#jury duty x reader

[siriusly-parker]

ok…ig i’m gonna be the one to say it. but i NEED more ronald gladden content. or at least more jury duty. gimme fics. the reader can be an actor, the one non-actor. idk. idc. i just need more 😭😭 i’m in love with my boy ron and i think we should acknowledge that and write for him. (or even just platonic! jury duty cast x reader, like cute interactions) the concept is just too good fr.

[recreationalfanfics]

Hello, I really love how you seem to have such a good read on RoR characters! Kinda shy asking this because I swore I read Record of Ragnarok for the action and backstories but it’s hard to contain my simping…. (๑꒪̇⌄꒪̇๑)

May I request some headcanons for Poseidon x a shy but kind human fem!MC? The idea I had in mind was that some thousands of years ago, Aphrodite, annoyed with Poseidon’s indifference to her charms, “cursed” him with a soulmate. This soulmate turned out to be MC who wasn’t even born yet back then. The plot will take place sometime before the actual human vs. gods battles start, so maybe during some preparation period where they’re setting up the stadium and all that? During this period, the human audience had already been “teleported” there (I don’t think they ever elaborated on how the humans all just end up watching the ragnarok) MC is one of these humans and coincidentally happened upon Poseidon during her stay. Of course, the soulmate stuff won’t magically make Poseidon have a complete change on humankind, but I was hoping he’d gradually soften up to her even if he won’t admit it.

As for what kind of soulmate AU, maybe the type where the first words your soulmate says to you is inscribed somewhere on your body? I think it’ll be fun to have her say something to him, he realizes but doesn’t say anything back so she just doesn’t know until much later.

Hopefully this isn’t too detailed or convoluted (๑•́‧̫•̀๑) And thank you so much in advance if you decide to write this! And if it’s not too much to ask, please don’t kill off Poseidon, but I also don’t want Sasaki to die either… maybe Poseidon will choose to forfeit (after fighting at first) because his soulmate is amongst the humans that will be eliminated if gods win? •ू(ᵒ̴̶̷᷄ωᵒ̴̶̷᷅*•ू) )੭ु⁾⁾

THIS REQUEST IS SO CUTE OMG!? I'M MORE THAN HAPPY TO WRITE THIS FOR YOU BUT ALSO, UR SO VALID FOR WANTING NIETHER OF THEM TO DIE, IDK WHY BUT THIS ANIME MAKES ME ATTATCHED TO BOTH THE GODS AND THE HUMANS-

Either way, I hope I did well, this was my first time writing for Poseidon!

- Consider how vain these two can be sometimes, it's only natural that they would butt heads often but when Poseidon dared to claim that Aphrodite truth wasn't as fair as she claimed herself- no, that she KNEW herself to be- she just couldn't allow this injustice to stand.

- He cherished absolutely nothing, he appreciated absolutely nothing. So she took it upon herself to change that. After all, it was HER who was the Goddess of Love. So she decided to pull a little trick

- Now, lets flashforward (to modern? ancient? Idk, man, heaven time??) and Poseidon has been summoned to his match. A match he felt was pointless but, whatever, who was he to deny his brother?

- Gracing the God's hall and going to his room to prepare and shield himself from sharing the same air as humans; imagine his surprise when he sees you.

- You're pathetic. Skittish, looking around like a confused mutt, and looking as disgusting as the rest of your kind. He knows your human alone and he's offended that you had the AUDACTIY to walk INTO THE AREA WHERE THE GOD'S RESIDE, AND EVEN STAND IN FRONT OF HIS DOOR.

- In reality, you weren't trying to piss anyone off. You had gotten separated from the rest of the humans and accidentally found yourself in a part of the arena you weren't familiar with.

- You were so relieved when you looked and saw another person in the hallway with you! Maybe you could ask them for directions. Poseidon did not know why you were approaching him so casually but he did NOT like it, like, AT ALL.

- Since your soulmates, maybe the reason why you don't feel his threatening aura like other gods and humans do is because some part of you just can't find it in you to fear him. He takes this as a sign of disrespect.

- You do feel anxious, however, he was such an attractive man but he absolutely did not look pleased to see you and you assumed he was just having a bad day.

- "H-Hello, I don't mean to trouble you!" You call out, your voice quiet and filled with uncertainty.

- He narrows his eyes at you, absolutely enraged by the idea of you approaching him so casually. You filthy little worm, he should destroy right-

- But then he takes a look at his wrist, he doesn't know why he does, a subconscious decision perhaps. But he side eyes you...odd, he makes sure to check his wrist. Oh well, he may as well grant you a few seconds of life.

- Then he checks his wrist and sees that the very first words you said to him...were on it. He looks from his wrist to you, who has no idea what's going on and honestly just wanted to find a way out of this big hallway.

- "U-Um, sir? I-I'm sorry, but do you know the way out?"

- He merely narrows his eyes at you before summoning his trident into his hands and thats when you realize; you're standing before a God. He says nothing to you and you instantly want to apologize but before you could, he just points in his trident into the direction he came from.

- You look at him, scared and confused, and he continues to stare at you with cold eyes. When he doesn't say or do anything for a few minutes you finally realized he was pointing the direction out.

- You apologize for the trouble and run like hell, his gaze following you.

- He observes you closely after that, believing this may be some kind of mistake. Thats why he didn't say anything to you, because a part of him was nervous. But he was mostly angry.

- It showed by when he barged into Aphrodite's room to DEMAND her what trickery she had stuped too and to undo it, she just smiles slyly and asks him: "What trickery?~"

- After some frustrating interrogation that goes NOWHERE...he finds himself staring at you quiet often, the mortals all cowering in fear when they feel his divine prescence. Not you, though, you never seem to notice him until you follow their stares and see his cold eyes, staring you down like you were gum under his new shoes.

- It's a very odd exchange, overall. Everyday, he'd show up at the most random of times and causing a stir among everyone else but yourself. Sometimes it'd even be multiple visits a day. Either way it confused you because the matches hadn't even started and already, you had somehow invoked a God's wrath.

- At least, that's what you thought at first until you noticed that he never did anything to really threaten your safety. Yes, watching you was a bit odd, but you find that you aren't really all that nervous about it anymore. Especially since with every visit, you believe that his gaze softens when they're set upon you.

- He kept his distance at first but then, once you started to take notice of him, you'd offer him to sit next to you as you sat in the beautiful fields that surrounded the arena or would be reading in one of the vast nearby libraries. Originally he would just walk away and as time went on he slowly began to warm up to you.

- Like a cat. tbh.

- He couldn't help it, at least, it FELT like he couldn't help it. He didn't know if it was your bond as soulmates, the unyielding kindness that he originally saw as foolish and niave, or overall just your quiet nature until you saw your friends.

- Either way, the more he began to see you, the more he could look past your flaws (which was being a human) and start to appreciate the things about you the made you beautiful.

- Don't get me wrong, he was definetly in denial for the longest time so he would kinda start off with small things. Like it goes from: "Oh, at least they bowed their head to my statue, thats a redeemable quality, at least." to "She is the epitome of perfection♡"

- You wouldn't really ever know that Poseidon's feelings towards you have grown, he hides it very well behind that stoic face that he wears and he hasn't even really spoken to you, yet. He doesn't know why but he feels like...the time isn't right. Despite his growing feelings, he truly isn't ready to accept a human as his soulmate yet.

- You just assumed he didn't talk much so you never pushed him too. Yeah, it mightve been a bit awkward at first but you appreciated his prescence, it brought you a new sense of comfort and peace that you never felt, not even when you were alive.

- When you made flower crowns in the gardens, you'd ask if you could decorate his trident for him and he gave you a deadpan stare before nodding his head in approval. He'd silently gesture you to follow him and show you a private pool whenever a say seemed a bit too hot for you and watch as you played in it, a soft smile growing on his face.

- He would even feel a bit of anger when he was with his fellow gods, listening to them generalize their hatred towards humanity. Usually Poseidon would join them but he couldn't bring himself too. After all, humanity was pesky and troublesome but some of them weren't that bad.

- They could be sweet, they could be unfailingly kindhearted and empathetic...They could be you. So he'd just glare distastefully but never say anything, but he didn't need to as everyone slowly stopped talking after sensing they somehow upset him.

- He spent a lot of his time with you during the days that led up to his match, you were unsure of who to root for; since it's true that humanity would be wiped out if the God's continued to win but at the same time, you didn't want to see Poseidon get hurt.

- He picked you out from the crowd immediately and made eye contact with you, not even acknowledging his opponent as he stepped into the ring.

- Did he still look down on humanity? Yes. But...he supposed there were some good aspects to it. Good aspects like you.

- As the mythical creatures and gods from his side cheered him on, shouting insults towards the humans, and telling him to destroy them like the ants they were: his eyes were locked on your (e/c) eyes before he finally made a decision. Internally, he had just lost a battle within himself in that moment...but he wasn't upset about it.

- So he interrupts Heimdall's introduction speeches as he addresses the whole crowd, "I FORFIET THIS MATCH!"

- Shock and bafflement was all that could be heard from both sides of the arena. They couldn't have possibly heard him right, though, after all: He was Poseidon, the beautiful God of the Sea, there was no way he would just-

- Then he looked at you and your heart leapt at hearing his voice for the first time. His eyes became gentle as they stared into yours, "I will fight for humanity. For some of you are worthy yet."

- You didn't respond for a bit, not noticing how the words "I will fight for humanity" appeared on your wrist, but he did. And he knew that even if Aphrodite had "cursed" him, that it truly didn't bother him. You were made for him. His perfect mortal♡

- This was only proven when you broke out of your shocked trance faster than anyone and cheered his name happily, your shyness lost as you joyfully cheered his name, causing him to visibly smile in front of everyone.

[pseudosis]

JET’S best way, and most favorite way, to show you off is to have you ride on the back of his motorcycle for everyone to gawk at you. Hot piece of ass perched up on the back of the seat, back arched forward to cling to his middle firmly, and skirt so damn short, when it flies up everyone behind you two could surely see your panties.

He likes it that way, it’s an excuse to not only shoot birds at people and curse at them for being a weirdo to you, but to be able to get to your cunt easier.

Stopped somewhere in an empty parking lot adjacent to a nearby local park, he had you laid down on the seat and head resting against the steering handles, legs pulled wide apart and panties hanging off from one ankle in the air. JET worked his tongue through your lips, gummy texture of your clit smoothing out on his tongue. He rolled his head in it, nose growing sticky from your slick that caught itself digging through your pussy.

He especially feeds off of how you moan all cutely when he flicks over a particularly sensitive area of the bud. How you hitch and whine at the mixing sensations of his tongue running through your entrance and venturing over your walls. Tip just barely massaging the area that’ll have you gasping and grabbing his nest for hair.

Taking his thumbs to spread you apart further to mutual benefit, his eyes began to roll to the back of his head and eyebrows scrunched together to truly relish in the taste and scent of your need. Groaning, all smashed up against your sex, caused you to feel this heady euphoria you only had when you two smoked.

This was a nightly thing where you two would fuck on his motorcycle in public, patrol officers lurked around the perimeter of the park, making it a whole lot more interesting. One time almost getting caught red handed with his dick balls deep in your throat, down on your knees to hide behind the side of the motorcycle you two were on.

Or another time when he had you bend over to lean on the vehicle to slide into you from behind. Holding your hips and skin clapping down loudly in contact, alerting the curious minds of the officers. JET loved to fuck with them, only because he hated police officers with a passion.

[zetobii]

Ahaa finally ✨ here’s another piece for the lovely @hellfirenacht 💕💕💕 thank you, dearest 🤗✨

[pearlessance]

Idle Threats MASTERLIST

Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, dom/sub undertones, canon typical violence, age gap (32years), mean!Joel, jealousy, reader is given a backstory to progress the plot, size difference, mention of sexual assault, mention of loss and death, mention of sexual assault of a minor, (no explicit details), renouncing of god, desecration of a church, JOEL POV

i: Watch Duty

ii: Locked Doors

iii: The Hand that Feeds

iv: Feelin' Empty?

v: Faith in Me

vi: Her Love Endures

vii: Dig Two Graves

viii: Forgive Me, Father

ix: Judge, Jury, Executioner

x: 32:1

[completed on AO3!]

divider by @tsunami-of-tears <3

bottom graphic by @saradika-graphics <3

[wanderingsoul6261]

Match has been Made

credit for gif goes to k-wame

james beaufort x reader

synopsis: Lydia plays matchmaker for James and her friend

Note: I have Jury Duty next week, so I want to try and get everything done before then, but if not, I will try to have most finished so that I can post them periodically through next week so that I can still provide y'all with content. I also want to start writing for other fandoms, such as Call of Duty, NCIS, Criminal Minds, Uncharted, etc) so if you are interested in more works, keep an eye out for those.

Not a big fan of this one honestly. Might delete it later and do a better version of it. Just didn't have any other ideas for it, so if anyone has a better way for this to have gone, let me know, and I will definitely consider redoing it after some of the others are completed.

Lydia wasn't as stupid as James and Y/N. Maybe stupid wasn't the right word, as oblivious seemed fitting, not that the two were stupid. Although, they were definitely oblivious. Lydia had wanted to strangle them both, considering how blind they were. James, staring all the time at Y/N, not thinking anyone would notice. Lydia definitely noticed. And then Y/N, not even noticing James looking at her and how long he would do so. Lydia also noticed that too. 

Many who also noticed had just thought that maybe Y/N wasn’t interested in him, but Lydia had taken to disagreeing. Y/N was a good friend of Lydia, and therefore, she was also a good friend of James. Y/N and James had initially butted heads quite often at the start of the friendship between the two girls, but over time, it had gradually stopped, and had actually turned into a playful teasing. 

Now, Lydia could tell James was smitten with Y/N just as much as she was smitten with him, and this had sparked Lydia’s plan into getting the two by themselves and admitting their feelings. 

Initially, it also meant getting their driver, Percy involved. He would have a large part to play in the plan, helping her get one or both of them to the Manor, hopefully when their parents were away on their upcoming business trip, and then leaving with Lydia. Percy and Lydia would then find something to pass a few hours by. Whether she went over to a friend’s house, or she treated Percy to a friendly night out for all his work done for the family. 

Percy was inclined to help, considering he too had noticed what was, or the lack of what was happening between James and Y/N. It didn’t matter how he spent the time afterwards. Him leaving the manor would then mean that neither James or Y/N had a way to leave. 

It was a sound plan, and Lydia knew that the probability of it working was high. 

—

“Hey! Y/N!” Y/N turned around at the sound of her name being called. Behind her, Lydia hurried over to her. She stopped, waiting for her friend to catch up so that they could walk side by side. “What are you doing tonight?” Lydia asked. Y/N shrugged. 

“Nothing really. Mom and dad are home but I don’t have anything planned with them. I was probably just going to watch some movies and call it an early night.” 

“Would you want to come over for a bit? Do some swimming. Maybe stay the night? Our parents are out of town for a few nights for a business trip.” Lydia had explained. 

“Who all is going to be there?” She had asked. 

“Just me and James, plus you. Figured the three of us could hang out without the suffocation of a party.” Lydia had explained. 

Y/N thought about it. Admittedly, getting out of the house for a little bit had seemed like a better idea. Lydia could tell she was contemplating it. The way Y/N tilted her head and bit the inside of her cheek, some of the very few mannerisms she possessed that gave away when she was truly thinking about something told her so. Mannerisms that James had appeared to have fallen in love with. 

After several moments, and pausing in the hallway of Maxton, Y/N had given Lydia her answer. 

“Alright. I’ll come over.” 

“Cool! I’ll have Percy pick you up at about 5!” Y/N agreed, telling her that that worked for her, and left her friend behind so that she could move on to her next class, which she also shared with James. 

Lydia watched as Y/N met up with James outside of their next class, a smirk on her face, and then left quickly, before either of them noticed that she was watching. 

“Hey.” James smiled at Y/N as they walked into the classroom. “So did Lydia talk to you yet?” He asked, as they set their stuff down on the shared desk and took their respective seats. “Something about just us three. Swimming. Maybe some movies. Something like that.” 

“Yea, actually. Just before I came here. I told her that I should be free to come over. She said she would send Percy later to come get me.” 

“What about your driver?” 

“Sick. I gave them a few days off.” Y/N flipped through her notes, trying to find where she left off. James watched as she did so, his eyes on her fingers as they flipped through the pages, before he turned his attention to her face. She was concentrated, focused on trying to find where she left off in her note taking. 

“What time did she tell you?” 

“Percy will be at my place at five.” He nodded slightly as she finally looked up at him. “She said I could also potentially stay the night. Mentioned something about how your parents are out of town for a business trip?” 

“Yea. Meetings with potential business partners for their next clothing line.” He explained. “They will be gone most of the week.” She nodded in understanding. James flashed her a smile, one that she had returned as their professor walked in, introducing their topic for the day.

—

Percy was a few minutes early, rolling the car in the driveway of her family manor at about quarter to five. Stepping out of the car, he greeted her politely, flashing her a small smile as she advanced over to the car. 

“Good evening, Percy.” She flashed a smile back at him, thanking him as he opened the back door for her. He had taken her overnight bag, putting it in the trunk of the car. 

“Good evening, Miss Y/L/N. I hope you are well.” 

“I am. Thank you. I hope Lydia and James are treating you well.” She teased. He flashed her a smile of amusement as another voice rang out, just as she climbed into the vehicle. 

“We are treating him just fine.” Y/N was met face to face by James, who flashed her an amused smile as she took her seat next to him. The door closed and the two flashed each other a smile. 

“Miss me?” she asked. Percy climbed into the driver side seat, putting the car into drive and taking the three of them back to the Beaufort manor. James smiled brightly at her.

“Always.” 

Percy watched them from the rearview mirror, taking in the interactions to the two of them. Lydia had been right, about the way the two of them look at each other. The way James looked at her when she was talking, like he wanted to take in everything she was saying and have it memorized. The way Y/N watched as he drew in his sketchbook or the way he watched her as she watched the numerous trees and other flora as they drove. Lydia was right when she told Percy all those days ago about how oblivious they were. The emotions in their faces surely show how they feel about the other, but both are too oblivious to say or do anything.  He smirked, turning his eyes back on the road. 

Arriving at the manor, Percy had stayed with the car, while James and Y/N had gotten out. James took her bag inside, handing it to another person to take to Lydia's room, where she would likely be sleeping. 

Lydia was already outside at the pool when the two finally joined her. She looked up and back at them, a smile on her face. Standing up from where she was dipping her toes into the pool, she walked over to them. She bypassed James, who only playfully rolled his eyes as she hugged Y/N. 

“Glad you can make it. You guys enjoy the water and snacks. I’m going to go and get changed. Be back in a jiffy.” And with that, Lydia was gone. James, who was already wearing some swim trunks with a t-shirt when they picked up Y/N, had taken off his shirt, leaving Y/N the only one who had yet to show her swimsuit. 

Her eyes were on James body for several seconds and had stayed focused on him for several more seconds after he had jumped into the pool.

Y/N had been smart, having put her swimsuit on underneath her clothes before Percy and James arrived at her home. She had slipped off her shirt, exposing her skin and the bikini top that she wore. James had caught sight, his eyes on her before he dipped underneath the water before she could catch him staring. When he had come back up, she had already pulled her shorts off, fully revealing herself in her two-piece bikini. 

While James slowly swam around the perimeter of the pool, Y/N relaxed on a floaty, drifting around the pool. The two relaxed like that for a little bit until one of them realized that one of them was still missing. 

“James.” He had looked over at Y/N, who now sat on the end of the pool, a water bottle in her hand. 

“Hmm?” 

“Did Lydia come out at all?” She asked. “I would have figured that she would be out here by now.” James stopped swimming, moving to stand in the shallow end of the pool. He looked past her, towards the open doors that led into the house. 

“No I haven’t.” He finally answered. His eyes drifted back towards Y/N, where some droplets of water rolled down her stomach. Her hair was wet, meaning that she had slipped into the water at some point and he didn’t notice. She tilted her head in thought, turning her body around as well to look inside the house. 

James watched as she stood up and walked over to the chairs. She didn’t find any sign that Lydia might have even been there in the first place, and no phone was found. 

“Her phone isn’t here. Maybe she has it. I can give her a call.” Y/N walked back over to her own phone, picked it up, and easily dialed Lydia’s number. James watched as she pressed her phone to her ear, but after several seconds, put her phone back down. “No answer.” 

“She’s probably okay. Probably just got caught up doing something else. Maybe she’s taking a nap so she can conserve energy for movies later.” James reassured her, and Y/N agreed. James wasn’t sure where his sister went, and it definitely wasn’t a part of their plans. 

Unless it was a part of her plans. 

Y/N shrugged and had gone back to sit on the side of the pool, her feet dangling in the water. James went back to floating around the pool. His eyes moved over to Y/N several times. They were alone and she was right there. He could say what he wanted and make his move. If he was rejected, no one would know. 

Her eyes were on the book she was reading, invested in the pages and the words that told the story within them. He hovered in the water for several moments before he finally decided to slowly make his way across the pool. 

His eyes had remained on her, watching her movements as he neared her. The way her fingers flipped to the next page. How her expression changed based on the scene she was reading. He was happy to listen to her when she went on and on about a book that was either currently reading or had just finished, having loved the way that she got so much joy and excitement from something so simple. 

When he finally reached her, his hand reached out for the book, gently setting it aside without getting it wet. Y/N was confused, a noise getting caught in the back of her throat as James put his palm on the edge of the pool, hoisting himself partially out of the water and slightly closer to her. He made eye contact with her, before he looked down at her lips. She caught the movement, relaxing as she waited. She knew what he wanted at that moment, and when he didn’t make the move first, she did. 

Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him even more closer, and pressed her lips against his. He quickly melted into it, one arm wrapping around her waist. James tugged her into the pool once more, before pinning her against the side of it. Her arms remained around his neck, while his arms looped behind her, settling the edge of the pool. 

It was a slow and gentle kiss, allowing the two to enjoy and savor it. Her hands tangled themselves into his hair, and one of his hands moved to her back, his fingers splayed across her skin. James was running out of breath, as was Y/N, but the two hesitated to separate, as both of them seemed to have wanted their first kiss together to go on longer than what was physically possible. 

And when they finally pulled away from each other, they rested their foreheads against each others, breathing heavily, a small smile on their lips. 

“Do you think Lydia left?” Y/N asked. 

“I think this was part of her plan.” James agreed. “Get us alone together. Means Percy was probably also in on it.”  Y/N laughed a little. 

“You sister, playing matchmaker, and Percy helping. Who knew.”

“My guess is that they knew something we didn’t.” He had smiled, kissing her again, this time with a bit more energy. James had stared at her lips, before moving away and planting kisses along her jaw, pressed one final one to her forehead, and then moved back down to her lips. He was kissing her like a man starved of it all.  

“How about we watch those movies?” He finally asked, after finding the heart to stop kissing Y/N and finally allowing her to breathe. She gave him a smile and nodded. 

That was how Lydia had found the two of them. They were laying on the couch in the shared living area that Lydia and James shared, the tv going on in the background. James was on his back, his head against the arm of the couch, and Y/N was asleep on his chest. Her arms wrapped around James, and a blanket was wrapped around her. 

Lydia had smirked, snapped a photo to show Percy that the plan had worked, and wandered off to get ready for bed, leaving the two by themselves.

----

taglist: @honethatty12 @lifeonawhim @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27 @maryvibess @wheredidmyeyesgo @imasimptoowth @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@sillyfreakfanparty

[moonstruckme]

Hi! Could I request a plus size!reader with James? Maybe where she gets upset because she can’t wear his clothes and she can’t do cute little girlfriend things like him picking her up and stuff like that?

Thanks for requesting babe!

cw: size insecurity

modern au ig because new girl

James Potter x plus size!reader ♡ 956 words

“I’m kind of thinking of jumping back to season four,” you call towards the bedroom. “Jess is about to leave for jury duty, and I don’t like those episodes as much.” 

“Pretty sure you’ve got them all memorized anyway,” James says back. “Why don’t we just watch Friends instead?” 

Your mouth twists even though he can’t see it, but luckily, the feeling behind the expression carries in your voice anyway. “Because it’s not as good.” 

“Okay.” James rolls his eyes lightly as he emerges from your bedroom, now clad in pajamas to match you. “We can do New Girl again, but I need my pillow, please.” 

You sigh heavily, feigning reluctance as you uncurl your legs from underneath you and prop your feet on the coffee table. James hurries over, sprawling out on the couch and settling his head on the cushion of your thighs. He’s due for a haircut. His thick curls spread out around him like the sun’s rays. He smiles up at you, dopey, and you tamp down a grin as you start the episode. 

Not ten minutes in, there’s a flashback about when one character was in college. Bigger, dorkier, romantically inept. It’s played for a laugh. You glance down at James. He’s wormed a hand under your leg and is kneading the fat there like putty. It’s an absentminded gesture, nothing critical about it, but you wonder if he’s correlating you with the actor on screen, bumbling and the butt of the joke in his fatsuit. 

You comb a hand through James’ hair, and he looks up, catches you watching him. He’s never been one to mind being observed. He shoots you a smile, catching your hand with his other and pressing it to his lips. 

You smile back. “Do you ever wish you had a skinny girlfriend?” you ask him. 

If he’s surprised by the abruptness of the question, he doesn’t show it. “Nope,” he answers. “Never. What would I do for a pillow?” 

You consciously keep your smile in place, fixing your eyes back on the screen. The one character is telling the story of how embarrassing it was to lose his virginity. Like sex was borderline impossible, just because he was chubby. 

You feel James’ head shift on your legs, and look down to find he’s turned towards you. “We manage just fine,” he whispers conspiratorially. 

You exhale amusedly through your nose. “Yeah? I don’t near crush you every time?” 

“It’s really cute that you think you could, lovie.” 

You roll your eyes, letting them land on the TV. “Sometimes I wish I could do more…quintessential girlfriend stuff.” You can feel James’ eyes on you, but he keeps quiet. “Like when girls steal their boyfriend’s hoodies and stuff.” 

You look down, and James’ eyebrows have lowered slightly. “You could borrow my hoodies if you wanted to,” he says. “Angel, you know I think you’re the perfect size, don’t you? Do I not tell you that enough?” 

You give him a little smile, shoulders coming up bashfully. (He does. He makes little comments all day long—how pretty you look, how he loves your thighs, how soft and warm you are when you’re cuddling, how lovely and squishable your ass is in his hands.) “It’s not you,” you say, “it’s just hard not to think about those girls who, like, drown in their boyfriends’ clothes, you know? And your stuff fits almost tight on me.” 

James looks at you considerately, nodding. You and he aren’t vastly different sizes, with James’ bulky frame and wide shoulders. You just…he treats you like you’re precious, but sometimes you wish you looked precious standing next to him, too. You wish he could pick you up with one arm or make jokes about you being tiny like a chihuahua or whatever else it is the boyfriends of petite girls do. 

“I realize this is rather selfish,” James says, “but I actually quite enjoy that I’m able to borrow your clothes from time to time.” He glances pointedly down at his shirt, which you now realize has been pilfered from your wardrobe. “And if it’s baggy clothes you’re looking for, I could always get a couple loose-fitting hoodies, wear them around and get ‘em all smelled up, and then pass them on to you.” You must look about as lovesick as you feel, because his smile returns, brown eyes sweetly knowing. “Does that sound like something you’d like?”

“Yeah,” you say, biting your lip to keep from beaming too embarrassingly. “Yes, please. Thanks, Jamie.” 

“Course.” He gives your thigh a hearty squeeze, turning his head to press a wet smooch to your skin. “You know, those other girls are missing out on things, too,” he says. “I doubt their boyfriends spend so much time lounging on them, and I know how much you love it when I make your legs fall asleep.” 

You snicker. “You’re right, I do love that.” 

James’ smile spreads wider at your response. “I know you do, lovie. All for you, of course. Also, I know it’s not a hoodie, but I have that one red jumper that’s pretty big on me. You know the one?” 

“Oh my gosh, yes!” You sit up straighter. “I totally forgot about that. Could I use it?” 

“What’s mine is yours.” 

“Thanks.” You scoot out from under him, and James sits up, upset. 

“Oi! Where do you think you’re going? I was comfy!” 

“To change,” you call back from halfway down the hall. 

“Never change, angel!” You roll your eyes at the stupid joke, grinning to yourself. “I love you just the way you are!” 

[sinkovia]

Black Market

Hitman Simon Riley x Doctor Fem!Reader

In desperate need of money to clear a million-dollar debt, you accept Simon's offer to become his personal doctor, earning twenty percent of each contract he completes. But as you plunge back into the black market, ghosts from your past emerge, threatening to unravel everything you've worked so hard to run away from.

Mention of Kidnapping.

Masterlist - Black Market Masterlist

Simon sat in his dimly lit house, the dim glow of his computer screen casting shadows across his face. He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping impatiently on the keyboard as he navigated through the depths of the black market.

His eyes scanned the screen, brows furrowing in frustration as he scrolled through the listings, weighing the risks against the potential rewards. Contract after contract flashed before him, each promising a hefty sum of money in exchange for services rendered.

But to Simon, they were all the same—assassinations, espionage, sabotage. The thrill of danger had lost its appeal long ago, replaced by a sense of weariness and disillusionment.

Cursing under his breath, Simon scrolled through the listings for hire, his frustration growing with each passing moment. There were no personal black market doctors available for hire—every reputable one was already taken. It seemed like luck was against him today.

With a heavy sigh, he closed the browser window and turned his attention to the stack of mail sitting on his desk. Among the bills and junk mail, there it was – a jury duty summons.

He groaned aloud, rubbing his temples in frustration. Spending hours in a stuffy courtroom was the last thing he needed right now. It meant taking time away from his work, time that could be spent securing lucrative contracts and staying ahead of the game.

But there was no avoiding it. He knew he'd have to fulfill his civic duty, no matter how inconvenient it might be. With a resigned shake of his head, he tucked the summons into his pocket, another burden to add to the weight on his shoulders.

You find yourself slumping down on the hard concrete steps in front of the courthouse, the weight of defeat heavy upon you. Having lost your case and now facing a million dollars in debt, the world seems to close in around you. With a resigned sigh, you reach for your pack of cigarettes, seeking solace in the familiar routine.

"Mind sharing your pack?" A deep, coarse voice breaks through your thoughts, and you glance over to see a tall man dressed in black leaning against the railing beside you. Without hesitation, you extend your pack to him, and he takes one before returning the pack to you.

Simon curses to himself, realizing he's forgotten his lighter, confiscated earlier by a courthouse officer. "Mind lighting me? Fuckers at the courthouse took my light," he grumbles, frustration evident in his voice.

You smiled and handed him your lighter, the flame casting a warm glow on his face as he lit his cigarette. "Jury duty?" you asked casually, observing him take a deep drag before exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Yeah, you?" he replied, his tone resigned but with a hint of intrigue.

You laughed wryly and took another drag, the bitter taste of nicotine mingling with the heavy weight of your circumstances. "Just got sued for a million fucking dollars."

"Bloody fuck, what did you do?" Simon's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his interest immediately piqued.

You couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. "I replaced a man’s heart with a pig heart," you confessed, fully aware of how crazy it sounded.

Simon's eyes widened in intrigue, and without hesitation, he walked over and sat down next to you, his curiosity now fully ignited. Knowing how to perform a heart transplant suggested a level of medical expertise that interested him. 

"And how the bloody hell did you do that?" he asked, his curiosity evident in his voice.

“I was just sitting at the intersection for ages waiting for the light to change, when I noticed a guy getting mugged. Without thinking, I grabbed my emergency kit from the car and rushed over. Since I have O negative blood, I used my own blood for a transfusion to stabilize him. Then, I spotted a truck nearby loaded with pigs. I didn't waste a second - I hopped in, grabbed a pig, and performed an open heart surgery right there on the sidewalk. Sure, the guy ended up with a pig heart, but he's alive because of it. And now he's suing me? Unbelievable. Should've left that fuck to die.”

Simon couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, but beneath the laughter, a plan began to form in his mind.

"So he was standing in the courtroom with a pig's heart?" 

You shook your head, a wry smile playing on your lips. "No, he ended up getting a proper heart transplant. One that would never have happened if I hadn't stepped in. The bastard would've bled out and wasted all my blood before the paramedics even arrived."

"Are you a licensed doctor?” 

Open heart surgery on a sidewalk and having O-negative blood? You were better than any doctor he could hire on the black market.

You shrugged nonchalantly. "No, I had my license revoked a few years back. They said my practice and way of thinking were unconventional, that I should be working in a lab making more Frankenstein’s than helping people. I took it as a compliment though. Those doctors were just scared of what I could do, of how far I would go to save someone." 

Simon smiled and took another drag before smashing the cigarette on the floor under his boot.

"So you're looking for jobs?"

You sighed, mirroring his action with your own cigarette. "In desperate need for a job."

"I think we could help each other," Simon suggested, his tone shifting slightly.

You slowly side-eyed him, then awkwardly laughed as you leaned away. "I'm not looking for jobs like that."

Simon's eyebrow quirked up before he realized how he sounded, and he shook his head with a smile. "Not like that, love. I meant that you could work for me, and I'd pay you."

You relaxed a bit and leaned back, intrigued. "What do you do?"

"Let's just say, you stay with me as my personal doctor, and I pay you twenty percent after each job I complete. You'll have your money in a couple of months," 

"A million dollars in a couple of months? What kind of jobs are giving you that type of money-" realization dawned on you, and a chill ran down your spine. Simon was involved in something much darker than you anticipated, and memories of your own past involvements in the black market came flooding back, making your palms sweat with unease.

"I'm sorry, but I can't take your offer," you said, your voice firm but polite. Simon furrowed his brows in confusion and frustration. He had just given you an opportunity of a lifetime, one you so desperately needed, and you turned him down?

Internally sighing, Simon knew he'd have to resort to more extreme measures now.

You got up and dusted off your butt before looking down at him. "Thank you for the offer, but I'm going to head out," you said, offering a weak smile before turning and heading to your car.

That night, Simon tracked down where you lived and noted your home address. He packed his duffle bag and got into his car, making his way over to your house. With careful precision, he snuck into your backyard and opened your back window before silently slipping inside.

Meanwhile, you were sitting at your desk, scrolling through job offerings in your pajamas, feeling the weight of impending debt pressing down on you. With a heavy sigh, you turned off your monitor, resigned to your fate. That's when you noticed it—the faint outline of a man in the dark reflection of your monitor screen.

Simon attempted to cover your mouth with a rag, but you reacted swiftly, elbowing him hard and knocking the wind out of him. Turning around, you landed a solid punch to his jaw, leaving Simon in disbelief. He had underestimated you.

As you ran, trying to reach your room, Simon quickly pinned you to the floor. Despite your resistance, he managed to overpower you, but you fought back fiercely, headbutting him in the face. Simon grunted, trying his best not to harm you.

You nearly reached your nightstand where you kept your gun, but Simon pinned you down again, this time on your stomach. Desperately, you struggled against him, but Simon pressed a rag against your mouth and nose, forcing you to inhale its contents. Despite your efforts to resist, you eventually succumbed to the effects, your body going limp in a matter of seconds.

Simon breathed deeply as he stood up, his chest heaving with exertion. Opening your nightstand, he retrieved your gun with a heavy sigh. "Bloody hell, love," 

Simon headed to the bathroom in search of your medical supplies. Finding what he needed, he grabbed a trash bag and hastily gathered a few of your clothes and essential items. With a sense of urgency, he tied up the bag and threw it over his shoulder, carefully picking you up and carrying you to his car.

Tag list: @shinchanboi @talooolaaloolla

[seongwars]

𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢, 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 | 300 Followers Event

Pairing: psychiatrist!Jeong Yunho x yandere!Reader AU: non-idol Summary: What if in another life, you were the villain? Word Count: 9.8K Warnings: dark themes including stalking, m*rder, torture, asphyxiation, mental health issues, mentions of blood, violence--PLEASE do not interact if you are adverse to any of these themes. i want you to take care of yourselves.

a/n: here's the belated 300 follower event! it can be read alone but also fits into the forget me not universe now to work on my other wips

Forget Me Not Masterlist

"Yunho!" you screamed, twisting against the weight of the officers escorting you out. Your mind was spinning, unable to process what was happening. You searched his face for something, anything, that would tell you this wasn’t real. That he was going to stop them, that he was going to save you. But all you found was silence.

"Yunho, help me!" you sobbed, your voice raw and pleading. You reached for him, but the officers were too strong, dragging you backward as you fought to break free. Your limbs flailed in desperation, but it was no use. 

Yunho stayed silent. His eyes met yours one last time, filled with sorrow, regret, and something else—something you couldn’t place, maybe pity. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words never came.

And then, he turned away.

The officers dragged you out of the room, your body still struggling against their grip. The last thing you saw was Yunho’s back, his shoulders hunched as he walked away from you, leaving you behind.

The air in the courtroom felt suffocating, every breath you took weighed down by the dozens of eyes watching your every move. You could feel the heat of the crowd’s gaze on your back, the low hum of whispered accusations, opinions, and judgments hanging in the air like a thick fog.

"Ms. Lee," he began, his deep voice resonating through the small space, "how do you plead?"

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t move, didn’t react, except for a subtle clench of your shackled hands. It was Choi Jongho, your lawyer, who spoke for you.

"Not guilty by reason of insanity, your honor," Jongho said, standing tall beside you, his tone as calm and collected as ever. His voice was a shield, firm and unwavering. 

The murmurs that rippled through the crowd were quickly silenced by a sharp rap of the judge’s gavel. Beside you, Jongho remained calm, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood at the defense table. 

Judge Baek leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving you. "The court will hear evidence to support this plea in due course." He straightened again, addressing the prosecution. "The state may present its opening argument."

"Thank you, your honor.” Prosecutor Ahn began, her steps slow and deliberate as she moved to the center of the room. 

“Esteemed members of the jury. What you see before you today is a facade. A woman who has worn the mask of a dutiful wife, presenting herself as gentle, caring, and harmless. But beneath that mask lies something far more sinister. A murderer, hiding in plain sight." She took a slow step toward the defense table, her eyes never leaving you.

"A murderer," the prosecutor repeated, louder this time, letting the word hang in the air. "One who premeditated the killing of each of her victims, who calculated every step, every detail with precision." She turned to the jury, her face twisting into a sneer. 

"Lee Y/N didn’t just act on impulse or in a fit of rage. No, she was cunning, manipulative—"

She gestured toward you, her hand slicing through the air as if to emphasize the supposed deceit. "—just as she manipulated her husband into believing she was harmless. That she wouldn’t—couldn’t—kill his best friend, Jung Wooyoung. Or that she was incapable of murdering Ji Myungsoo, a close business associate of her father-in-law and his daughter, Soyi." 

"And that," the prosecutor’s voice cut back into focus, "is the woman sitting before you today. Calculating, cold, and capable of manipulating anyone to suit her own purposes." She took a step closer to the jury, leaning in as if to share a secret. 

"She is a murderer, plain and simple."

Jongho shifted beside you, preparing for his turn, his calm exterior a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. He turned to the jury, his eyes sweeping over their faces as he spoke, pulling them into a tragic story. 

Your story.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let’s address the most critical point that the prosecution conveniently overlooked–my client, the defendant, is not even on the stand because she has been declared psychologically unfit to stand trial by reason of insanity. Yet here we are, with the prosecution making baseless allegations, attempting to sway you with a narrative that cannot hold up under scrutiny.”

“Objection!” 

“Sustained,” Judge Baek replied. “Get to the point, Mr. Choi.”

Jongho paused for dramatic motion before continuing. 

“Can we truly expect someone living in such a mental state to calmly and rationally plan the murders she’s been accused of? We’re talking about hallucinations, delusions — breaks from reality. During these episodes, Ms. Lee is not in control of her actions.”

You could see the jurors leaning in now, their attention firmly on Jongho. They were hooked, feeding off his indignation on your behalf. But they didn’t know, couldn’t know, how little you cared for their sympathy. 

"Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he began, stepping toward the front of the room, "the person you see before you today—Ms. Lee Y/N—has lived through more tragedy than most of us can even imagine. At fifteen years old, she lost everything. Her parents, her brother, her sister—all gone in a single, devastating moment."

"Ms. Lee was the only survivor. Just fifteen years old and left to navigate a world without her family." He let the silence linger for a moment before pressing on. 

"The system put in place to defend her failed her. It left her alone, untreated, with the kind of trauma that no child should have to bear. And worse than that—it allowed Ji Myungsoo, the man responsible for the accident that took her family, to walk free." 

You kept your head down, lips pressed into a thin line, as Jongho’s impassioned speech filled the room. He truly believed what he was saying. He thought this was about grief, about a mind broken under the strain of unresolved trauma. 

"Her mental health deteriorated," Jongho continued, casting a glance in your direction as if to emphasize the fragility he believed lay behind your eyes. 

"And it was only a matter of time before that untreated pain turned inward—until she lost control of her actions, driven by the overwhelming sense of loss and confusion."

He gestured toward you. "We are not dealing with a criminal mastermind here. We are dealing with someone who has been failed by every system designed to protect her. Someone whose untreated traumatic disorder has led her to a state of paranoia and psychosis, an illness that, tragically, went unnoticed until it was too late."

Jongho’s final words echoed through the room, his tone full of somber determination. "My client isn’t a monster. She’s a victim. And today, we are here to ensure that she gets the help she should have received all those years ago."

You could feel the tension in the room shift again, the jury’s sympathy building. They were buying it. Jongho was good, no doubt about it. He returned to his seat beside you, his hand lightly brushing your shoulder in a gesture of support. 

The world ended the day your family’s car tumbled into the ditch. You remembered the screech of metal and the world flipping over and over. 

A drunk driver had collided with the car, sending it spinning off the road. By the time everything went still, the smell of gasoline and blood filled your lungs. 

You crawled from the wreckage, dazed and broken—your head pounding from the concussion, your body screaming with the pain of fractured bones. Blood trickled from your mouth and eyes, but it wasn’t just the injuries. It was something deeper—something inside you broke too, as your world collapsed around you.

The doctors said you’d be fine. But your parents weren’t fine and neither were your brother and sister. They weren’t coming back. And as you lay in that hospital bed, staring. Then, it happened. A sharp giggle escaped your lips, so out of place in the heavy silence that it startled even you. 

You clamped a hand over your mouth, but it was too late. The dam broke. Laughter, wild and uncontrollable, erupted from deep within your chest. It spilled out in frantic waves, rising higher and higher until the sound of your own hysterics filled the room, drowning out everything else.

You were laughing because nothing made sense anymore. How could it? Your family was gone, and all you could do was lie there, broken and alone, the absurdity of it all twisting in your mind like some cruel joke.

Then came the news. The drunk driver, a wealthy executive, had walked away with barely a scratch. A slap on the wrist, a fine, and he was free to return to his life. Free to laugh at dinner parties, to kiss his children goodnight. And you? 

You were left to piece together the shattered remnants of a life no longer recognizable. The system failed you, abandoned you. Just like your family had, though not by choice. You were alone in a world that felt cold and indifferent, the edges of your grief hardening into something else—something dark and unforgiving.

The world felt different after your family was taken from you in that car crash. Every noise was too loud, every shadow too long. The nightmares came first, the panic attacks next. And then, the moments you couldn’t explain—the times when it felt like someone else was inside your body, reacting, lashing out, making choices you couldn’t remember later.

It wasn’t long before your behavior began to spiral. You’d always been guarded, suspicious of others, but something had shifted. Everyone around you started to feel like a threat—each smile hiding a blade, each friendly word masking a darker intent. 

And then, one day, you snapped.

It was your first year of college. Everything was supposed to be different, better. But the tension had been building for weeks. You were running on empty, stretched thin between assignments and sleepless nights, haunted by old wounds. 

“Y/N, you look tired. Have you been getting enough sleep?” Yujin’s voice was casual, the way someone might ask about the weather. But to you, the words were an accusation, sharp and cutting, a spotlight shining on your fragility.

“Yeah, you look like you’re carrying bags on your face,” Jiwon chimed in with a laugh.

That was the moment. Something deep inside you, already frayed, snapped. The edges of your vision blurred, and all you could feel was the heat rising in your chest, your pulse pounding so loudly it drowned out the rest of their laughter.

Before you knew what was happening, your body moved on its own. You lunged across the desk, your fist colliding with Jiwon’s face. You didn’t hear the gasps of your group mates, didn’t notice the way the library went silent, all eyes fixed on you.

You grabbed Jiwon by her hair, twisting it in your fist with a strength you didn’t know you had, and slammed their head against the desk. Once. Twice. Again. The screams around you faded into nothing, your world narrowed to this singular moment of violence.

Hands tried to grab you, pull you away, but they were too late. You were beyond their reach, beyond control. You swung again, wild, desperate to silence the laughter still echoing in your ears. 

But then, amidst the chaos—professors rushing in, students frozen in horror—you were dragged away, yanked back from the scene of destruction you’d created. Your arms were pinned, your movements restricted, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

And in the aftermath, as your body trembled with the adrenaline coursing through you, all you felt was…peace.

It was a strange, twisted sense of calm that settled over you as you stood there, panting, your knuckles bruised and raw. The world around you still buzzed with activity—professors shouting, students calling for help—but to you, it was all muffled, distant. Like the storm inside had finally subsided.

Prosecutor Ahn’s heels clicked against the floor as she approached the easel, her movements precise, deliberate. She taped a photograph of the first victim, Ji Soyi, to the board. The image showed a vibrant, smiling young woman, full of life and promise.

“Let’s start with the first victim—Ji Myungsoo’s daughter,” Ahn said, her voice cutting through the silence in the courtroom. “Ji Soyi. A young woman with her whole life ahead of her, unaware that her final moments would be spent gasping for air as the defendant, Ms. Lee strangled her.” 

Ahn didn’t flinch, her gaze unyielding as she gestured toward the autopsy report in her hand. “Signs of asphyxiation. Bruises on her neck from sustained pressure. This wasn’t a quick death—this was slow, deliberate, cruel.”

She let the words sink in before moving on, the click of her shoes resuming as she taped another photo—this one of Ji Myungsoo, a middle-aged man with graying hair and kind eyes—next to his daughter’s.

“And then there’s Ji Myungsoo,” Ahn continued, her voice dropping to a darker tone. “This wasn’t a random killing. The defendant poisoned him, ensuring a slow, agonizing death. But that wasn’t enough. Ms. Lee inflicted wounds on him over time, stabbing him more than fifty times. He suffered greatly, ladies and gentlemen.”

It was a battle not to react to every detail she laid out, every twisted image she painted of you. The room had become uncomfortably quiet, each juror hanging on Ahn’s every word.

“And finally,” Ahn turned back to the easel, placing the last photograph—a picture of Jung Wooyoung, a smiling man with tousled hair—beside the others. “Jung Wooyoung, an innocent man caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. For that, he paid with his life.”

Prosecutor Ahn continued, turning to face the jury with an air of false sympathy. “Three lives. Taken without remorse. Without hesitation. Each death meticulously planned and executed by Ms. Lee.”

“I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, to look at the evidence. To listen to the testimonies. To remember the faces of these victims. This was not a series of accidents. This was murder. And the defendant must be held accountable.”

As the prosecution’s final words lingered in the air, tension gripped the courtroom. All eyes shifted to Jongho as he rose to present the next crucial piece of evidence. He stood before the court, his expression calm yet resolute, and began playing the audio recording, allowing everyone to listen closely as the exchange between Wooyoung and San unfolded.

"San, I think something’s wrong. Y/N is—"

The jury listened intently, leaning in as they hear Wooyoung’s concerned voice, only for it to be interrupted by your frantic shouting. 

"Let go of me, Wooyoung! Don’t touch me, I don’t know where I am!"

The recording continued with the faint sound of a struggle. Then, the unmistakable and chilling noise of the knife meeting flesh. Wooyoung’s shocked, labored gasp echoed like a whisper of death. The phone clattered to the floor with a muted thud.

As the recording ended, silence swallowed the room. The courtroom seemed frozen in that moment of tragedy, suspended between disbelief and horror. Jongho allowed the gravity of the evidence to sink in. After a moment, he took a measured breath and stepped forward, his face somber as he addressed the jury. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "what you just heard was a man trying to help a friend. Mr. Jung Wooyoung, a close friend of the defendant and her husband, recognized something was wrong. He wasn’t a threat. He didn’t raise a hand in violence. He was trying to help."

"But Ms. Lee didn’t recognize Mr. Jung at that moment. She wasn’t in her right mind. The recording clearly shows that she was disoriented, frightened, and acting out of what she perceived as self-defense. ‘I don’t know where I am,’ she said. A statement that gives us crucial insight into her state of mind."

He paused, letting the weight of his words linger before speaking again. "This is not the behavior of a calculated killer. This is someone who was mentally unwell, someone struggling with the reality around them. And that is why we must understand this case for what it truly is: a tragedy brought on by untreated trauma and mental illness."

"No one is denying the pain this incident has caused,” Jongho’s voice softened as he motioned to the jury. “But we must consider the true state of mind that led to this tragic event. Ms. Lee is not a cold-blooded murderer. She is a victim of a condition she didn’t choose, a condition that robbed her of her ability to understand what was happening in that moment."

As the trial resumed after a brief recess, the atmosphere in the courtroom felt heavier, as the court proceeded to the cross-examination. Jongho stood up smoothly, striding toward the witness stand where Dr. Kim Hongjoong, a seasoned psychiatrist, was seated. 

“Dr. Kim,” Jongho began, his voice calm but commanding, “you’ve been treating the defendant, Ms. Lee, for how long now?”

Hongjoong sat upright, his hands folded in his lap. “Approximately six months,” he answered, his tone measured and professional.

Jongho nodded, pacing slightly as he glanced at the jury. “And in those six months, you’ve had the opportunity to evaluate her mental state thoroughly, correct?”

“Yes. I’ve conducted multiple sessions with Ms. Lee, as well as comprehensive psychological evaluations.”

“Let’s talk about those evaluations,” Jongho said, his eyes sharp as he approached the heart of his cross-examination. “In your professional opinion, what was Ms. Lee’s mental state at the time of the alleged crimes?”

Dr. Kim took a deep breath before answering. “Ms. Lee was suffering from severe psychosis, compounded by years of untreated trauma and post-traumatic stress disorder. She was not in full control of her actions. Her ability to distinguish between reality and hallucinations had been severely impaired.”

“So, are you saying that during the time in question, Ms. Lee would not have been able to fully comprehend the consequences of her actions?”

“Yes. Ms. Lee was experiencing delusions and episodes of dissociation. In my professional opinion, she was in a state of psychosis when the alleged incidents occurred.”

Jongho paused, allowing the weight of Dr. Kim’s testimony to sink in. “Doctor, could you tell the court about any specific episodes Ms. Lee experienced that support your diagnosis?”

“Ms. Lee described recurring visions, fragmented memories of violence, and a deep-seated paranoia that others were out to harm her,” Dr. Kim explained, his voice steady but somber. “In her mind, she wasn’t acting out of malice or cruelty, but out of a distorted sense of survival,” Dr. Kim explained, his voice steady but somber.

Jongho stepped back, giving the jury a moment to digest this before delivering his final question. “In your professional opinion, Doctor, had Ms. Lee received the appropriate mental health care before these tragic events occurred, could this situation have been prevented?”

Dr. Kim’s expression softened, and he nodded gravely. “Yes. If Ms. Lee had received immediate psychiatric intervention and proper treatment, it is likely that these tragic events could have been avoided.”

“Nothing further.”

The silence that followed was palpable. Jongho returned to his seat, leaving the jury with the image of a woman failed by the system, a woman whose suffering had been ignored until it was too late.

⋆

“Your Honor,” Prosecutor Ahn began, her voice crisp and authoritative, “the prosecution calls Choi San to the stand.”

A murmur rippled through the courtroom as San stood up. He walked with a calm demeanor, but there was something unreadable in his expression. His eyes flickered briefly toward you as he made his way to the stand, but he said nothing, his jaw clenched as if holding back the weight of everything left unsaid between you.

"Mr. Choi," Ahn began, "you were married to the defendant, Ms. Lee Y/N, correct?"

San nodded slowly, his voice firm when he spoke. "Yes, we were married."

Ahn clasped her hands behind her back, her gaze unwavering. "And during the time of your marriage, did you notice any unusual behavior from Ms. Lee? Anything that might indicate she was…unwell?"

San hesitated for a moment, his eyes drifting to you again before he spoke. “There were moments. She would have these... episodes, where she would act out of character. She would get confused, paranoid.”

Prosecutor Ahn stepped closer, her voice soft but piercing. "Can you elaborate on these episodes?”

"I guess..." he hesitated, his voice quiet, "it started when we met my father’s business partner at a dinner," San’s voice faltered, the words catching in his throat. 

"He was the one who killed her family in that accident ten years ago."

He took a deep breath before continuing his testimony. "After that run in, she wouldn’t let it go," he continued, his hands trembling slightly as he spoke. 

"Y/N started tracking his every move. She started talking about an eye for an eye, and how the system failed her. That if she didn’t do something to take care of him, he’d take me away. And that he deserved to lose everything he loved.”

"I didn’t believe anything she was saying," San confessed, his voice tinged with regret. "I thought it was just her way of venting out her frustrations and the pain she felt from losing her family."

Ahn pressed forward, her voice dipping into a quieter, more somber tone. “Mr. Choi, do you believe your wife was capable of committing the murders she’s accused of?”

San hesitated. His gaze locked onto yours for what felt like an eternity before he answered, his voice rough but steady. “Yes. In the state she was in... I believe she could have done it.”

Prosecutor Ahn nodded and glanced at the jury, making sure their attention was firmly on the tragic narrative she was building. 

“Mr. Choi,” Ahn said, her voice quiet and deliberate, “do you believe Ms. Lee poses a danger to others?”

“Yes.”

"Thank you, Mr. Choi," Ahn said, before turning toward the defense table, offering the floor to Jongho. He stood up slowly, his expression unreadable as he prepared to dismantle the prosecution’s carefully crafted testimony. 

“Mr. Choi, what was your relationship to the victim, Jung Wooyoung?”

San blinked, his expression hardening, clearly not expecting the shift in focus. He squared his shoulders and answered, "He was a close friend of mine. We had known each other for years."

"Now," Jongho continued, his voice calm but cutting, "you testified earlier that your wife, Ms. Lee, had episodes where she experienced paranoia, confusion, and breaks from reality. These episodes, as you described them, made her unpredictable, correct?"

"Yes," San replied, his voice strained.

"During these episodes, did you ever witness Ms. Lee act violently toward Wooyoung? Was there any indication that she harbored ill will toward him?"

San hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "No."

“But you also testified that you believed your wife was capable of committing these crimes because of her mental state. When these 'episodes' occurred, did you ever seek medical intervention for her? Did you ever attempt to get her the help she needed?"

"I thought I could handle it. I thought...it would get better."

Jongho’s tone turned sharp again. "But it didn’t get better, did it? And instead of intervening, you allowed her mental state to deteriorate further, and divorced her?"

"Objection!" Prosecutor Ahn shot up from her seat. "Counsel is badgering the witness."

"Sustained," Judge Baek replied, her voice firm.

"I’ll rephrase, Your Honor."

Jongho turned back to San, his eyes locking onto him. "Mr. Choi, did you ever try to commit your wife to a psychiatric facility, or ensure she received treatment when it became clear she wasn’t capable of seeking it on her own?"

 "No... I didn’t."

“So at no point did you take any formal action to protect her or those around her. Is that correct?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my client has been portrayed as a dangerous woman, out of control and violent. But the truth is, the people closest to her, who should have protected her, did nothing. They left her to spiral, and now, they seek to blame her for the results of their negligence."

Jongho’s voice rose in impassioned defense, but you barely heard him. It was all noise now. The trial, the evidence, the testimonies—they were irrelevant. His defense painted you as a victim—of trauma, of untreated mental illness, of circumstance. It was a masterful performance, really. He was doing everything he could to save you, using every legal trick in the book to cast doubt on the prosecution’s case.

But the truth? The truth didn’t matter to you.

None of what Jongho said applied to you. It never had. The psychological evaluation—full of words like unstable and delusional—had been nothing more than a tool. You needed it. The evaluation was a key piece of the puzzle, a carefully laid foundation in your plan to ensure your return to him.

Jeong Yunho.

He wasn’t just another doctor assigned to pick apart your mind after that brutal incident. You’d been sent to Cromer Asylum after the incident that left the faculty bewildered and your peers terrified. Everyone thought you were unhinged, unstable, dangerous—and maybe they weren’t wrong. But in the eerie, stuffy walls of the asylum, Yunho had been different.

It was Yunho’s kindness—those small, thoughtful gestures—that first made you feel something again. Like offering you tea during your sessions or slipping you an extra book from the library. But the gesture had been far from simple to you. It had been intimate. Thoughtful.

During sessions, never rushed you. Even when your words came out fragmented, your thoughts tangled in chaos, he listened, really listened, without judgment. There was a warmth to his presence that none of the others possessed, a patience that was unnerving in its sincerity.

You fell for him, deeply and irrevocably. The way he looked at you, the way his presence brought a sense of peace in the madness. He didn’t know it then, but you had seen it—the connection between you. You had felt it. He didn’t know it yet, but there was something between you. Something right. 

But when you were informed of your release from the asylum, you begged him. You begged him to stop it, to keep you there, to let you stay with him. You pleaded with him like a drowning person reaching for something—anything—to hold on to. 

You were supposed to be getting better. Supposed to be moving forward. But the thought of leaving him, of stepping into a world where he wasn’t there every week, listening to your deepest fears and watching you with those careful, thoughtful eyes—it was unbearable.

"Yunho!" you screamed, twisting against the weight of the officers escorting you out. Your mind was spinning, unable to process what was happening. You searched his face for something, anything, that would tell you this wasn’t real. That he was going to stop them, that he was going to save you. 

But all you found was silence.

"Yunho, help me!" you sobbed, your voice raw and pleading. You reached for him, but the officers were too strong, dragging you backward as you fought to break free. Your limbs flailed in desperation, but it was no use. 

Yunho stayed silent. His eyes met yours one last time, filled with sorrow, regret, and something else—something you couldn’t place, maybe pity. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words never came.

When you were finally discharged, you felt hollow. The outside world swallowed you whole, indifferent to your desperation. And Yunho? He moved on. His role in your life ended the moment you walked out of Cromer’s doors.

But you couldn’t forget. You’d always find your way back to him, one way or another. 

You weren’t quite the same person who had walked out of Cromer Asylum all those years ago—though, in truth, you had never really left that place behind. No matter how much you tried to suppress them, to move forward, they lingered, always just beneath the surface. And in the center of those memories, was Yunho. He was never far from your thoughts, even as you built a new life with San.

When you received the invitation to the dinner party hosted by Ji Myungsoo, your father-in-law’s business partner, you felt a chill run down your spine. The name alone was enough to make your skin crawl, but you couldn’t refuse the invitation. San insisted it was important to attend. The business connection with Ji Myungsoo was vital, and he wanted you by his side.

The man who had taken everything from you—the man responsible for your family's deaths—was not only thriving, but he was hosting you, offering you drinks, parading you around his opulent home like you were all part of the same privileged world. The rage bubbled just below the surface, but you forced yourself to smile, to nod politely, and to keep up the facade for San’s sake. Every moment felt like an eternity.

Halfway through dinner, as the conversation turned toward families and futures, Myungsoo casually mentioned his daughter.

“You’ll meet her soon. I hope you two will become fast friends,” he said with a proud smile. 

You nodded, forcing a polite smile, though your mind was elsewhere. The edges of the dinner party felt blurry, sounds muffled under the weight of your thoughts as you fought to reconcile with the fact that your family’s murderer was standing right before you. 

Your heart raced, trying to keep your composure, knowing this was just another chapter in a long, cruel joke the universe had decided to play on you. 

And then she appeared.

Soyi entered the room, but it wasn’t her entrance that made your blood run cold. No, it was the man beside her, the one she had looped her arm through.

Yunho.

You hadn’t seen him since the asylum, since the day they released you and tore you away from him. You thought you had buried those feelings, those memories, but seeing him now—so close yet so impossibly out of reach—made it all rush back with a force that left you breathless.

He hadn’t changed. The same calm, thoughtful presence radiated from him. And then, as if fate itself had conspired against you, his gaze drifted across the room and landed on you.

Seeing Yunho again had set everything into motion.

As you stood there, watching him laugh beside Ji Soyi, the daughter of the man who had ruined your life, you felt a bitter twist in your chest. Nothing would ever be the same again. 

That night, when you lay beside San in bed, your thoughts were plagued with Yunho. His face, his voice, the way he had looked at you all those years ago. You had felt that connection with him immediately, and it had never faded. It had only grown stronger, all consuming, until it had taken over everything. Even your life with San. Especially your life with San.

He had been everything you should have wanted—a loving husband who was gentle, kind, and devoted. San gave you comfort, security. For a while, you tried. You really did. 

But now, you were going to be reunited with Yunho, no matter the cost. San had been collateral damage—necessary, inevitable. You had always known that this life with him wouldn’t last. It wasn’t meant to.

Because your life, your future, had always been with Yunho.

⋆

Ji Soyi had been first. 

Beautiful, kind, so perfect for Yunho. She was an obstacle, a barrier standing between you and Yunho. It was her constant hovering around him that grated on you the most. The way her laugh would ring out just a little too loudly whenever he spoke, her hand lingering on his arm a second too long, as though she had some unspoken claim to him. She would bat her eyelashes and brush against him, whispering things in his ear when she thought no one was watching. 

But you were always watching.

And Yunho, ever so polite, didn’t see it. Or if he did, he played it off. He always played it off. You had seen it in his smile—the one he gave her, the one that was meant to be reserved for you.

Her death came swiftly, almost too easily. You played the long game, weaving your way into her life with care. Befriending her was almost laughably simple, as if your shared connection to San could bridge the gap between strangers. You used it to your advantage, knowing that her guard would drop. And it did.

“Stay the fuck away from him,” you hissed as you brought your hands around her neck. “You don’t know shit about him, you don’t deserve him.”

You had expected more from her, something resembling a fight, but when you knocked her out, it was over too quickly. She struggled, clawing and kicking at you as she tried to break free, the pulse beneath your grip beating frantically, begging for life, but you didn’t flinch. You watched the way the light left her eyes, how her breath came in sharp, erratic bursts, until it suddenly didn’t. 

“He’s mine.”

It was quiet now, the room heavy with the absence of her breath. You lingered for a moment, taking it all in, before you stood up. You had done what needed to be done.

Upon hearing of his daughter’s death, Ji Myungsoo was consumed by grief. He had no idea that his own tragedy was about to begin.

The day had unfolded like any other, ordinary and unremarkable. But for you, it was anything but. Soyi’s death had been the first step—necessary to clear the path to Yunho. Now, with her out of the way, it was time to exact your revenge on the man who had destroyed your world. Ji Myungsoo. 

His death would not be quick or merciful. No, it would be a meticulous masterpiece of suffering, each moment designed to make him feel every ounce of the rage that had been festering inside you for years.

You invited him over for tea, expressing your condolences, telling him that San would be running late. There was no hesitation in his acceptance; why would there be? You were, after all, mourning Soyi’s loss alongside him. And as always, Myungsoo’s arrogance blinded him. He saw only the fragile, heartbroken woman before him—not the calculating mind that had orchestrated everything.

“You were right when you said that she and I would become fast friends,” you said, your voice calm as you poured him a cup of tea. The poison swirled invisibly in his drink, a silent killer that would take its time.

He sipped, oblivious. The poison worked slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. A slight discomfort twisted across his face, but he pushed it aside with a casual shrug. Perhaps he thought it was nothing—just stress or a mild irritation. 

But as the minutes passed, the real symptoms began to set in.

You noticed the first signs before he did: the subtle clenching of his jaw, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow. His hand reached for his stomach as nausea began to creep in, followed by a burning sensation that you knew must be coursing through his veins by now. He looked at you, confusion clouding his eyes.

“Are you alright?” you asked, feigning concern as he grew more uncomfortable in his seat. He forced a smile, but panic had already set in.

He attempted to stand, but his legs buckled beneath him, sending him crashing to the floor. His breath came in shallow gasps as his body convulsed, the poison coursing relentlessly through his veins.

The moment he realized he was going to die, his eyes locked onto yours, wide with fear. He tried to speak, but the words came out garbled, a pathetic attempt at pleading for his life.

But you weren’t done yet.

Dragging his half-limp body to your car had been easy enough, though the drive to the warehouse felt almost surreal. This was what you had waited for, planned for, every detail meticulously crafted for this moment.

You stared down at him, tied to the chair, his skin already pale from the poison. His eyes flickered open, unfocused, as you stepped closer. His breathing was ragged, each gasp a fight, and you savored the sight of his vulnerability.

"Do you remember where you were ten years ago?" Your words were venomous as you slapped him across the face with the hospital report—the one from the accident, the one you kept as a reminder of that night. The slap echoed in the empty room, but his head just to the side, too weak to hold itself up.

"It was rhetorical, don't answer that," you snapped, tossing the papers aside.

You began with his hands, driving the blade of your knife into the back of his hand, dragging it down each of his fingers as his screams echoed off the cold walls. 

“You took everything from me,” you whispered, the words calm but seething with fury as you tossed aside the knife and picked up an iron stake. The glow from the metal illuminated the look of realization that dawned on Myungsoo’s face. But it was too late for it. The stake hissed as it seared into his skin, his body convulsing uncontrollably, and you pressed down harder, savoring the way his flesh bubbled and blackened under the heat.

His words were a garbled mess, his once-commanding voice reduced to pitiful moans. You didn’t care. You weren’t looking for his answers—just his suffering. He begged for mercy, of course. They always do in the end. But you weren’t in the business of mercy. Not for him. Not for the man who had destroyed everything.

“Did you think I would just forget?” Your voice was soft, almost caring, but the malice beneath it was unmistakable. His eyes rolled back, his chest heaving, but all that came out were pitiful whimpers.

You took a step back, circling him like a predator. “Your family…” You spat, your disgust palpable. "All of you, filthy, corrupt pieces of shit." The iron stake gleamed in your hand as you lifted it, bringing it down with brutal force.

The first stab was almost surgical, controlled, as you sunk the metal deep into his shoulder. His scream was ear-shattering, but you barely registered it over the roar of blood in your ears.

“You destroyed my family!” Another stab, this time to his chest, your hand trembling not from fear but from the rage that had built up for years. "You took Yunho from me! Took everything!" 

Your voice cracked as you drove the stake in again, punctuating every word with a strike. His body jerked with each stab, his life force dwindling with every ounce of blood spilled, but still, it wasn’t enough. Not for what he had done.

"You ruined my life!" you screamed, your throat raw from the force of it, but there was no stopping now. Not until the last shred of his miserable life had been bled out.

Ji Myungsoo had taken everything from you. But in the end, you had taken everything from him, too.

“Y/N?” 

“Oh shit,” you muttered under your breath, heart raced as you turned to see Wooyoung standing in the doorway of the warehouse. Of all the people to walk in, it had to be him. San’s best friend, the real estate agent who had been helping you scout this very warehouse, now stood frozen, eyes darting between you and the bloodied mess that was Ji Myungsoo. 

His face shifted from confusion to dawning suspicion, taking in the scene with wide eyes—the discarded iron stake, Myungsoo's lifeless form slumped in the chair, and you, soaked in sweat and smeared in blood. Wooyoung wasn't meant to be part of this. You hadn't planned for his death—not here, not now. But fate had a way of forcing your hand, and as you stood there, you knew there was no turning back.

"What’s going on?" he asked, his voice low, cautious.

"Wooyoung," you began, your voice steady, even as panic clawed at your insides. You tried to keep calm, but his eyes betrayed his growing doubt. He knew something was off.

"I-I don’t know what happened. I blacked out and found myself here," you cried, your voice shaking just enough to sell the lie. The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, and you watched as his brow furrowed in concern, his guard lowering slightly.

"Blacked out?" he echoed, glancing around the dimly lit warehouse. "What do you mean?"

"I swear, Wooyoung, I don’t remember! One moment I was home, and then... everything went dark." You let your voice tremble, tears welling in your eyes as you faked a sniffle. "I never wanted any of this! You have to believe me!"

Wooyoung hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his face. His eyes softened, his loyalty to San overriding his doubt. "Okay," he said, his tone gentler now. "We’ll figure this out. I’ll call San, he’ll know what to do."

You followed him outside, feigning hysteria as he led you toward his car. He fumbled with his phone, his hands shaking as he dialed San’s number. He was trying to stay calm, trying to protect you, but he had no idea what was coming.

"I’ll drive you home," he said, opening the passenger door for you. You slipped inside, wiping fake tears from your cheeks, watching him get into the driver's seat beside you.

As Wooyoung lifted the phone to his ear, you reached for the knife tucked into the waistband of your pants. Your breath hitched, not out of guilt but out of anticipation. 

"San, I think something’s wrong. Y/N is—"

"Let go of me, Wooyoung! Don’t touch me, I don’t know where I am!"

Wooyoung’s eyes went wide, not in pain, but in shock as the blade of the knife came in contact with his throat. Blood trickled down as the phone slipped from his hand, falling to the floor with a soft thud.

"Wooyoung? Wooyoung?" San's frantic voice crackled from the phone.

You sat there for a moment, your chest heaving as you stared at Wooyoung's lifeless body slumped against the driver's seat. Unlike with Ji Myungsoo or his daughter, there was no satisfaction in this kill. No personal vendetta.

Wooyoung’s death wasn’t about revenge—it was about necessity. You needed chaos. You needed San to break, to crumble under the weight of grief and guilt. Wooyoung’s murder was the key, the catalyst that would force San’s hand.

Everything was falling into place. Wooyoung’s death had served its purpose, just as you had intended.

Wooyoung’s arrival wasn’t a mistake–it was destiny. The piece you hadn't accounted for but hoped fate would deliver. His blood on your blade, the chaotic scene at the warehouse—it was all necessary. For the world to collapse, to fold back on itself, to bring you back to that asylum. 

Back to Yunho.

But the jury wouldn’t see it that way. They would see only the surface: a cold-blooded killer, a twisted mind, someone trying to claim insanity and self-defense for the bloodshed. And that was the point.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began, his voice firm yet measured, “we’ve spent the past few days unraveling a complex and tragic series of events. You’ve heard the prosecution’s version of events,” Jongho continued, his voice low, almost intimate. 

“A calculated killer. A deranged individual who took lives without remorse. But this case—this trial—is about more than cold facts. It’s about understanding the human mind, the trauma that shapes it, and how one can be driven to unspeakable actions when their grip on reality slips away.”

He took a step forward, his eyes softening as he spoke, appealing not to their logic but to their empathy.

“When you look at the evidence, at the bloody scene, you see only the aftermath. But I ask you to dig deeper. To see Ms. Lee as a victim, not just of circumstance but of her own fractured psyche.”

“To convict Lee Y/N of murder, to ignore the clear signs of mental illness, would be to deny them the help they so desperately need. It would be to condemn them to a system that doesn’t heal but punishes.”

He walked slowly toward the jury box, lowering his voice once more.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t about vengeance. This is about justice. True justice. The kind that doesn’t close its eyes to the complexities of the human mind. Y/N is not a monster. She is a victim of circumstances and trauma she couldn’t control. For that reason, I plead with you—find Ms. Lee is not guilty by reason of insanity. Don’t let this tragedy end with another one.”

The courtroom fell into a suffocating silence as the jury left to deliberate. It was as if the room itself had been holding its breath, waiting for the judgment that would either seal your fate or offer a sliver of mercy. Every sound—the shuffle of papers, the creak of chairs—seemed amplified, yet muffled by the overwhelming tension. 

You were so close to Yunho. His face lingered in your thoughts, hazy and distant, but still the anchor that kept you grounded. You had tried so hard to return to him, to undo the chaos, to find the way back to the asylum where it had all begun. All of this—every desperate choice, every life you’d taken—had been to right the wrongs, to set the world on a course that could lead you back to him. Back to the only place where you’d felt whole. 

Would the jury see beyond the blood and violence? Would they understand that your actions, twisted as they were, had been born from a mind in torment? Or would they condemn you, as the prosecutor had urged, to live out the rest of your days in darkness, with no hope of return?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the heavy wooden door creaked open. The jury filed in, their expressions unreadable, faces drawn and pale as if the weight of the decision had drained them of life. 

The world around you blurred and you barely registered the judge’s voice asking for the verdict. Your pulse quickened, each beat pounding in your ears, drowning out all other sound. Every nerve in your body tensed, bracing for the moment when your future—everything you had done, everything you had been—would be reduced to a single sentence.

“In the case of Y/N, we the jury find the defendant…not guilty by reason of insanity.”

For a moment, the world had stopped to process the verdict. And then, chaos erupted. The courtroom exploded into a cacophony of shocked gasps, outraged shouts, and the frenzied hum of disbelief. Reporters scrambled to capture the scene, their cameras flashing like bursts of lightning, while murmurs of shock rippled through the gallery.

You barely registered the noise, the protests, the frantic movement around you. The words not guilty resonated within you, surreal and distant, as if they had been spoken for someone else. But they hadn’t. They were yours. You had been spared. 

You had won.

A strange giddiness bubbled up inside you, an almost glee that coursed through your veins. Your limbs felt light, your pulse quickening with the intoxicating rush of relief and triumph. You could hardly believe it. You had done it. You were going back. Back to where it all began. Back to the asylum. 

Back to Yunho.

It didn’t matter what they thought—what they saw in you. They would never understand. They couldn’t see what you saw. This wasn’t about guilt or innocence. This was about destiny. And destiny had delivered exactly what you needed.

As you were led out of the defendant’s seat, the press rushed toward you, their voices clamoring for a piece of you, a glimpse into the madness they’d only seen from the outside. 

“How could you let this monster go free?” one reporter shouted, his words seething with disgust.

“This isn’t about freedom,” Jongho’s voice cut through the mayhem, firm and unyielding, though no one seemed to hear him. “This verdict means treatment, not freedom.”

But you heard. And it made your pulse race even faster. Treatment. The word tasted sweet on your tongue. They didn’t know it, but they were giving you exactly what you wanted. They were sending you back to Yunho, back to the place where everything had started to unravel and where, finally, you could set it all right.

A nervous, giddy laugh threatened to spill from your lips as security escorted you down the courthouse steps, flashes from cameras exploding like fireworks around you. You felt lightheaded, as if you were floating. The trial was over. They had given you exactly what you needed. You had won.

Soon, everything would be as it was meant to be.

As you descended the final steps, you caught Jongho’s eye. He gave you a curt nod, his expression unreadable. But you didn’t care. None of this was for him. This was for you and Yunho.

The asylum was waiting. He was waiting. And soon, you’d be together, just as fate had intended.

⋆

Yunho moved through the halls of the asylum, his footsteps steady, his mind focused on the quiet, predictable routine that had become his refuge. There was a strange comfort in the monotony—the steady rhythm of making his rounds, checking on patients, administering care where needed.

The asylum was a place where chaos was contained, where he could maintain control. And after everything that had happened, he needed that sense of order more than ever.

Since Soyi’s death, Yunho had distanced himself from the outside world, retreating into the sterile, unchanging walls of the asylum. Here, within the asylum, the order and routine soothed the jagged edges of his grief. He didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to feel. All he had to do was keep moving—one foot in front of the other—through days that blurred together in a haze of a routine. 

But today, there was something different in the air. An odd tension hummed beneath the surface, something Yunho couldn’t quite place. The staff seemed restless, exchanging glances as they passed, but no one said anything. He brushed it off, convincing himself it was just another day.

As he headed toward the lounge for a break, he suddenly froze. Whispers drifted through the air like spectres. His back was to the nurses, but their words hit him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Did you hear the verdict?” one of them whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“I can’t believe it,” the other replied, shaking her head. “After everything that’s happened, they’re sending her back here?”

No.

No, it couldn’t be.

Yunho’s heart began to race, his feet were fixed to the ground but his mind was spinning, grasping for a rational explanation. 

You couldn’t be coming back.

He slowly turned toward the nurses, the look on their faces told him all he needed to know. It wasn’t a rumor. It wasn’t a mistake.

You were being brought back to the asylum.

Yunho had tried to help you back then, hadn’t he? He had thought he could guide you through the darkness in your mind. He had thought you could be saved. But you had twisted everything—warped every moment, every act of kindness, until the lines between reality and fantasy blurred beyond recognition.

Yunho clenched his fists, recalling the strange things you used to say, the way you always looked at him with a strange intensity, as if there was something between you that had never been there. He had been your doctor, your guide through a fractured reality. But to you, that had never been enough.

In your mind, every small interaction, every professional courtesy had turned into something else. Something far more intimate, far more meaningful. He remembered the way you would smile at him after a session, lingering in the doorway longer than necessary, your eyes gleaming with an unsettling warmth.

The tea. You had held onto that memory like it was a shared moment of affection, but Yunho had only brought it to you so you could take your medication. He never lingered or stayed with you—it was just protocol. And the books—you believed he had slipped them to you as a secret gift, but in truth, you had stolen them from his office. While you imagined a private exchange, Yunho had been searching for those missing books, unaware of the narrative you had created in your mind.

Yunho had been oblivious at first, chalking up your behavior to the paranoia and delusions of your condition. But as the months had worn on, it became clear that you were building something dangerous. You began to speak as if he were yours, as if the two of you shared something secret and forbidden. And when he tried to correct you, to explain that none of it was real, you had lashed out.

He had been forced to distance himself, to reassign your care to someone else. He couldn’t risk letting you believe any longer. But even then, you hadn’t stopped. The stalking had started—notes left in his office, small gifts appearing on his desk, the feeling that you were always there, watching.

You had vanished without a trace after your release, and though there had been whispers, rumors—mostly mundane—no one seemed to know what had truly happened to you.

But when he saw you that night, at the dinner party, and that unsettling smile playing on your lips, something in him had recoiled. He’d tried to convince himself it wasn’t really you at first—maybe a shadow of his imagination, a trick of the light, the product of too many sleepless nights. But it was you.

Married to another man nonetheless. 

You hadn’t changed, not in any way that anyone else could notice, but to Yunho, there was something different. Something darker. The way you watched him—how your gaze never left him, even when you pretended to mingle with the other guests. 

At first, he tried to ignore it. To tell himself that he was imagining things, that the distance between you had made him overly paranoid. But the gnawing feeling never left. The unsettling gaze you cast his way lingered, even in his dreams.

And then the deaths came.

Soyi was first. Found in her own home, strangled to death. The image of her lifeless body flashed across his mind like a nightmare he couldn’t shake. She had nothing to do with any of this, yet her murder felt…deliberate. Calculated.

The police hadn’t found any leads. Yunho knew Soyi wasn’t a target, but a message. The first drop of blood in what would become a flood.

Then her father, only days later. The grief had barely settled over the funeral before another tragedy struck. He was found in a warehouse, unrecognizable as he was branded and mutilated to death. 

Wooyoung’s death didn’t make sense. It didn’t fit your pattern. Where Soyi and her father’s murders were deliberate—carefully tied to your twisted sense of fate—Wooyoung was different. He wasn’t part of the narrative you’d constructed around Yunho. He wasn’t a pawn in your obsession, nor did he pose any threat to your plans. And yet, there he was—dead.

Yunho tried to make sense of it. He wanted to believe it was all some horrible coincidence, that Wooyoung’s death wasn’t connected to you. Why would a married woman go on a killing spree, carefully orchestrating deaths that, at first glance, seemed unrelated?

But the more Yunho thought about it, the clearer the truth became. Wooyoung wasn’t just collateral damage in the fallout of your unraveling marriage. His death had been deliberate—another piece of your twisted puzzle. A final push.

Yunho’s stomach twisted as the realization sank in. Wooyoung’s death had been the last piece of the puzzle to get San to divorce you. The timing was too perfect. San had been distancing himself, pulling away the moment the killings began. But Wooyoung? His death was the breaking point—the one thing that pushed San over the edge.

Yunho couldn’t escape the truth now. Your silence, the way you had watched him before you disappeared, the cold calculation behind every move—it had all been leading to this. You wanted to sever every tie, burn every bridge.

And it worked.

Now, standing in the asylum, Yunho felt the dread he had long tried to suppress rose to the surface. You weren’t just a memory or a ghost lingering in the corners of his mind anymore. You were here—flesh and blood—inside the place where everything had begun to unravel. The line between reality and delusion had long since blurred.

He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest as he approached his office. The hallway seemed longer, the air heavier, as though the very walls of the asylum were closing in around him. His hand trembled as he reached for the door handle, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing down the corridor. 

And there you were—sitting in the chair, waiting for him, your presence filling the room like a ghost that refused to be banished.

“Yunho,” you said softly, your voice carrying a strange intimacy that made his skin crawl. You rose from the chair, stepping toward him with a slow, deliberate grace, “I’m back.”

Your smile—small, almost innocent—didn’t reach your eyes. They gleamed with something Yunho couldn’t quite place, something darker, obsessive. His heart pounded, and for a split second, his instincts screamed at him to run, to leave, to escape. But he couldn’t move. His body was frozen, tethered by the force of your gaze, by the sheer gravity of your presence.

“Can you believe it? Fate finally brought us back together.”

Your words tightened around him like a noose, each one pulling tighter, cutting off his air. Together. That was what you believed, wasn’t it? That this was fate. That everything—the years of distance, the separation, the silence—had all been leading to this moment. This reunion.

You were smiling now, a slow, eerie smile that didn’t match the sharp edge in your tone. “Do you understand? All those years of waiting, of watching you live your life without me…it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.” Your voice trembled with emotion as your lips curled into something that might have been joy, if it hadn’t felt so disturbingly wrong. 

“You don’t have to be afraid,” you cooed softly, reaching out to brush your fingers along his arm, the touch light but charged with an undercurrent of possessiveness. 

“This is what was meant to be. We were always meant to be together, Yunho. Nothing can change that. Not time. Not distance. Not even death.”

The pit in Yunho’s stomach churned violently. He stared at you, the full horror of your words sinking in like poison. You had killed for this—for him. Because you truly believed that your twisted bond, your warped sense of destiny, justified everything.

You stepped even closer, your breath warm against his skin. 

“Just like it was always meant to be.”

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Reunion - Friends

Masterlist

Pairing: Dick Grayson x (f)reader

Tags: SFW, platonic, friends, jealousy, feelings, blood, death, crime, guilt

It's been a week since your embarrassing parting with Dick. Since then, you threw yourself into your work and studies. It was difficult to rip yourself away at first, but the longer you kept at it, the easier the routine became. Each day became structured, starting with the gym, then classes, studying, and your internship. On top of that, you and your friends always had something planned for weekends or evenings, so you were seldom bored as you were kept plenty busy.

The routine drew you back to your old self, the one that was comfortable and wasn't concerned about the intentions or treatments of some man. It felt great!

Today, you were attending your first jury duty selection. You fixed the collar of your blouse and flattened your palms down your blazer, then skirt, taking one last look in the mirror before exiting the bathroom. You were still going over the transcripts of your case as you made your way to the courtroom, not careful of where you were going. As a result, you bumped into a hard wall of muscle. "Mph!" You blinked a couple of times, adjusting to your surroundings. "Sorry!"

Said wall turned around to face you. He wore a brown leather jacket over a black t-shirt, with his detective badge tucked on the side of his belt. And he smelled like old spice, all six feet three inches of him. Your friend Tony smirked down at you. "Sup dude?"

He started law school with you and then transfered to the police academy when he decided he wanted a more "hands on" approach to fighting crime.

You grinned up at him brightly, opening your mouth, ready to greet an old friend. But then you remembered where you were and composed your festures quickly. "Good morning, Detective Ericso-"

"Oh, don't give me that shit." Tony groaned before puling you into a bear hug. "I'm off duty. Plus, I'm still a cadet."

"Well," you looked down at your now disheveled outfit. "I'm not off duty. So I have to be Profesional." Then you smiled excitedly. "I have my first jury duty selection today."

"No shit." He snapped his fingers in an exaggerated way. "Look at you, miss lawyer!"

"I know," you channeled Monica from friends as you couldn't help but grin at him. He was always a ball of energy.

"Listen, a couple of friends are meeting at Richmond's tonight for a beer. Come with us." He said.

"I..." you began to think of your plans in the evening and came up short. "Okay, I'm free. What time."

He rolled his eyes. "Around eight. And as if you had any plans to begin with, you studious loser."

You raised your arm to smack his, but then you made eye contact with an important looking man in a suit and lowered it again. "Eight. That's when i finish my day. I'll see you there! I gotta go now."

"You better!" You heard him say as you opened the door and stepped into the courtroom.

The couple of friends Tony had mentioned turned out to be two young cadets and Dick grayson.

You froze for a mere second when you walked in through the familiar doors of the bar. It was odd, yiu realized. You expected to feel a pang of something upon seeing him, but... you felt something mild. It was not pain, just... acknowledgement. Tony spotted you and waved you over. When Dick followed his friends' gaze to you, he offered you a shy smile. Surprisingly, you were very comfortable offering him one back.

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Dick smiled suggestively at you, tilting his head in the direction of the bar. "That guys been eyeing you since we sat down."

You, along with the rest of the table, turned to see who he was talking about.

At the bar, facing your table, a group of young men in suits sat drinking beers. Finance guys, by the looks of them. Not exactly the Bruce Wayne high fashion enterage, but they could have been consultants for a big firm. One of them - a cute blond with gelled hair - saught your gaze and gave you a small nod before raising his bottle to his lips. The gesture made you smile back before turning back to the group. "He's cute."

"Go talk to him." One of the other cadets, Anna, gave you a light nudge.

"Nahh." Dick drawled, leaning back in his seat. "She doesn't have to. The guy's making his way over here right now."

And surely enough, a moment later, the blond suit showed up to your table, clearing his throat. You looked up and met his gaze.

"Is this seat taken?" He asked you, glancing to the open chair beside you.

You shook your head.

"Lucky me." The blond grinned a charming grin and sat down beside you. He had a gorgeous pair of green eyes, a chiseled jaw peppered in a three day stubble and beautiful full lips that seemed really kissable. You looked down at your heart, wondering if you were really that much of a lightweight so as to be so affected by a man.

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Dick was happy.

He was happy you were comfortable around one another again. Happy your could talk to each other and laugh together. Most importantly, he was happy that you were happy. He watched you and the finance bro chat and laugh to each other, smiling at one another's jokes, exchanging contacts. Finance bro began to brush your knee with his fingers as his gaze became a little bit more heated.

You didn't seem to mind, Dick noticed. In fact, if the slight blush on your cheeks was any indication, you enjoyed the attention. You offered him a timid smile, biting down on your bottom lip.

Dick felt his smile falter.

Oh no.

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You laughed into your wineglass as your friend Tony reached to give Dick a light smack upside the head. Dick dodged at the last minute, and Tony missed.

"Dicky, how is it possible that after that many years on Earth you've never seen Harry Potter?!" Tony asked, incredulous.

Dick shook his index finger in return. "Na uh, you don't get to judge. You haven't seen Love, Actually -"

You smiled to yourself. Of course Dick Grayson was a love, actually enjoyer. You pictured him watching the romcom and tearing up at the emotional scenes.

"Dear god!" Tony dropped his head into his hands. "Apples to oranges, man! Y/n, help me out here - oh yeah. I forgot you're busy being in love."

"You're so dramatic." You murmmered, looking at your phone. "I'm literally emailing my prof."

"Oh? A contender for finance, bro?" Dick raised his brow suggestively.

"Wouldn't you like to know." You smirked. "And 'finance bros' name is Eric."

Dick raised his hands in mock surrender for in truth. He really didn't care. He also didn't like that you called finance bro by his name. He was finance, bro. A faceless fuck. Not Eric, some guy whose name, personality and life you possibly knew.

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Dick was ready to knock Tony out if he mentioned finance boy one more time. He sat on your apartment floor, wearing an ugly Christmas sweater that you knitted him as his secret Santa.

Tony sat gleefully in his hanukah sweater that your friend got for him. He was positively drunk when he raised his half finished glass of beer and announced. "I have an announcement."

The rest of the people at your apartment went quiet, patiently waiting for Tony's next words.

The young man smiled, opened his mouth to speak, and let out a long burp. The room burst into groans and murrmers of disgust.

Dick was too busy receiving an emergency alert into his earpiece.

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Dick arrived at the bank just as the day surrendered to the night. The sky above Gotham was tinged in dark blue as the bank’s alarms blared into the street.

"I’m at the location, Oracle," he murmured into his comm.

"Roger that," Barbara’s voice came through. "Security cameras show several men in ski masks inside."

"Copy." he replied, scaling the building in silence. He scanned the scene through a window: two civilians - a mother clutching her child - and a bank teller stood cowering in the corner as the masked robbers rifled through drawers.

"Need any backup?" Tim’s voice cut in.

"Negative, Baby-bird. This’ll be quick," Dick replied, his voice steady. "Enjoy your Christmas eve."

"God, he's so sappy." His brother, Jason, groaned into the comm.

"Police are en route, Nightwing," Barbara updated.

"Thanks."

He took out his batons and moved into action, precise and controlled. This was second nature - an exercise he could do in his sleep. Within moments, he had incapacitated the leader and taken down the four remaining men, who barely had a chance to react. In under a minute, every robber was either knocked out or tied up. Just as Oracle said, the police cars pulled up a moment later. Armed officers running into the bank, followed by a stoic commissioner Gordon walking in.

"Oracle, any more assailants?" Nightwing asked, breathing a little harder as he led the mother and teller toward the exit, carrying the giggling child in his arms. The little boy poked his chubby finger against Dick’s cheek, and despite the situation, Dick found himself smiling, cooing gently to reassure him.

Then, a gunshot shattered the air. Dick froze, his heart plummeting as a horrible, familiar dread took over.

"No!" he gasped, handing the child back to his mother before sprinting toward the sound.

As he rounded the corner, he saw it: one of the police officers lay in a spreading pool of blood, a discarded gun a foot away from a handcuffed robber. The scene played out, each detail sinking deep into his mind. He couldn’t look away. But... how? He's either tied or knocked all of them out!

He stumbled to Commissioner Gordon, who was kneeling beside the officer, hands trembling slightly as he took in the fatal wound.

"Is he…" Dick’s voice caught.

Gordon stood, his expression etched with grief. Slowly, he removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, drawing in a heavy breath. "He’s gone, son."

The weight of those words felt like a punch to the gut, hollowing Dick out from the inside. This was what he fought against, what he trained his entire life to prevent - and tonight, he had failed. Despite every life he’d saved, it hadn’t been enough.

Hours later, Dick trudged back to his apartment, feeling like a ghost. The image of the fallen officer haunted him, replaying every step of the night until it blurred with exhaustion and guilt.

As he opened his fridge and reached for a beer, Batman’s voice came through his comm, quiet and firm. "Nightwing. What happened tonight wasn’t your fault."

"Yes, sir," he replied, swallowing against the lump in his throat, the words barely audible.

“Dick… I've gone over your body cam. You did a good job incapacitating them. It was just bad luck." Bruce’s voice softened.

"I know," he whispered, his grip on the bottle tightening.

A heavy silence hung between them before Bruce added, “Get some rest.”

The comm went silent, and Dick felt something inside him finally break. The weight of his grief, the frustration, the helplessness - all of it spilled over as he sank to the floor, alone in the dark, and let himself cry.

[multific]

Love In Oil Colours

Chapter 6: A Little Grey in the Colour

Astarion x Fem!Reader

Summary: You just wanted to see the paintings. To see what new exhibits there were. You never expected for a simple oil painting to reveal so much about you and your past.

Your lover left you again. 

Leaving you in an empty house.

His duties called as he explained.

He promised to destroy the man responsible for his pain.

He promised he would return and you believed him. He always returned. He had to. What else would you possibly do without him?

But it didn't stop your heart from worrying. 

You knew he would return. 

Even when men came into your home.

Even when they deemed you a witch and burnt down your home. 

Even when you were taken into town and they all wanted to see you burn.

Even when you stood in front of an unfair jury.

You knew he would return.

Astarion would come and save you from all the bad. Just like he had done for many many years now.

And he did.

The night before they would have executed you at the stake. 

He arrived and you could imagine how angry he was.

You only heard the cries and the flames.

He came to save you and he did.

With you, in his arms, he returned to the woods, behind you the town burnt and dead.

You didn't know then, but this was only the beginning.

Each morning you woke up tired. It truly felt like you were seeing someone’s life being played in front of your eyes. 

Memories instead of dreams.

They consumed you.

And no matter what you did, they only ever appeared at night. 

Even if you tried to sleep during the day, no dreams came.

Only at night, in the dark.

The above photo is not mine! Credit goes to the owner!

Series Masterlist

Oil Taglist: @b33l1ghtfu11h0n3y @usuallyunlikelyfox @andromeda-gaylaxy @girl-with-an-orange-cat @joyfulfxckery @perseny @a-tong

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak   @manduse   @jacalineiscomingforyou  @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[wardenparker]

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Dating Your Ex - Epilogue

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

When Marcus unexpectedly runs into his ex-wife he is plunged into a world of complications where rekindled attraction and deep-seated insecurities reign. Unfortunately for him, it is also a world where his ex-wife is not the only ‘ex’ around, as a new case crosses his desk that will require all hands on deck. ✨💖Inspired by and based upon absurdthirst’s Tequila. 💖✨    

Rating: General audiences for pure fluff, but this blog is always18+ Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this series include: divorce, break ups, collegiate Greek life, underage drinking, food/alcohol consumption.** Pure fluff with just a passing mention of pregnancy kink. It *is* Marcus, after all. Pregnant reader with mentioned cravings. Summary: Glimpsing a few years into the future, the life of the renewed Pike family is rocked by a new adventures at every turn. Notes: This little story has brought us so much joy, and hopefully it has brought you some as well, dear readers 🧡🧡 Thank you for coming with us, and check out the writing schedule that went up a little while ago to see what’s coming next!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

French court has been distinctly different from the one time you ever served on jury duty in a US court, and if you weren't uncomfortable from the hard benches, needing to pee constantly, and the very tiny foot currently lodged in your ribs, you might be more inclined to pay attention to the differences to chat to Angie about it when you get back the DC again.

You and Marcus have been giving witness testimony for over a week in Henri Aubel's criminal trial. It's been a long time coming, since you went undercover for that auction two years ago, but justice apparently takes time. This time you're staying in a moderately priced hotel in Montmartre and enjoying your down time at a more leisurely pace, while Marcus fusses over every step you take to make sure that you and his little boy always have everything you need. He's sitting beside you holding your hand as you listen to the lawyers give their final statements, smoothing his thumb over your hand and wishing just as hard as you are that this afternoon could be over so that you can go back to the hotel and order some room service to just have a little quiet time to yourself.

“Are you doing okay, sweetheart?” Marcus notices you squirming slightly, knowing the baby is more active right now. He doesn’t seem to like you sitting for too long before he starts beating you up from the inside.

“He’s bored,” you whisper back, nodding that yes, you’re okay, it’s just the baby moving around. Gently, you move his hand to the side of your belly so he can feel where his son’s other foot is pushing insistently. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Just like every time he feels his son kick in your stomach, Marcus softens. His eyes turning warmer and even more loving as his hand brushes over your bumping flesh. It feels like he’s trying to play soccer or have a party. “Calm down buddy and I’ll take you and mama out for ice cream after this.” He promises softly.

To your absolute lack of surprise, that seems to soothe the baby more than anything, and you always tease that he’s going to own an ice cream shop one day due to the way it has been your number one, never ending craving for the last seven months. Of course the baby is just responding to Marcus’s soothing voice, but you like to imagine that childhood years full of ice cream truck adventures and inventing new flavours at home are in store for all of you. “Works every time,” you hum under your breath, trying not to grin in the middle of the court room.

“Mhmmm.” He smirks slightly, curling around you. “I know what my wife and son want.” He’s been so proud of where you are during this trip to France. Enjoying when Aubel’s lawyer had tried to discredit you by calling you ‘Madame’ Pike to insinuate that you held a personal grudge over his client. The entire courtroom had tittered when you had very sternly corrected him with ‘Doctor Pike’ and an introduction into your qualifications to speak on this case beyond your own undercover involvement. Marcus had been a peacock during the next break, so proud of you.

When the courtroom is dismissed nearly an hour later, you stand to stretch your legs and give Marcus an apologetic pout. Before you run off to find ice cream, you need to use the bathroom. Again. “I’ll be right back, my love.”

Marcus stands and moves over towards the agents who were crowded around the prosecutor. "We are going to slip away." Marcus tells Ducasse, aware that you and he could be called back for more questions, but it wouldn't be today. He holds his hand out to the agent. "Baby needs a walk and some ice cream."

“We will see you again Monday morning.” Ducasse gratefully shakes Marcus’s hand and glances behind him, smiling knowingly when you’ve already disappeared. His wife was the same way during all three of her pregnancies. “You have plans for the weekend?”

"I think we are going to do whatever my wife wants." Marcus grins. "This is sort of being used as our 'baby moon' since in a few weeks she won't be able to fly anymore."

“We would love to have you over once more before you leave.” Ducasse’s wife had been very fond of you when you visited last time, and he and Marcus have always gotten along well. The four of you had played cards for hours after their boys went to bed. “Chloe has asked if I would invite you, so please. Anytime.”

He nods. “I’ll talk to her and let you know.” He promises, knowing that you would say yes. Either tonight or Sunday night. “Hopefully you have a good rest of the day.”

“We are near the end.” He nods, shaking Marcus’s hand once more. “It will be good to put this behind us. Although I hope it will not keep you from coming to Paris again?”

"No, never." Marcus chuckles at the mere thought of never coming back. "My wife honestly wishes we could move to Paris. If only the FBI operated outside the US beyond special cases." He muses. "She would have our house packed up tomorrow."

He can see it, knowing how you love France, and chuckles softly at the image. “La Louvre would be lucky to have her.”

“What about the Louvre?” You sneak up behind Marcus, slipping your arm into his as he stands with René. That bathroom trip was very necessary, but you feel rejuvenated.

“How much you would be an asset to work there.” Marcus answers easily, shifting his shoulder so he can throw his arm around you. “And if INTERPOL would hire me, you would be packing us up to move to Paris in a heartbeat.

“It would certainly be a conversation to have.” Just because you would love it doesn’t mean Marcus would, and your lines of communication have smoothed out considerably over the years. “I wouldn’t mind, but our families might riot if we cross an ocean with this little boy being so new in everybody’s lives.”

The Frenchman laughs and nods. “I can imagine. It is your first. So it is especially sweet.” Marcus nods and Ducasse steps back. “Enjoy your afternoon, I am getting a coffee before we have to go back in.”

“Ready for ice cream?” It’s summer in Paris, so when you step outside the streets are packed with locals and endless amounts of tourists alike.

“Of course I am.” Indulgently smiling, he casually leads you away from the government building. While he wasn’t as confident in his ability to move around the city like you, he was becoming more acclimated. “You know, that could be something we look at down the road.” He offers, slipping his hand into yours. “Moving here.”

“Would you really want to leave the US?” He’s happy here, you know. He likes Paris and his French has improved measurably with every trip. But you’ve never talked about living here - it’s just your favorite vacation spot. “We’ve never discussed it, so I’m honestly asking.”

“It could be interesting.” Marcus admits, shrugging slightly. “Obviously not something we do now, but it could be something to talk about if the right opportunity came along.”

“We definitely wouldn’t consider it without the right work.” It does make you smile, though, and you lean into his side as you stroll down the sidewalk together. He wouldn’t continue to pose the question if it wasn’t something he was considering. “Is it…maybe worth enough thought that we give an extra thought to how the babies’ names would sound with a French accent?”

Marcus laughs and he knows that you are intrigued by the idea. “We can do that.” He promises. “Although let’s not name the baby Henri.” He teases with a wink.

“Oh god no.” You cringe at the very idea. “I’m not saying give them French names. I’m just saying…if it’s difficult to pronounce or unattractive with a French accent…maybe it gets bumped a little further down on the list?” Considering you haven’t had any luck whatsoever in narrowing down your son’s name, it might actually be helpful. That’s what you tell yourself, at least, so that you don’t get too excited.

“I can agree with that.” In a perfect world, he would try to find a way to move over here now, but his father’s health is failing and he wants to be stateside for the time being. “I still like Archer.”

“And I still say that Archer Pike sounds like a position on a medieval battlefield.” It’s never escalated to so much as a disagreement in your entire pregnancy, but your and Marcus’s very different taste in baby names has made for some interesting conversations. “This week I think I like Jonas or Elias best.”

“Jonas.” Marcus winces. “That sounds like our son is going to be in a boy band.”

“Alright, maybe not Jonas.” Both of you laugh as you turn down the bustling street. “Adrian is good. Or Elliott.” Trying to stay away from what you’ve termed the ‘normal’ names like Charles, Daniel, William, Thomas, Alexander, Jonathan, or anything like that has made naming more of a conversation. And more of a challenge. But that’s the good kind of challenge.

“Maxime?” Marcus suggests. “We can call him Max? Max Pike.” He rolls the name around and looks over at you to see what you think.

“Is that a French name I hear from you?” Pretending to be shocked, you gasp audibly and clasp one hand to your chest in mock shock. But something in the back of your mind makes you pause, and your laughter turns to a soft sigh just a moment later. “You know what Maxime sounds good with?” You tilt your head back to look at him and bite your lip, unsure how he’ll feel about the suggestion. “Theodore.”

“Really?” Marcus swallows, aware that his hand tightens around yours. He’s aware that his father doesn’t have many more years left and he hates that he won’t see his grandchild grow up so this is something to honor the man who had taught Marcus how to be a man. “I— baby, I would love that.” He had been careful not to voice that before because he doesn’t want you to agree for him alone.

“Do you like the names together?” He looks like he’s going to cry, which wouldn’t be a surprise from Marcus. As his father’s health declines, he’s been more open with how the impending loss is affecting him. “Theodore is a great name, even if you don’t like Maxime with it. Maybe…” you hold his hand tightly in support. “If you like it for a first name, we could call him Theo?” His father has always gone by Ted, and it’s a way to pay homage to the man without forcing an identity on your son or putting pressure on him the way family names so often can.

“I think –” Marcus exhales roughly and blinks, trying to get ahold of his emotions. “If you like it, I think that we have found our son’s name.”

“Then I think we have it.” After so much debating and searching and consideration, to actually have agreed on a name makes your heart feel like it’s grown three sizes all at once. “Because I actually love it.”

“I love it too.” Marcus smiles dreaming, imagining calling to his son when he comes home from work. “It’s fitting.”

“We can spend the next two months working on a middle name.” The look of immense joy on his face is all you need to see to be sure that you made the right decision. “We should call your parents this weekend to let them know that we finally decided on the first name.”

“Why don’t we do that in person?” Marcus suggests, knowing how proud his father might be to learn that his grandson is named after him. “Maybe have a little onesie made? And a shirt for him?”

“We can do that.” The wheels in your mind are already spinning about how to get it done before you have to stop flying. “What if we order them tonight and have them shipped to your parents, and we can change our flight when we’re done here to be to Florida instead of DC? Take a couple of extra days to see your folks before we go home?”

“Yeah?” He lights up at the idea and nods. “The case should be done by the time the shirts get there and I can tell mom not to open the package.”

“It would be nice to tell them in person.” You agree, reaching up to touch his cheek as you both pause on the sidewalk outside the patisserie that you know makes the best ice cream in this part of the city.

“It would be.” Your mother has been a little better since the wedding last winter, and excited when you announced you were expecting. Marcus rubs the back of your hand. “Maybe we can invite your mom out? See the baby’s room?”

“We can have my folks come to us once I’m grounded.” That’s how you had been referring to it, at least a little bit. “My sister said she’d wait to bring her crew out to visit us until after the baby is born.” With your free hand, you caress the side of your belly and nearly tear up. “Until Theo is born.”

He will defer to you on this, nodding in agreement. “Whatever you want baby, I want this to be as easy as possible and a good experience for you.” He grins and presses his lips to your temple. “I kinda like you pregnant.”

“Oh yeah?” Although you raise your eyebrows at him, you’re not surprised by it. Marcus hasn’t exactly been subtle in the way he’s heaped affection and indulgence on you since the day you came home from the doctor with the news. “Thinking you might want the second pretty quickly, or maybe a third?”

“Doesn’t matter how many you have.” Marcus promises. “I do love you just like this.” His hand slides across your burgeoning belly. “But if you don’t want any more, I will be happy with you and Theo.”

“And Cat Benetar.” The highly opinionated Siamese kitten you had adopted after returning stateside from your first joint trip to Paris has turned into an even more opinionated grown up cat, who also happens to love her namesake’s music. “No, baby. The only reason Theo won’t be a big brother is if the doctor advises against it for something medical. I…actually kind of like being pregnant. Which is something I never thought I would say.”

He snorts and moves closer, pressing his lips to your jaw line. The past two years have been the best of his life and the idea of having even more happiness makes his heart soar. “You like being treated like a Princess.” He scoffs playfully. “Foot rubs every night. Ice cream whenever you want. Doting husband ready to make you cum whenever you need.”

“And in exchange I have said goodbye to my ankles, given up my entire body to the growth of a tiny human, and gladly sacrificed increasing amounts of my own independence for that same tiny human.” The first day you had had to have Marcus help you out of bed was a very rude awakening, but right now you just sigh in contentment at the feeling of his lips on your skin. “I think that’s a fair trade.”

“You will get your ankles back, I insist on at least one ‘me day’ for you a month, where I take care of the kids and you go pamper yourself, and your body is even sexier.” Marcus insists.

With your arms around his neck and his hands gently cradling your sides, the two of you are the perfect picture of a couple very much in love. These last seven months of being married again have been such a blessing and you wouldn’t trade them for the world. “I think you might have a little bit of a pregnancy kink, babe. Not that I’m complaining.”

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he finally shoots you a smirk. “Maybe a little bit of one, but you can’t blame me.” Marcus huffs. “The woman I love, carrying my baby that I planted inside her?” He groans quietly and knows you are aware of what does for him. “Good shit.”

“Suddenly feeling a little less like ice cream and a little more like you want to be back at the hotel?” You know you are, but that’s mostly a side effect of the way his voice has dipped down so low it sounds like it’s coming from his toes.

"I always want to be back at the hotel with you." Marcus chuckles. "But I promised our Theo ice cream and I'm not going to start breaking promises now." He hums playfully, leaning in and kissing your nose. "Besides." He moves his mouth over to your ear. "I can always eat your pussy while you eat your ice cream." He whispers softly, aware that it will make you drip with need.

“How do you expect me to act normal when you say things like that?” You pout at him fiercely, but only because you’re too big now to just climb him like a tree anywhere you want. “Inside. Right now. Before I decide to drag you into a cab and order ice cream from room service.”

His laugh trails behind you as you both enter the shop, groaning when the smells hit him. Nothing smells as good as fresh pastries and ice cream. "We can have it to go." He poses, his hand on your back sliding down to rest innocently on your ass.

"Yes. Yes we absolutely can." It's possible that Marcus has grown to love real Parisian patisseries as much as you do. There's nothing quite like it in the world. "Do you want to bring some things back to the room for our breakfast tomorrow since we're here?"

“Unless you want me to run back here while you are asleep?” Marcus offers, knowing how amazing everything is fresh. You have taken to lying in just a bit longer because of the baby.

"If you're willing, I'm never going to say no." Not that you would ever ask him to, but Marcus does like to make a fuss. And it's not just for you - he loves fresh bread and pastry with a fiery burning passion. "Pan au raisin right from the oven is almost as sexy as some of the dreams I have about you."

“You have dreams about bread that are sexier than me?” He pouts playfully and huffs at you.

"I said almost as sexy." You promise him, stepping up in line with him so that the two of you are next. "I know you eye the curves on those croissants, Monsieur Pike. No shame in loving carbohydrates in our family."

“It’s because they match your curves.” Marcus teases, sliding his hands lovingly along your sides.

"Mmhmmm." Your expression is dubious and fully amused. "And it has nothing at all to do with all those flaky, buttery, beautifully light layers in the croissants you love?"

“Mmmmh.” He ducks his head and kisses your neck. “You have buttery beautiful light layers.”

"I'm going to totally bypass how silly that sounds and go straight to sighing lovingly." Not that it's much of a stretch. Marcus putting his lips on any part of your body always makes you sigh. "But we should probably order," you nudge him away reluctantly, not trusting yourself to behave with the way pregnancy has you craving him even more than usual.

Snickering slightly, Marcus moves up to the counter and orders your ice cream and one of the pan au chocolates that he knows you will want, along with his own order. He’ll come back tomorrow for your breakfast and some tea.

The creamy, dreamy caramel ice cream is worth every single second you spend fighting the hot summer sun to lap it up before it melts on the walk back to your hotel. Marcus's free hand tangles with yours as you walk and even though your feet are going to be killing you by the time you get there, you're enjoying just being able to soak up the beautiful weather with him.

“What do you want to do when we get back to the room?” Marcus asks, knowing that despite your need for him at times, the baby sometimes makes the need for a nap greater.

"Dream scenario?" You bite back a grin and lick some ice cream off your finger. "Exhaust ourselves, take a nap, and have room service in our pjs later tonight."

“Reality?” Marcus asks with a grin.

A small laugh of admission passes your lips, and you shrug. "Reality is that I'll get exhausted a lot faster than you will, but it still sounds like a fun night."

“Doesn’t matter. Although, I told Ducasse that I would let you know that Chloe wants use to come over sometime this weekend.” He hums. “You let me know when you are feeling up to it.”

"How about I call her in the morning and set up dinner for Sunday night?" The last time you had had dinner with René and Chloe Ducasse and their kids, you had spent leisurely hours upon hours at the house enjoying their company. Somehow that seems like a perfect Sunday night to you.

“I thought you would choose Sunday.” It sounded like a perfect way to end the weekend and Saturdays have been reserved for just the two of you if work doesn’t interfere.

“As long as that’s okay with you.” Of course you would never pressure him, but if he didn’t want to have dinner with his colleague - your friend - and his family, then he would have said so.

“It sounds like a great way to end the weekend.” He assures you, happy to see the hotel in sight. He knows you love walking around Paris but you get so tired now and he doesn’t want you hurting yourself.

“Perfect.” Both dinner and the hotel on the horizon qualify as perfect, in your mind, and you hum contentedly. “I can’t wait to get out of these shoes.”

“I’ll give you a massage.” Marcus promises. The room has a small sitting area and he likes to sit on the love seat with you and rub your feet while you watch tv.

“What kind of massage?” You throw him an exaggerated, salacious grin and raise your eyebrows like a Marx brother.

“Well….” His own gaze turns lecherous, and he licks his lips in anticipation. “I was going to say foot massage, but I think your pussy looks really sore. Sitting down all day.”

“Oh yeah?” If you could, you’d practically be skipping up to the hotel in eagerness. “Is that more up your alley? Giving my poor little pussy some attention?”

“If you want.” Marcus leans in to nibble on your shoulder lightly. “Spread you out on the soft pillows and see how long I can slowly lick you until you cum. Soft and sweet.”

“And maybe more?” It’s less frequent than it used to be, with you more often being uncomfortable as the baby - and therefore your belly - gets bigger. But tonight, you know you wouldn’t be satisfied with just his tongue.

“Oh baby, I want to lay you on your side and put your leg over my hip.” Marcus promises you. “Let you feel how much I always want you.”

"Then why are we still two blocks away and not in our room?" The grin splitting your face is incorrigible, and you tug on his hand. "You know, exercise is very important for pregnant women."

His laugh is light and easy, happy that this is still palpable between you. He had heard that some women hated being touched during their pregnancy and he would have respected it, even if he hated not being able to touch you. Your pace speeds up, but he makes sure you aren’t trying to run back to the hotel. “Have to make room for dinner tonight.”

"Yes, exactly." You nod wisely, giggling as you shorten the distance between the two of you and your hotel with every long stride.

He can’t believe his luck. Here in the city where you had proposed to him, where you had conceived Theo on your honeymoon, you are now rushing back to your hotel room to spend another evening in each other’s arms. He grins at the street performer playing for tips and wonders why he ever thought it wouldn’t be Paris where you end up. He should have followed you then, but you could be damned sure he would follow you now.

******

It's supper time by the time you pull your car into the garage, tired from an extra day at work that wasn't supposed to happen. Since leaving the photography department of the Smithsonian to a director position that dealt with preservation of paintings, there have been significantly more 'emergency' days just because of the increased size of the collection that you oversee. But it doesn't matter that your back is screaming from bending over a worktable. It doesn't matter, because as soon as you get inside you'll have dinner with your husband and your kids and hop into your Halloween costume to take Theo and Amelia trick-or-treating. The fact that your kids' favourite holiday is on a Saturday this year means that the family is going all out, and even Marcus is getting dressed up to come out with you.

“I hear Mommy.” Marcus whispers to the kids, watching them giggle and their eyes widen happily, knowing you would be surprised. Even if Marcus knew that you knew the kids would be in their costumes, the kids felt like it was a surprise. Especially since Daddy had decided to dress up like Prince Charming to their Mommy’s princess costume.

Coming in through the front door, you sigh as you drop your purse on the table in the entryway and pull off your coat to hang on the rack. "Anybody home?" You call without turning around, never even seeing the house full of decorations. The only thing that's caught your attention is the smell of Marcus's homemade beef stew and possibly fresh bread - unless your nose is lying to you, which it never does when it comes to baked goods.

“In here!” Marcus holds up a finger to his lips to quell the torrent of giggles coming from the three- and two-year-old. “In the kitchen!”

His voice is coming from the opposite direction that you are facing, and you happily trudge a few steps in that direction before finally realizing what you're looking at. There are cardboard pumpkins decorating the archways, construction paper ghosts hanging from the ceiling fan, orange and black electric candles everywhere, and fake spiderwebs on the stairwell banner as well as dotted around the doorways with little plaster spiders inhabiting them like beacons of the holiday. When you turn the corner into the living room, Marcus is dressed head-to-toe in a full Prince Charming costume, little Theo is dressed as a bonafide medieval knight, and Amelia is wearing her sparkly red and orange dragon costume that will have a matching fire-themed trick or treating bag when you go out after dinner. Everyone is dressed to the nines and giggling with excitement when they shout "Surprise!", and you nearly fall over with delight at the sight of your beautiful little family. Even Cat Benetar is wearing a little cat-sized witch hat, though she is currently lazing in her bed in the corner.

"Ohhhh, look at all of you!" Your little girl is the first to leap forward, arms up and begging for a hug before you even get all the way into the room. "You all look amazing!"

“I a dragon – RAWR!” Amelia growls in your face, her little expression twisted up to be menacing but she just manages to be adorable. Marcus laughs and judiciously grabs the sword Theo is waving around so he doesn’t knock the flowers off the table.

"You're my favourite dragon in the whole world, baby girl." You promise her, laying a kiss on her cheek since her costume's head dress is covering the customary spot on her forehead. "And your brother! Such a valiant looking knight, Sir Theo."

The little boy beams at you despite temporarily losing his sword, seemingly unbothered by it at the moment. "Daddy matches you, Mommy!" He informs you excitedly, in case you haven't noticed.

"I can see that." When you turn your smile on your husband it's nearly blinding. "Prince Daddy looks very handsome in his costume."

“Hey sweetheart.” Leaning in, he gives you a kiss that has Theo huffing territorially and Amelia squealing in your arms. “Kiss me, daddy! Kiss me!”

“Kid swap.” You grin, pecking Marcus’s lips again before letting your wriggling daughter climb into her father’s arms and leaning down to pick up your pouting son to smack a kiss on his forehead. The sound of it always makes him giggle, and your children’s’ laughter is undoubtedly the best sound in the whole world. “The house looks amazing, guys! Did you have fun helping Daddy decorate?”

The chorus of “yeahs” are enthusiastic and loud enough to make your ears ring but Marcus had grown used to it. Not upset with his kids for being kids, loud and excited. “Now, we have to eat dinner before we go trick or treating.” That inspires pouts but Marcus winks at Theo and kisses Amelia’s cheek again. “Good thing too because I heard Mrs. Johnson is giving out fudgesicles.”

“Weawwy?” Amelia squeals in delight, as the toddler seems to forget that she was ever upset in the first place.

“Thank you for this, honey.” The dining room is barely seven steps away but you all take them slowly, both kids hanging on to their parents as you and Marcus move. “A museum visitor poked a painting with their glasses before the guard could stop them and a flake of paint came off. The staff panicked and went straight to calling me instead of any of the other staff.”

“Baby, how many times have you had to shoulder doing things because I got called in on a case?” Marcus scoffs, and sends you a reassuring smile. You are a team and sometimes it means he picks up the slack, sometimes it’s you, “all that matters is that you’re here for dinner and the candy haul.” Theo cheers at that, having been assured he can pick out a few pieces to eat tonight. Candy anytime is a celebration to a three-year-old.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t say thank you. This is exactly what I didn’t know I needed to come home to.” You lean over to kiss him before telling both kids that it’s time to wash up. All three of you wash your hands together in the big kitchen sink and you carry the tray of dishes and silverware into the dining room. It’s a long-practiced dance now, and within five minutes you’re all sitting down to Marcus’s amazing meal.

“After dinner, Mommy’s going to change into her Princess outfit while you guys and I get the wagon ready.” He tells the kids. They had insisted they didn’t want to look like babies with a stroller, but he knew that they would be tired within a few blocks. So the solution was the wagon.

“We’re going to go all around the neighborhood tonight, and then tomorrow we’re going to Auntie Angie and Uncle Harry’s house to watch movies and have dinner.” Your best friend said she didn’t want to do anything major for her birthday, but sitting the kids down in front of a Disney movie and making a stack of grilled cheeses with a vat of tomato soup for dinner was good in everybody’s books.

“Kick off for soup season.” Marcus grins at you, eager to tell you his news, but he wants to wait until the kids are distracted. Get your honest opinion.

"And birfday cake?" Theo's eyes widen at his father, not because of the small portion of beef stew that is being ladled into a bowl for him but because of the promise of cake tomorrow.

“I’m sure that Auntie Angie will have the most delicious cake for you to have a slice of.” Angie and Harry had been amazing friends to have close by and it was going to be sad to have to say goodbye.

"Yaaaaayyyy!" Both two little cheers make both you and Marcus laugh, and you tear a fresh roll in half for the kids to share before putting one in front of Marcus and taking one for yourself.

"So you guys had a good day?" Once your children start eating they are hyper focused, so it's a short chance for you and Marcus to talk.

The kids grunt, too busy eating to answer so Marcus decides to broach the subject. “I got a call today.” He tells you quietly “From Ducasse.”

"Oh?" Sometimes it's work and sometimes it's pleasure when you hear from René or Chloe, but either way it's nice to hear from friends. "Business or pleasure?"

“Business.” Marcus squirms slightly, adopting a slightly guilty look.

"Do they need you for a case?" It would be a shame for him to be away from home for a little while, but it isn't the first time he's had to travel for a case since the kids were born. He had brought back a Paddington bear stuffed animal for Theo from London while you were pregnant with Amelia, and goodies for the kids from Rome just six months ago. He was working more and more with INTERPOL and seemed to really enjoy it, so you fully encouraged it every time. Even if it meant missing him for a little while.

“More than a case.” Marcus draws out slowly, wishing that he had more time, but the kids will be done with their food soon. “René has been promoted.” He reveals softly. “And he wants me to join INTERPOL to help him.”

"Oh my..." You can barely keep yourself from cursing or shouting or even exclaiming, knowing that if you do the kids will immediately start asking questions. "Are you serious? Is it...is it a good position?" Breathless, you feel absolutely breathless. "Do you want to take it?"

“I would be the assistant director of the Paris INTERPOL division.” Marcus nods. “I’m never going to advance past my position here and it’s good, but the position is a twenty percent increase and we can live in Paris.”

"It's how much?" Practically hissing to keep your voice down, you can feel your eyes widen and the excitement start to build, and a quick glance at the kids shows that they couldn't care less about paying attention to you. "Baby, th—that...that's amazing." You place your hand on this thigh under the table and give it a gentle squeeze. "But do you want to take it?" If he says no then it's the end of the discussion. Even if you had spent plenty of time dreaming about living in Paris together over the last few years, the reality of anything is always different from the dream.

“I do.” Marcus has given it a lot of thought since the call, especially since the kids are still young enough to soak up a second language quickly. The idea of being able to travel across Europe on the weekends and let the kids live in historic places is a heady thought. “If you still want to go. I know you have your own career to think about.”

"There is a lot of work for conservationists in the area." It's not as though Paris doesn't have its fair share of museums and galleries, and private collectors to boot. But you bite your lip a little and squeeze his leg again, excitement starting to leak through. "But I've been thinking about going back to teaching." He knows that you loved the classes that you taught at GWU a few years ago, but you hadn't really brought it up recently. "The munchkins will be school age soon and I could have summers off with them. Even if the Sorbonne is a pipe dream for a professorship, American University of Paris has a wonderful art history program."

“I do think that professorships pay more in Europe.” He jokes. “Plus we will be able to travel around the continent on the weekends.”

"Look at you." He is lit up, giddy happiness written all over his face just like both times you told him you were pregnant. He's beaming with barely contained excitement. And although your voice is quiet, you know you're smiling a lot harder than you were just two minutes ago. "You've already been looking at real estate, haven't you?"

“No.” He huffs defensively, giving a small shrug. “René already said there is an apartment that’s about to go on the market in his building. I just asked how much it was going for.”

"René is trying to sweeten the deal." The building that the Ducasse family lives in is a converted mansion that has been split into three family-sized 'apartments' that are basically good-sized condos. They're stunning. "And he knows how much I love that building."

“He really wants me.” Marcus admits with a grin. “Even hinted that if I pushed, a housing allowance would be thrown in to sweeten the deal.”

"Holy...sugar." You swallow thickly and lean over to press a kiss to your husband's cheek. The gears are turning in your head, and you know what a move of this magnitude will take a lot of organization. "How soon does René need you? It will take a little while to get everything squared away here."

“Honestly?” Marcus grins. “I was thinking about us ringing in the new year in our new home?”

The smile that spreads across your face is gleaming, and when you glance at the kids you get just a snippet of their very involved discussion of whether or not knights ever ride dragons into battle or if dragons are strictly fellow soldiers. "Then I guess I better update my resume," you murmur, feeling the pull of undeniable excitement. "And we should start teaching these monkeys some French."

“Yeah?” Marcus’s matching grin gets even brighter. “It’s a good thing my own French has improved. As well as my Spanish.” He knew it wouldn’t take much to convince you, but he’s still excited about the prospect of starting a new adventure with you.

"It means the holidays will be a blow out this year." The last American holiday season will be one that both of your families will want to make a big deal out of. Especially if you're going to be moving before New Years. "It's going to be an amazing new chapter."

“I am thinking we invite mom and your parents here?” Marcus’s dad had passed away while you were carrying Amelia, but he was happy that his father got to meet his namesake.

"Definitely." In your seat it's easy to lean against him, breathing in the promise of something new. An adventure you'll take as a family. The family you were always meant to be. "I love you so much, Marc. And I'm so proud of you. Being headhunted by INTERPOL is a huge deal."

“It’s a notch in my professional belt for sure.” He won’t deny that. His time at the FBI has been very fulfilling, but he wants to balance work and life a bit more than the Bureau allows and INTERPOL allows for that. “But nothing is as important as the three of you.”

"The three of us are with you." You promise him. "Always."

He reaches for your hand, a habit that he has no interest in ever breaking. “Just one question.” He poses, staring at you seriously. “Do they have tequila in France? Or are we going to have to smuggle it in?”

"No, my love. We won't have to smuggle it in." It takes everything you have not to burst out laughing at the table, and you barely stifle it long enough to lean over and press a kiss to your husband's lips. "They definitely have tequila in France."

“Good.” Marcus winks at you. “Because you know I’m supposed to stop smuggling, not participate in it.” For a long time, he hadn’t been able to touch it, too much of a reminder of you. Since you’ve stormed back into his life like you had the first time he met you, Marcus loves the taste of tequila again. Almost as much as he loves you.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle    

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My Masterlist!

[ronearoundblindly]

Sneak Peek!

a Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader excerpt

Summary: Steve reaches his breaking point when you return to the field after severe injuries.

Warnings for a touch of the spice and a vicious/hot argument. WC ~550 *This work is not in final edits yet. All mistakes are my own.

“You’re not my superior officer, and if you think for one second I did anything wrong out there, go ahead and report me. From where I’m standing, I did the work, got cleared for duty, helped out the team, and stopped you from being shot in the head.”

“Fine," Steve shouts, arms crossed over his chest, "but quit acting like a selfish coward.”

“A what?”

“You heard me.”

“If you’re gonna throw a hissy fit every time I get a scratch—“

“THREE BULLETS IS NOT A SCRATCH.” He tries—he visibly, painfully tries—to keep his cool one last time. “You weren’t ready,” he concludes, judge, jury, and executioner all poured into one star-spangled package.

“Say’s who?” You’re stepping closer, getting in his face because this is bullshit and unfair. “Last time I checked, you’re not a doctor, and you should be thanking me for saving your ass—“

“It’s not your job to save me.”

“We have the same job, Steve! We are both perfectly capable of—“

“I know that,” he barks.

“Do you? Because you don’t seem to think I can’t handle myself." You push weakly at his chest like it's a game. "Maybe you need to walk it off, buddy.”

Oh shit. You’ve done it now.

“Walk it off?! WALK IT OFF?!”

Steve charges like a bull seeing red, crowding you against the far wall, a derisive finger pointed at your heart.

“You were injured. You didn’t make contact. You went dark for days, and you could have died. Alone. Out there. Who knows how long it would have taken us to find you. No—“ he cups your chin in a tight pinch “—you want to talk about a job? It’s protocol to check in. It’s common courtesy to let me know you’re alive, and it’s goddamn rude to ignore your own safety.”

There’s a deep line of frustration carved between his brows. His nostrils flair as he waits, daring you to refute him.

“Well, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Excuse me?”

Steve lets go of you, smacked away by your cutting tone.

“Oh, whatever, Rogers,” you taunt, rolling your eyes. “Play martyr all you want, but we both know you don’t have the authority to bench me.”

“Like hell I don’t,” he growls, grabbing your wrists and throwing your arms above your head. He weaves your hands through the cargo net behind you. The loops are tight and complicated in seconds, he’s so fast.

You can’t wriggle away.

Steve roughly throws the zipper of your uniform down, letting the jacket hang open to show nothing but your sports bra.

“Let’s see how you like feeling paralyzed—“ he dexterously undoes your belt “—exposed—“ your pants and underwear are yanked down to your ankles “—and afraid.”

His last word thickens the air on the jet. 

How can this man launch you into unbridled lust in the space of two syllables? Who. Fucking. Cares. How.

Steve’s fingertips teasingly glide over the swell of your breasts, brush down your belly, and tick their way in a casual walk between your legs.

“Maybe I should leave you wondering how it’ll all play out, leave you wondering if I’ll ever touch you again, wondering if…”

“Yes,” you breathe.

a/n: Tentatively planning to have this done to post on Sunday since the original was a 'Sweet Sunday' ask. Per usual, don't quote me on that, but I got a huge chunk done today which was likely the hardest part. Thank you to all those who sent messages of support! I won't let you down 🫡

[Main Masterlist; Old Dog, New Tricks; Ko-Fi]

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp

[lilith0fthevalley]

Even Angels Can Fall~ Fallen Angel! Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader Chapter 3

Inspo: FALLEN ANGEL by Chris Grey

~~~

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Since the confrontation in The Garden, Y/N hadn’t been able to focus. Not when she sparred with Celestial Interceptors, nor when other Ethereal Guardians prodded her about her assigned town. She was absent-minded when a Dawnbringer Herald relayed a message, and even during her training sessions with Liora. This culminated in her being summoned to Liora’s desk.

“Y/N. I’m concerned. You haven’t been yourself lately.” Liora’s tone was soft, almost maternal, her cold gray eyes seeming to soften with genuine worry for the young guardian.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her thoughts pressing heavily on her chest. “I’m fine, Archangel. Just… a lot on my mind.”

Liora leaned back in her chair, her wings folding gracefully behind her. “You know you can speak freely with me. Is it the mission? Something about your assigned town?”

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to voice the doubts swirling in her mind. “It’s just… things have been different since…” She trailed off, not wanting to directly mention Miguel’s name.

“Since Miguel fell?” Liora interjected, her voice steady yet probing. “I understand how difficult it is to adjust after such a loss. He was a bright star, even if he chose a path that led him away from Heaven.”

“Yes, but…” Y/N bit her lip, feeling the urge to defend him. “It’s hard to ignore what happened. The way everyone speaks about him… as if he’s nothing more than a memory to be forgotten.”

Liora’s expression turned serious. “We must not dwell on the past, Y/N. Our duty is to protect the Mortal Realm from darkness, to uphold The Code. That is our focus.”

Y/N nodded, but her heart felt heavy. “I know that. It’s just… I’ve been thinking about what we’re really protecting. Is it right? The way Heaven treats those who stray from The Code?”

Liora’s eyes narrowed slightly, the warmth in her gaze fading. “What do you mean, Y/N? You’ve always understood the purpose of our duty.”

“Yes, but… I’ve heard things. Miguel—”

“Miguel!” Liora’s voice sharpened, cutting through the air like a blade. “Is a fallen one, Y/N! A traitor to our kind. His words are nothing but poison, making a vain attempt to taint your divine resolve.”

The coldness in Liora’s voice sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine, but she steeled herself. “But what if he didn’t deserve to fall! There were circumstances… things he never explained. What if he was right? What if we’re protecting a system that punishes the innocent?”

Liora straightened, her patience wearing thin. “You’re a guardian, Y/N. You must remember your place.” Her once kind eyes gave way to a violent storm hidden away in her gray irises. “To question Heaven’s motives is to undermine the very foundation of our existence. Miguel’s downfall was his own doing, and to romanticize his choices will lead to your own downfall.”

Y/N felt her heart clench at Liora’s harshness. “I thought you wanted to help me,” she murmured, the hurt evident in her voice.

“I do want to help you,” Liora replied, but her tone had lost its gentleness. “But you must choose—commit to your duties or be prepared to face the consequences. If you cannot uphold the integrity of our mission… Then perhaps you are not fit to serve as an Ethereal Guardian.”

The severity of Liora’s words struck Y/N like a blow. In that moment, the archangel felt less like a mentor and more like a judge, jury and executioner. The cold gray of her eyes offered no comfort, no hint of the nurturing spirit Y/N once thought she saw.

“Do you understand?” Liora’s tone softened slightly, but the authority remained. “Your future hinges on your decisions. I implore you, do not allow yourself to be swayed by the words of a traitor.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her heart heavy as the realization settled in. She was left standing at the precipice of her beliefs, torn between her loyalty to Heaven and the haunting whispers of doubt Miguel had planted in her heart.

As she turned to leave, the door behind her felt like a barrier she could never cross back over. Liora’s voice followed her, firm and unyielding. “Remember, Y/N. Strength lies in your conviction. Do not falter.”

Once outside, Y/N took a deep breath, the cold air filling her lungs, and fought to steady herself. As she moved through the corridors of Heaven, Miguel’s face loomed in her thoughts, a specter haunting her resolve.

And she realized, as she traversed the halls, that she could no longer ignore the storm brewing within her. She needed answers, and she needed to find them soon—before the walls of Heaven closed in on her completely.

Y/N’s heart raced as she fled from Liora’s office, the walls of Heaven feeling like they were closing in around her. She needed to breathe, to think, and most importantly, to confront the truths that gnawed at her. The Garden called to her like a beacon, a refuge from the weight of her doubts.

As she arrived, the familiar sights enveloped her—a sanctuary where light filtered through the leaves and the air was thick with the scent of jasmine. Her wings fluttered as she maneuvered through the overgrown paths, leading her to their spot.

“Miguel!” she called, her voice echoing against the stillness of The Garden. “Where are you?”

Moments later, Miguel stepped from behind a bush, his presence striking and shadowy against the vibrant backdrop. “Y/N,” he said, a hint of surprise flickering across his face. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Cut the pleasantries,” she snapped, urgency coursing through her. “I need to know the truth about why you fell. Liora—she—she said you betrayed Heaven. But I can’t believe that’s the whole story.”

Miguel studied her for a moment, his expression shifting from surprise to a knowing smile. “You shouldn’t be here, Y/N. It’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” she echoed, feeling the anger bubble beneath the surface. “Dangerous is living in ignorance! I need to hear the truth from you, not the lies Liora spun.”

He sighed, stepping closer with a deliberate slowness that felt almost predatory. “Very well. But I have to warn you—what I say may shatter everything you believe.”

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine, but she nodded, determination hardening her resolve. “Tell me.”

“Alright,” he began, leaning against the trunk of a nearby oak, his tone smooth and calculated. “You know the story of my fall. They say I sought power, that I betrayed our kind. But the truth is far more insidious.”

Her breath caught, anticipation hanging in the air. “Then what happened?”

“I was merely asking questions—questions that make angels like Liora very uncomfortable.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle in. “I wanted to understand why we stood by while the demons suffered. I wanted to know why we were so quick to punish anyone who strayed from the path. And that, Y/N, is a dangerous thing to do in Heaven.”

Y/N frowned, uncertainty swirling within her. “But they wouldn’t just… they wouldn’t just cast you out for that, would they?”

Miguel chuckled softly, the sound almost condescending. “Oh, they would. They needed a scapegoat. I became the perfect example—a warning to anyone who dared to question their authority. Liora was all too eager to oblige.”

The realization hit her like a wave. “So, you were just… collateral damage in their game?”

“Exactly,” he said, his eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and cunning. “But it’s not just about me, Y/N. It’s about you, too. You’re so bright, so full of potential. But the moment you start asking the wrong questions, you might find yourself in my position.”

Y/N’s heart raced as she absorbed his words. “What do you mean?”

“Imagine what it would be like to be free from all this,” he gestured around them, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “To walk away from their lies, their manipulations. To choose your own path without their chains holding you down.”

“Walk away?” she repeated, disbelief coloring her voice. “But Heaven is where we belong!”

“Is it?” Miguel stepped closer, his presence looming yet strangely magnetic. “You’ve seen the cracks. You’ve felt the dissonance. Liora is not the protector you think she is; she’s a warden, keeping you in line. The moment you become too much of a liability, they’ll discard you, just like they did me.”

Y/N felt a stirring within her, the embers of doubt igniting into a flame. “You can’t be serious…”

“I am,” he whispered, leaning in, his voice smooth as silk. “You’re at a crossroads, Y/N. You can continue to serve a system that will never truly embrace you, or you can embrace the truth and join me. There’s power in knowing—power in stepping away from their façade. Together, we could forge our own path.”

Her heart raced, confusion battling with a sense of liberation. “But… what if they find out? What if Liora comes after us?”

“Then we show her what happens when you refuse to be silenced.” Miguel’s eyes gleamed with a fierce intensity, a flame of rebellion that was hard to resist. “You’re stronger than you know. Don’t let them take that away from you.”

Y/N felt a chill wash over her, but there was a heat to his words, a dangerous allure that pulled her in. “I… I need time to think,” she finally managed, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

“Of course,” he replied, stepping back but keeping his gaze locked on hers, a mix of encouragement and challenge. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. Just remember, the truth will always find a way to the surface, no matter how deep they bury it.”

As he faded into the shadows, leaving her alone with her racing heart, Y/N pressed her hands together, the familiar words of prayer catching in her throat. But no amount of prayer could quell the small, treacherous part of her that wondered—what if Miguel was right? What if the truth could set her free?

Previous || Next || Series Masterlist Angel Hierarchy Guide

~~~

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[star-girl69]

Ultraviolence

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: animal death, blood, knives, mentions of sex, death, murder, dead bodies, mentions of drugs, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Nineteen - The Horses are Coming

Chapter Nineteen - The Horses are Coming

—-

2021-

While Natalie is off getting her big idea, Shauna stares at Adam’s dead body. That’s what his name is, you’ve now learned. Adam Martin, a struggling artist shacking up with a married woman.

Blood stains through the sheet you had placed over him, a little red blooming flower in the midst of his cold, neutral apartment.

Someone knocks on the door- but it’s more like banging, so Taissa takes the hand she was biting from her mouth and opens the door.

She scoffs and turns around.

Misty walks in carrying a bag of what you can only assume be cleaning supplies.

“Well, aren’t we a bunch of Gloomy Gusses. Who died?” she laughs, placing her bag on the counter. “No, but, seriously. Who is this guy?”

She leans down and pulls back the sheet, revealing a pale Adam Martin, his eyes still open.

“Misty. Really?” Shauna asks, looking at Natalie, unimpressed. “This is your big brainstorm?”

You sigh. “Tell me who else is gonna get us out of this?”

“Yeah,” Nat sneers. “Do you have a better idea?”

“I think what you mean to say is, ‘Hi, Misty. It’s so great to see you after all this time. Thanks for swinging by and helping us cover up a murder.’”

“Hi, Misty,” you say, wanting to stay on her good side. Adam Martin is not worth trouble with the law. She smiles.

“Why does everyone keep using that word?” Shauna asks. “It’s not like I woke up this morning and thought, ‘Hmm. What am I gonna do today? Oh, I know, I’m find out my boyfriend is a creepy stalker and stab him to death.’” Taissa shoots her a look, silently saying to calm down. “I’m going to prison. I’m going to prison for the rest of my life.”

“No, you’re not. None of us are. As long as you listen to me and do exactly what I say. Okay? So, if you haven’t already turned off your phones-” she grabs her own from her pocket, hitting a few buttons- “I suggest you do that now. Where’s his?”

“I-I took it home, and I put it in my safe.”

“Okay, as soon as we’re done here, you’re gonna go home. You’re going to wipe it and destroy the SIM card. All right? And do the same thing to yours,” Misty nods to herself, studying the body. “I didn’t see any security cameras. Did anybody- neighbors- see you come in here?”

The few gathered around Adam’s body shake their heads.

“I-I don’t think so,” Shauna says after a moment.

“Okay, great! Then we’re just destroying evidence. Shauna, you’re the best with a knife, clearly,” she laughs, adjusting her glasses. “So you’ll handle the body.”

Silence around the circle.

“I mean cut it up.”

“Oh, God, are you okay to do that?” Tai asks.

“Yeah,” Shauna says after a moment.

“I’ll help you,” Nat says, sending Shauna a look you can’t help but frown at.

“So, then, it’s just us three on clean-up duty,” Misty smiles. You can’t help but cringe at the dead body. “Whew. Boy, he sure was a gusher, huh?”

—-

“Woah, I just got the craziest case of déjà-uv,” Misty chuckles, wringing out a bloody cloth in the sink.

“And here I thought the worst thing that was gonna happen to me this week was losing the election,” Taissa sighs.

“Really?” you ask, scrubbing hard a small bit of particularly stubborn dried blood. “I mean, you were always the smartest out of us. I thought you would win.”

“Yeah. And I voted for you,” Misty says. “And I only registered so I could get jury duty.”

Tai stands up and chuckles.

“When do they call the results?” you ask, standing up as well.

“Tomorrow,” she shifts on her feet, and the bathroom door creaks open. Shauna walks out, carrying a bright red bag at arms length. “Oh, God, is that the…?”

“The rest is, um, draining in the tub.”

“Okay, perfect. So, when that’s done, put it in his suitcase and bury it out at Hacklebarney Park. I’ve got a shovel in my trunk which you can borrow. I do want it back, and I also took the liberty of packing up seine of his clothes, some books and toiletries and stuff. And I’ll take this with me and get rid of if. That way, if anyone comes looking for him, it just looks like he went on a trip.”

“Then after that? What if an animal digs him up? What if a hiker’s dog sniffs him out?” Taissa says.

“Well, it won’t matter. I mean, torso’s are useless. Duh,” she chuckles. “That’s the whole point! You only have to worry about the head and the hands.”

“So, what’s the plan with those?” Nat asks, who you hadn’t seen walk in. She’s always been haunting you.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.”

“Misty,” you sigh, watching as she wipes her hands. “If we both weren’t covered in blood, I would hug you, you crazy bitch.”

She only smiles, proud.

—-

1996-

You and Natalie eventually made your way back to the cabin in the early hours of the morning, catch another hour of sleep in a more proper bed- a pile of blankets on the floor, rather than the cold ground.

Metal clatters near the fire as the two of you, Jackie, Coach Ben, Tai, Van, and Misty waited for the girls who had participated in the hunt to wake up and come back.

You watch Misty as she stares harshly at Ben, more so just glaring at him- not even trying to hide it. Your place your hand over Natalie’s on the porch and move closer to her, and she looks over.

“Hm?” she hums, letting her fingers press against yours against the hard wood of the porch you sit on.

“Misty’s insane,” you mutter, and she follows your gaze. She lets out a small snort, and you look back at her with a smile.

Why even have a heart if it’s not meant to get broken? Why even have a heart if it’s not meant to stay with you through the ups and downs? Why even have a heart if it’s not going to love her?

Slowly, the girls come through the woods and into the clearing around the cabin, covered in dirt and smeared makeup, their dresses torn and dirty. Lottie leads them, abandoning the weird crown she had been wearing last night.

“Hey, I, uh, I boiled some drinking water,” Coach Ben says. “If you guys are as hung over as I am.”

“Has anyone seen Jackie?” Shauna asks.

The porch creaks behind you. Everyone turns to find Jackie standing in the doorway.

You’re still not exactly sure what happened to her last night, but she looks scared- even still.

She crosses her arms as soon as she realizes who it is.

The two of them stare at each other, Shauna’s ruined makeup giving her a ghost-like look.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Jackie says after a moment, her face curling up into disgust. “To any of you. I mean, what the fuck?” she laughs.

“Yeah, like you’re so innocent,” Mari mutters.

“Hey! I’m not the one who went completely fucking insane last night.”

“Right, no. You were too busy screwing Travis,” Van says, sarcastically, and you notice that there’s no bandages or anything on her face.

“You had sex with Travis?” you ask, looking up at her and frowning. The entire night, it hadn’t been a secret that Jackie had wanted Travis, but you didn’t think that anything was going on between them was reciprocated.

Jackie rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Why is it any of your business?! He chose to have sex with me, okay?”

“Well,” Natalie starts, “You’re fucking announcing to everyone, Jackie, so I think that makes it everyone’s business.”

Jackie looks between the two of you and rolls her eyes.

“So, what? The two of you start fucking and decide you’re better than everyone else? Because you’re not. Travis was a lame fuck, Y/N is a two-faced bitch, and you, Natalie, are a slut-”

You look over a Natalie, who seems more pissed off than anything, but you’ve spent so much time with her in the wilderness- you can see the sadness in her eyes.

And as much as you tell yourself that it’s just Jackie taking out her hunger and embarrassment on everyone else-

“Hey!” Coach shouts. “I’m sure all of us did stuff last night that we regret, on account of the shrooms, but there’s no need for any of this. I think that the best thing for us to do is-”

“Wait, wait,” Shauna says, and you notice the confused looks on everyone’s faces. They must not know. And you didn’t know either, not until Natalie told you. “Shrooms?”

“Okay, yeah,” Van sighs, and you can’t help but look at Misty out of the corner of your eye. “That makes sense.”

Natalie places her arm around your shoulder, casually, and you find that it’s the easiest thing about this day. Touching her. Being with her.

“Oh, shit. The broth,” Tai sighs.

“You drugged us?” Akilah whispers to Misty.

“No. I didn’t.”

She stands up and takes a step forward.

“Okay, yeah, it was an accident. T-they were meant for Ben.”

“Oh, my God. Do you have any idea how crazy you are?” Mari asks.

“They were my mushrooms. And you stole them to put in your stupid soup. Besides, you know, none of this would have even happened if he wouldn’t have tricked me into falling in love with him!” she’s breathing heavily by the end of her speech.

“Oh, Misty, would you-” Coach Ben says, cringing.

“Wait. Stop!” Lottie shouts, and then you all hear it.

Something moves in the brush of the forest, rustles the trees ever so slightly- and if ever bring else wasn’t still, you would have thought it a gust of wind.

“Do you hear that?”

Everyone turns, and you and Natalie stand, listening to the rustling become louder, get closer-

“Holy fuck!” you screech, watching the bear emerge out of the forest, watching Natalie’s eyes light up in terror and blood lust.

The girls all start running to the porch, back into the cabin, and Natalie turns to run inside.

“Travis has the gun.”

Natalie looks over at Taissa, her eyes wide.

“What the fuck do you mean he has the gun? Where is he?!”

“We saw him,” Akilah says, and you look at Natalie, and she looks at you- and you get a suddenly flash of the night before.

And I-I wanna die with you, Natalie. I wanna die with you.

“Shauna,” Lottie whispers, standing in front of the bear in her white dress. “The knife.”

Shauna hands her the knife after she looks between the blade and the bear.

Lottie takes a step forward.

The group erupts into a small chorus of her name, a prayer, over and over again, telling her don’t.

But she doesn’t listen, and you watch Lottie, for some reason something nagging in your head, like the beginnings of a headache.

“We won’t be hungry,” you whisper, feeling like you should have said it ages ago.

Natalie grabs your hand and squeezes, hard, once then twice.

“Shh,” Lottie says, and the bear lets out a low snark as she steps forward, bordering on a roar.

Lottie and the best walk towards each other, until they meet. Until she’s close enough.

The bear lays down before her, onto the ground like a puppy dog. How could something so vicious and wild remind you of something like that is beyond you.

Lottie stares at the beast for a little longer, before raising the knife high, and bringing it down on the bear’s head.

It screams, as much as a bear can, and the pain in its voice that you know isn’t pain like you know makes tears well in your eyes.

Blood drips down the bear’s head like antlers.

Lottie steps back while the beast lets out a few more labored breaths, before it all stops, and the forest is silent again.

Your mouth waters.

—-

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[enchantedchocolatebars]

Fred Fredburger x Reader Headcanons 💚 💕 💚 💕 🐘

💚 Original headcanons 🐘

🐘 Ao3 version 💕

• You two met in the frozen yogurt shop!

• You were hungry on that day, and your stomach was in the mood for a cold, creamy treat, so why not head over to the frozen yogurt place that’s conveniently down the street.

• As you walked in, you noticed a tubby green elephant-like demon who… looked as though he was having trouble deciding on what flavor to get.

• Being the helpful and kind person that you are, you help the demon out by telling him that you plan on getting mint chocolate chip and ask him if he’d like the same.

• Mint chocolate chip? Sounds good to him!

• You order two chocolate mints and pay for both of your desserts.

• As you both take a seat at the table, the green elephant thanks you for your help! It was just so hard for him to pick a single flavor since they all looked so good.

• You convey to him that it’s not a problem and that you’re always happy to lend a helping hand!

• You learn that the demon’s name is Fred Fredburger.

• Fred was… quite the character. He seemed very childish, but you found him to be adorable! You loved hearing him ramble on about his interest in nachos and his mother’s baking.

• You ask Fred if you and him could hang out more, and he excitedly says yes!

• You noticed that he tends to say that word a lot.

• Your friendship soon turned into a romance as the both of you eventually started dating.

• One day, you decide to buy your elephant boyfriend roses and chocolates, and he happily thanks you for them. He sets the chocolates in his flower vase before stuffing the roses in his mouth and eating them.

• Fred decides to draw some pictures with his crayons and shows them to you. You find them to be absolutely beautiful! The pictures were all drawn in an adorable child-like art style. The first drawing was of you and him eating nachos together with a heart drawn around you both. The second drawing showed Fred as a superhero with huge muscles saving you from a burning building, and the last drawing depicted the two of you getting married.

• Fred loved hearing you laugh everytime you and him were summoned for jury duty. He didn’t know what was so funny though, all he wanted was some nachos for you and him to share, so he kept asking the judge repeatedly for them.

• Fred introduces you to his spider friend, Jeff!

• Whenever you hung out together, you three were the ultimate trio.

• Fred jumped for joy when he found out that you were a cartoon fan too! A past time activity that you both enjoy doing is talking about your favorite animated shows! Fred’s favorites were the show about the orange monkey who went to summer camp and the show about the imaginary friends, while your favorites were the show about the three kids who went around the neighborhood scamming other kids for quarters to buy jawbreakers and show about the three superpowered little girls who fought crime and saved the world before bedtime.

• When he takes over the world again like he did at the end of “Billy and Mandy’s Big Boogey Adventure”, he makes you his king or queen and the two of you rule over Endsville together while summoning all the nachos and frozen yogurt in the world.