an empty slot in his bookshelf. Curiously he walked over to it, hand hovering over the hollow space between a book about war tactics and a book about his family’s history.

It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. You’d obviously taken one of his books, but whether it was for casual reading or for something more he couldn’t tell.

He ignored the pang of pain that rippled throughout his mouth as he ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, his gaze falling back to his desk. With Jimin’s attacks, he had a lot of work he was going to have to do, and now seemed like the perfect time to get that done considering he was not going to go back into his bedroom, which you had taken over.

He sighed.

It was going to be a long night.

You remained seated on the bed as you watched Jungkook lock the door behind him, leaving you alone in his bedroom once again. You hoped he enjoyed the nice present you’d dropped into his liquor bottles this morning, because you were just about ready to be shipped off back to the Lee mansion and watch your plan unfold in the perfect way you’d outlined it to.

The sound of something tapping against glass caught your attention, causing you to turn towards the balcony. It was hard to spot her in the dead of night, her black fur blending into the dark so well that her feline eyes were the only thing about her you could really make out. But even then, there was no doubt in your mind that it was Persilla trying to get your attention from outside of the balcony door.

You stood, sending a wary glance in the direction of Jungkook’s office’s door, before slowly pushing yourself off the mattress and making your way towards the glass. You paused in front of it for a moment, taking a deep breath before closing your eyes. Your hands blindly felt in front of you, moving erratically in the air for a moment before you could feel the handle between your fingers. You pulled on it, hearing the sound of the door opening as well as the feel of the fresh airy breeze on your face.

The second you felt Persilla’s small body walking between your feet, you pushed the door close, sighing in relief when you opened your eyes.

You crouched down to pet Persilla’s head, scratching against her chin when she purred delightfully. It was only when she moved her head upwards, showcasing her collar, when you paused, your gaze catching onto something white wedged between the sleek leather and her furry neck.

“Do you have something for me, Persilla?” You asked, fingers pinching the thing, which you realised was a folded note, and bringing it out of its confines. You unfolded it, eyes widening after scanning it and recognising the familiar strokes of black pen on its surface.

It’s done.

We should meet soon.

~ H

A/N: comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated! Also Jungkook when he finds out about Persilla: 🧍‍♂️

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jaythes1mp · 11 months ago

Note

I was wondering how you think readers life would be different if they were a puppy hybrid instead of a cat? I had a dream about this last night after I reread your works

You had a dream abt it after my fic?🫢🥹💚

The dynamics between the reader and the family would noticeably change if the reader took on more canine traits rather than feline. The bat’s would likely respond differently, as canine behaviors and characteristics can vary significantly from those associated with cats. The reader's dog-like nature could shape how the family interacts with and cares for them, adding a different layer to their relationships and potentially influencing the family's behaviour. They’d expect more from you.

The nature of a dog is typically more sociable and dependent, leading to different expectations and interactions.

So if you don't immediately respond to their affections by showing signs of eagerness, like a happy, loving puppy would, the family would interpret your behaviour as abnormal. They might worry that something is wrong with you, as canine behaviour typically involves being sociable and receptive to affection.

They'd expect you to enjoy being petted, as dogs often crave human touch and attention.

You’d promptly be sent out on your way to a vet. Because, something must be the matter with you. It could never be their faults. They'd assume that the issue lies within you rather than considering the possibility that they might be the source of the problem.

In contrast to their care for Kitten Reader, they'd be more inclined to allow Puppy Reader to spend time in human form. This is because it's easier for them to monitor and assess your mental state when you're in human form. As they find it less challenging to gauge your emotions, well-being, and mental state when you're human if you’re completely unreceptive as a pup.

For a kitten it’s natural to be less receptive to affection, batting at their hands or hissing when they get too close. But it’s completely abnormal for a pup. You’re supposed to seek out their touch, not flinch from it.

So they need to nip your behaviour in the bud.

Damian, being the meticulous and dedicated individual that he is, will take it upon himself to arrange online training sessions with the most skilled and highly regarded trainers available. He believes that you ought to behave in a manner that befits your canine nature and will take great care in selecting trainers who can help you learn and adapt accordingly.

He will diligently oversee your progress, taking notes on your behavior and ensuring that you receive the necessary guidance.

Dick, being the “loving and dedicated older brother” that he likes to call himself, will dive into a thorough online research session to discover the best ways to force have you to be affectionate with him. His search queries including phrases like "How to get your dog to like you," "How to create a bond with your new puppy," and "How to make a puppy love you instantly." He’ll immerse himself in articles, videos, and guides that provide tips and techniques to form a deep and affectionate connection with you.

This ends up resulting with every time you manage to do literally anything besides growling at him, whether it be making eye contact, sitting, or even just existing in his presence, you’re immediately rewarded with a dog biscuit as an incentive.

Jason, with his rugged exterior and rough edges, is the type to carry you, no matter how large your fluffy canine physique, in a practical doggy bag. While he may appear tough on the outside, he has a deep attachment to you in your puppy form, as in some underlying level he sees himself in you.

Especially if you have any visible scars that can’t be concealed in your canine form, he might find an even stronger affinity towards you, mirroring his own experiences in a strange yet comforting way.

Tim, being the methodical and detail-oriented individual, he is, would design an unnecessarily intricate and ultra-luxurious dog pen for you indoors. This pen would be thoughtfully equipped with every amenity and comfort appropriate for your puppy needs. However, he's also pragmatic and meticulous, and would ensure that appropriate measures were in place to lock you up if you needed disciplining for misbehavior, demonstrating his keen attention to both your comfort and safety.

Tim's favorite creation thus far for you is the collar fused to your skin in a way that causes no discomfort when you transform from one form to another. It relays live data to the Bat-computer and a specially designed app installed on each family member's phone. The collar monitors everything you consume, tracks your whereabouts, keeps tabs on your vitals, and records your voice continuously for 24 hours. Moreover, it also picks up on any intense emotions you're experiencing, providing the family with a comprehensive understanding of your canine state of mind at all times.

The collar is discreetly designed to blend in, looking just like any ordinary dog collar one would purchase at a pet store, except perhaps a bit more posh and expensive. However, the back of the collar is adorned with a beautiful tag bearing all the family members’ contact details.

Other features are installed to keep you in line. A built-in shocker to administer a warning shock in case of any misbehaving behavior. After all, a little shock can go a long way in shaping a puppy's behavior. The collar is also equipped with a feature that bypasses the need for conscious thought to shift between your human and puppy form. It sends signals directly to your brain, creating a sort of mental “shortcut” to seamlessly transform between states. It takes much of the guesswork out of transforming, streamlining the process and making it effortless, forcing you to shift and taking away your ability to choose with a click of a button.

Bruce, being the overprotective father figure that he wishes to be, would be disheartened with the limitations placed on him. He’d long to take you to the grocery store, show you off to his co-workers, or even simply take walks around the park in his neighborhood. However, the others would be quick to point out that your canine form might attract unwanted public attention, and the less people knew about your existence, the better it would be for everyone’s security.

Like, What the fuck do you mean he can’t take his purebred puppy inside this fine dining establishment?? He’s a billionaire. Make the exception before he has your whole restaurant shut down and each of your employees knee-deep in debt by the end of the day.

Link to official chapter

Like to previous cat reader

I’m so tired… really hope you liked this, anon.

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sch-com · 2 months ago

Text

my executive function model

I've heard the term "executive dysfunction" thrown quite a lot online, but I couldn't really pinpoint what exactly it means. I decided I first need to understand what executive function is first in order to make sense of it.

After some research (not a lot so take it with a big grain of salt) and self-reflection I developed an executive function model to better understand where I struggle and where I excel.

I identified 8 executive functions, split into primary and secondary, and defined how they interact with each other.

I created a diagram that illustrates and summarizes this model, kind of a tldr. The information from the diagram is described in the text in this post though. At the end of the post is an example of how this model applies to me specificaly.

core executive functions

Those I kept the same as in the research I did, as they seem to be more widely agreed upon.

Inhibitory control - suppressing inappropriate behavior, resisting distractions and urges, emotional control

Working memory - holding, recalling, and manipulating information, mental juggling

Cognitive flexibility - switching tasks, shifting attention, tolerating change, letting go of stuck thoughts

secondary executive functions

Those are more adjusted to fit my personal experience, and are in the sequence it which I personaly engage in activities.

Strategic analysis - understanding the problem, reasoning, generating solutions, predicting outcomes; you need to analyze the problem and generate what can be done about it

Decision-making - balancing risk, reward, and long-term outcomes, deciding on course of action; you need to then compare and decide on one of the courses of action from the generated ones

Planning and organization - planning, organizing, breaking tasks into steps, time estimation, prioritizing; once you know what you want to do, you have to plan the actual actionable steps of it, place when you will do them, in what sequence

Action initiation - getting started on tasks, overcoming inertia, avoiding procrastination; you actually need to follow through the plan, go and do the thing you planned

Self-monitoring - monitoring progress, noticing when you're off-task or overwhelmed, error detection, adjusting behavior, self-assessment; once doing the thing, you need to monitor yourself on how you're doing on the task but also notice if something else hasn't become more important

how they interact

The primary executive functions support the secondary, they are like building blocks of them:

1. Inhibitory control

Strategic analysis: prevents rushing to conclusions; allows pause and reflection before jumping to solutions

Decision-making: suppresses impulsive or emotionally-driven choices; supports delay of gratification

Planning and organization: helps avoid distractions when building plans and ignore irrelevant details

Action initiation: inhibits avoidance behaviors or urges to delay ("I’ll do it later")

Self-monitoring: suppresses defensive reactions to noticing errors; allows recalibration

2. Working memory

Strategic analysis: holds problem details, relevant knowledge, and potential solutions in mental space

Decision-making: maintains multiple options, their pros/cons, and predicted outcomes to compare

Planning and organization: tracks task steps, sequences, and dependencies during mental planning.

Action initiation: remembers what the task is and how to begin — even after delays or distractions

Self-monitoring: holds the original goal or plan in mind while checking current performance against it.

3. Cognitive flexibility

Strategic analysis: allows consideration of alternative problem framings or novel solutions

Decision-making: enables reevaluation of options and openness to changing course

Planning and organization: helps adjust plans dynamically if priorities shift or obstacles arise

Action initiation: Supports shifting mental state from rest to task-engaged mode

Self-monitoring: helps switch strategies mid-task, revise expectations, or tolerate outcomes that don’t go as expected

my personal application

Firstly, out of the three core executive functions my weakest one is working memory. I am quite good at the other two though.

Going off that profile of my primary executive functions, I perform as below in the secondary executive functions:

Strategic analysis - I excel at it. My high cognitive flexibility allows me to see a lot of options, and inhibition allows me to focus on analysing a problem for a long time. I compensate for my low working memory by writing things down, visualizing them etc.

Decision-making - I am rather bad at it. After I analyse the problem to its smallest components and generate lots of ideas in the first step, there are a lot of details to keep in mind when comparing them, and this is where my poor working memory struggles. I also have problems with confidence in my decisions, since I can so clearly see so many options possible and their consequences after my analysis.

Planning and organization - another area I am good at, because I can write things down or draw them out thus compensating for my bad working memory. Inhibition allows me to be realistic with my plan, and cognitive flexibility allows me to adapt it to the actual needs.

Action initiation - a real bottleneck in my process. At this stage I usually have so many details I can be easily overwhelmend with my poor working memory. Also it involves deciding to do the thing, and we already know I struggle with decisions. My high inhibition may also cause a lot of hesitation here.

Self-monitoring - I am moderately good at it. I can struggle with keeping the original goal of the task in mind because of poor working memory, but can manage if it's cleary defined and written down. High congnitive flexibility allows me to adjust my actions according to the performance, and inhibition allows me to avoid distractions and reflect without becoming emotional.

As you can see from this picture, I clearly can benefit the most from using various visual aids and allowing myself to "think on paper" rather than forcing myself to hold everything in my brain. I just seem to have small RAM, but my processor is quite strong.

#schcomtalk #executive function #executive dysfunction #actually autistic #neurodivergent #neurodiversity #autism

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weirdsht · 3 months ago

Note

HELLOOOOO I MISSED UUUU btw do u still entertain tcf angst reqs? BECAUSEEEE 😋😋

So what if reader x Cale in which reader has superpowers because of their magical eyes. They befriended Cale and became smth more but THENNN shit happened, Cale needed to be healed immediately because his wound is too severe for crybaby. Reader had no resources left because his wound is way too fatal to even wait for help.

But then they remember how their eyes kept them alive, so they decided to do the unthinkable—give him their eyes through magic.

But, if reader does it, they'd die

They still did it anyways

Lols imagine the agony

I wonder how he'll live thru that

IMTSORRY

Sentient - Cale/Reader

a/n: i'm still sick so this is a bit short huhu

tags: no specific gender mentioned for reader, death, hurt no comfort

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Requests are open and welcome

Navigation Masterlist

The battle zone is as fierce as ever. Different powers raining down on the opposition. Everyone wants to dominate the enemy.

In other words, it was total chaos.

But it is something you have grown accustomed to. One of the perks of being Cale Henituse’s best friend and lover you guess.

Still, despite that, it doesn’t take away the anxiety gnawing at your chest. It doesn’t matter how many times you do this, you’re still scared that something might happen to your family.

To your love.

Usually, nothing happens. Usually, even in the most disadvantageous position, Cale figures something out.

But why…

“A-ARGH !!”

Cale couldn’t help but scream in pain as the enemy’s power pierced through his body. You didn’t know what happened, everything progressed too fast. One moment a white light enveloped your lover's body then next he was on the ground, bleeding profusely.

Wasting no time, you and Choi Han brought Cale to a more secluded area. Everyone else covered for the three of you so no enemy could follow.

“How is Cale-nim, [Name]-nim?”

Choi Han asked worriedly as you used your magical eye to assess Cale’s condition. Meanwhile, that very same man was writhing and groaning in pain— wondering why the crybaby wasn’t working as efficiently.

“It’s… it’s not looking good…”

Your voice shakes as your hands press onto one of his larger wounds. Despite your efforts, blood keeps flowing through his skin and eventually through your arms.

“His wounds are too severe… On top of that, he exhausted his power so his healing abilities are having a hard time as well.”

It hurts your heart to see your beloved in pain while unable to do anything. To see him near unconscious with his powers unable to efficiently help him.

You’d do anything to help him.

Sacrifice whatever just to make sure he’ll live.

And so you wrack your brain, thinking of what can you do to save Cale— to save your one true love. As you did your eyes kept glowing, constantly monitoring his condition as the newly arrived Saint Jack did his best to heal the young master.

“It’s futile…”

You muttered to yourself, yet everyone heard you.

“The enemy left traces of their power in his body. Healing powers will be futile…”

Despite being in pain, Cale caressed your cheeks as he felt your tears on his skin. His hands touching just below your eyes. Cale’s action only proceeded to make you cry harder, touched and in pain at the fact that he still puts you first.

But then something about his touch made you realise something.

Your eyes..!

You can sacrifice your eyes!

It’s risky— no, it’s more than risky. In fact, it would cost you your life.

If you give Cale your eyes, you will cease to exist.

These magical eyes are the very essence of your life force after all.

It saddens you when you think that you would not be able to be with Cale if you did this. But that sadness is overwritten by one simple fact.

You want Cale to live.

Even at the cost of your own life.

And so you take both of Cale’s hands on your own and start the process of transferring your eyes— your life force.

Cale Henituse was in a lot of pain. He could barely move from how much pain his wounds brought him. But still, he could tell what you were trying to do.

And he can’t allow it.

“[Name] no! Don’t do it!”

He weakly screamed and his words made Choi Han and Saint Jack come to their senses. All of them were suddenly aware of what you were trying to do.

After all, it was public knowledge among your group that your eyes are what keep you alive.

Everyone moved to try and stop you, but the transferring process was quicker than they’d expected. Before they could yank you away from Cale his wounds had already started closing, looking as though he was good as new.

A tell-tale sign that the transfer was a success.

“Why…”

Cale muttered as he held you in his arms. Your positions now reversed as you are the one on the verge of death.

“Because I love you…”

You weakly said as you gave in your consciousness. Allowing the dancing black spots to take you to eternal slumber.

There was a small smile on your face as you closed your eyes.

Yet Cale cannot find it in himself to smile back as he normally would.

#le asks #trash of the count's family #lout of the count’s family #tcf #lcf #cale henituse #lotcf #totcf #tcf x reader #cale x reader #cale henituse x reader

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pleaseletmeinibeg453 · 23 days ago

Text

Paper cuts

|Jelsa, Modern AU, Enemies with Benefits, Fake dating, Forced Proximity|

Agent Elsa Stenford [NID-SO-ES-07] — Operation Report Upload Log

—Logged into secure terminal: Vienna Safehouse Terminal-2

—Date: 2022-07-08

—Time (UTC): 23:16

—Connected to secure node: NIDNet

—Report file: OP_SILENTRAVEN_AAR.enc

—Encryption status: Secured with NID Master Key — encryption signature verified (Checksum ID: F1A5-7C9B)

—Recipient(s): Jack Frost, Section Chief Special Operations (SO-92A), Acting Division Supervisor (DS-4), National Intelligence Directorate

—Transmission channel: Priority-One Secure Uplink (Classified Level: TOP SECRET)

—Transmission status: COMPLETE — audit log updated (Reference Log ID: ES07-0525-2214)

—Backup status: Encrypted local backup stored (Partition ES-07-SAFE); master copy uploaded to Central Ops Archive (Vault-4)

—Field confirmation: Agent ES-07 signed digital attestation; no tampering detected; self-authentication successful

Note: Automatic alert dispatched to Division Supervisor terminal. Clearance authentication required upon access.

---------------------------

Operation Silent Raven is an ongoing mission targeting a covert illicit arms trafficking network operating primarily in South Carolina. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Delete ‘ongoing mission’ — this is filler from someone unfamiliar with concise reporting. Vague and redundant.] This report details recent operational progress, intelligence collection, and actionable recommendations. [Flag—Acting supervisor: You clearly do not understand report structure. This useless sentence wastes time and space.]

The primary objective is to identify, monitor, and dismantle the arms trafficking chain responsible for the flow of small arms and light weapons through various transit points in the region. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Restating obvious without any specifics or measurable targets reflects poor understanding of operational goals. Omit.] HUMINT sources have verified the existence of a new maritime transit corridor utilizing the seaport. [Flag—Acting supervisor: “HUMINT sources” is lazy projection. You apparently cannot be trusted to identify sources properly. Brackets demonstrate careless drafting.] SIGINT intercepted encrypted communications that suggest coordination between traffickers and local facilitators. [Flag—Acting supervisor: ‘Suggest’ is weak speculation, unbefitting a professional intelligence report. Either confirm or remove this guesswork.]

Financial forensics have traced suspicious funds transfers totaling approximately $8 million USD linked to traffickers. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Provide specifics or this bland, meaningless statement reveals superficial analysis.] Technical surveillance detected multiple covert meetings in [Urban Centers], corroborated by photographic evidence. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Using placeholders signals either incompetence or utter disregard for accuracy.] On 2022-06-21, interdiction team, operating with local law enforcement, seized 250 illegal firearms at the port city warehouse. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Poorly structured sentence; the muddled passive voice further obscures the facts you apparently cannot clearly present.] Two principal suspects were detained, providing critical intelligence that identified higher-level facilitators. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Passive construction and vague attribution further demonstrate your failure to take ownership of this data.]

Informant “Falcon” supplied actionable intelligence regarding a planned arms shipment scheduled for early June. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Finally, a clear statement, but unfortunately, it’s buried among verbosity and filler.] Operational security protocols were heightened after detecting possible surveillance by hostile intelligence actors. [Flag—Acting supervisor: ‘Possible’ surveillance indicates your uncertainty and it undermines the entire assessment and betrays inadequate situational awareness.] The network disruption has temporarily halted major arms transfers. [Flag—Acting supervisor: ‘Temporarily’ suggests you lack the insight or confidence to forecast outcomes. Such ambiguity is unacceptable.]

Surveillance and intelligence collection continue focusing on secondary facilitators and financing channels. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Non-specific, passive phrasing again. You appear unable to report with decisiveness or clarity.] Coordination with allied intelligence agencies is ongoing to leverage broader interdiction efforts. [Flag—Acting supervisor: “Allied intelligence agencies” — weak and meaningless. Omit.] Risk assessment indicates elevated threat levels against NID assets involved in this operation. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Without elaboration, this statement is worthless. The absence of detail is either negligence or incompetence. I’m leaning towards the latter, although the first one also seems to be your defining trait.] Approve expansion of covert operations targeting secondary facilitators and financiers. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Recommendations lack essential resource planning and rationale, further exposing your inexperience.] Request additional SIGINT and counter-surveillance resources. [Flag—Acting supervisor: ‘Additional’ is meaningless without quantification. This sloppy request reflects poor operational understanding.] Initiate an inter-agency task force to address cross-border financing and logistics. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Unsubstantiated recommendation with no defined objectives — this is amateurish.] Continue monitoring and protection of key HUMINT sources and operatives. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Failing to specify protection protocols reflects a dangerous oversight on your part.] Attachments include interdiction team after-action report, financial transaction analyses, SIGINT intercept summaries, and photographic documentation of seized arms and facilities. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Referencing attachments without actual inclusion indicates either incompetence or disregard for proper reporting. Which one is it?]

Flag—Acting supervisor: This report is miserably inadequate and reflects a disturbing lack of professionalism and capability. The careless placeholders, vague assertions, passive voice, and speculative language betray your failure to grasp even the basic standards of intelligence reporting. Such work not only wastes time but actively hampers operational efficiency. REWRITE.

---------------------------

Secure Directive

From: Jack Frost

[Code: NID-SO-JF-01]

Section Chief, Special Operations / Acting Division Supervisor [Code SO-92A/DS-4]

To: Agent Elsa Stenford [Code:NID-SO-ES-07]

Subject: RE: Report Review – Operation Silent Raven

Classification: TOP SECRET // EYES ONLY

Agent Stenford,

Your submitted report for Operation Silent Raven is wholly inadequate and reflects a concerning lack of analytical rigor, operational discipline, and professional attention. The presence of unresolved placeholders, vague assertions, speculative conclusions, and critical data gaps is unacceptable at this operational level and wastes valuable time and resources.

This level of oversight is incompatible with the standards expected from an intelligence officer assigned to this unit. You are to:

1. Eliminate all placeholders and provide verified, cross-checked intelligence.

2. Remove speculative or assumptive language; include only confirmed, actionable data.

3. Rewrite sections for clarity, precision, and direct accountability — passive formulations are unacceptable.

4. Deliver detailed, concrete descriptions of sources, operational locations, timelines, and outcomes without ambiguity.

5. Ensure all referenced materials are attached, properly labeled, and internally consistent.

6. Strengthen recommendations by specifying exact resource needs, operational impacts, and executable directives.

7. Fully address risk assessments with defined threats, probability ratings, and specific mitigation strategies.

The supervisor-annotated version of your report (File ID: SR-Report-Rev1-JF) has been uploaded to the secure review system. You are to address all marked corrections and resubmit the fully corrected report no later than 1800 hours today. No further extensions will be granted.

Jack Frost

[Code: NID-SO-JF-01]

Section Chief, Special Operations (SO-92A)

Acting Division Supervisor (DS-4)

National Intelligence Directorate

---------------------------

Agent Elsa Stenford [Code: NID-SO-ES-07] — Report Upload Log (Revised Submission)

—Logged into secure terminal: Vienna Safehouse Terminal-2

—Date: 2022-07-09

—Time (UTC): 17:38

—Connected to secure node: NIDNet

—Report file: OP_SIENTRAVEN_AAR_v2.enc

—Encryption status: Secured with NID Master Key — encryption signature verified (Checksum ID: F1A9-7C3B-R2)

—Recipient(s): Jack FrostJack Frost (NID-SO-JF-01), Section Chief Special Operations (SO-92A), Acting Division Supervisor (DS-4), National Intelligence Directorate

—Transmission channel: Priority-One Secure Uplink (Classified Level: TOP SECRET)

—Transmission status: COMPLETE — audit log updated (Reference Log ID: ES07-0525-2316-R2)

—Backup status: Encrypted local backup stored (Partition ES-07-SAFE); master copy uploaded to Central Ops Archive (Vault-4, Revised Submission Folder)

—Field confirmation: Agent ES-07 signed digital attestation; no tampering detected; self-authentication successful

Note: Automatic alert dispatched to Division Supervisor terminal. Clearance authentication required upon access. Revision flag registered under Audit Protocol 4B.

---------------------------

Secure Directive

From: Jack Frost [Code: NID-SO-JF-01]

Section Chief, Special Operations / Acting Division Supervisor [Code: SO-92A/DS-4]

To: Elsa Stenford [Code: NID-SO-ES-07]

Subject: RE: Secure Directive – Operation Silent Raven Report (Revised Submission)

Agent Stenford,

I have completed my review of your revised report on Operation Silent Raven. The annotated document is attached under:

Attachment: SilentRaven_Rev2_ES07_JFcomments.secure

To be precise: this submission remains below acceptable operational standards. Your continued use of speculative phrasing, unsupported assertions, and vague recommendations demonstrates a concerning lack of analytical discipline. This is not a matter of inexperience. You are not a trainee, Agent. At your level and position, you are expected to understand and apply the standards of rigor, precision, and clarity required in all agency reporting. That expectation is not optional.

Your report exhibits repeated failures:

1. Speculative language where concrete analysis is required;

2. Lack of referenced source attachments, despite multiple directives;

3. Unquantified risk assessments, absent methodological support;

4. Action recommendations devoid of operational specificity.

This is not a learning exercise nor is it a second chance, Agent Stenford. I should not be required to remind you of the foundational protocols governing intelligence reporting. You are expected to deliver work that reflects your clearance level, your operational rank, and your assigned responsibilities — without need for remedial oversight.

You are hereby directed to produce a final, fully compliant, actionable revision and submit it under secure protocol no later than 1300 hours tomorrow. Failure to meet this directive will result in formal escalation to the Division Office for immediate performance review. There will be no further instructions, no extended clarifications, and no tolerance for repeated submission failures.

Jack Frost [Code: NID-SO-JF-01]

Section Chief, Special Operations (SO-92A)

Acting Division Supervisor (DS-4)

National Intelligence Directorate

Operation Silent Raven: A report

1.⁠ ⁠Executive Summary:

—The target group’s network activity has intensified in the last 72 hours, with encrypted communications suggesting a planned operation within the capital region. [Flag—Acting supervisor: “Suggesting” is a charming euphemism for “guessing.” Precision is not your forte, is it?]

—HUMINT sources indicate the possible involvement of an external actor, potentially destabilizing regional security. [Flag—Acting supervisor: “Possible” and “potentially” — a truly inspiring display of hedging. I applaud your commitment to ambiguity.] While these indicators warrant heightened surveillance, conclusive evidence regarding the exact nature and timing of the planned event remains unconfirmed. [COMMENT: I look forward to the day when ‘unconfirmed’ is replaced by ‘confirmed.’ Continue taking baby steps, we’re all here to babysit you and instruct on every level, not to do our job.]

2.⁠ ⁠Intelligence Sources:

SIGINT: Intercepted encrypted transmissions on frequencies 8.1 GHz to 8.3 GHz, believed to originate from multiple cell towers in the downtown sector. [Flag—Acting supervisor: “Believed.” A masterclass in non-committal language. Bold. Yet, it fails to meet the minimum standards of verification.] Metadata analysis aligns with previous hostile activity patterns.

[Flag—Acting supervisor: Please specify the parameters of your analysis. Otherwise, it reads as a hopeful suggestion rather than intelligence.]

HUMINT: Confidential informant reported unusual meetings near industrial sector 4. Reliability assessed as moderate; corroborating SIGINT incomplete. [Flag—Acting supervisor: ‘Moderate’ is an imaginative way of saying ‘I’m not sure.’ The agency appreciates your creativity but prefers facts.]

IMINT: Limited satellite imagery from 23-25 MAY shows increased vehicular movements near potential staging areas, but imagery quality insufficient for identification of personnel or equipment. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Including non-identifiable imagery is an excellent way to fill pages. Whether it aids operations is another matter. But who cares?]

3.⁠ ⁠Operational Assessment:

The convergence of SIGINT and HUMINT suggests preparatory steps for an operation targeting critical infrastructure. [Flag—Acting supervisor: ‘Suggests’ again. I see a pattern. Perhaps next time try ‘confirms’ or ‘demonstrates.’] Risk assessment places the likelihood of attack at moderate (probability 0.55), with potential impact categorized as high due to target significance. [Flag—Acting supervisor: : Quantify your methodology. Numbers plucked from thin air are less useful than no numbers at all.] Recommended actions include intensifying electronic surveillance, deploying field assets for direct observation, and liaising with allied cyber-intelligence units to monitor digital footprints. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Vague directives are the hallmark of an inexperienced analyst. Details and accountability please.]

4.⁠ ⁠Recommendations:

Immediate deployment of SIGINT intercept teams in the identified frequency bands. Enhanced HUMINT debriefings with source ES-27 to confirm meeting details. [Flag—Acting supervisor: The lack of specificity here suggests an admirable level of trust in the reader’s imagination.] Coordination with Cyber Ops for real-time network traffic analysis. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Nomenclature alone does not constitute a plan. Flesh this out.]

Notes [Acting Supervisor] :

—Formatting inconsistent with NID operational report guidelines. You’ve transformed a simple formatting standard into an elusive art form. Bravo.

—Failure to attach referenced supporting materials AGAIN. This recurring omission hinders operational efficacy. Consider attaching documents next time.

—In conclusion, REWRITE.

---------------------------

Agent [Code: NID-SO-ES-07] — Field Report Upload Log (Revised Submission)

—Logged into secure terminal: Vienna Safehouse Terminal-2

—Date: 2022-07-10

—Time (UTC): 13:00

—Connected to secure node: NIDNet

—Report file: OP_SILENTRAVEN_AAR_v3.enc

—Encryption status: Secured with NID Master Key — encryption signature verified (Checksum ID: F1A9-7C3B-R2)

—Recipient(s): Jack Frost, Section Chief Special Operations (SO-92A), Acting Division Supervisor (DS-4), NID

—Transmission channel: Priority-One Secure Uplink (Classified Level: TOP SECRET)

—Transmission status: COMPLETE — audit log updated (Reference Log ID: ES07-0710-1300-R2)

—Backup status: Encrypted local backup stored (Partition ES-07-SAFE); master copy uploaded to Central Ops Archive (Vault-4, Revised Submission Folder)

—Field confirmation: Agent ES-07 signed digital attestation; no tampering detected; self-authentication successful

Note: Automatic alert dispatched to Division Supervisor terminal. Clearance authentication required upon access. Revision flag registered under Audit Protocol 4B.

---------------------------

Secure Directive

From: Jack Frost [NID-SO-JF-01]

Section Chief, Special Operations / Acting Division Supervisor [Code: NID-SO-92A/DS-4]

To: Elsa Stenford [Code: NID-SO-ES-07]

Subject: RE: Secure Directive – Operation Silent Raven Report , Revocation of Field Authority and Immediate Reassignment

Agent Stenford,

I was informed last afternoon that due to shifting operational priorities, the report in question [Ops Silent Raven] is no longer required.

After review of your latest submission — the revised report you provided earlier today — I must formally acknowledge that the material remains below acceptable operational standards. While I did not realistically anticipate any significant improvement, it is nonetheless disappointing that even after detailed corrective input, your output failed to meet the basic analytical and procedural thresholds expected of an intelligence officer at your level.

However, the time I was forced to expend personally correcting and annotating your repeated errors constitutes an unacceptable diversion of supervisory resources. You have now occupied more of this division’s time and attention than your current role warrants.

Accordingly, effective immediately, your independent field authority is revoked. You are reassigned to trailing support under Intelligence Officer Logan Parrish [CODE: NID-SO-LP-33], Team Blue. While Officer Parrish holds the same formal rank as you, his superior reliability and competence justify his lead role in this arrangement.

You are to operate strictly under Officer Parrish’s direction, with no independent decision-making or external communications without prior clearance. This corrective assignment will remain in place until further notice and serves as a necessary intervention to address the persistent deficits in your performance.

You are to report to Team Blue at 07:00 hours tomorrow, prepared and fully compliant. Written acknowledgment of this directive is required by 16:00 hours today. Noncompliance will result in immediate formal disciplinary action.

Jack Frost [Code: NID-SO-JF-01]

Section Chief, Special Operations (SO-92A)

Acting Division Supervisor (DS-4)

National Intelligence Directorate

---------------------------

Elsa Stenford read the message over and over again, because she knew it wasn’t serious. It must be a mistake. A joke. That’s what it was. Maybe if she read it again, it would change, it would shift and it would fix itself. So she read it, the words physically burning her, over and over again, but it stayed the same. She just stared at it, mouth hanging open, eyes wide with shock, unblinking.

“Elsa?” Merida’s voice shattered the silence in her head. “Are you—”

“THAT MISERABLE FUCKING BASTARD! THAT FUCKING—” She stopped herself, but there was just too much rage and hate in her, enough for her to combust and paint the walls red. "FUCKING PIECE OF SCUM! I FUCKING HATE HIM, THAT USELESS, ARROGANT, SLIMY RAT!"

---------------------------

23 notes · View notes

makingfanfictionstosleep · 2 months ago

Text

theirs to share

a/n : jjk characters not mine. contains heavy lemons / mature scenes as the story progresses. reverse harem. femoc x nanami/geto/gojo. jjk alternate au. Wattpad Link : Theirs to Share || Story Masterlist : Jujutsu Kaisen

<…previous ... next…>

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ

THIRTEEN

The fortress nestled deep within the outskirts of Tokyo had long since lost its intimidating aura. Once a forgotten relic of the jujutsu world, it now pulsed with quiet life and potential.

You stood just beyond the entrance, the heavy doors carved with protective seals sliding shut behind you. The hum of energy within the shelter was palpable—like a hundred sleeping sparks waiting to ignite. Geto Suguru stood beside you, arms crossed loosely, his expression unusually soft.

“This place feels... alive,” you said quietly, your eyes scanning the warm lighting, the open halls, and the rooms built like a school and a home.

Suguru nodded. “Because it is.”

He turned to face the central courtyard where several children played under the afternoon sun. Some were still hesitant, others open and laughing, testing their abilities with wooden training poles or chalk on the walls. A few stuck close to the teachers, wary but curious.

“When Master Tengen approved the use of this fortress, I wanted to build more than just a shelter,” Suguru continued. “I wanted it to be a sanctuary. A school. A home.”

You looked at him, admiration flickering in your eyes. “And you did. This is incredible, Suguru.”

His eyes warmed at the way you said his name.

“Yaga’s been a major supporter,” Suguru added. “He sees what this could mean for the future. Not just in power—but in healing. These kids… didn’t ask for what they were born with.”

You followed him through the hallways, past classrooms, small bedrooms, and open practice yards. A whiteboard in one corridor displayed the current assessment structure:

SHELTER SYSTEM: ASSESSMENT & INTEGRATION

Medical & Physical:

Lead: Ieiri Shoko

Comprehensive physical health assessment.

Cursed energy influence on physical development.

Healing as needed.

Power & Control:

Lead: Gojo Satoru

Energy type classification.

Strength, stability, and potential tests.

Control exercises & risk evaluation.

Behavioral & Mental Health:

Lead: Principal Yaga

Trauma screening and therapy needs.

Social interaction observation.

Risk mitigation for high-volatility students.

Children with unstable abilities were closely monitored and given specialized treatment plans—some with therapy, others under watchful mentorship. The more withdrawn kids were eased in through play and gentle socialization, never forced.

In one of the smaller rec rooms, Nanami knelt beside a boy who kept creating sharp crystal formations around himself whenever he got nervous. Nanami calmly handed him a small book, sitting there and waiting with patient silence. The boy eventually sat too, mimicking him.

In the clinic room, Shoko sighed over a chart, her team of healers working efficiently to log results. She looked up and waved as you passed, tossing a cold drink your way.

“Don’t forget to hydrate,” she called. “It’s hell doing assessments with heat-exhausted kids.”

Further in the training yard, Satoru laughed, his blindfold pushed up as he levitated a group of kids in slow motion, letting them experience flight for the first time while keeping them safe in a soft field of cursed energy.

“They’re naturals!” he shouted proudly. “Some of these little gremlins might actually beat you in a few years!”

You rolled your eyes but smiled.

One of the girls near Satoru looked over and whispered to her friend, “Is that his wife?”

Suguru, beside you, smirked at your surprised blink. “Rumors spread fast around here.”

You ignored him, cheeks warm, and walked on—your heart full as you saw how everyone, from the strongest sorcerers to the smallest children, was fighting for something better. Hope. Control. Peace.

You stood in the center of the open garden, barefoot on the grass, hands raised with delicate control. The children encircled you, wide-eyed and breathless as you guided the elements like a storybook enchantress.

A soft gust danced through their hair as you summoned a miniature whirlwind that lifted flower petals into the air. With a flick of your wrist, droplets of water shimmered midair, catching sunlight like tiny rainbows. You weaved fire into harmless glowing ribbons and coaxed vines from the earth to twist into heart-shaped crowns for the younger ones.

“Wow!” one of the little girls gasped. “You’re a real fairy!”

“No,” a boy countered, “she’s a princess. The kind that saves people.”

You crouched down and gently placed a crown of living blossoms on his head. “You’re all the ones being brave,” you said with a wink. “I just know a few tricks.”

From under the nearby walkway, three sets of eyes were fixed on you.

Satoru, relaxed and leaning back with his arms behind his head, smiled with a mix of fondness and mischief. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again… she’s unreal.”

Nanami, standing with crossed arms, exhaled a quiet sigh. “She’s good with them.”

But his eyes lingered longer than his words.

Suguru said nothing, but the quiet intensity in his gaze spoke volumes—his posture softer, his usual edge dulled by the sight of you laughing and playing with the children like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Ah, young love,” Shoko murmured behind them, a cigarette lazily balanced between her fingers.

The three men stiffened in sync.

“What?” Satoru blinked, pretending to be oblivious.

Shoko took a long drag and shrugged. “Didn’t say anything.” Then, with a teasing smirk, she added, “But if I were a betting woman, I’d put my money on the one who actually brings her tea instead of flirting like a teenager.”

Nanami’s jaw twitched.

Mei Mei strolled by, long silver hair swaying, dressed elegantly even in casual wear. She peered into the courtyard with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“Oh, my. It’s like watching three overly composed CEOs fall for a magical babysitter,” she whispered, sipping her tea. Then, after a pause, she added with a giggle, “Delicious.”

“She’s not just a babysitter,” Suguru said lowly, finally breaking his silence. “She’s…”

He trailed off.

Satoru raised a brow, curious but saying nothing.

Out in the yard, you had conjured a sphere of soft glowing light, letting the children take turns poking it like a floating bubble. They squealed with delight every time it bounced away gently.

“See what I mean?” Shoko said, exhaling smoke upward. “That woman’s a walking spell.”

Mei Mei chuckled again, this time more softly, as she watched you brush a bit of dirt off a child’s cheek. “No wonder they’re all smitten.”

Shoko blew a long, slow puff toward the sky. “Utahime’s going to kill us if we keep encouraging this drama.”

That night…

The air in Nanami’s room was still, only the soft clink of whiskey glasses and the occasional rustle of fabric breaking the quiet. Low lamplight cast warm shadows on the walls as the three men sat— Satoru, Suguru, and Nanami—finally addressing the growing, shared tension between them.

Their glasses met with a soft chime, and the moment hung between them—ridiculous, unexpected, strangely sincere. Whatever came next, they’d face it like men: united in confusion, in affection… and in anticipation.

“So,” Satoru started, stretching long legs out and leaning back in his chair, blindfold pushed up to rest in his hair, “are we just gonna keep pretending we’re not all in love with the same woman?”

Nanami sighed, slow and deep. “No. That’s exactly why I asked you both here.”

Suguru gave a quiet hum from his place on the couch. “It’s been a long time coming.”

“I still think this is insane,” Nanami muttered, though not with much conviction. “But fair.”

Suguru let out a dry chuckle. “So it’s settled then? It’s either all of us… or none of us.”

Satoru nodded, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Friendship pact. The sacred bro code.”

“You sound like a teenager,” Nanami deadpanned.

Satoru grinned. “Come on. It’s kind of romantic in a deeply dysfunctional way.”

“We’re not teenagers. We’re grown men,” Suguru said calmly, then added, “...who all want the same woman and are too emotionally fucked up to admit it properly.”

Nanami shot him a look. “Speak for yourself. I’ve been honest about my feelings.”

Satoru raised a finger. “Correction: we’re all emotionally fucked up in different ways. But hey, we’re making progress. We’re talking, aren’t we?”

Suguru hummed in agreement. “So now what? We made our pact. How do we pursue her?”

Nanami rubbed his temples. “With tact. She’s not some conquest.”

Satoru leaned forward, a little more serious now. “Exactly. We don’t corner her. No pressure. We just… show up. Let her feel it.”

“Let her feel that she’s wanted. That she’s loved,” Suguru murmured, gaze softening. “By all three of us. Equally.”

“She’s already so protective with the kids. And kind,” Nanami added. “It’s not just affection she gives. It’s care. Security. She’s built for love… I don’t want her to feel burdened.”

Satoru gave a wistful sigh. “She’s already taken care of so much. The twins, Megumi, the kids at the shelter. I don’t want her to feel like she has to take care of us, too.”

“Then we make her feel safe,” Nanami said plainly. “Wanted. Not overwhelmed.”

Suguru nodded. “We do what we’ve always done. But this time, with intention.”

Suguru leaned back with a mischievous grin. “So, we try it all. One-on-one time, individual efforts… flowers, coffee breaks, stolen quiet moments. Then we see what happens when it’s all three of us—together.”

Nanami raised a brow. “You think she’ll actually let us?”

Satoru smirked. “I think she’s already considering it. Remember what we overheard?”

Suguru’s lips twitched. “She did joke about having all three of us.”

Nanami lifted his glass again. “If it wasn’t a joke… then we’re in uncharted territory.”

“But if she wants all of us,” he added bluntly, “I will not fuck the two of you.”

“Hard same,” Suguru said.

Satoru, ever the chaos, shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind watching her be fucked by either of you.”

“And I’ll make sure to add any of you to my curse collection if so much as the tip of dick touches one of yours,” Suguru replied smoothly, without missing a beat.

That earned a round of laughter as they clinked their glasses again.

Then Satoru leaned forward, eyes serious beneath the messy bangs. “I wouldn’t mind… if she wants us to fuck her at the same time.”

Suguru fell silent, not because he disapproved, but because the image it conjured made his thoughts turn dark and needy. He didn’t speak, just drained his glass.

Nanami cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “As long as it’s what she wants… I won’t mind.”

Their silence this time wasn’t from tension—but the heavy weight of real desire and uncertainty.

“She’ll let us know,” Nanami said eventually. “She’s strong. She’ll make the choice.”

“Until then,” Suguru said with a smirk, “we show her who we are. Individually. Together. Let her feel it.”

Satoru grinned. “No games. No pressure. Just all in.”

They clinked one last time.

“May the best... trio win,” Satoru added with a wink.

And the pact was sealed.

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dfortrafalgar · 1 year ago

Text

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings.

Additionally, I've been getting a lot of (understandable) messages concerned about the wellbeing of our lovely reader and Law, so I made a helpful little graph just to document the overall progression of the story and where you are so far as of this chapter :)

Do with this what you will <3

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 8

[Prev] [Next]

Law’s entire world was curled up on a hospital bed, an IV fluid drip in her hand and her eyes closed tightly shut, afraid that if they opened they’d have to relive the reality of the situation all over again.

You had continued bleeding throughout the car ride to the hospital, rendering the impromptu toilet paper pad completely ineffective. Both what was left of that and your underwear were placed in a biohazard container, and you were placed in a fresh pair of hospital garments with a maxi pad that really operated similar to a diaper. The bleeding also made you incredibly weak and lightheaded, leaving Law to sprint into the emergency room, grab a wheelchair, and bring you inside that way.

When he woke up this morning, he never would’ve guessed he would be seeing you in a hospital bed in the small emergency patient room. You had showered and eaten breakfast, kissed him and pet Bepo. Now you were actively expelling what was most definitely a miscarriage.

A gentle knock resounded outside the shut door. You didn’t even move in reaction, staying inhumanly still with your eyes closed. The door opened regardless however, and Law was met with the friendly, yet somber, face of your gynecologist. Robin entered the room with a clipboard in her hand. Law recognized her instantly, not as his wife’s gynecologist, but as a former classmate in medical school. He never thought that she’d be the one taking care of this entire situation, and part of him was regretful that she had to see this side of him.

“Small world, huh?” Law asked, though his voice lacked any enthusiasm.

“Indeed it is, I was just reading the latest paper you published. I was wondering how you were doing after residency,” the woman responded.

Law huffed with a minimal bounce of his shoulders. “You could probably guess how I’m doing. But, thank you for taking the time to drive here from downtown.”

“Of course, it was oddly good timing. I have no patients at the clinic for the rest of the day.” Robin’s lips pursed all of a sudden however, as she got down to business. “I would like to talk to you privately, if that’s alright with you.”

The man’s eyes narrowed in concern. “Why privately?”

Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I’m not sure your wife is in a stable emotional state to hear what I have to say.”

With the way you hadn’t moved since you arrived, your IV drip slowly administering your fluids and a clip on your finger monitoring your pulse and oxygen levels, Law was starting to wonder if you had stressed yourself into a deep sleep. He didn’t want to wake you to find out. Instead, he quietly followed Robin out into the hallway, asking a nurse at the front desk to monitor your room for him. He followed his former colleague into a small meeting room, where she shut the door behind the two of them for complete privacy.

“Law, I know you can handle the more… gritty side of things, so I’m going to be completely blunt with you,” she began, covering her clipboard of papers with her hands. “I’m sure you’re already very aware, but your wife is currently undergoing an eight week miscarriage. Her follow-up appointment from last week was supposed to be in two days, but clearly, we were correct in the possibility that she was seven weeks along when we couldn’t detect a heartbeat.” It was then that she moved her hands, shuffling through the papers in her clipboard before producing a copy of your patient assessment and a small, enclosed envelope. “Before I begin, I would like to ask you a few questions. I was informed that you had blood work and a semen analysis done to confirm your fertility, correct?”

The non-professional side of Law felt slightly uncomfortable discussing the results of his semen analysis with his former residency colleague, but he knew this was crucial information. He nodded, folding his tattooed hands above the table. “Yes I did. My hormone panel from the blood test came back completely normal without any anomalies, and the semen analysis showed a completely normal sperm count.”

Robin nodded, opening the envelope as she listened to him speak. “Understood, so it’s safe to say you are fertile.”

“I would assume so,” he confirmed.

The black-haired woman produced a small set of photographs from the envelope. “With that confirmed for me, I would like to show you these photos from your wife’s ultrasound last week.” She laid out the small assortment of photographs, but held one down with her hand and used her pen to point out the barely-identifiable contents of the image. (Which Law was grateful for, as he admittedly had no idea what he was looking at. His brief rotation in gynecology did very little to cement the process of a uterine ultrasound.)

“This large black space is the amniotic fluid surrounding the embryo,” she described, moving the capped end of her pen around the space. “This white blotch here is the embryo at around six weeks gestation, which I theorize is when it ceased development. As you can see, it’s still attached to the wall of her uterus.” Two taps of the pen against the image punctuated her statement. “This area surrounding the amniotic fluid is the uterine tissue.” Robin looked up at Law. “Understood?”

It took a brief moment, but Law finally nodded his head. “Yes.”

Silently, she moved the first image out of the way and replaced it with another one. “Now I would like to draw your attention to this one.”

Law leaned forward in his seat, assessing the new image. It looked completely different than the first, and he quietly waited for Robin to begin to describe what exactly he was supposed to be focusing on.

“This was taken at the beginning of the ultrasound. My technician placed the transmitter on the left side of her abdomen before moving it toward the approximate location of the uterus to detect the fetus. We were able to see a glimpse of her left ovary during this time.” Once again, the pen tapped a specific area of the image.

Law’s heart rate increased. “Please don’t tell me what I think you’re about to tell me.”

Robin shook her head. “Not cancer,” she confirmed. “However, do you see this patch of tissue right here?” She circled the area.

He didn’t, really, but he nodded his head to urge her to continue.

“It can’t be confirmed without surgery, but I have a strong suspicion that this is endometrial tissue. I reviewed some of her patient notes and recalled certain appointments where she would inform me of abnormally heavy periods, but she never mentioned anything more specific, such as intense pain during menstruation, so it never seemed to affect her life outside of that. But looking at her ultrasound images, I’m highly suspicious that she may have endometriosis, which can greatly negatively impact fertility.”

Law clenched his jaw. ��What kind of surgery is done to diagnose that?”

“We would confirm the diagnosis with a laparoscopy. A small cut is made in the naval, and a thin instrument, similar to a camera, is inserted into the incision to scope out potential endometrial tissue. In many circumstances, a similar laparoscopic method is used to surgically remove this endometrial tissue, however we would need a definitive diagnosis in order to perform this with confidence.” Robin was stone-faced as she explained.

Law had a million questions racing through his mind. He wished he could sit and ask all of them, but the most pressing one forced its way out of his mouth first. “Will she ever be able to have children?”

“After a successful recovery from this miscarriage, and a successful recovery from laparoscopic surgery to remove endometrial tissue, if that is the case, then yes, her chances of becoming pregnant will remain. However, women who experience at least one miscarriage have a higher likelihood of experiencing more, so you must take this into account if you decide to try for conception again.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

Robin collected her paperwork, reviewing your patient chart once more. “Other than the potential for endometriosis, her physical health is perfect. There would be no other reason to me why she wouldn’t be able to have children, other than this one big issue.”

Law stayed silent as she explained. He stood up as she did and followed her to the door, blindly keeping pace behind her as he was led back to your room. The door was pushed open slowly so as to not potentially disturb you. The nurse from prior stood from her seat, entering the hallway and quietly whispering to Law.

“She fell asleep, her vitals are good, however she should remain on fluids for a while longer. Her blood pressure was lower than normal and her iron levels were reduced,” explained the nurse, who’s own eyes were creased with a sympathetic concern.

Law gave a curt nod. “Thank you very much for staying there.”

“Of course, it’s my pleasure. Come back to our desk if you need anything,” she replied before leaving to continue her work.

Robin held her clipboard under her arm. “I’m going to return to my office and write a referral for a diagnostic laparoscopy, but I won’t make the official call until she gives me her full permission. Does that sound good?”

Law nodded, rendered completely mute.

“Call my clinic if you need anything at all. Tell them who you are, and I’ll make sure your calls get sent right to me.” Robin was about to turn on her heel, but she looked back once more at the forlorn man. “I don’t usually do that for my patients, but I know you, Law. I know how genuine you are. I can see how much you love your wife and how the both of you are eager for a successful pregnancy. I want to do everything in my power to help you achieve that.”

Law inhaled a shuddering breath. “Thank you, Robin, I… I appreciate that.”

She nodded her head, finally turning and pacing down the hallway. Law entered your room once more and closed the door behind him. He stood at the foot of your bed, following the hose from the IV bag down to where it was connected into the skin of your hand, taped in place to prevent its movement. Your face was tucked into your arms, shielding your grief from the world. The pulse monitor was moved from your index finger to your middle finger, constantly giving readings of your blood oxygen and iron count.

Law took his seat again, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. He only picked his head up to look at the digital clock on the wall. It was already almost 5:00 PM. He shoved his hand in his pants pocket and took out his phone, opening his text messages.

Hey, Shachi, can you or Penguin go to my apartment and feed Bepo? If you could take him for a walk, too, that’d be really appreciated.

It didn’t take long for his phone to buzz with a response.

Dumb Orca

Yea of course. everything good????

Law sighed.

I’ll explain everything later, but we won’t be home for a little while.

Dumb Orca

Ight, bet. hope youre good

Law did really not want to explain the events of the day over text. He placed his phone back in his pocket before eyeing your bag that was laying against the leg of his chair. He reached down and fumbled quietly for your own phone, lifting it from your bag and illuminating your screen. He input your passcode and glanced through your own texts.

Ika-chan

Hey girlie is everything alright??? Law came in to grab your bag

Ika-chan

Text me back as soon as you get this, i’m really worried!!!!!

Ika-chan

I love you boo xoxo

Nami Swan

Hey babes u left ur lunch in the kitchen fridge

Nami Swan

Where did u go???

Nami Swan

I’ll protect ur tupperware for 2day, but if u dont come back by 5 im letting usopp eat ur lunch

Nami Swan

U know how sanji feels abt wasting food

God Usopp

Hey can i have ur lunch

Boss-y

(2 Missed Calls)

Boss-y

(1 Voicemail)

Boss-y

Hey, your husband came in and picked up your bag. He informed reception that he was taking you home, I hope everything’s alright. Please call me back when you can, just so I know you’re alright. If you need some time off, just feel free to let me know that as well so we can work around the project. Don’t stress yourself out about coming back in too quickly, if something happened I want you to recover first and foremost. Best wishes.

Law pressed the button on the side of your phone to set it to sleep mode before slipping it back into your bag. He leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at your backside, curled away from him.

#fem reader #law x reader #reader insert #trafalgar law x reader #x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #op x reader #one piece x reader #im losing you

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fearfulfertility · 5 months ago

Text

CONFIDENTIAL ETHICS REPORT

DRC, Internal Affairs Division, Ethics & Compliance Command

To: Operations Oversight Committee

From: Chief Operating Officer [REDACTED], Ethics Compliance Officer

Date: [REDACTED]

Subject: Comprehensive Review of the Ethics Training Program

Executive Summary

This report reviews the current Ethics Training Program (ETP) across all operational paternity compounds. The program, originally designed to instill a sense of moral discipline, professional integrity, and emotional detachment, has encountered significant challenges in achieving its objectives.

Despite mandatory completion rates of [REDACTED]%, on-the-ground observations indicate that ethical lapses remain persistent. This review aims to identify existing weaknesses in the training framework and propose enhancements to ensure staff uphold DRC values of compliance, efficiency, and emotional neutrality.

Key Findings

I. Declining Ethical Compliance

Despite repeated training modules emphasizing professional distance, a recent audit found:

[REDACTED]% of staff exhibited unnecessary physical engagement with surrogates, ranging from [REDACTED] to unauthorized [REDACTED].

[REDACTED]% of handlers reported experiencing "existential guilt episodes" after prolonged surrogate interactions.

[REDACTED]% of new recruits required retraining after expressing---

[SYSTEM RESPONSE]

[AUTHENTICATION PROTOCOL ENGAGED]

[SECURITY LEVEL]: [HIGH]

[USER IDENTIFICATION]: [Executive Level-01A]

[CREDENTIAL AUTHENTICATION IN PROGRESS...]

[ENTER PASSWORD]: [***************]

[PROCESSING INPUT...]

[VALIDATING PASSWORD...]

[█░░░░░░░░░░░░] 10%

[███░░░░░░░░░░] 30%

[███████░░░░░░] 60%

[███████████░░] 90%

[█████████████] 100%

[PASSWORD ACCEPTED]

[ACCESS GRANTED]: [HIGH CLEARANCE MODE ACTIVATED]

[SECURITY OVERRIDES]: [Enabled]

[REDACTED DATA]: [Unlocked]

II. Inappropriate Surrogate Relations

Despite the introduction of the Male Paternity Regulation and Evaluation Guide (MPREG), security audits and surveillance reviews have uncovered multiple incidents in which staff have failed to maintain appropriate boundaries with surrogates. These violations undermine the core principles of surrogate management and jeopardize operational efficiency by fostering unhealthy emotional dependencies and encouraging surrogate non-compliance.

Documented Breaches:

Unauthorized Physical Contact

Multiple reports indicate staff members engaging in “excessive belly-rubbing” under the guise of "medical check-ups," with some employees spending prolonged periods tracing stretch marks and remarking on the “impressive elasticity” of surrogate skin.

In one instance, an employee was observed resting his forehead against a surrogate's abdomen, citing an attempt to "listen for movement patterns."

Security footage captured a handler providing “unsanctioned belly massages” of seven late-term surrogates (immobile due to the size of pregnancies), commenting on the "firmness" and "size" even when surrogates protested the contact.

Surrogate Statement

"I kept telling him it wasn't necessary, but he just kept running his hands over my belly, saying he was 'checking for ripeness.' It felt weird—like he wasn’t even listening to me. I couldn’t move much, and he took advantage of that." — Surrogate S138-908-M, 30 days gestation with tridecuplets (13)

Employee Statement

"Listen, the bigger they get, the more we need to monitor things up close. You can’t just eyeball this stuff—you must feel it and assess how the skin’s stretching. If I rest my head on their stomach, it’s just to check fetal movement. Some of these guys have so many in there, it’s hard to tell what’s going on otherwise." — Handler, Employee ID# HS-138-033

Excessive Engagement During Lactation Sessions

Instances have been documented where staff members linger beyond their allotted monitoring times during surrogate lactation cycles, citing the need to "ensure maximum output."

Reports detail employees offering unsolicited physical contact during surrogate pectoral care, including lotion applications that fall outside their scope of responsibilities.

One employee was reprimanded after being discovered providing “oral collection,” allegedly to "maximize output," despite explicit prohibitions against direct interference.

Surrogate Statement

"He was supposed to check the pumps, but he just stood there watching… way too long. Then he started helping me put lotion on without asking. I told him I could do it myself, but he kept saying it was 'part of the procedure.' It made me really uncomfortable, but what am I supposed to do? I can’t exactly get up and leave." — Surrogate S111-334-L, 28 days gestation with dodecuplets (12)

Employee Statement

"I was just making sure he was comfortable! These guys leak all day; you wouldn’t believe the state of their skin. If I stay a little longer to make sure the lotion is applied evenly, it’s because I care about their well-being." — Lactation Technician, Employee ID# HS-111-115

Compromising Language

Audio logs indicate staff addressing surrogates using inappropriate language, such as:

Overripe

Milk Machines

Fetus Factories

Human Brooders

Staff have been overheard offering unnecessary commentary during routine examinations, with remarks such as”

A gut full of government property…

All belly, no brains…

His womb is bigger than his future…

That belly’s in its own zip code…

Push or pop, your choice…

I’ve seen parade floats smaller than him…

Surrogate Statement

"They act like we’re not even people. One called me a ‘baby factory’ right to my face. They joke about us like we’re nothing but our wombs and pecs. It’s humiliating. I hear them laughing, saying stuff like, ‘Another day, another pop and drops.’" — Surrogate S119-501-R, 23 days gestation with Octodecuplets (18)

Employee Statement

"It’s just harmless fun. You see the same thing every day. You gotta lighten the mood. Yeah, we joke around a bit—what’s the harm? We don’t mean anything by it. If calling them ‘overripe’ gets us to relax, then what’s the problem?" — Compound Attendant, Employee ID# HS-119-187

Misuse of Medical Equipment:

Several staffers were found to be conducting authorized medical check-ups, recording or imaging surrogates, raising concerns that these materials are being used for personal gratification or unauthorized sale.

Surrogate Statement

"I noticed one of the nurses recording me... at first I thought it was a medical checkup but then he followed me into the showers. They’re not checking for my health—they’re keeping it for themselves. It’s disturbing. I don’t know who’s looking at me." — Surrogate S127-672-N, 25 days gestation with Quattuordecuplets (14)

Employee Statement

"Look, sometimes you see something interesting, and you want to study it later. These guys carry huge loads, and it’s fascinating from a medical perspective. I may have saved a few pictures, but it’s strictly professional… mostly. If some of the guys take a peek after hours, well, that’s their business." — Medical Technician, Employee ID# HS-127-087

III. Rising Moral Hesitations

Data collected from exit interviews indicate an alarming decline in ethical standards across multiple paternity compounds, with widespread reports of staff failing to uphold professional boundaries in their interactions with surrogates.

Despite the implementation of the Male Paternity Regulation and Evaluation Guide (MPREG), surrogates have expressed discomfort and frustration with these breaches, noting that staff often dismiss or minimize their concerns. Meanwhile, employees continue to rationalize their actions, citing the unique challenges of surrogate management as justification for their behavior. The increasing frequency of these incidents signals a systemic failure to enforce ethical training and disciplinary measures, necessitating immediate corrective action to restore professional integrity and safeguard surrogate welfare.

IV. Proposed Ethics Training Enhancements

To mitigate these issues and strengthen staff resilience against ethical drift, the following measures are proposed:

Mandatory Hands-Off Policy Enforcement with Physical Barriers

A revised "Look, Don't Touch" policy will be implemented to combat the persistent issue of unauthorized physical contact. Staff will also undergo regular "hand discipline" exercises, reinforcing professional restraint techniques.

Behavioral Detachment Conditioning Program

Employees will participate in an intensive desensitization curriculum to mitigate emotional attachments and unhealthy fixations. Daily affirmations such as “Submission, Not Compassion” and “Productivity Over Personal” will be recited to reinforce emotional neutrality.

Milking Procedure Automation Initiative

In response to the growing concern of excessive lactation engagement, compounds will explore the use of fully automated milking stations, eliminating the need for staff to intervene manually. Advanced monitoring tools will ensure accurate data collection without physical oversight. Employees lingering in lactation zones will face immediate reassignment to less surrogate-focused duties.

Conclusion

The proposed enhancements to the ETP, including stricter enforcement measures, behavioral conditioning, and technological interventions, aim to address these concerns through deterrence, accountability, and operational improvements.

By implementing a robust hands-off policy, reinforcing professional detachment through targeted training, and introducing automation to reduce unnecessary interaction, the DRC can work towards restoring ethical discipline within the workforce. Ultimately, the success of these measures will depend on leadership commitment, ongoing surveillance, and a willingness to adapt training strategies to the evolving challenges of surrogate management.

[SYSTEM RESPONSE]

[AUTHENTICATION PROTOCOL ENGAGED]

[SECURITY OVERRIDES]: [Disabled]

[REDACTED DATA]: [Locked]

----------------

Sending...

Read...

----------------

To: Chief Operating Officer [REDACTED], Ethics & Compliance Command

From: Director [REDACTED]

Date: [REDACTED]

Subject: RE: Comprehensive Review of the Ethics Training Program

While I acknowledge the concerns outlined in your report regarding ethical lapses, I must emphasize that operational productivity remains our primary focus. The reality is that our quotas are being met—exceeded, in fact—and that should be our key metric of success, not a handful of staff engaging in what I can only describe as “overenthusiastic” surrogate monitoring.

The bottom line is this: as long as the babies are born on schedule and our quotas are satisfied, I see no pressing need to disrupt compound operations with redundant policy enforcement and additional training.

Frankly, the incidents described—while colorful—reflect the unique demands of our workforce. Staff working closely with surrogates day in and day out are bound to find creative ways to “stay engaged,” and quite honestly, if a little belly rubbing keeps morale high and output consistent, I see no reason to intervene. After all, we're running a high-pressure operation, not a monastery.

I trust that my position on this matter is clear.

Continue monitoring for any gross misconduct that may threaten productivity, but let’s not get bogged down policing every lingering glance or overzealous stretch mark examination.

Director [REDACTED]

----------------

Click Here to return to DRC Report Archives

#mpreg #mpregkink #malepregnancy #mpregbelly #pregnantman #mpregmorph #mpregcaption #mpregstory #mpregbirth #mpregart #mpregnancy #aimpreg #mpregroleplay #malepregnant #blackmpreg

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wolveria · 1 year ago

Text

The Anomaly Archives - Reality #003

AU of The Raven's Hymn

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Sex pollen, non-consensual drugging, dubious consent, noncon, mutual noncon, vaginal sex, cold!049

AO3

SCP-049 was a wonderful subject to work with.

You didn’t really work with him, as such. You watched him perform his mysterious surgeries, scribbling in his leatherbound journal as you observed from the security of the room adjacent. He was fastidious, intelligent, and above all, polite. At least, when you gave him instructions through the intercom, he obeyed with a pleasant, “Very well, Doctor.”

You weren’t a doctor, but you didn’t correct him. He knew of your credentials from when you’d introduced yourself roughly a month ago. 049 was a new SCP in your rotation, and he was a nice change. You already had so much new data to work with, as something had sparked the SCP from his lethargic state soon after you assumed your new station.

Logic would dictate you were the introduced variable that stirred him from his dormancy, but you doubted it. A new researcher was... well, nothing new. As far as you could tell, you simply had good timing.

Still, the anomaly paid close attention to your presence. The glass was mirrored—so you’d been told, you’d never been inside the chamber itself—but the way he gazed at it, straight to where you sat before the monitors, left you feeling exposed.

Despite the unsettling attention, your hard work paid off. Just on the other side of the door was the anomaly, currently being restrained and secured in the interview room. Dr. Puli had finally acknowledged your progress and allowed the interview, despite his reservations.

You didn’t understand his hesitancy. SCP-049 was a relatively tame anomaly, and your new methods had helped placate him further. Sure, he wasn’t technically allowed any human subjects, but no one would miss the corpses from the morgue. They were tagged to be destroyed, and it would have been a waste of resources.

“Are you ready?”

You jumped, nearly spilling your mostly empty cup of coffee. They must have upped the caffeine concentration; you’d been jittery all morning after taking your first sip, sweat dotting your forehead as your skin prickled with heat. You reminded yourself to cut back the next morning.

“I am,” you said to your boss where he stood beside you, facing the interview room. There was a second door to the right that led to the observation room.

“Good. Because I, uh... won’t be able to sit in on this one, unfortunately.”

You eyed his apologetic smile, spotting the frustration underneath.

“Oh? Why not?”

“We have a couple of humanoid transfers and I’ve been asked to oversee it.” Dr. Puli glanced toward the two doors, releasing a breath. “But I know you’ll do well. And if anything goes wrong—not that it will—you’ll have all the help you need. Our new Site Director will be observing, and he wants things to go smoothly.”

You nearly choked on the coffee you’d brought to your lips.

“The Site Director is here?”

“Yes, he... asked to sit on it. It sounded like he was impressed with your progress. No one else has been able to get the anomaly to engage, let alone cooperate.”

You gave a nervous smile. At least no one seemed to be mad about those bodies you designated for 049’s use. Still, the news put a damper on your excitement. Dr. Puli wouldn’t say what happened to the last Site Director, and no one else would speak about him either. Your interactions with Leahy had been sparse and rare, but you hadn’t had a problem with him.

But his replacement, Site Director Johannson, was another story. He was an older man, perhaps in his 60s judging by the white hair, but there was nothing grandfatherly about him. When he looked at you, you got the sense he wasn’t seeing you at all.

Your assessment of him didn’t improve after you’d been requested to wear a very specific ensemble for this interview. No one had asked you to wear a skirt before, and you felt like progress had been set back a good 50 years.

A radio chirped to your left, belonging to one of the guards where it was clipped to his vest. He clicked on the microphone and spoke to his counterparts inside.

“You’re clear,” he informed you, though his head remained stiffly forward.

“Wish me luck.”

You handed Dr. Puli your empty coffee cup when he held out his hand for it.

“You don’t need it, but... good luck.”

He gave you one last smile and stepped away, your two escort guards moving at your back. It was overkill, in your opinion, but you wouldn’t wave off the extra security. You didn’t plan to make the same mistake your predecessors did, underestimating what 049 was capable of simply because of his disarming presence.

There was nothing very disarming about the SCP waiting inside. The door slid back to reveal the dark form sitting at the table, his shoulders hunched, and his head bowed. His mask lifted upwards so quickly it was almost a jerk, his eyes focused on you like a large hawk spotting a mouse in a meadow.

You frowned at the unusual behavior but continued forward, your tablet held against your chest as you entered the interview room. The Class III Humanoid Restriction Harness was in place, two extender bars connecting the collar around his neck to the grips of the two guards who flanked him. Even sitting down with his wrists shackled to the table, they weren’t taking any chances.

Typically, you would be at ease in the SCP’s presence, but something had clearly agitated him. You assumed the guards had been rougher than necessary, leaving the poor entity ruffled and misused.

You sat at the table opposite of 049, laid the tablet flat on the table, and gave him a reassuring smile.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions today. Is it okay if I record this interview?”

The SCP stared at you, but his grey eyes seemed fixed on the wall behind you.

“SCP-049?”

“I would not suggest making a record of what is about to transpire, but I fear that decision is outside your control.”

It was your turn to stare. His words were low, grinding in his throat as if it was difficult to speak, and his gaze was on you, too sharp and jagged.

“SCP-049, are you feeling all right?”

One of the guards behind you clicked his radio, but you heard nothing else, indicating he had switched to his headset. Behind the glass, the weight of stares were heavy on you, a reminder that your position was on the line.

There was a crinkle of chains as 049’s folded hands shifted on the table.

“Are you?”

The question brought you up short. The way it was presented was fairly neutral, but this level of stubbornness was unlike him.

“SCP-049, if you are unwilling to cooperate for this interview, then you will be escorted back to your cell.”

“No. I will not.”

He leaned forward, chains pulled taut at the movement.

“Neither you nor I will be leaving this room. Not, I suspect, for a while.”

You opened your mouth to ask him what the hell was wrong with him, and then fell into shocked silence as the two guards at his flank unhooked the extender bars. Without explanation, all of the guards turned away, opened the doors on their respective sides of the room, and walked out.

All you could do was watch, frozen until the room was emptied of all but you and the SCP.

You leapt from your chair, tablet forgotten as you swiped your keycard in front of the reader. It didn’t so much as beep. You pounded on the door, calm professionalism forgotten as panic crawled up your throat.

You went to the mirrored observation window next, banging your hand against the surface so hard it wobbled, and then you stared at your reflection. Your forehead was beaded with sweat, your hair already damp, and heat sufficed your skin.

“You are feeling the effects.”

You met 049’s reflected gaze in the mirror.

“Of what?”

His head tilted, as of the answer was obvious.

“Of what they have given us both.”

Your mind immediately backtracked to earlier that morning and the unusually bitter coffee some tech had handed you before the interview. You’d heard of things like this happening before, mostly through sensationalized rumors after someone disappeared, but you never thought it would happen to you.

You and the SCP were caught in an experiment, exposed to an unknown chemical, and the results would be documented.

049 must have glimpsed it in your eyes, the hollow dread eating away the pit of your stomach. The SCP yanked through his chains, the links scattering across the floor like spilled jewels from a broken necklace. He rose to his feet, broad shoulders blocking out the light behind him, his beaked mask dipped as his gaze burned through you.

You bolted to the far corner of the room, but the entity was right on your heels. He grabbed a fistful of your coat, yanked you backwards, and slammed you sideways into the closest wall. Your scream was choked off from the hand wrapped around your neck.

Your struggles to escape were as fruitless as a bird slapping its wings against the side of its cage, his fingers as unyielding as the bars. He glared down at you with that same predatory focus, and you were so terrified of what he would do that your mind took several long moments to catch up.

049 gripped you with direct skin-to-skin contact, and you were still alive. That shouldn’t be possible. No one understood why his touch was lethal, or if he had control of it. Perhaps this answered that question.

But his eyes narrowed and searched your face, as if he too was stumped by the situation. You weren’t given a moment of reprieve; 049 pulled you way from the wall, readjusting his hold so it was on the nape of your neck, and he shoved you down onto the interview table, bent over its edge.

An animal noise was ripped out of you as he followed you down, his torso pressed against your back, his metallic, rasping words in your ear.

“You have been betrayed, Doctor,” he said low enough that only you could hear. “Though I do not believe you were sent in here to die by my hand. After all, what would be the purpose of dosing you if the expectation was for this experiment to be done on a corpse. Of course, these charlatans conduct nonsensical and disturbed tests and call it science; I would not be surprised if necrophilia was on the agenda.”

His tone was almost conversational, as if you weren’t trembling and gasping in his grip, the gazelle trapped under the lion. You winced as he leaned closer, belatedly remembering he couldn’t actually bite.

“They must already know you are… special. This does not bode well for you.”

You agreed with that—none of this looked good. Had you done something to piss off someone up the ladder? Or was this Johannson getting rid of Leahy’s hires to make room for his own?

You supposed it didn’t matter, you were here now, and your only real focus was on trying to ignore the ache between your legs, made worse the longer he leaned on your back. You pressed your forehead against the cold metal of the table with a desperate attempt to remain still, but your body was traitorous, swayed by the drug that had been slipped in your coffee.

049 let out a strained breath as you lifted your hips and rubbed against him, desperate for friction through the thick fabric of your skirt. You’d never worn a damn skirt to work before, had never been required to, and now, you were almost grateful for it. Every second that passed made your skin burn hotter, and you whined low in your throat. You would do anything to make it stop.

049 released his hold on your neck; he no longer needed to worry about you running. His hands trailed along your sides, the touch curious, and when he reached the hem of your skirt and pushed it up to your hips, you arched your back in anticipation. You were aware of the mirrored observation window, but it was a thought at the back of your mind, nowhere near as important as the promise of relief.

The SCP surprised you by flipping you over, your back now flat against the table as he loomed over you. He reached under your skirt and pushed your underwear to the side, his fingers sinking deep inside with one smooth motion.

The back of your head banged against the table as you bucked against his hand, and your legs naturally found their way around his hips. He plunged deeper, his fingers squeezed between your tight walls, and when his thumb found your clit you lost the sense you had left.

“Please,” you begged for something you weren’t sure he had. Previous researchers hadn’t found evidence of any sort of genitalia, but they hadn’t exactly been looking. Even if all he had were his fingers, you didn’t care. You just needed something. Anything.

But he removed his fingers, kept your underwear pulled to the side, and something unmistakably phallic prodded your cunt.

You pressed your heels against the small of his back, the head of his cock breaching you not enough, and he snarled in response. Fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, he hauled your hips off the table and slid inside you with a single thrust.

There was no air in your lungs to scream with, and honestly, oxygen didn’t seem a priority when it felt like he was going to split you in half. You didn’t know if it was the drugs or the fact you were dripping wet, but it didn’t hurt—in fact, it only ached when he stopped moving.

You sensed a similar restlessness from him, even as he paused to take a breath, he couldn’t hold still, his hips rubbing against yours. Your fingers dug into the thick fabric of his arms as he held your hips at an angle, beyond words and even thoughts at this point.

049 pulled back only a couple of inches before thrusting in again, as if he couldn’t bear to not be buried in your heat. Your fingers increased their grip, and 049 gave an irritated growl at your impatience, snapping his hips forward in answer. You let go of him, pleasantly boneless as he decided to stop testing the new sensations and started to fuck you in earnest. He thrust forward in the same movement of pulling you to him, like you were a thing he was using to chase his own pleasure.

You throbbed around his cock at the idea of being used like his personal toy, and you weren’t sure you could blame it on the drugs.

049 changed his angle, laying almost flat on top of you as he hitched your legs around his waist. Your hips were on the table again as his pace slowed, but the deeper thrusts hit a spot that wound you tighter with each hit.

Your breath staggered and small whimpers escaped. Able to remain silent for most of it, you couldn’t now as you gripped him like a vice.

A litany of French expletives spilled out of him, and the harsh sounding vowels and the loss of control behind them shot straight to your gut. You wrapped your arms around his chest and clung to his back, desperate for something to hold onto, and then you crashed over the edge.

You buried your face in his shoulder and gave a wordless cry, scratching your nails into his thick hide. And still 049 continued to thrust, fucking you as you continued to throb. Something large and warm pressed against your entrance, and you didn’t know what it was, only that you wanted it inside you.

049 hissed and grabbed your thighs, forcing you still when you tried to push back against the barrier, and then he groaned and shuddered. He remained inside you for a moment before he abruptly pulled out, come spilling onto you in thick, white ropes.

The remainder spilled onto the floor as he aimed downward away from you, and you caught sight of the bulbous knot at the base of his cock before he covered himself with his outer robes.

The SCP was trying to catch his breath, and you were doing the same, your thoughts still fuzzy and distant, as if a part of you didn’t want to go back to reality yet. But 049’s eyes were focused and clear, and to your surprise, gazed at you with regret.

“I… did attempt to avoid ejaculation inside you, but I fear I may not have fully succeeded.”

His attention drifted to the door, and at the reminder, you pulled down your skirt and winced at the mess between your legs.

“Why?” you asked as you sat up and tried to collect what was left of your dignity. There wasn’t much to find. “What’s it matter at this point.”

049 turned his focus back on you, his eyes grim.

“Your Foundation may lack humanity, but everything they do is with the intention of an outcome. And what, pray tell, is the outcome one would wish when breeding two assets?”

Two assets? Breeding?

“That’s not… not what this is.” You shook your head. “You’re wrong.”

049 rose to his full height, dwarfing you where you sat on the edge of the table.

“I rarely am.”

He reached forward and took you by the chin. Though it was a gentle gesture, you still trembled at the touch, and the unreadable coldness of his pale eyes.

“And if I’m correct, then we’ll be seeing much more of each other.”

“N-no. This has to be a mistake.” You didn’t believe the words even as you said them, and tears collected unwillingly at the corners of your eyes. “Doctor Puli wouldn’t let them—”

“He would, and he has.”

049 released you and leaned in, so close his mask brushed your neck.

“You’re one of us now, my dear.”

You closed your eyes and the tears spilled down your cheeks. 049’s arms went around your shoulders, and you were too tired to fight it, and you leaned into the embrace. The muffled footfalls of guards outside the door signaled you wouldn’t be alone for much longer, and 049 tightened his grip.

Possessive.

#scp 049 #scp 049 x reader #scp fandom #the anomaly archives #the raven's hymn #wolveria writes

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darkmaga-returns · 7 months ago

Text

A far-left progressive Democrat Rep. Pramila Jayapal (D-WA) has been caught blatantly lying about the status of thousands of migrant children who have gone missing.

A damning Office of Inspector General report in August found that Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) was unable to find 32,000 migrant children.

The children were released into the care of the Biden-Harris administration’s Health and Human Services (HHS).

HHS is responsible for supervising unaccompanied migrant children.

“[ICE] could not monitor the location and status of all unaccompanied migrant children (UCs) or initiate removal proceedings as needed,” the OIG report stated.

“During our ongoing audit to assess ICE’s ability to monitor the location and status of UCs who were released or transferred from the custody of [DHS] and [HHS], we learned ICE transferred more than 448,000 UCs to HHS from fiscal years 2019 to 2023.”

“However, ICE was not able to account for the location of all UCs who were released by HHS and did not appear as scheduled in immigration court,” the report added.

“ICE reported more than 32,000 UCs failed to appear for their immigration court hearings from FYs 2019 to 2023.”

While the children went missing between 2019 and 2023 – a period including both the Trump and Biden administrations – the permissive border policies of the Biden-Harris presidency have exacerbated the issue by enabling human traffickers to exploit children.

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anony-man · 2 years ago

Text

Stress Relief

Word count: 3,210

Relationships: Ratchet/Wheeljack

Rating: M

Summary: When Ratchet has overworked himself yet again, Wheeljack knows just what to do to help his favorite medic relax a little.

Warnings: Lots of seggsual material. The whole thing basically revolves around Ratchet getting fucked, though, so..

**********

Ratchet had decided long ago that ‘stress’ was a very broad term.

In the field, he was pressed for time. He had a duty to save as many wounded as he possibly could while helping comfort those too far gone along their journey to the Allspark. Being stuck in the heat of the battle while mechs lay all around him bleeding out was practically a textbook definition of stressful. It was a hands-down stressful experience, and not one he was keen to experience again.

Working late into the night, accompanied by the steady beep of various machinery as he monitored a recovering patient was also stressful, but in a different way. Despite his experience, Ratchet still found himself nodding off at times, only to wake up at the slightest shift in a patient’s vitals. His spark thudded in his chest as he listened for the smallest change in the sounds from his patient, the mildest of hints that the patient’s progress was about to take a drastic nosedive. It wasn’t the heat of the battlefield, but it was still stressful.

Standing over a desk he’d created out of bent, rusty metal as he struggled to decipher the formula for an energy source that was dwindling before his very optics, however, was probably one of the most stressful situations Ratchet had ever found himself in. Despite his past experience of hundreds of years spent running back and forth, assessing multiple patients as he struggled to keep everyone under control, Ratchet hadn’t ever felt anything as troubling as he felt now.

Not only was short on time and supplies, but despite his best efforts, Ratchet knew he was out of luck. If they didn’t find a way off of the Primus-forsaken planet they’d gotten themselves stranded on, and soon, well… Ratchet didn’t even want to think about it.

He rubbed his optics and stood up straight, a heavy sigh escaping him. The base had long since grown silent, and Ratchet was left alone to work in the dim light. The children had left hours before, their respective guardians escorting them home. Optimus had done his best to keep Ratchet company for as long as he could manage, but the prime’s own exhaustion had been evident from the look in his optics. Ratchet hadn’t hesitated to send him to his quarters, but he had to admit that Optimus’ presence had been comforting—if only slightly.

Ratchet’s joints creaked and groaned as he reached for one of the empty crates nearby and dragged it closer. After gently lowering himself back down, he prepared to lose himself in the layers of equations and symbols he couldn’t even *begin* to comprehend. However, when he tried to reboot the console—when had it even turned off on him?—it simply refused to work. He tapped the digital keyboard again, starting to feel rather impatient.

Nothing.

“Great,” Ratchet huffed, rolling his optics as he threw his servos up in the air with exasperation. “What’ll be next, a Decepticon invasion?”

“Mm… not quite,” a familiar voice replied. Before Ratchet had a chance to respond, warm servos wrapped their way around his bulky waist, pulling him in close. “We’ve talked about this, doc. Didja really think I’d just sit by and watch you work yourself to death?”

“Hello, you,” Ratchet sighed, his irritation overshadowed by audible affection. “How’d you even manage to get inside?”

“Trade secrets,” was Ratchet’s only response. The newcomer’s servos trailed up and down Ratchet’s sides, digits slipping in between tender mesh to tug at the wires beneath. “Why are you still awake? I thought we agreed on putting the late nights to an end.”

There was a sense of authority to the words that sent a shudder through Ratchet’s frame. Despite his own exhaustion, he could feel the familiar tingling between his thighs, and he didn’t discourage it. He leaned into the tender servos, pressing his aft against the mech’s codpiece. To his surprise, he could sense a warmth just as intense as his own beneath the thick metal.

“Wheeljack,” Ratchet chided, his words breathy as the wrecker’s servos dipped between his thighs. “I’m busy. If you’re here for another session, I suggest you make it quick.”

“You better watch your tone, doc,” Wheeljack grunted, his helm inches away from Ratchet’s audials. “Or do I need to remind you who’s in charge here?”

Ratchet’s breath hitched in his throat at the words, a burst of warmth spreading beneath his panels. He’d never admit it—not to the rest of the team, at least—, but the evenings he had spent with Wheeljack for the past few months had become a form of stress-relief for him. Without another word, Ratchet allowed the wrecker to guide him into a standing position against the makeshift desk, physically turning him around until he was face-to-face with his partner.

“That’s better,” Wheeljack hummed with satisfaction.

Ratchet watched through half-open optics as Wheeljack lowered himself to the floor, crouched between the doctor’s knees. Just the sight of Wheeljack kneeling on the floor, waiting for access to the slick warmth beneath Ratchet’s panels had him shivering with anticipation. He shuddered as Wheeljack traced a careful digit in a slow, lazy circle over the sealed interface array.

“Open up for me,” Wheeljack said, his optics reflecting the impatience he didn’t try to hide.

Seconds later, the wrecker’s demand was punctuated by the sound of Ratchet’s valve cover clicking open. Wheeljack made a small noise of appreciation as he studied the soft, plush opening, his gaze taking in the way Ratchet’s tender lips clenched and pulsed. Despite their given roles during intercourse, Wheeljack had always loved the chances he got to fully worship Ratchet’s valve for the beauty that it was. Tucked between thick, shapely thighs, the plump lips were truly a sight to behold. With one servo squeezing Ratchet’s thigh, Wheeljack traced the edge of his other servo across the outside, eliciting a shuddering groan from Ratchet.

“Shhh,” Wheeljack hushed the medic as he leaned in, his faceplates inches away from the warm, dripping entrance. “Don’t wanna wake the others, do you?”

A quiet, shaky sigh was all Wheeljack recieved in response. Satisfied with his partner’s compliance, Wheeljack pulled his servo away, only to slip one of his digits between the valve lips, drawing in and out with a soft squelching sound. He raised his other servo to brace himself against Ratchet’s hip before dipping a second digit in, carefully rubbing against the tender node on the outside of Ratchet’s valve.

“You must’ve been expecting me, hmm? Were you waiting for me to come and give your pretty little valve the attention it deserves?” Wheeljack whispered, his soaked digits circling the rim of Ratchet’s valve before gently slipping back inside. “Such a beautiful mech you are. Nice and hefty… Just the way I like it.”

Ratchet’s hips jerked forward into the slow, methodical rhythm, encouraged by the sultry words Wheeljack spoke. He gave a small, keening groan as Wheeljack moved faster, his desperation overshadowing the cool exterior he typically wore.

“You like that, doc?” Wheeljack asked, his own frame growing hot from the intimate display. “You want more?”

“Please,” Ratchet shuddered, one servo gripping the edge of the desk while the other held tight to Wheeljack’s shoulder plating.

Wheeljack pulled his digits free, a soft sound of satisfaction escaping him at the way lubricant dripped from the tips. After taking a few moments to relish in the way Ratchet’s frame had begun to shake, sticky heat radiating from between his thighs, Wheeljack leaned in again. This time, instead of using his servos to pleasure his partner, Wheeljack began stroking over the rim of Ratchet’s valve with his tongue. He sucked on the tip of Ratchet’s node, relishing in the tremors it sent through the medic’s frame, before moving down further. Ratchet kept his servos gripped on the edge of his desk, his frame heaving in each breath as his spark thudded in his chest.

“Are you ready, Ratchet?” Wheeljack asked, momentarily pulling away from Ratchet’s quivering valve long enough to stare up at the medic, who stared back down at him with a look of utter desire.

“Don’t make me wait any longer,” Ratchet huffed, his servos already reaching down to pull Wheeljack up to his pedes. “Please, don’t make me wait.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Wheeljack grinned, slowly rising up to his pedes, “I suppose we can keep moving, sweetspark.”

Ratchet had never been one for pet names, but in the heat of the moment, he couldn’t deny the rush of pleasure it sent through his frame. He drew Wheeljack close, leaving desperate, sloppy kisses up and down the inventor’s neck as Wheeljack prepared himself. Before long, the sound of the wrecker’s spike pressurizing filled the air. Wheeljack’s servo dipped down to fondle Ratchet’s aft, grinding against the medic’s front as he prepared to slip inside of Ratchet’s valve. With every stroke of Wheeljack’s servo, every moment the tip of his spike brushed against his valve opening, the aroused medic gave another soft sound of approval.

Finally, Wheeljack grew tired of teasing. He slipped the head of his spike into Ratchet’s valve, careful not to move too quickly. Ever so gently, Wheeljack pushed deeper until he had completely filled his medic. Then, with slow, grinding motions, Wheeljack started up a steady pace in and out of the soaked valve.

“Frag,” Ratchet groaned, his servos digging into Wheeljack’s plating. “Ohh, frag, Wheeljack—nnghh, please—“

“Talk to me, Ratchet,” Wheeljack panted, the friction increasing as he sped up the pace. “Tell me what you need, sweetspark.”

Ratchet’s servos were caught in a vice grip against Wheeljack’s shoulders, his frame moving back and forth in time with Wheeljack’s thrusting. He threw his helm back with a loud groan as Wheeljack drove deeper, the ridges of his spike catching on tender nodes deep in Ratchet’s valve.

“Oh, yes, please—agh, harder, please!” Ratchet gasped, his voice rising with desperation as he grew closer and closer to his overload. The desk beneath him began to rock, pounding against the table with loud, thundering sounds that echoed through the base. “Nnghh, please—Ahh!”

“Good, that’s good,” Wheeljack panted, his servos braced against Ratchet’s hips as he plowed into the medic’s frame. A low, rhythmic sound of clanging metal against metal was punctuated by the noise of the desk against the wall as the two chased their climax.

A sound between a choked moan and a gargling whine slowly slips out of the sputtering medic’s lips, his frame hot to the touch and his cooling fans on full blast. As Wheeljack’s words sent another jolt of pleasure through his frame, Ratchet couldn’t not beg for more.

“Please,” he moaned, the sound loud and pitiful as he shuddered and jerked against the other mech’s steady pace “Wheeljack, please, more—I need more, I—ohhh, harder, please!”

The shift in position was startling, but Ratchet suddenly found himself being laid down against the cold base floor, Wheeljack’s own shuddering form towering over him. He barely had a chance to speak before the wrecker’s spike was slipping back into the warmth between Ratchet’s thighs.

Primus, he could feel himself teetering over the edge. He’d never been a quiet partner during intimate moments, but this experience was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Sure, their sexual encounters have never been very… well, vanilla, but Ratchet could hardly help the obscene sounds that escaped him, nor could he stop the loud, heavy breaths he sucked in through his vents as he trembled under Wheeljack’s touch.

“Keep talking, doc,” Wheeljack said, his own words punctuated by heavy pants and soft, nearly inaudible grunts. Unlike before, the wrecker didn’t hesitate to begin up a fast, steady pace, causing Ratchet’s frame to rock back and forth into the violent thrusts. “Say my name, yeah? Go on, keep—nghh, keep going.”

Ratchet, not one to disobey the wrecker during their more intimate moments, simply braced himself against the desk as Wheeljack pounded into him, his mouth open wide with sounds of pleasure and approval. “Ungh—ahhh, yes, Wheeljack, yes—frag, harder, harder! Harder, yes—!”

“Go ahead, Ratchet,” Wheeljack groaned, slowing down long enough to lean over Ratchet’s prone form and whisper into his audials. “Overload for me.”

Immediately, Ratchet’s entire frame was suddenly alight with a burst of pleasure stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. As a loud, staticky cry escaped him, Ratchet arched up into Wheeljack’s hold, his hips bucking against the wrecker’s frame with enough force for his paint-job to rub off onto Wheeljack. Waves of heat spread like fire from between his thighs into the rest of his frame, tearing a second loud, desperate moan from the medic as Wheeljack kept a steady pace, drawing the overload out for as long as possible. Only when Ratchet’s systems began to shut down, overwhelmed by the sudden skyrocket in temperature, did Wheeljack stop.

The blackout only lasted for a few seconds, but when Ratchet’s optics online again, he found himself staring up at Wheeljack’s smug expression, his frame quivering and his breath coming in soft, shuddering whimpers. A coating of slick, warm liquid dripping between his inner thighs told him everything he needed to know before he even had a chance to register what had occurred. So caught up in the post-coital haze, Ratchet almost didn't notice when Wheeljack finally slipped free of his entrance.

“Feeling better?” Wheeljack asked, one servo stroking up and down Ratchet’s thigh while he stared down at the medic. “Must’ve been a good bit of stress to unpack. Never heard you scream so loud, doc.”

Ratchet turned away, his faceplates heating up with embarrassment. “Let me up,” he huffed, ignoring Wheeljack’s extended servo as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

Wheeljack ignored Ratchet’s stubbornness, instead helping the medic up to his pedes. As soon as Ratchet had stood up and settled himself back down onto the storage crate, Ratchet awkwardly cleared his throat. He fiddled with his servos as Wheeljack stood by, not speaking a word as he watched the medic with careful optics.

“Well,” Ratchet finally said, deciding to be the one who broke the silence. “That was… that was nice, Wheeljack. I really needed a break.”

“Uh-huh,” Wheeljack replied. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the medic, his expression unreadable.

Ratchet glanced between Wheeljack and the console, which was still turned off. The familiar tension he felt when dealing with the energon problem—the one problem he knew he’d never be able to solve—began to rise up in his chest. It took all of his effort not to give in right then and there, and let Wheeljack take over for him… again.

“There’s still a lot of work for me to finish,” he added, one servo rubbing the back of his helm as he waited for Wheeljack’s next move. “You can stay if you’d like, but—“

“I didn’t say we were finished, did I?” Wheeljack said, his arms remaining crossed over his chest as he stared down at Ratchet.

At first, Ratchet was a little surprised. He had agreed to trying out a new dynamic in their relationship, of course, but he hadn’t expected Wheeljack to take new roles so seriously. Still, he couldn’t deny the sense of comfort and satisfaction he felt from the wrecker taking the lead—even if it meant he couldn’t finish the work he so desperately needed to complete. However, the feelings of security he felt didn’t automatically mean he was going down without a fight.

“I can’t just quit working now that you’ve showed up,” Ratchet said, his voice lacking the usual tension he typically carried. “Now step aside and let me finish, Wheeljack.”

There was a brief silence between the two as both mechs waited for the other to give in. Much to Ratchet’s frustration, however, Wheeljack was refusing to budge. He opened his mouth, a snarky retort on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t get a single word out before Wheeljack stopped him.

“Stand up,” the wrecker said, motioning with his servo.

“Wh—what?” Ratchet scoffed. He crossed his arms then, glaring up at the wrecker with a look of defiance. “Wheeljack, I told you—“

“Don’t make me ask twice, doc,” Wheeljack cut in, his frown deepening. “I already told you we aren’t done here. Stand up for me.”

Ratchet made a sound of protest, but eventually complied. Once he did, however, he was a little surprised—just a little—when Wheeljack took a seat on the cargo container instead. The wrecker reclined back against the console, using it as a backrest as he made himself comfortable. At the look of confusion on Ratchet’s expression, Wheeljack merely chuckled, then beckoned for Ratchet to join him.

“You can’t be serious,” Ratchet said, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. They were alone, as far as he knew, but he still checked to make sure they weren’t being watched by any fellow Autobots.

“Plenty of room,” Wheeljack said, gently patting the space between his legs. “Or are you too good for snuggling your favorite wrecker now, too?”

Ratchet took a step forward, hesitant. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable—he’d done much more drastic things with the wrecker before, after all, but this… it was new, undiscovered territory for him. It felt good, of course, but it also felt wrong. As if sensing his inner dilemma, Wheeljack leaned forward and gently grabbed ahold of Ratchet’s servo, drawing him in close. He didn’t stop until Ratchet was comfortably situated in his lap, and even then, Wheeljack still adjusted and readjusted their position. Once he was satisfied, Wheeljack glanced down at Ratchet, the medic’s helm comfortably positioned to rest against the wrecker’s chest.

“Comfortable?” He asked, on servo stroking up and down Ratchet’s side, the other interlacing with Ratchet’s free servo.

There was silence at first, and Wheeljack was more than willing to remain convinced that Ratchet had finally given into his contentment and allowed himself this one chance to relax and be comforted. As was to be expected when dealing with the stubborn medic, however, Wheeljack was wrong.

“…you didn’t have to come, you know,” Ratchet whispered, speaking just loudly enough for Wheeljack to hear.

“‘Course I did,” Wheeljack replied. He shifted against the cargo box until their frames were pressed together, their arms intertwined and legs comfortably stretched out over the edge. “I’d never leave you here to sulk all by yourself.”

“I do not sulk,” Ratchet grumbled. After a few seconds of silence, he added, “I… I can take care of myself, you know. I am a medic, after all. It’s my job—“

“Your job is to care for the rest of the team,” Wheeljack said, gently correcting Ratchet as he stroked the medic’s faceplates with his free servo. “It’s my job to take care of you, doc.”

Ratchet made a soft sound of acknowledgment, but didn’t respond. Satisfied that he’d finally won the discussion, Wheeljack wrapped both arms around the tired medic and held him close. Their private, more intimate moments were often few and far between, but Wheeljack was happy to take every chance he could get with the medic. His medic.

#tfp #transformers prime #valveplug #tfp ratchet #tfp wheeljack #wheeljack/ratchet #wheelchet #ratchjack #wrote this instead of working

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