#look at them. my detectives. my wifes

[slttygeto]

HUSBAND SUGURU! + PREGNANCY ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

tags: fem! reader, husband suguru!, nsfw, suguru is very hesitant about being a dad, but isnt forced into this :), reader is very motherly, dirty talk and talk about getting off the pill and being bred.

word count: 2,1k

Husband Suguru! whom before you even got married, sat you down and mentioned to you how starting a family wasn’t something he was looking forward to. you know of his past, of the trauma he’s been through. he fully expects you to break up with him when he tells you that, knows how much you want to have a baby of your own, but you don’t. instead, you cradle him in your arms and tell him that you love him and appreciate what you have right now, not what you don’t even see in the picture.

Husband Suguru! who swears he hasn’t changed his mind about babies, about starting a family in general even three years into the marriage. but when he sees you with your friend’s baby, the glow on your face, the motherly instinct—how you gently place your hand on the baby’s head, rock her back and forth and coo at her softly while her mother gets her food ready, his heart feels as though it is about to explode.

“There there baby girl,” your voice is barely above a whisper, and when the baby cries, your lip juts out and you pull the infant towards your chest in an attempt at soothing her. your eyes find his where he is sitting on the couch, and the lighthearted chuckle you give him pulls a nervous one out of his body. you are now convinced that your husband would never ever change his mind based on the horror painting his features as he turns to your friend’s husband to strike a conversation. but in reality, the topic of their conversation is all too surprising.

“Has it been difficult? You know, managing a career and taking care of the baby,”

“Oh yeah very,” the other man admits but Suguru doesn’t detect a single hint of regret in his voice. “but yknow, look at that,” he point his glass of water in the direction of his wife and you holding the baby. “seeing my wife with our baby, our creation—seeing her act all motherly like that? Totally worth it.”

Husband Suguru! who starts to consider the idea of getting you pregnant. he hopes for the rational part of his brain to win over, rather than the horny, disgustingly perverted one. but when you walk out of the shower in a crop top, his mind drifts elsewhere—and suddenly, the image of your belly swollen with his kids floods his mind and he has to put a pillow on his crotch to hide the very evident bulge in his pants.

Husband Suguru! who once he calms down and takes care of his raging boner, texts Satoru in a hurry, asking if they could meet up tomorrow morning. your husband tells you of his plans and you hum sleepily, telling him how catching up with his best friend seems like a good idea. Suguru drops the bomb on his best friend the moment they sit down and the ivory haired’s jaw almost meets the floor.

“You mean you wanna be a dad?”

“I’m not…too sure,” Suguru looks conflicted, he is holding his head in his hands. he knows very well that this is a topic that should be discussed with you, since you were the other person of interest in the situation. but he would hate to give you false hope, he’s seen the way your eyes light up at the mention of a baby, at one of your friends or colleagues being pregnant, how there’s a disappointed look on your face that you try so hard to conceal when Suguru gives you a face in response of a pregnancy announcement. but you are so patient, so accepting, you’ve never once forced him into anything. and truth be told, he wanted to see what kind of mother you would be to your baby—and then toddler, and then teenager and adult—you’d have a life together with a new person who would adapt either your personality or his, with a face of the love of his life. your baby could have your eyes and nose, he’s always pointed them out—even before you started dating.

“Dude, do you or do you not want to have a baby?”

“I don’t know man, it’s hard to think of.”

“Because you are thinking too hard about it,” Satoru says nonchalantly and it irks Suguru a little.

“I am not thinking too hard about it—this is a new responsibility, what if I am not fit to be a dad? I could be a failure for all we know—what if I pussy out of it and—“

“I would kill you.” Satoru warns the man and Suguru doesn’t try to hide how he stiffens up. “I am not joking, I would find you and bring you back to her as a sack of bones,”

“I wouldn’t betray her like that…”

“You’re too focused on the aspect of being a bad dad rather than a good one—yknow, you really think that she’d marry someone she doesn’t see fit as the future father of her children?” Satoru has a point. you did mention to him once (when Suguru was nowhere to be seen at a party you all attended) how falling in love with him was the best thing that’s ever happened to you, but the one thing that would top it is if he became a father to your children. Satoru, knowing his best friend’s stance on the topic, reminded you of how terrified the man was of the idea and all you did was give him a reassuring, understanding wave of your hands.

“I know, but I just know he’d love them hard and make them feel as safe as he makes me feel.”

Husband Suguru! who doesn’t really try to bring up the topic of ‘trying for a baby’. he cringes at the thought, feels as though it makes the process less romantic and intimate and more of a robotic task. as he is stripping you of your clothes, he is silent and lets his eyes wander over your figure. you are extremely shy tonight, unable to meet his eyes as his rough, calloused hands brush over the skin of your boobs before bending down to be at eye level with them. he brings the flesh inside his mouth and sucks—and blood rushes down to his groin at the thought of them being filled with milk, heavy and swollen, more sensitive than usual. his teeth graze the skin at an attempt to catch your attention and your thighs squeeze as you meet his eyes.

“Sugu…” your smaller hands rest on his face as he pulls away from your boobs to plant a heated kiss to your lips, effectively pushing you back on the bed. your back gently hits the mattress, and your chest is heaving in anticipation, unsure of what his next move would be.

“Baby,” he finally speaks up, nose brushing against your stomach as he brings his lips to the skin. “how about you drop the pill tomorrow?” he knows how much of a horrible job he is doing at this, but he feels you move, supporting yourself on your elbows.

“w-why would I do that?” your eyebrows are furrowed in confusion, and Suguru wishes to brush his thumb over the tense skin of your forehead.

Suguru is shameless as he kisses further south, planting his kiss above the tuft of your pubic hair before pushing your panties to the side. He parts the lips and gives your clit a kiss before moving to your inner thighs.

“why not? It’s doing horrible things to your body—“ he brushes his nose over your clit as he speaks. “beside, we need you off the pill if we want a baby, don’t you think?” when you don’t react to his words, Suguru looks up only to find you staring down at him with parted lips and eyes glossed over with tears.

“…are you sure?” you ask softly, and your husband swears he could never say no to you if you asked like that all the time.

“very,”

Husband Suguru! who fucks you with a new purpose. each drive of his hips fueling the other to go harder, deeper, to keep pushing his cum inside you and plant his seed deep within. your cunt does a great job at showing Suguru how ecstatic and excited you are with his sudden change of heart. you keep squeezing around him, barely able to keep your sounds in—he fucks you so deeply that the sound of skin to skin is louder than your moans and his groans. when he puts you on all fours, the cum starts to drip out of you but he pushes it back in with two thick fingers, lips pressed to your ass cheek.

“want more?”

“mmm! please,” you whine when he aligns his tips with your folds and fixes your arch with a hand on the small of your back. the gasp that escapes your lips when he fucks into you hard makes Suguru chuckle and he rubs your sides, soothing you.

“no need to beg for it,” he leans down and presses a kiss to your nape. “I’d gladly fill you up.”

Husband Suguru! who stiffens up when you show him the positive pregnancy test. up until this point, he is in control of his emotions—he lets you cry in his arms about how scary all of this was, despite you saying you’ve always wanted a baby. he is supportive, understanding of the heightened emotions that you are experiencing—when he sees your tears turn into happy ones, only half of him is able to relax. clearly, he is nervous but he doesn’t wanna show it. not right now.

The first ultrasound during your pregnancy was nerve racking—your hand squeezed your husband’s as you stared at the screen showing what appeared to be your unborn baby. Very tiny, but still there.

“Okay mom and dad,” the doctor presses the ultrasound transducer a bit lower on your stomach, a small smile on his face. “I got some news for you.”

“Good?” your anxious voice has Suguru rubbing his thumb on the back on your hand.

“It depends, how long have you been trying for this baby?” You couldn’t exactly disclose of your very active sex life, but you do give the doctor hints that it was definitely wanted.

“Well, look over here—“ he points to the screen with his gloved finger, ushering Suguru to come closer. “Look over here dad, what do you see?”

Suguru swallows hard as he stares at the screen in confusion, unsure of what to say. “..a baby?”

“Babies. Congratulations, you’re pregnant with twins.”

Your husband whips his head towards you fast, and you cover your mouth in shock. This wasn’t planned—twins? And for a first time? You didn’t know if the tears streaming down your face were of excitement or fear that maybe you weren’t ready for this.

But Suguru still comforts you, holds you in his arms—tells you that maybe finding out the gender won’t make all of this sound scary anymore. He knew you never really had a preference for gender—you were a natural mom.

However, finding out the gender was an emotional experience for the same man who never thought he would become a father.

Husband Suguru! who tells Satoru to buy the gender reveal cake for you two. he doesn’t want to throw a party, and neither do you. finding out within the privacy of your own home seemed like the best option—you didn’t want to reveal that you were pregnant to any family members—at least not yet.

“Are you ready?” You hold your own glass as you wait for your husband to stand next to you. Your bump wasn’t that evident yet, but signs of pregnancy were starting to show on your body and it brought this warm feeling to Suguru’s body.

“Yeah, hold my hand.” You chuckle slightly at his request but comply either way. Each of you holds their own glass above the cake before looking away as you push it down—you hold your breath, Suguru rests his forehead on your shoulder as he mumbles something about not being able to look at the cake. But you muster up the courage and lift your glass, eyes wide and lips parted in shock.

“Sugu—“ you don’t need to tell him to look, he was already staring at the glass with teary eyes. The pink frosting wasn’t something he was expecting to see—he knew he was going to be happy with either but two little girls? His own baby girls—the thought of being a girl dad brings tears to his eyes and you’re quickly pulling him towards you.

“Oh baby,” you hold back your own tears as you comfort your emotional husband, his arms wrapped around your middle. You hear little sniffles and a hand rubs your back before feeling a pair of lips pressed to your forehead.

“Gonna be the prettiest mom to the prettiest girls. Ever.”   

note: my posts are all self indulgent at this point… enjoy :D

2023: all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[ja3yun]

Undercover Lover | P.JS

detective!jay x detective fem!reader

warnings: smut (mdni), !!rough!!, choking, throat fucking, tit slapping, pure filth, , jay gets like super angry (but he's secretly a sweet soul), swearing, slight mention of alcohol, not proofread.

wc: 9k+

synopsis: you've been forced to work with your work rival, park jongseong, on a case that could bust one of the biggest dealer in seoul, but things don't go according to plan.

(part 2)

a/n: hi! it's me, just giving you a little something while you wait for the sunghoon fic <3 this was originally part of a bigger plot but i didn't finish writing it. Also, if you've ever seen Just Go With It, the dinner scene might be a little familiar since i based it very loosely on it. i hope you like it, it's a bit rough and isn't the best well written because you know i thrive on lovey dovey simp men, regardless, enjoy!

“I cannot believe I got stuck with you on the assignment”

“Feeling is fucking mutual, Park.” 

When your boss told you’d be working with Park Jongseong you protested to the high heavens, and you downright refused when he told you that you would have to pretend to be his wife.

“Absolutely not.” you crossed your arms in a huff, not even sparing a glance at either of the men in the room.

Heeseung groans loudly, “Listen, don’t give me shit okay, I already had it from him,” He points to Jongseong who is leaning casually on the office door, as if barricading you from an easy escape, “You’re the only female on the squad that isn’t on a major assignment right now.” 

“Why can’t he just do it himself?” You ask.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I’m not buzzed about this either but Kim Kwangmin invited me and my ‘wife’ to a private dinner and overnight stay, and in case you haven’t noticed I haven’t got one of those.” Jongseong pushes himself from the wall as he speaks to you.

Jongseong is undercover to do a massive drug bust that won’t only take down one of the biggest suppliers and dealers in Seoul but also get your department a massive boost in funding and recognition. It was a big deal to your boss and the whole department. You just had to work with your biggest rival in the precinct. 

“Just tell them your ‘wife’ is sick.” You claw to find any excuse not to do this. It wasn’t just pretending to be his wife but the scenario in which you have to; you can’t possibly sit in his company and pretend to be in love with him for a whole dinner.

“It’s either that or I'll suspend you,” Heeseung warns.

“Hee, you can’t do that! It’s unjust suspension.” You proclaim, standing up.

“Yeah, and I’ll file the paperwork,” Heeseung stands to mirror your challenging stance, “You will be Jongseong’s wife. End of story.”

So here you are in his hired car as he drives you to the hotel in the middle of nowhere. In a way, you understand why they basically forced you to do this, the payout would be phenomenal, but you still grudge it.

The drive up has been anything but pleasant. You and Jongseong can’t agree on anything, not even the radio station, so you’ve been in silence for 3 hours, only barking out judgments of his driving or telling him how awful the idea is.

Pulling up to the hotel you stare in awe, it’s a whole different level than you’re used to, the tall white building that looks more like a castle beats every Premier Inn or Motel 6 you’ve been forced to occupy. Despite not seeing the inside, you can already guess the marble detailing and artwork on the ceilings, like something out of a princess movie. 

You’re too busy gawking to realise the car has come to a halt and Jongseong is stepping out of the car, the only thing that alerts you is the unnecessarily loud bang as he slams the door shut behind him. 

Opening the passenger door, you walk around the car to meet him as he flips open the boot to take your suitcase out. Inside, you had everything you’d need for 2 nights: dinner dresses, heels, pyjamas, guns, and handcuffs - all the necessities for a weekend away with your ‘husband’.

Jongseong pulls out your case with one hand and examines it, looking at you quizzically. You don’t understand what he’s so puzzled about, it’s just a suitcase, “What?” you finally ask since he won’t give it to you.

“It’s fluorescent pink…with fucking daisies on it.” His eyes are ridiculing as he looks between you and the case. 

“So what?” You nab it from his grip and wipe it down. A few years ago you had seen the suitcase in a shop window and instantly fell in love with it and had to have it, no matter the cost. Petunia has never left your side since, and being on this assignment wasn’t going to change that.

“You’re supposed to be my wife, not my daughter,” he snarks, pointing dramatically to the semi-childish suitcase, “We are going to meet with the most powerful drug lord in all of Seoul and you’re carrying around a Dora the Explorer bag.” 

You take offence, of course, you would, how dare he compare Petunia to a children's cartoon backpack, “Don’t speak about her like that, she’s got feelings.” 

Jongseong’s face deadpans as you stomp away. He quickly retrieves his own luggage and locks his car before chasing after you. Opposite to your luggage, his is a sleek, black metallic case, that matches his personality - cold and hard. Somehow, your suitcases said everything about each of you.

“You aren’t seriously upset are you?” He asks, pulling you back before you get to the main door, “Look, you can’t fucking blow this for me, okay? I’ve spent months on this case and if we aren’t on the same page, he’ll guess something is up.” 

You want to slap him right now because his tone is so condescending, it’s infuriating, “Apologise.” You face him, eyes tough as they look into his pupils.

Jongseong groans and almost throws a tantrum. Grabbing your arm he takes you to the side, all too well aware how anyone could see you two bickering. He didn’t need this to be the reason he lost this assignment, “Fuck, look, I’m sorry for slagging off your suitcase, okay?” 

But you don’t budge, eyebrows lifted expectantly. Your eyes point down to the pink case, “Don’t apologise to me, apologise to Petunia.”

“Petu-, what the fuck are you talking about, Y/N? I am not saying sorry to a fucking case.” He is going red in the face, frustration coursing through his veins. “Are you really going to be that childish right now?”

You stand your ground, waiting for him. He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, hands on his waist once he comes to understand you are not going to let it up. He is going to have to apologise to an inanimate object if he wants to proceed with the weekend, “If I say sorry to…Petunia…will you please start cooperating with me?” As you nod, he sighs, rubbing his hand over his face, “Okay, I am really sorry Petunia, I think you’re a lovely suitcase.” 

Feeling accomplished, you grasp the handle of your case and smile, "She accepts." You walk away smugly, head held high, leaving him behind to head to the front doors again, this time with a spring in your step. When you return to the office, you will gladly inform the girls in admin about this.

As you and Jongseong walk into the building, it is exactly how you described it, classic and grand with a bustle of wealthy people. Suddenly, the jeans and blouse you’re wearing don’t fit right on your body. 

Something touches your hand and you yank it away quickly, almost going into defence mode before you look down to see Jongseong’s hand stretched out beside you.

He looks down at his empty hand and back up to you, his face serious, “Take my hand,” He asks, bored of this conversation already.

“Ew, why?” 

“What do you mean ‘why’, you’re my wife, remember?” Oh, yeah…you suppose the charade started as soon as you walked through the massive turnstile door. Sighing, he takes your hand again except this time he successfully intertwines his fingers with yours, the feeling of your hand in his is foreign and peculiar, he doesn’t think he’s ever held hands like this with someone despite being in his 20s, “You ready?”

With a quick nod, you both make your way to the reception desk. The woman behind the counter is physically flawless. The pinned-up hair and her faux mink lashes fanned across her eyes making her gaze sultry, and her plump lips were upturned into a generous smile. 

You could tell Jongseong was a bit taken aback by her beauty because it took him a minute of staring before gathering his words, “Hi, we have a reservation, should be under Hwangs. I believe Mr. Kim Kwangmin arranged everything.”

As soon as he says the criminal’s name, the receptionist straightens her back, face whitening a little. She clearly knew of his nature and like most of the city, she did not want to mess him about. Usually in fancy establishments like this, they ask to see ID before checking people in, but not this time, the girl was too flustered to do anything other than nod and rearrange her desk. It’s lucky for you she didn’t ask for ID considering your undercover operations unit didn’t have time to muster up any fake passports due to the suddenness of the invitation. 

Your aliases for this case are the Hwangs. Apparently, you’ve been married for a year, dating for 3, and dotingly in love with one another. Jongseong is new money, he inherited it from his late Uncle who passed away. Kim Kwangmin prayed on people who had more money than sense, enticing them to create fake companies where he could ship drugs from A to B. That’s why it’s been so hard to catch him because he’s never the name on the papers. But if Jongseong can get him to talk about it in detail, he’s got him behind bars. 

The conversation of a wife came up randomly in conversation, Kwangmin is a family man who loves his wife and kids, and for Jongseong to gain his trust he spouted a load of bullshit about how he was in the world’s most perfect marriage with the love of his life. He doesn’t know why it worked, but he isn’t going to question it now.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hwang, you’ll be in the Ambassador Suite as per Mr. Kim’s written request. I’ll call someone to escort you and take your bags,” She points with her hand to the lift while two men come up to take your things, “If you make your way to the private elevator,”

Jongseong thanks her, bowing as he takes your hand again. All eyes are on you already but that isn’t surprising, it would be more bewildering if no one was watching you considering you’re the prestigious guest of a drug king.

You both get up to your Suite and it is unreal. The lift opens directly into the room and you’re met with nothing but luxury. Perhaps this assignment did come with some perks. Taking your shoes off, you whisper a little ‘wow’ as you look around, the clean cream carpets feel like you are stepping on a cloud, you almost don’t want to put on the complimentary slippers that are waiting for you, but you do anyway, trying to soak up as much of this experience as possible.

Jongseong walks straight ahead, not even soaking in the embellishments of the Suite. He wasn’t one for blissfully looking around, he had a job to do after all. 

You do a quick tour of the place before you hear Jongseong groan, “For fuck sake.”

“Hmm?” You prance over to him, still in a dream-like state from all the luxury and elegance, “What is it?”

“Look,” He keeps staring in front of him as you join him to look at the bed. It looks so inviting, the rich Egyptian cotton throws and fluffy pillows make you want to jump on the bed. So you do.

You take a step back before launching yourself onto it, squealing out a soft ‘wee!’ as if you’re a kid shooting down a slide in the playpark. The way you’re acting is perfectly representative of your luggage but you don’t care, you’re far too busy doing snow angels on the soft duvet, “What’s the issue? This is perfect,” You roll around a few times to really soak it in.

“Just wondering if you’ve had a look around,” He twirls his finger in a circle, looking at you disappointedly.

“Yeah! There’s a bath, a bar, a lounge area bigger than my house,” You go on listing everything you saw. 

“Mhmm, and was there another bed?” He asks.

You think, “No I didn’t see-”. Okay, you see the issue now. There was only one bed. With an annoyed scowl, he shook his head at the sheer obviousness of the situation, as if he was frustrated he even had to address it. 

Sharing a bed was the last thing any of you wanted, so you had to come to an agreement, however, both of you seemed to be thinking the same thing. “You can take the couch.” You both say at the exact same time and it creates an eerie silence in the bedroom.

“This is my assignment, I get the bed.” He argues, walking around to grab you and throw you off, but you use your weight against him, playing dead.

“No! I was forced here, my job was being put on the line, so this is my bed.” While you protest, he’s climbing on the bed, pulling at you to get off, his hands gripping your wrist to heave you off, but you won’t go down without a fight. Kicking your legs, you try to boot him off you, but he’s strong and half of you is off the bed already, “Jongseong! Let go!”

“Stop being a baby and let me have the bed!” He fights back. The hold he has you in is representative of a bodyslam that wrestlers would do in the ring, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, “Come on, Y/N. Give it up.”

With a swift kick, you boot him in the balls, causing him to groan and roll over, body going limp. Panicked, you sit up and check him, “Shit, Jongseong, you good?” But he doesn’t say anything, instead clutching his goods, face screwed in pain. Tucking your hair behind your ear you lean over him, checking his pulse. He might be dead, he hasn’t moved for a hot minute.

Jongseong breathes out, trying to dull the pain. You played dirty, he respected it, but his dick didn’t. 

“Jongseong, hey, I didn’t mea-”

You don’t get to finish your apology because he’s suddenly got his hands on your shoulders and flipping you both around so now you’re the one on your back, his body weight keeping you down, “What the fuck was that?!”

Laughing you let out a pathetic ‘sorry’ but Jongseong isn’t amused. However, the snorts coming from your mouth sweeten his distaste for the situation a little. Quickly, you cover your mouth, shocked at the noises you’ve just made. Staring at each other, you both hit a fit of giggles. You haven’t snort-laughed in so long, not since a girl's night back at the beginning of the year. 

Once the hilarity dies down, you look up at him still hovering over you, the heat from his body bringing a flush to your face that you hope you can pass off as a lack of oxygen from the giggling. However, when he meets your gaze, you notice the same blushed colour across his cheeks. You swear for a whole second he looks handsome, like he has a face you don’t want to punch for once. 

This Jongseong right now shows an unexpected softness in his gaze which brings back memories of when you met him for the first time at the precinct. Back then, he was full of life, free of the responsibilities of the job. For a brief moment, it feels like you've caught a glimpse of a different, more approachable side of him.

Suddenly, his decoy phone he’s been using undercover rings loudly, startling you both off the bed and helping you regain your sense of judgment because the way you were starting to think about Jongseong as he lay on top of you was…It will never happen again.

“That is my bed. Period.” He says, swiping to answer the call on his phone.

Fixing yourself, you do your best to ignore what just happened, grabbing your case from the front door and unpacking it on your bed. 

He walks back into the room and chucks his phone on the bedside table, “Kim wants us for dinner at 8pm sharp. Go get changed.” There he is, the usual mean and cold Park Jongseong. Any feelings you felt earlier are gone with the wind because this is who he truly is. He doesn’t even spare you another look before he leaves to get ready himself.

Just two nights, that’s all it is. 

_______

8pm comes faster than you thought and as you swipe the last bit of lip gloss to your lips, you hear Jongseong complaining about how you will both be late. Instead of paying him any mind, you give yourself the once over in the bathroom mirror. Your makeup is smoky and sultry, and your hair is curled loosely since you didn't have the time to fight with bobby pins to put it in an updo. The dress you’re wearing is a little over the top but when you read the case file you noticed how Mr. Kim loved extravagant, and boy was this dress just that. The black body-con, dinner dress hugged you perfectly and accentuated all the right places, a bold slit travels up your thigh which reveals just enough skin with each stride, and the sweetheart cut paired with off-the-shoulder lace sleeves just add to the drama of it all. You looked like you stepped out of a James Bond movie, which wasn’t a bad thing at all.

“Can you please hurry up,” An impatient Jongseong bangs on the bathroom door.

“Relax, oh my god!” You place the lip gloss in your matching silk bag and walk out to greet your ‘husband’. 

“About fucking time.” He mumbles, looking at his watch, “We need to…go.” His words trail off as he finally sets his eyes on you, “Woah.”

“I look good, huh? Can I pass for a millionaire’s wife?” You twirl, widening the slit to show more of your leg and Jongseong’s jaw nearly hits the floor. He’s so used to you in athleisure wear or jeans with your hair held together by a claw clip that’s missing two prongs, he didn’t think you could look so elegant, so beautiful.

Floating over to him, you place your two fingers under his jaw and close his mouth, “You’ll catch flies, baby.”

Embarrassed, Jongseong regains his senses and swats your hand away, “Shut up. Let’s go.” He pushes you slightly to the door as you chuckle over how flustered he is. It did make you feel a little bit sexier than you did before because if you can make Park Jongseong swoon, you’re definitely going to have the attention of Mr. Kim, and attention is all you need to gain a confession.

With your arm in his, Jongseong leads you to the dining room where you’re set to have dinner. He spent the elevator ride going over the plan. You had to act a little dumb, make him feel like he’s leading the conversation, and be all over your man. Of course, Jongseong would make his wife obsessed with him, he doesn’t get any action outside of this fantasy, well, that’s what you tell yourself. His personality is so repugnant that you can’t imagine anyone being with him. No matter how hot he is, especially in a suit.

His beauty in the tailor-made suit didn’t go unnoticed by you, he looked delicious, but he was still a prick, a prick that hated you.

The dining room is filled with upper-class cartels, all businessmen who would do anything to be on top. It makes you feel a little queasy, but you swallow it down and focus on your role. You state your business to the host and urgently, you’re shown to your table where Mr. and Mrs. Kim are already there. That’s a bad start, no one should ever be late for a meeting with Kim Kwangmin, and by late, that means he gets there before you.

"Mr. Kim, hello." Jongseong's stance is more poised than normal, but you can feel his nervousness. If he cracks this case, he will be the youngest detective to do anything of this magnitude, so you can appreciate what he is going through. In an attempt to reassure him, you swipe your thumb over his arm, which he only feels through his suit jacket. Nevertheless, he’s thankful for it.

Mr. Kim stands and reaches his hand out, “You’re late, Hwang.” 

“Apologies, Sir-”

“That was my fault, Mr. Kim. I made him change a few times. Every suit he was trying on was giving last fall, and I said to him ‘Babe, only the best from Mr. Kim’, Isn’t that right, Jjongie?” You don’t know why you took on the persona of a teenage girl who has a tweet count of 20k, but it seemed to do the trick because Kim Kwangmin is laughing.

“The things we’ll do for our girls, eh?” Mr. Kim says and Jongseong awkwardly laughs with him, nodding. When he looks down at you, his expression is appreciative, “Please, have a seat. I’ve ordered some entrees.” The man extends his arm as he sits himself.

Jongseong bows and pulls out your chair for you and as you sit down, he kisses your cheek lightly, the act of service making your stomach flutter.

This is going to be a long night.

And it was. Jongseong is getting nowhere, every time he tries to hint towards Mr. Kim’s dealings, the man just brushes him off, too busy talking about the stock market and other men in suits kind of chats. To be honest, you zoned out about 20 minutes ago, your fork rolling a pea across your plate. You hate business talk, it’s so mind-numbingly dull. Who cares about all of this, really?

“Ah, Jongseong, looks like I’ve bored your little lady,” Mr. Kim points out and it brings you back to attention. 

“Not at all, Sir, she just gets a little distracted, don’t you, Princess?” He tries to cover for you, eyes glaring at you. 

You giggle and stroke Jongseong’s arm, “I don’t get business talk, I just like the money.” Your fake honesty earns you another laugh from Mr. Kim, he has taken a shine to you throughout the dinner which works in your favour and this is your chance to try and wiggle something out of him, “My baby, spoils me but sometimes he’s so stingy with money.” You pout and Mrs. Kim raises her glass to your statement, clearly understanding your faked pain.

“Tut, tut, Jongseong, we should always spoil our girls.” He reprimands your husband and you nod eagerly, playing your dumb role quite well. If being a detective doesn’t work out, maybe you should try acting.

Jongseong strokes your head and laughs, “I treat her well, that’s why she married me. But I suppose I could venture into bigger waters to make sure she’s well looked after.” Cringe. Jongseong hates to speak about you like you’re nothing but an object, a black hole for his fake money because that’s absolutely not who you are, you’re the complete opposite. You’re strong and brave, and super smart. 

“Oh, Kwangie, let’s get them to do the love list?” 

Damn, that irritating wife of his. Jongseong had brilliantly set the tone for her husband to explain his inner connections, and she simply had to change the subject to what must only be the dumbest idea you've ever heard. You're not even sure what a love list is, but you don't want to participate.

Despite your inner monologue protesting the very thought, Mr. Kim doesn’t share your displeasement, “What a great idea! I tell you, it makes your marriage stronger than ever.” 

Mrs. Kim sees the confused look on both your faces, taking it as her opportunity to explain, “You look each other deep in the eyes, and whisper 3 things you love about one another. If you do it every day, you always see the good in them.” She looks proud as punch, clapping her hands lightly, “Go try it out!” She ushers you both together.

Even if this were a real marriage, why would anyone want to do this at all never mind in front of another couple they’ve just gotten to know? 

Desperately searching for a way out from this awkward charade, you turn to your husband for the weekend, only to find him sporting the same perplexed expression. If you two can't pull this off seamlessly, it's a sure bet that Kim will catch on. Throughout the night, Jongseong and you have been playing the part of lovers to perfection, and if the facade crumbles because you can't conjure up one genuine thing you both appreciate about each other, the entire plan goes to shit.

“C’mon you two, this should be easy, what with how you look at one another. Reminds me of a young us.” He looks at his wife and rubs his nose with hers. It’s hard to believe he is one of the scariest men in Seoul.

Jongseong puts one arm over the back of your seat and tugs you closer to him, staring at you, “I guess we could give it a shot, yeah?” Was he serious? The man hasn’t said one nice thing about you ever, and now he’s going to pluck three things out of his ass? This won’t work.

“Y/N, you go first.” 

Well, shit a brick and call it Mary. You are fucked.

Jongseong sees your worried expression and shakes his head as if telling you to keep it together. He leans into you, “Make up anything, even if it’s not real,” 

Three pairs of eyes stare at you, awaiting your love confessions. What do you appreciate about Park Jongseong? “Um, I think he’s really handsome?” The statement pops out like a question which seems to displease the couple opposite you.

“No, Y/N, start it with ‘I love’ and tell him little things that make you fall in love with him,” Mrs. Kim instructs, giving you another chance.

You cannot fuck it up this time. So you look deep into his eyes and search into him for your history, past all the bickering and agitation. His face softens, knowing this is putting you in an uncomfortable position, and it gives you a line, “I love that he knows when people around him are left out, and he tries to include them in every conversation so they feel seen.” 

Jongseong seems surprised by your answer, or more the sincerity of it. It was true though, you did appreciate that about him. One time, you were sitting as the only girl at the table having after work drinks, and not one of the guys included you in any of the banter, and when Jongseong noticed he pulled you into the conversation - albeit it was poking fun at you, but after that, the guys opened up around you.

Your eyes are still glued to his as you rhyme off another one, “I love that, when you’re not being uptight about things, your face loses its contours and you look so soft and squishy,” you laugh and pinch his cheek, “Like right now,” He hadn’t realised his hard shell had fallen as you spoke to him, making his appearance gentle. 

Giggling as he shakes you off, demeanour now shy, you think of a final one. This has been a lot easier than you thought, and you think you could probably say more than three now that your brain was on a roll.

“And I love the way you push me to be the best version of myself, even when I think your criticism is sometimes harsh and uncalled for, you make me want to be a better de-, person. I love that the most.” 

None of you let up eye contact as Mr. and Mrs. Kim applaud you, thankfully satisfied with your answers. Jongseong’s lips tug at the edges, giving you the first genuine smile of the night. He’s glad you managed to come up with things to keep the pair off your backs, but also because they were real things you liked about him. 

“Hwang, your turn. Tell your girl how you feel.” Kim instructs almost like he’s a love coach and you’re his patients. But Jongseong seems to forget that his alias has a different second name because he ignores the man and just keeps looking at you. You swear at one point he does the triangle method but you can’t be too sure.

“Jjongie?” You utter, voice just above a whisper, “Your turn,”

“I love,” He pauses, licking his lips, “I love that you give inanimate objects names, and care about them like they’re real people,” You laugh, recalling your previous events with your beloved Petunia, “In fact, the way you take care of everyone around you, and how you will do anything for anyone, I love that. That’s my first one.”

He sits with the next one for a while, making you nervous, but you don’t have to be, “I love how you put me in my place whenever my ego gets a little big. You keep me grounded without knowing it.”

You smile and pout at the same time, finding his words infiltrating your heart a little. Jongseong takes your hands in his, rubbing your knuckles gently as he finishes his love list, “I love…that you are by far one of the most beautiful people I have ever had the privilege to be around, inside and out.”

Oh, he is good.

The eye contact you’re both still holding is sparking a fire inside you, the warm feeling in your tummy makes you feel electric, like you could do anything. You’re both so engrossed in one another that you don’t hear the Kims leave, whispering how they should leave ‘you love birds to it’. 

You don’t know how long you sit there just looking at one another, but you think it must be about 10 minutes before you start to notice how quiet it is at your table. Breaking the contact first, you look around and see the man you’re after is gone, “Uh, Jongseong?” 

“Yeah, baby?” He’s still deep in his character, still focused on your side profile.

“They’re gone.” You state, pointing your head to the empty table. This is bad.

Jongseong finally removes his gaze from you to the problem and his face falls. How the fuck did they just sneak out like that? You daren’t look at him because you can already feel the anger radiating from his body. His jaw clenches and he bangs the table loudly, “Fuck!” 

Without a word, he stands up and storms out of the dining room and all the way up to your room, leaving you to waddle after him, not used to the heels you’re in. He is pissed, no he’s livid, seething at the fact his opportunity to get the dirt on the man he’s been after for 8 months just slipped away like water in a sieve. How could you both be so reckless? This never happens to him.

He swipes the key in the door and angrily strips himself of his shoes and jacket, not caring about anything other than how he can make this right. Before the door closes, you catch it, stepping into the room and following him quietly. You don’t know the best way to approach him.

“Jongseong, we still have tomorrow.”

“Like fuck we do, Y/N! This was the dinner to get in on his schemes, to finally get something on the guy I’ve been stuck kissing ass to for months!” He runs his fingers through his hair and tugs it harshly, “If you weren’t so fucking incompetent.”

“ME?! I didn’t do shit,” You argue back, offended. How can he blame this solely on you? As if he wasn’t the main part of this.

He spins and points to you, “You did plenty! Why didn’t you just make a load of shit up for that list and get it over and done with? I was doing great on this case before you turned up and ruined it.”

You don't want to fight with him, but you will since that is your true dynamic, not what you were like at the table, which was just a charade. This was the authentic you and Jongseong, “You’re acting like I did this all on my own but you were the one that brought up having a wife in the first place, you made me be here! And then you started making eyes at me when we were doing those stupid love lists, that’s on you, not me.” 

Jongseong has veins popping all over his body, his frustration overtaking him like you haven’t seen before. You see him charging towards you before he grabs your shoulders with force, but not enough to hurt you. He shakes you a little, “You drive me fucking crazy, I can’t stand you.”

You raise your voice to match his, pushing him off you, “Fuck you, Park!”

“Fine.” Grabbing the back of your head he pulls you to him, smashing his lips against yours. The action is sudden so it sucks the breath out of you. Were you really kissing Park Jongseong? “You’re so fucking infuriating,” His words are venomous but it doesn’t stop him from gripping your hair and pulling your head back to kiss you deeper. 

If you weren’t dizzy from the wine at dinner, you are now. This man is a psychopath, blowing hot and cold, and yet you’re kissing him back with just as much fervour as he is giving, your lips smushing with his. 

When he feels you reciprocate, he waltzes you to the wall behind you, accidentally slanting a few frames on the wall. You've never experienced anything like the force he has over you, and you can't get enough of it.

“I’m gonna ruin you like you ruined my case.” He spits, pressing you flat against the wall with his body, the arousal evident. 

Driven by a blend of rage and lust, your tongues collided furiously, resulting in a passionate kiss. 

Your head is so scrambled that you can’t decide what you want, so you push him off you to give you time to think. 

Standing about a meter apart, both of your chests rise and fall heavily as you pant, already gasping for air from the heated kiss. He looks dishevelled, hair a riot and your lipstick smothered over his mouth, it’s only adding to your attraction towards him.

Both of you stand, staring at one another, waiting for the next move. But who’s going to make it? 

You could, on the one hand, end this right now and give yourselves a little breathing space. You've brought the emotions from the dinner with you, impairing both his and your judgement. If you leave right now, you can stop this and pretend nothing happened.

But on the other hand, if you move towards him and take him how you want to, it’ll change the dynamic of your relationship forever, and possibly not for the better but could it get any worse? The man just said he couldn’t stand you, what’s one night of throwing caution to the wind, of finally claiming what you desire?

Fuck it.

You practically run towards him, almost knocking him over when you jump on him, arms wrapping around his neck as you pull him down to your level, kissing him just like before, only this time you’re taking control. It’s the stupidest idea you’ll have this year but you couldn’t give two fucks, the taste of his mouth inebriating. 

Wrapping one of your legs over his, you grind on his thigh, alleviating yourself of the ache that your clit has suddenly developed. It's calling out to him for sweet relief.

“I fucking hate you,” Jongseong says through gritted teeth, his bulge evident in his slacks.

“Fuck me like you do,” You breathe into his mouth. It’s an odd request, usually, the sex you have is filled with love, or at least tolerance, but this time it’s fuelled by pure lust, it’s intoxicating.

Heeding your consent, Jongseong grips your waist tightly and guides you to the bedroom, all the while his mouth is eating yours. The mix of both your spit in one another's mouths is messy and your teeth are hitting off his, you’re both on each other as if you’re on a time limit. Technically you are because one second too long and someone’s clear judgement will start to kick in and stop this. 

Before you throw yourselves into bed, you both have a little issue called ‘clothes’ to take care of first. The gown was nice but he had to see what was hiding underneath.

Reaching for the zip of the dress, he tries to pull it down but it doesn’t budge and he’s too impatient for this right now, longing for your body. After a few tugs it doesn’t budge and he growls, annoyed at this hurdle of inconvenience. He looks down, inspecting the dress to see if he can just pull it over you but he sees a better, more efficient idea.

His hands grip the fabric of your dress at the slit, fingers digging into the material and each side and with a sudden, forceful tug, the threads snap as your beautiful, very expensive gown is torn in half. He uses every muscle in his arms to rip it off you, he’s never been more thankful for hitting the weights 4 days a week.

“Jongseong!” You gasp, annoyed that he’s just ruined your clothes but he doesn’t care, not when you’re standing before him with nothing but your black thong, tits out, and the garter for your gun. He isn’t saying he’s imagined this scenario before, but you’re more gorgeous than he could have ever pictured. 

Throwing the torn dress across the room, he makes way for your mouth again, only this time his hands are massaging your boobs roughly. You can feel the grit on his hands, a testament to the hard work of your job, but the scratchiness of his fingertips only makes you weak at the knees, the sensation of him all over your tits was magical.

For a little revenge, and because you can’t wait any longer, you rip open his white linen shirt, buttons consequently popping and flying across the room. He’s kissing you so forcefully you don’t even get to bask in how his tanned skin contrasts the paleness of his shirt, or how his torso is perfectly lean, not too ripped.

You rub your hands all over him as if trying to memorise every muscle and tense abs. The feeling of your hands dancing over him has Jongseong snarling softly as your mouths continue to meld together, “Such a pain in my ass, L/N.” 

It’s an invitation to slide your hands down to his ass and squeeze his cheeks and at the same time push his cock onto your core. His eyes roll to the back of his head, his nails digging into you, scraping harshly. You’ll definitely have marks in the morning.

With a determined shove, he propelled you onto the bed, a sense of urgency driving his actions. Jongseong needed you. Now.

Just like your dress, your flimsy thong is torn from your body, the burn of the material being ripped along your skin only heightens your pleasure. You’re laid spread on the bed, waiting for his next move, but when he doesn’t budge, too busy drinking in the sight of you, you need to take matters into your own hands.

Situating yourself on your knees, you undo his trousers and pull them down with his boxers, freeing his hardened cock of the confinements. The mixture of the natural breeze from the room and your hot breath makes him twitch in anticipation, “You want to suck my cock?” You’re so infatuated with his shaft and the veins running along it that you don’t register the mocking tone of his voice which normally you would snap at.

Jongseong grips your jaw so tight your mouth automatically opens. He tilts your head up so you both look at each other, eyes hazed with desire, “Fucking take it, then.”

With that, he’s shoving his length into your mouth, pushing you down until he feels the resistance of your throat. He’s not a monster, he isn’t just going to start abusing your mouth, but he does shallowly thrust his dick a few times, testing the waters. Fueled with rage or not, he’s not going to hurt you.

You on the other hand, swirl your tongue around his shaft as you bob your head up and down, loving the feeling of him filling your mouth. Personally, you don’t mind it rough, and by the look on Jongseong’s face, he’s holding back a little. It’s oddly sweet considering he looked like he could have murdered you 10 minutes ago.

Placing both your hands on his hips, you sink your closed throat around the tip of his cock, pulling him in as deep as he can go.

Jongseong’s hands clenched into fists and grabbed your hair, his knuckles turned white from the intensity of the sensation. He tries to push deeper into your throat, meeting your gag reflex with a groan. 

You push his hips out before pulling him back in harshly, giving him a hint of what you want. Fortunately, Jongseong has always been a fast learner, “You want me to fuck your throat, hmm?” You hum around him which elicits a wicked smirk on his face, “Good.” 

Rapidly, his hips move on their own, his cock now fucking your mouth and throat raw. It burns in the best possible way, the taste of his pre-cum sliding onto the back of your tongue each time he pulls back makes you moan. 

“You look so much prettier when your mouth is stuffed with my cock,” He comments, noting how much he loved the way you looked with your eyes watering and puffed out. You look like a dream, a dream he hopes he never wakes up from.

He holds your head still will both his hands, ass clenched as he fucks into you, mind completely lost in the feeling of your mouth.

Jongseong loves to be in control, not dominant, but his partners definitely know their place, and it’s to be putty in his hands.

What he doesn’t notice is how he actually isn’t in charge, you’re just making him think he is. It was you that decided whether this happened or not, it was you who got him to fuck your throat dry, and it’s you that’s going to make him cum.

Sucking harder, you’re trying to coax him to cum all down your throat, to help soothe the pain, but he won’t let that happen. Yanking at your hair, he pulls you off and you gasp for air, not realising you are losing oxygen. 

He almost unnoticeably checks to see if you’re okay, gazing softly into your eyes, but once he sees you smiling, he goes right back to his ways, pushing you down onto the bed and crawling over you. 

The way he's confined you beneath him causes your body to arch up to meet him and draw his entire weight onto you; his bare cock accidentally scrapes against your clit, causing your hips to buck up to gain friction. 

“So fucking desperate for me. I haven’t even made sure you can take me yet,” He teases, his hips moving slowly to slide his cock between your folds, gathering your slick as natural lube. You’re so wet you don’t even need any help, his cock could slide right in.

“I can take it,” You match his arrogance, not completely sure of the certainty in your words because he’s big, but it’s all to do with his length rather than girth, so you think you can handle it. Plus, you won't ever back down from a challenge set by your work foe. 

His face looks a little dubious too, like he doesn’t believe you. You’ll just have to prove it to him.

You smoothly flipped him over on the bed, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. As he landed beneath you, you held him in place, the thrill of the unexpected move adding an extra spark to the moment. It’s a carbon copy of how he pushed you onto the bed before dinner, just with way less clothes.

Not wasting any time you pump his cock a few times and spit on it, mixing the fluids of your saliva and his cum to help him ease into you.

“Fuck, you sure you can handle-” Jongseong’s words stop in place when his cock breaches your entrance as you start to sink onto him, “Holy shit,” He whispers, eyes shut tight as he feels the way you’re hugging his cock, the heat of you travelling to him. You feel sensational.

You start with shallow bounces, not taking his whole length into you just yet, but even just the 3 out of 6 inches you are experiencing are driving you wild. 

Jongseong wants nothing more than to bottom out and claim you right here and now but there’s something so satisfying about seeing you struggle to hold your weight up as you ride him. He could have some fun with this.

His hands rub your thighs, one of which moves closer to your cunt. You're too preoccupied to notice, so when his thumb circles your clit, you lose your balance and collapse onto him, all of his cock buried inside you now. The sudden stretch was glorious like you don’t understand why you didn’t just sit all the way on his dick in the first place.

“What’s wrong, Y/N? Too full of my cock to keep going?” He comments on your still body. Truthfully, you were just basking in the way his cock is stuffing you while his thumb keeps up the rhythm on your clit, you really didn’t have to move. But he’s taunting you to keep going and you can’t let him get away with it, he’ll never let you live it down if you just sit there. He’d call you selfish or a lone player, whatever else he’s called you at work.

So you start to move, grinding random shapes that would hilt his tip into all the perfect places inside your heat.

Like putty in his hands. He smirks, his tongue swipes his bottom lip as he watches you work for it. 

Your hands try to grasp anything that will aid you, but all you have is your hair, which isn't ideal but threading your fingers and pulling at the hairs on your scalp reminds you of how he had an iron grip on you when he first kissed you. 

Jongseong has to admire you right now because you’re taking your pleasure into your own hands, he’s basically doing nothing and he thinks you might be close to cumming. The competitive side of him knows what to do because he will be damned if he isn’t pounding you, making you scream his name as you cum.

He fucks up into you, taking over and making you lose the pace you had set. You would complain if he wasn’t hammering into you so good. The moans leaving your mouth are frenzied, calling out for more, which he’ll happily give you, just not in this position.

Cradling your back he sits up and throws you so he’s on top, your head now hanging off the end of the bed, the instant blood rush turns your brain to mush, and all the while he doesn’t stop thrusting into you, each time he moves, it hits a new spot you didn’t know you had. He’s fucking you so good, you’ll never get enough.

Jongseong dislikes the fact that he can't see your face, so he yanks you back onto the bed by your legs, causing him to dig deeper into your pussy. Once your fucked out face comes back into view, he smirks because you’re completely gone, eyes shut as you feel every inch of him. 

“Told you I would ruin you, didn’t I?” He grits out, slapping your left tit, causing you to yelp back into the world, your eyes now watering at the sting.

“Not ruined me enough,” You bite back, egging him on to go rougher. 

He tilts his head in disbelief as he keeps battering your pussy with his cock, the audacity you have to say that when you couldn’t even speak a minute ago. Roughly, grabs the back of your head and pulls you forward, his forehead against yours as his eyes burn deep into yours, “Say that again.” 

Every fibre of your body tells you not to speak another word, but you never listened to yourself anyway, “You couldn’t ruin me as bad as you ruined your case.”

“Fuck you.” He grips your throat keeping your head up and kisses you roughly, his tongue sweeping all along your mouth. Jongseong can only see red because it was you who made him forget about the assignment because it was your eyes he was getting lost in. This was your fault and no one else. 

Harshly, he pins you back to the bed by your neck, not squeezing too harshly, but just enough to restrict your breath flow. He saw how much you loved the head rush earlier, so he took that as a sign you would like to be choked while he fucks you.

He was right.

“You know what? I’m going to make my own list,” He breathes out, “My hate list.” 

You’re a little confused but you’re too drunk on his cock to understand even the simplest of sentences.

Jongseong begins to snap his hips into you with each sentence, “I hate that you think you’re better than me,” His grip squeezes your throat, “I hate when you suck up to the boss’ ass and stick me in shit when it’s convenient for you.”

You let out a whimper at his brute force, “Jongseong…please,” You try to fuck onto him more, the single thrusts not giving you what you want quick enough, but that only earns you another squeeze of your jugular.

“And I hate that I love how good you’re pussy feels,” Your ears prick up at the twisted compliment, a sense of accomplishment coming over you, “You drive me batshit crazy, and I fucking love it.”

He withdraws his hand from your throat and trails it back down to your bud, now focusing all his efforts on helping you finish. 

“I hate that you can’t just admit you like me,” You breathe out, voice hoarse. 

For a split second, he stops all his movements, but he refuses to acknowledge what you just said because it’s not true. He doesn’t like you, not one bit…

This was treading into dangerous territory and Jongseong knew it, so he had to end this fast. With one smooth movement, he hoists your back up to arch it and pounds himself deep into you, his balls slapping against your ass due to his relentless pace. He was showing you no mercy, he was showing you how much he hated your guts.

“I’m cumming, Jjongie,” You whine out.

He notices the nickname and, while he won't admit it, he likes it. Only when you say it, or rather how you say it, especially now that you're clenching down on him and cumming over his cock. The way your pussy clamps him causes him to blast his load deep into you, his previously tactical thrusts now hilted so he can fill you up. 

Shared pants echo the room as you both sit in the consequences of your actions. 

You just fucked Park Jongseong - and you liked it. The mix of anger and desire just added a new level to sex you didn’t think possible. 

Abruptly, he gets off you, and his cock slips out of you leaving you feeling a little empty, “I’ll take the couch,” he says, face hard with seriousness. He was just going to leave you like this? Weren’t you going to talk about what just happened? 

“Oh…okay.” You say deflated. 

Jongseong notices and turns his head to you, his back still in clear view, but he doesn’t utter a word. Instead, he sighs and picks up his case, retreating to the living area of the hotel suite. 

You feel a little tacky, not just physically but mentally. You weren’t expecting love and kisses after the sex, but a little ‘That was good’ or even ‘Are you okay?’ would have been enough. 

Attempting to push aside the lingering thoughts, you slip off of the bed and head to the shower, determined to rid your body and mind of all traces of his presence. As you retrieve your pyjamas and walk by him, you inadvertently overlook the gloomy expression on his face, like he wants to do more but he already complicated your relationship enough when he kissed and then fucked you, in his mind, it was best just to forget about it.

_____

The next morning you awake with the brightness of the day shining on your face. Your body is sore from the way Jongseong handled you last night. If it was any other circumstance, you would probably be smiling, reliving the best fuck you’ve had for years, but you’re not smiling. You can’t, not after he left you so coldly.

A buzzing from your phone diverts your attention into the real world. You read his name at the top of your phone and you begin to read the plethora of messages from this morning

Park Jongseong

5:12am: 

Gone to see if I can arrange lunch with him.

Wear something nice.

5:32am: 

Meet us at 11am in the dining room.

7:23am:

I’m sorry for last night.

I was a prick.

You ignore the apology and look at the time, it’s currently just past 10am which means you better get your ass in gear and get ready. 

It’s time to be Jongseong’s devoted wife.

[minhosimthings]

The Elysian Angel || 18+

Synopsis: For the second day of your pact, you make a good friend in a good angel.

Pairing: detective!Jake × fem!reader

Warnings: smut minors Dni, oral (f receiving), anal sex, switch Jake, slight dom!reader, praise, degradation, p in v sex, dumbification, use of petname 'pup', mention of food and alcohol, Heeseung being an asshole

A/N: My apologies that this took a lot of time. Unfortunately I was travelling and i didn't find time to edit and do all that crap. Also my dumbass wrote the smut on the plane so again, apologies if it is not satisfactory. No I cannot for the life of me praise myself

Series Masterlist

The tiny cactus pot near his bedroom window had never seemed more interesting to Jake than now, as he thought over the events that had occured this evening.

Now, hungover and somewhat peckish, Jake thought of his two best friends, a drunk woman, and even more drunker pact. What had he called it? Something with Heeseung and jealousy and whatnot.

Ah yes Heeseung, Jake had a eureka moment, he had cheated on his wife had he not? And she had come to the police precinct and she had beat him in drinking bourbon...yes he remembered now!

Jake sighed to no one in particular as he cuddled into his blanket, watching the way his cactus blocked the shimmering moonlight from entering the room. He was weirdly craving sugar at the moment.

Maybe he should treat Heeseung's wife to his favourite cake tomorrow, he thought, what was her name again? Lee Y/N.

No not Lee, Jake yawned, no she's divorced now, his last thought came as he drifted off to an eager tomorrow.

|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|

"So—" Jake leaned on the table, staring into Sunghoon's eyes, "—how was it last night?"

"Heavenly." Sunghoon sighed dreamily into his coffee, "She gave me some advice on how to-."

"I meant the sexual part." Jake chuckled, "You know, the part where your peni-"

"Yeah yeah I got that!" Sunghoon coughed loudly, though there weren't any other officers in the break room at the moment, save for Jay and Jake who had been listening fondly to Sunghoon show off his new coat, "It was... great! Might I add, she can take a lot. And I mean a damn lot." He widened his eyes to maximise the effect.

"Maybe you just have a tiny dick." Jay snickered, which made Jake spill a waring amount of coffee out of his nose.

"Jake what the fuck!" Sunghoon recoiled, as Jake cleaned himself up, still laughing, "Hey don't do that around her alright?" Sunghoon made a disgusted expression, wiping off the coffee from the table.

"So where is she staying right now?" Jay asked, taking the attention away from Jake's sopping wet shirt, "She can't go back to Heeseung's so—?"

"I dropped her off at a friend's." Sunghoon sipped his coffee, relishing the bitter taste of the grinded beans, "And before you ask, Mister lover boy—", Jake laughed raucously at his quip, "Yes she's fine. And weirdly happy too."

"Where is this friend's place?" Jake asked curiously, glancing at Jay who was looking suspiciously at him, "I-I wanted to take her out...for some cake." He finished awkwardly leading the two men to look at him with raised brows.

"What?" Jake scoffed, "Can't I treat a lady to some cake before I- you know."

"Fighting Jongsoeng for the lover boy position Jake?" Sunghoon laughed, "I'm impressed." He took a look at a glaring Jay, which motivated him further, "Her house is on Baker's Street, the second one when you enter."

"Is that really necessary?" Jay questioned, the gravel in his voice was evident, "She never asked you to buy her cake."

"And yet I want to." Jake answered, downing his coffee in one go, before getting up briskly, "See you later boys."

"Um, sir you have files to complete." Sunghoon interrupted, but Jake was faster in striding out the door.

"Do them for me would you Sunghoon?!"

|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|

The atmosphere around the cafe was pleasant, as the cool evening wind blew against your face. The light brown coloured cake sat patiently in front of you, with only a few bite marks decorating it.

"Thank you for taking me here." You said to the man in front of you, who looked up at you with widened brown eyes, before offering a smile.

"No harm in treating a lady is there?" He poked at his own piece of cake with his fork, "I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything before we—" he smiled awkwardly, "—go into the details of the pact."

You felt him internally cringe at what he had said so you quickly diverted the topic. "Do you come here often?" You asked.

Jake's ever present grin appeared again, as he nodded, looking fondly at the small cafe, which smelled like pine trees to you, though perhaps it was from the fact that you were sitting outside. "It's one of my favourite places to come when I need to take a breather."

You smiled at the man's words as you took the last bite of the cake, closing your eyes to taste it properly. It melted right into your mouth, and you savoured the caramel flavour, sweet yet having a tinge of salt in it. You almost felt like you could have-

"What the fuck are you doing with her?"

That voice.

Your eyes burst open, to locate the source of it, the siren like tones which had once intoxicated you, not irritated you. You first landed on Jake, who was looking behind you with a somewhat terrified expression. Whipping your head around you saw him.

Lee Heeseung.

"And might I ask what you are doing here?" You tried to keep yourself calm, reminding yourself it's a public place.

"Y/N, what are you doing with him?" Heeseung's brow was dripping with sweat and his face was formed in a glare. He looked ferocious.

"I'm not your wife anymore Heeseung." You stated calmly, though you were internally fuming, "So please, can you leave us alone?"

"So you're fucking my colleagues now huh?" Heeseung chuckled loudly, catching the attention of a few people around, "Sort of forgives me for just fucking one other girl doesn't it?"

"Forgives you?"

Your voice cut through the air like a hot knife through butter. It had a tone to it which Jake had never heard before. It was....colder.

"Are you actually being serious, Heeseung?" You laughed, this time it didn't warm Jake's cheeks. It rather broke through his eyes like icicles.

"You don't have even one right to be forgiven. In fact you don't have any!" You scoffed, "I'm surprised you even have the gall to fucking approach me right now, because trust me, if I were you, I would have hid my face in my bedroom until I died." Jake was taken apart by the very new air of you he was seeing, "So please kindly fuck off would you?"

Heeseung's teeth gritted as he glared daggers at Jake, giving you one final, venomous look before spinning on his heel, and angrily stomping away. The sight of it was practically cartoonish.

"Are you alright?" Jake asked from behind you, you turned to see his worried eyes. His voice was the sweet honeyed one you knew well and proper.

"I'm fine, thank you Jake." You gave him a smile, concealing how much the incident had shaken you.

"It's getting dark." Jake lent you an arm which you gladly took, "Shall we head home?"

"Lead the way." You gave him a final grin.

|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|

"Do all detectives have such nice looking houses?" You chuckled, looking around Jake's apartment. Though not as homely as Sunghoon's was, it certainly was cozy, giving off the same rustic vibes as the cafe. A maroon divan sat in the corner.

"Was Sunghoon's fairy cottage that beautiful?" Jake chuckled, inviting you to sit beside him on the sofa. "Perhaps its just my preference of cottages." You chuckled, though you certainly had no complaint against Jake's apartment.

"You'd like Jay's house then." Jake said, leaning back against the wall of the sofa. Silence passed for what felt like an hour (though it was only five minutes), until Jake finally spoke up.

"How did Sunghoon ever get you into his bedroom?" Jake asked, startling you from the sudden break of silence, "Because I am extremely nervous right now. But then again—" he grinned, "—Park Sunghoon can get even a cupid into his sheets."

"And you can't?" You quizzed, admiring his features, as he shook his head.

"It's a bit shameful for a man to admit but–" he chuckled darkly, "–at the most I've had two women in my bed."

"Would that make me the third?" You fluttered your lashes at him, making him gulp, "Come on, detective Sim," you smirked, “Don’t you want to play with me?” 

Jake's voice catches in his throat as you lock eyes with him. Your eyes are soft and kind, like usual, but the more he looks, the more he begins to notice a hint of lust glazing them. Neither of you move for a moment, studying each other's expressions. Jake moves closer to you, though not close enough for you.

"Closer, detective." you smirk, pulling him closer to kiss him full on his plump lips. His hands find their way to your waist. He pulls you closer to him, and your legs seem to mindlessly straddle his lap. You can't fight the urge to grind your hips against his pelvis, slowly rocking back and forth.

He groans quietly as the two of you continue to kiss, and you use this opportunity to slide your tongue inside his mouth. His saliva has faint tastes of coffee and whiskey.

Jake's fingers mindlessly fiddle with the top button of your blouse, unsure as to whether or not he should undo them. You undo the top one, prompting him to undo the rest. His face is warm and pink as you pull away from the kiss leaving a string of salvia behind, and you can feel his cock harden beneath you as you continue to grind on his lap.

You push your hips into his, his hard-on pushes up into the wet patch on your panties. Slowly, he pushes your skirt down your thighs, and you momentarily stop grinding on him to help take your skirt off. Your bare thighs hover in the cool breeze from the evening. You leaned in for another kiss.

"Wait," Jake stops you, hands rubbing into your waist. With his lusty sinews, Jake picked you up, you wrapped your legs tightly around his hips to secure yourself as he led you into the adjacent room.

"I don't think we should mess my sofa up, eh pup?" The nickname had your core erupting into lava.

|•|•|•|•|•|•|

"You're so pretty..." Jake whispered into your ear as he lay you down on the bed. His bedroom, though tiny, was spacious enough, for you to collect your mind.

"Let's leave the compliments for later detective." You smiled at him, nipping the bud of his ear with your teeth, "For now, " you whispered seductively, "Shall we begin?"

You could feel Jake's nervousness, from the way his body tensed up. Inexperienced man, you thought, you were about to have a lot of fun.

“Open,” You said, leaning forward and tapping his chin, you were about to take the lead, if he wasn't going to. A woman couldn't have waited all day could she?

Jake complied, easier than you thought, opening his mouth allowing to shove two fingers inside, just like Heeseung had once did to you. He licked and sucked your fingers for two minutes, never breaking eye contact as his spit rolled down your hand. 

“Good boy,” you said, pulling them away as you began to touch yourself. Sitting back on your ass, you rubbed your clit, rubbing his spit into your sensitive button, letting him know how good it felt, how close you were to cumming with his spit on your cunt. You plunged one finger in and then another as you watched him bite his tongue, careful not to let even a small sound slip out. 

You let go of his hand so you could guide his head to where you needed his mouth. Your hands wound tightly into his hair, legs struggling to stay open as you felt the heat of his tongue against your core.

Jake slid it shallowly into your folds. The sensation made you whine and grab his head to push him further. He resisted but soon gave you what you want. Your chest rising and falling rapidly as he tasted you and let a gloriously loud moan vibrate against your center.

“Do that again- Shit, just like that, right there.” you moaned as you felt every bud of his sharp tongue, "G-Good boy...."

You weren't interested in taking it slow tonight, being wet since he had touched you.

He licked a stripe up your vulva, his tongue flat and getting every inch of your pussy till he reached your clit where he wrapped his lips around it and gently sucked.

Your back arched on the bed, one hand going straight to his hair as your orgasm quickly built. Your pussy clenched around nothing as he started flicking his tongue against you.

"Fuck...Jaeyun!" You screamed his name out, which built up the fire in him, "You're being so good for me...."

The other hand not threading through his tresses fisted the sheets of his bed tighter as your hips began to roll and grind against his face in circular motions, trying to catch that sensation of his nose bumping against your throbbing clit. Your body had a mind of its own, sinking deeper and deeper into the burning hot abyss of pleasure and reach the high you were quickly ascending to.

But before you could grasp that high properly, you felt a discerning movement.

"Jake!" You cried, suddenly feeling the familiar taste of his tongue leave your walls empty, "Why the fuck would you do that?!"

"Shh, baby." Jake shushes you, which makes you hold your tongue quickly. Jake let's go of one of your thighs and unbuckles his belt, pulling down his zipper and pushing down his pants. He lets out a deep breath again when he finally feels free and without his tight trousers around his hips. Jake looked magnificent as he admired you laying in front of him. Wild, primal thoughts flanked every neuron of his mind.

"Turn on your side for me." He commands you, with lust filled eyes, "Now." He adds as if it's an afterthought. You quickly obliged, finding his tone of voice enamouring you into obeying him. You couldn't wait for what he was about to do.

Jake knows it's wrong, to fuck another man's wife, but fuck—he couldn't help himself, and anyway you had agreed to this. So there he was, hard cock slipping between your thighs as he thrusts his hips slowly, biting his tongue to prevent the guttural groans threatening to escape his lips. Jake's veined hands slip under your bra, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his thrusts grow slightly faster while his hand grasps at your tit tightly, sinfully thankful that Heeseung had given you up.

"F-Fuckkk-" you groaned painfully as Jake slipped into your ass, you needed time to adjust, "Jaeyun wait—"

Your words meant nothing to him as every thrust stretches you to the shape of him, his cock ramming painfully into your cervix with each thrust. He takes you, uses you as his hips bounce against your ass, shaking you with the force of every movement. Your moans grew louder and louder with each thrust, you felt his hot breath against your neck, and yet he didn't stop, only growing more possesive by the second.

"Fucking hell baby." Jake's accented voice tingled against your skin, "such a good pup for me aren't you?"

The sensations of his mere words burn through your core as your toes curl while he fucks into you with such a possessive need that your whole body trembles with the overwhelming pleasure. His obeying tendencies earlier had changed into a much more obsessive one, turning you on even more.

His expression grows almost enamored at how you're squeezing him-tense, as he thrusts into you, balls slapping against your ass at his relentless pace. Hot, searing pleasure makes its way up your spine-emitting a low, almost inaudible, squeal from you as he pinches your clit.

You're constantly on the edge, slipping in and out of consciousness from his assault on your cervix, harsh-angry thrusts punctuating his words.

"Faster—" you moaned, not realising how much his dick was controlling your mind now, "Jaeyun, fuck—faster please...."

"Faster?" Jake's low voice vibrated on your skin as he chuckled, pulling you against him in a brisk fashion, making you cry out in pleasure, "Am I making you feel good baby?" You nodded, not even hearing his words, fuck he was making you feel better than ever.

"Dumb–" one thrust, "—fucking–" the second, "—pup." He accentuated every word clearly.

Your eyes roll back, and he fucks your hips right back on him with his tight grip on them. Even when the rope breaks, and you’re pushed under—thighs shaking in illicit euphoria as you leak around him, he doesn’t stop.

Like some rabid animal, he takes you back in-then out again with his movements—his thoughts becoming scrambled, accentuated with primal, violent pushes and pulls before he’s slamming back in you again as tears gather in your eyes.

"Jaeyun!" You scream again, feeling your cunt throb for even a mere touch of his dick, which was stretching your back out so well, "I want you Jake.. please.." your begging makes it just sweeter for him.

He gulps and kisses you passionate, tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth. Hands on your waist, he grips you tightly and flips you over onto your back, the skin on your back tickled as it hit the sheets. He grabs his shaft and runs his tip through your folds, teasing your clit a little bit.

"Fuck, Sunghoon was right," he breaths out, "You really can take a lot and nods. Slowly and carefully he starts to push his fat tip against your entrance, pushing and pushing until his tip was in.

He watches your face for any sort of pain or discomfort but sees nothing, so he pushes forward again until you knit your brows together in pain.

"don't stop, fuck." you whisper against his lips, which motivated him further, "Fuck~Jake!" You moaned, as he moved ever so slightly

The man began to move faster, starting a stutter in his hips that ended up colliding against yours forcefully. It hurt you, it was too abrupt, and that feeling remained there even though the pleasure clouded your mind and senses.

Jake leaned over your sweaty, flushed body to get a better angle, you could see his face better and closer.

He had flowing strands of his black hair stuck to his forehead from sweat, the rest fell on your forehead, tickling you. And his seducing gaze that evaluated each and every one of your expressions, as if he were memorizing them.

You lower your hips slowly before bringing them back up. Jake presses his face against your chest, his own arms moving to wrap around you. His hips move down, fucking into you.

You try to help him as best you can but your thighs are already starting to hurt from being in this position too long.

It didn't seem like Jake minded though. In fact once he notices you’re giving your body up to him he seems to find some super strength because before you know it he’s ramming into you.

His thin lips moved against yours and his tongue made your mouth open to give way to his.

And he was there, kissing you, giving you pleasure and pain, both in a play or duality. His hips were now moving precisely, at a speed that you both enjoyed. His lips dancing over your mouth took away the little breath you had left. The head of his erection began to hit a delicious spot deep in your intimacy that, along with the movement of his thumb squeezing and stretching your clitoris, made your mind blur and spin.

"You can take it," Jake said, noticing your expression, bringing his head down as his tongue swirled over your nipples. Your back arched at the contact, your legs beginning to shake as he brought his hand over to rub on your clit.

Your nails scratched at Jake's back ruthlessly, clawing and taking your way down as you felt the muscles tense underneath your touch. You get your orgasm building up slowly, a dam threatening to burst with every snap of his hips. Your legs began to shake underneath his grasp, your nails digging into the flesh of his back as he buried his head into your shoulder. His cock twitched inside your cunt a couple seconds later, indicating that he was close to his orgasm.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him close to you as he continued to thrust inside of you. His eyes rolled back, his cock shooting out ropes of cum deep into your cunt.

Jake's thrusts came to a slow stop. His hand left your throat and went to the back of your head, pulling you into a sloppy kiss. He pulled away and looked into your eyes for a few seconds before pulling out of you. He laid down next to you, staring up at the ceiling and breathing heavily.

"Whiskey?" "By all means."

|•|•|•|•|•|•|

"This—" You took a deep sniff of the liquid, "—is delicious."

"Jay gifted it to me." Jake took a sip from his glass, savouring the burning taste from the bubbling whiskey, "I feel as if our love language is gifting each other alcohol, especially Jay, with all his knowlege in it."

For the second time since the last two days, you couldn't comprehend why Jay's name had made the veins in your heart abruptly stop, like water against the rocks of a seashore. Though you certainly knew of the tiny red ants in your mind which whispered to you, about love and whatnot.

Well, you sighed to yourself, tomorrow was merely hours away.

Taglist: @diorsyun @jaeyunluvr @hoondrop @mxxninthesky @alvojake @wondipity @blurryriki @lilyuwon @heeliopheelia @pockettwinzz @heeslomll @seunghancore @shiningnono @noonareads @deobitifull @luvitria @wonibae @nyfwyeonjun @hwa-0403 @saanvilovessunghoon @bubblegyu00 @sunpov @heeheeswifey @chartrucewhore @slut4hee @heesangs-blog @rikiwaify-blog @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @kirinaa08 @heeshlove @seokseokjinkim @brownsugarbaybee @yzzyhee @anittamaxwynnn @kgneptun @penny44224 @ribbioniki @strxwbloody @immelissaaa @heesminee3 @nshmrarki @yawnzzhoon @sousydive @yunhoswrldddd @whateverhoon @cloud-lyy @missychief1404 @ensaz008 @sunsunl0ver @binniesbabe + taglist is open!

[angellesword]

Love Is Not Black and White, It's Purple (Like Your Eyes) | JJK (oneshot)

Summary: You and Jungkook are not soulmates. The fact that you have been married for ten years but still see in black and white proves that.

It is never an issue for you two until…

"Jungkook, my eyes… they're purple."

Jungkook's heart stops.

You can see colors now. It only means one thing:

You have met your real soulmate, and it's not Jungkook.

Genre & Content Warning: soulmate au, housemate au, mention of murder, past child abuse, domestic violence, fluff, crack treated seriously, attempt at humor, marriage au, established relationship, kissing, blind!jimin, fashion designer!taehyung, alcohol, cursing, HAPPY ENDING. (tags are just for formalities, but tbh this fic isn't heavy at all)

Pairing: Detective!Jungkook x Fashion Designer! Female Reader

Word Count: 7.5k

****

Out of all the suicide methods in history, Jungkook thinks that if he were to try one, it would still not be as effective as listening to you talk.

"Jungkook, my eyes...they're purple."

Really. You don't need a plastic bag, a rope, or a pillow to suffocate Jungkook. With your harsh words, Jungkook could feel the air leaving his lungs.

He can't breathe. The terrible realization asphyxiates him: you--his best friend--his wife, can now see colors. For a moment, Jungkook doesn't know what to make out of the fact that he's now alone in this monochromatic world—a place where people see in black and white until they look into their soulmates' eyes.

Jungkook has looked and drowned in your calamitous eyes before, but he never saw hues.

"Jungkook...?" 

Distantly, Jungkook hears you utter his name, but all he can grasp is you will abandon him. Jungkook is rarely wrong. He's a detective, after all. One word, and he can deduce the situation, making this whole ordeal more painful.

"That's..." Jungkook intends to hide his hurt, but he feels his voice getting choked up. He has no choice but to pause.

However, you are thrilled to hear what he has to say, so Jungkook forces himself to continue.

"...great. You, that's great. So great!" Perhaps repeating the same words can convince him that his statement is true. It's not. Jungkook's heart breaks when you beam at him.

Calm down. Jungkook tells himself. But he can't. Everything hurts. His heart, his soul, his words.

"So, tell me. Where's the divorce paper? Should I sign now?" Jungkook's words hurt like a knife. They cut your heart into pieces. 

"What the fuck are you talking about." Your face falls. "Shitty Jungkook, are you kidding me right now!? I'm not leaving you for someone I just met!"

Now, something about your reaction takes Jungkook's breath away. Maybe it's the anger that quickly turns into panic as you take in Jungkook's words. Or perhaps it's the apparent trembling of your lips as you desperately speak of your promise of forever. Either way, your fear-inducing expression somehow reassures Jungkook.

You and him are not over. Not yet, at least. 

"I'm just kidding~." Jungkook chuckles and clicks his tongue, "Of course, you're not leaving me. I'm the only one who can tolerate you, ya know?"

The joke doesn't lighten your expression at all.

"Jungkook, I'm not leaving you," you repeat. The assurance is softer this time, and despite the lack of color in your eyes, the detective can see determination in them.

Jungkook puffs out air. His heart aching a little less.

"I know, darling." Jungkook stops his jokes. He engulfs you in a warm embrace. "I'm sorry."

"Don't say that ever again." You wrap your arms around Jungkook's waist. "You're my best friend. I love you, alright?"

****

10 Years Ago; 2013

Unlike others, your relationship with Jungkook is reversed.

"Let's get married."

"The fuck?" You choke on your water the second Jungkook opens his mouth. "Are you high again, bastard!?"

You punch Jungkook mildly. The latter moves away, exaggeratedly cradling his jaw. "Ow! Why are you always so violent? Can't you hear me out first? I'm being serious here!"

"Serious?" You laugh incredulously. "You just asked me to get married!"

"Exactly!" Jungkook ignores the painful thug in his heart. "It's for our benefit. Didn't you say you want to live in PM Village?"

Apartments in PM Village are too damn expensive. You and Jungkook recently finished college; your individual income is not enough to cover the monthly amortization of a house, but it's different if your incomes are combined.

"You're crazy. We can't marry because of a fucking house, Jungkook!" You are still not convinced.

"Why not?" But Jungkook intends to change your mind. "We're both single, and divorce won't be difficult in the future. We can just tell the court we've found our real soulmates. Besides,"

The newbie detective drags his words, knowing that he'll be able to convince you in the end, anyway. "You're gonna be rich soon. You don't have any living family members anymore. Do you really wanna give away all your money to the government when you die?"

"Why? Is giving my money to you any better!?"

"I can at least maintain your wine cellar," Jungkook shrugs. "And just think about the tax benefits! Don’t you hate Hoseok-hyung for siphoning your money?”

You open your mouth to speak, but damn. Jungkook’s last statement has convinced you already. Nose flaring, you say, "Fine!"

It's like music to Jungkook's ears. "I need your full confirmation."

Jungkook really wants you to say it. You fold your arms across your chest, "Fine, Bastard! I agree with your absurd proposition. Let's get fucking married."

At the age of twenty-two, you and Jungkook tied the knot. Ten years later, most of Jungkook's predictions have come true: you two have settled in PM Village—a warm home with a wine cellar awaits you after a tiring day. You have also become so rich that you often have issues with Jung Hoseok, your country's tax agency commissioner. Thank fuck there are good lawyers out there to clear your tax cases. 

You clearly have everything life can offer. If you want, you can divorce Jungkook now, but ten years later, you are still very much committed to your best friend.

*****

Present; 2023

You insist on telling Jungkook who your soulmate is. Admittedly, you can tell that Jungkook finds the whole storytelling unnecessary. You are married, but it's not as if you two are in love with each other or something. Nope. Jungkook only sees you as an annoying woman with whom he cohabitates.

"So, has Technology asked you on a date yet?" Jungkook asks without looking at you. He's busy filing his nails, acting as if shaping his nails into perfect ovals is more important than conversing with you.

"First of all, his name is Taehyung. Not Technology, you asshole. And no, he hasn't asked me out." You exhale. "I mean, not yet. It's not a big deal, honestly. We just met yesterday." 

Translation: give my soulmate some time.

"Right." Jungkook mocks and yawns, finally glancing at you. "You know, if I meet my soulmate, I’ll immediately ask them out. I can’t waste time.”

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes. "We both know you just can't wait to sleep with them."

"He-He. You caught me~." Jungkook half-smiles before returning to the previous topic very smoothly, "So you're saying that if Techno—Taehyung asks you on a date, you'll say yes?"

"Will you mind if I do?" You sound nervous.

The sole purpose of this conversation is for you to test the waters with Jungkook. You both went on dates in the past after ensuring that the other was comfortable with the set-up. You are married, after all. It won't bode well with the both of you if cheating rumors erupt, especially in your respective workplaces.

Admittedly, it has been long since you two last went on dates. You were both busy with your jobs. Besides, isn't it exhausting getting to know strangers? Jungkook doesn't want to waste his breath on nosy people asking why he chose to be a detective, and you would rather ditch your date than deal with them bargaining for discounts once they find out you’re a prominent fashion designer.

Going out with strangers has become a nightmare instead of a fun way to meet your real soulmate. Because of this, you and Jungkook decided to just take each other out whenever you wanted. It's not exactly a romantic date. Sure, there's darling as a pet name, kisses under the moonlight, and wrestling who'll pay. But that's about it. You don't dare to do more.

Your partnership is of greater importance than sex and in-the-moment confessions. You don't want to regret it comes morning.

"Why would I mind?" Jungkook finally answers, feigning happiness. "I'll personally thank your soulmate for taking you out, honestly. I'm tired of you forcing me to take you out on dates. It's about time I meet new people, too."

"Right." You swallow your disappointment and the faint ache in your chest. "Who wants to go out with a shitty bastard like you, anyway? Go meet others! It's not like I care!"

Another fake smile blooms on Jungkook's face.

"Whatever you say."

*****

Kim Taehyung is the name of your soulmate, and the man Jungwon has been investigating for the past three days.

"Jungkook sunbaenim, here's all the information I can find about Kim Taehyung." Jungwon stifles a yawn as he approaches his mentor's table. He almost winces upon seeing Jungkook's monitor.

The older detective has many tabs on his computer, all related to Kim Taehyung.

"You're still investigating him?" Jungwon can't mask his surprise. "Jungkook sunbaenim, just what did Kim Taehyung do!?"

"He's a thief, Jungwon-ah." Jungkook accepts the files from his mentee without sparing him a glance

Jungwon dramatically gasps, his sleepiness fading away because of the scandalous information.

"Really? What did he steal?"

"A precious little thing." Jungkook is viewing Kim Taehyung's baby photos. No one knows how he found them. "Look, he's not that cute, right?"

Jungwon doesn't answer, lost in thought. What could Kim Taehyung have stolen? His Jungkook sunbaenim said a precious little thing. Could it be a diamond ring? Or...

"Tanzanite?" Jungwon shrieks. "Did he steal tanzanite, Jungkook sunbaenim!?"

"Huh?" Jungkook turns to his mentee with a furrowed brow. He suddenly remembers what he said to Jungwon, and being a good actor whose words consist of 10% truth and 90% lies, Jungkook can save himself by saying, "Yeah. He stole tanzanite —authorities said it was very expensive. Come, Jungwon-ah. Let's catch this thief."

****

You aren't lying when you say you won't divorce Jungkook because you 'met' your soulmate. No, your partnership is beyond colors. However, it also doesn't mean you’ll relinquish your connection with your soulmate.

The deal is this: You and Jungkook will stay together until you know your soulmates better. After that, you two can decide what to do next. In short, a simple meeting doesn't guarantee you would want to spend your entire life with your soulmates. You both have heard many stories before that not even real soulmates find romantic love with each other—some remain platonic soulmates, while others go as far as killing each other.

You and Taehyung's case seems to fall to the normal expectation of society: meet as strangers, get to know each other until you become friends, then fall in love and get married.

Unlike Jungkook pulling you in a reverse direction, Taehyung intends to drive you on the right path.

"Jungkook sunbaenim, aren't we breaking the protocol?" Jungwon covers his face with a newspaper, whispering softly in case the suspect hears him. They are currently inside a small coffee shop near Aurora Fashion Lane. Based on Jungwon's investigation, Kim Taehyung works as a designer for the company in the same building as this coffee shop. In fact, Taehyung is slowly becoming a regular customer here.

"Shouldn't we call for backup?" 

Jungkook ignores the younger detective. He squints his eyes hard, focusing on the table near the counter. Jungwon discreetly looks in the direction Jungkook has his eyes on. A woman with a similar haircut as yours is sitting there.

"Jungkook sunbaenim, isn't that your wife—"

"Ssshh, Jungwon-ah. Shut up for a moment. I can't hear them." Jungkook regrets not choosing a table near you and your date. Damn it. You probably won't realize he's here—not when your attention is focused on stupid Technology!

"Stay here. I'll be back." The older detective stands up abruptly. Right. If he pretends to look at the menu before ordering something, he can hear whatever you and Taehyung are talking about:

"Exactly. They should've added another layer of lace. It pairs well with jacquard." Jungkook hears you say.

What the heck are they talking about? The detective muses.

"Ah, unfortunately, the customer hates laces. Apparently, her father made her wear laces that itch." Taehyung responds.

"Poor Elise. I understand why she prefers satin dresses."

Are they talking about work? Jungkook thinks to himself again. He only snaps back to reality when the cashier smiles, asking if he's ready to order.

Jungkook orders drinks for him and Jungwon before moving closer to the soulmates' table. You and Taehyung have stopped talking, though. Confused, Jungkook tilts his head to check what's happening, but someone seizes his wrist.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Jungkook hears a classic greeting, yet he still freezes. Only one person gets angry seeing him.

"Oh, hi, you~. I didn't see you there." The detective beams while prying his hand away from your iron-like grip. "What a coincidence!"

"Coincidence, my ass!" You grit your teeth, "Tell me the truth. Why are you here?"

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek, thinking of a way to translate, 'You were smiling through your phone yesterday while texting your stupid soulmate. I didn't want to invade your privacy, so I hacked his messages instead,' into something that won't ignite your anger.

In the end, Jungkook manages to simply say, "Why? Can't a detective have his coffee?"

"Jungkook." you utter sternly, "This coffee shop is an hour and a half from your workplace. You also don't drink coffee."

As if on cue, the barista says Jungkook's drinks are ready. The detective picks up his drink and sips it. "What was that? I can't hear you over my delicious caramel macchiato with whipped cream and seven pumps of caramel sauce, topped with small marshmallows, chocolate chips, and sprinkles!"

"For fuck's sake!" You let out a torrent of abuse, your face morphing into disgust. Seeing color intensifies your emotions. The colorful toppings in Jungkook's drink make you want to vomit. "Get your ass out of here, you tasteless bastard!"

Jungkook doesn't budge. He shoots you an innocent look, "Why are you shooing me away? Am I disturbing you and your date? Where is he, by the way?"

Taehyung went to the comfort room, but this was not the point. You hiss, "I'm not on a date. Taehyung and I are discussing work over coffee. How the heck did you even know we're here?"

Another question Jungkook doesn't have a ready answer. Fortunately for him, Taehyung is back. Your furious expression melts at once. Your fake personality makes Jungkook gag.

"Hey, should we head back?" Taehyung's voice is deep. This is the first thing Jungkook notices.

"Yeah, let's go." You smile at your soulmate.

Another thing Jungkook notices is how handsy Taehyung is. He touches the small of your back, leading you to the exit. Jungkook's expression darkens, and Jungwon, watching the whole exchange like a hawk, suddenly decides to act.

"Stop, you thief! Leave my mentor's wife alone!" Jungwon has the handcuffs ready. He's rushing in Taehyung's direction. Jungkook's eyes widen, only relying on his fast reflexes to stop his mentee.

He trips Jungwon, causing the younger detective to fall to the ground.

"Jungkook, you bastard--!!"

All hell breaks loose after that scream coming out of you.

****

'Disaster' is the only word to describe Jungkook's attempt to stalk his wife. He didn't plan for things to escalate to the level where he had to trip Jungwon to stop him from arresting an innocent citizen like Taehyung. You got so mad that the older detective had to apologize, making an excuse that they were detectives on a mission gone wrong. Jungkook remembers smiling apologetically at Taehyung, telling him to cut Jungwon some slack because he is a newbie detective.

You knew everything leaving Jungkook's mouth was bullshit, yet you played along with Jungkook's excuse. You clearly don’t want the issue to escalate further. Thankfully, Taehyung is an understanding man, telling Jungwon to be careful next time. You aren't as forgiving as your soulmate, though. You called Jungkook over the phone, yelling you'd kill him if he went home tonight.

Jungkook has no choice but to seek shelter at Namjoon’s house.

"Let me guess," Namjoon sighs upon seeing Jungkook at his doorstep. "You've angered your wife again, didn't you?"

"Namjoon-hyung! That's a mean guess. Can't I visit my friend?"

Namjoon remains expressionless. "You only go here whenever you and your wife fight. Your wife will think I betrayed her if I let you in."

Jungkook hmphed. "My wife already has beef with your soulmate and, by extension, with you too. So just let me in, will you?"

Namjoon releases a breath when Jungkook pushes the door open and rushes in. He is right, anyway. You have beef with his soulmate. Namjoon always receives texts from you complaining about Hoseok and how ruthless he is as a government employee.

"Would you like something to drink—" Namjoon cuts himself off upon seeing Jungkook helping himself with a bottle of soju.

The detective takes large gulps. He finishes half of the bottle in less than two minutes. Jungkook hiccups and clumsily wipes his mouth, "My wife found her soulmate. She can see colors now."

Namjoon stops in his tracks.

Jungkook laughs, mocking himself. "His eyes are purple, hyung."

"Jungkook..." Namjoon sounds apologetic.

"What's with your expression?" Jungkook’s lips twist. "You look sorry. Don't be. I'm—"

Happy for her? Jungkook shakes his head. It seems like that's not the case. Namjoon thinks so, too. He sits in front of the detective.

"You're what, Jungkook-ah?" The older man opens a beer bottle for himself, "What do you feel for your wife? What does she make you feel?"

Silence creeps into the room.

Jungkook's shoulders drop. Memories from the past play in his head as he closes his eyes.

Twenty-one years ago, 2002:

11-year-old Jungkook is freezing cold.

He is out in the snow, trying to take a sneak peek at children his age playing on the school grounds. Unlike him, the students are covered with expensive coats, mittens, and a hat. Jungkook's mother is a janitress at a private elementary school in Busan. Sadly, she can't afford to send her son to this school, so Jungkook can only watch the other kids in envy.

The children here have winter camps and activities to support their growth. Today, Jungkook watches as the students make mittens. Some children give the handmade gloves to their family, friends, or teachers.

Only one girl saves her mittens for a lone stranger.

"Here," Jungkook is taken aback when a girl his age suddenly approaches him. She’s shorter than Jungkook, but her determined eyes make people think she has much to offer. 

"I said here!" Jungkook remains unmoving, so the girl pushes the mittens to his chest. "I can't see it yet, but my mum said the gloves are gray like my eyes! I made them myself."

The little girl looks proud; a huge grin is on her lips.

Jungkook blinks dumbly at her, "Why...." He takes in a deep breath, clutching the warm gloves to his chest. "Why are you giving me these gloves?"

The little girl looks confused; she even lets out a small huh. Jungkook thinks the girl didn't hear him, so he repeats his words.

You are that little girl. You shrug your shoulders. "Because I want to. You look cold. I don't want to see you cold."

"But," Jungkook's lips tremble. He is having a hard time accepting the gift. "I have nothing to trade you with."

"Who cares?" You sit beside him. "I don't want anything. I just want to be friends."

Present; 2023:

Until now, Jungkook has no idea why you wish to be friends with someone like him. Clearly, you were a world apart. It was winter then. Maybe it was a Winter miracle—if this is even a thing.

But Jungkook is sure of one thing:

"She makes me feel warm, Namjoon-hyung." The detective finally answers his friend's question earlier. "My wife makes me warm, loved, and hopeful."

****

You receive a text message from Namjoon asking you to pick up a hammered Jungkook.

"Hey, you're leaving already?" Taehyung sees you leaving the office.

You rub the back of your neck and smile softly at Taehyung, "Yes. I have to pick up my husband."

"Ah." Taehyung nods, "Jungkook, isn't it? The detective from earlier?"

"Mn. I'm really sorry about what happened."

"It's nothing," Taehyung assures. It will probably take him a long time to forget his encounter with those two strange detectives, but it's not so bad. They apologized and said it was an honest mistake. He motions toward the door, "You brought your car, right? Let’s go down together.”

“You’re going home too?”

“Not yet.” Taehyung opens the office door for his soulmate. “Just gonna get coffee.”

Taehyung’s obsession with caffeine doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Taehyung joined your team only this week but has probably gone to the coffee shop downstairs more than your team did.

You brush it off. It’s none of your business. What matters to you is what Jungkook drinks. After bidding Taehyung goodbye, you immediately rush to Namjoon’s house. He is absolutely right. Jungkook is wasted.

"Why did you let this asshole drink so much!?" You bare your teeth at Namjoon. "You know how he is, Namjoon! Did he even eat before chugging down soju? Soju! You made him drink soju!? Namjoon, you golden-eyed clumsy bastard! Your eye color looks like horse piss!"

You are getting creative with your insults now that you can see colors. Namjoon shakes his head. He likes you better when you still see in black and white; at least then, you don’t go around terrorizing people and their eye color.

"I'm sorry. He forced himself into my home." Namjoon throws Jungkook under the bus. He'd rather get a playfully upset Jungkook than a screaming girl like you.

You know better than to put all the blame on Namjoon, though. You know Jungkook drank himself stupid because he can't handle it when you are genuinely mad at him.

You swallow your fury, "You know what? Just…have a good night, Namjoon-oppa. I'm sorry for shouting and the trouble. I'll make it up to you some other time."

You drag Jungkook to your car.

The detective is no fun when drunk. He just passes out. You can't even get blackmail material out of this hell.

"Fucking finally." You cover your husband with a blanket after cleaning him up and changing his clothes into new ones.

"Bastard." You sneer but still end up softly kissing Jungkook's forehead.

Ah. The things you do for love.

****

Jungkook wakes up with a stomachache and a sweaty forehead. He dramatically whines, cradling his stomach like he has been shot there.

Thankfully, you show up at once. You are carrying a tray with a full meal.

"My stomach hurts." He complains, earning an eye roll from you.

"Of course it does. You fucking drank alcohol on an empty stomach. You also had that stupid drink at the coffee shop. Just what the hell are you thinking?"

You sit on the bed. You first brush your husband's fringe with your fingers, then cup his cheeks and casually wipe the side of his mouth.

"Here, eat something."

Jungkook doesn't need to tell you to feed him. You bring a spoonful of food to his mouth, gently urging him to eat.

The detective moans. Your food tastes like heaven, even better than those Michelin restaurants. "My wife is such a great cook. Thank you~~"

"Whatever. Just don't moan, bastard." You can feel your cheeks turning hot. You easily get flustered with compliments.

Jungkook suddenly wonders if Taehyung has said something to make you blush, too.

"Oi, Jungkook. Don't tell me you don't have an appetite anymore. You barely ate!"

It's not like the detective doesn't want to eat anymore. His mood only plummets when he thinks about your soulmate.

Jungkook utters your name softly and asks, "Are you happy?"

"What kind of question is that?" You scrunch your nose, but you still answer. "Of course I'm happy." I have you in my life.

"No. I mean, are you happy you can see colors now?"

"I'm happier." You are surprised at how quickly you answered. Maybe because it's never hard for you to tell the truth. But still...you don't want to sound insensitive. You know your husband has yet to see colors.

You try again, "I mean...seeing colors makes my job easier, and I’m not just saying this because I'm getting promoted soon." People in their world have a greater chance of success once they see colors. 

"I guess I appreciate my job even more. It makes me feel alive, if you will. Things seem "livelier..."

You look into Jungkook's brown eyes. You can see them sparkling. For the first time in twenty-plus years you have known Jungkook, this is the only time you have seen how pink his lips are.

You can feel your heart thumping.

Looking at Jungkook with colors makes you feel "More." You whisper, "I feel things more with colors, Jungkook."

More love.

More joy.

And more clarity about what you really feel about your best friend.

"That's good, then." Jungkook rests his head on your shoulders. "I'm glad you're happy."

He really is. If he can go back to last night, Jungkook won't hesitate to tell Namjoon that, even though it hurts him, he's glad you met the one fated to you.

*****

Months pass, and things get even better for you. You got promoted twice and now handle one of your company's major customers. Your wallet gets fatter—so shouting at Namjoon to tell Hoseok to calm down doesn’t work anymore. Your free time is almost non-existent, though. It makes Jungkook sigh.

“Hey, Jungkook. You’re free to go.” Jungkook’s mood soars when his partner at work approaches him.

“Seokjin-hyung!” Jungkook’s jaw drops to the floor. “Did I hear you right? Are you seriously allowing me to get off work an hour earlier!?”

Seokjin is a hardworking detective who does not joke around since he knows his job affects the public's general welfare. Still, he also knows that you and Jungkook are celebrating your anniversary as a married couple for ten years.

“Just go, Jungkook-ah.” Seokjin pushes him. “Just leave before I change my mind. And for heaven’s sake, get your wife anything but flowers. No one wants to see you sneezing all day. Keep your snots away--!!”

Jungkook walks faster, not wanting to hear his work partner complain. So what if he sneezes all day? So what if he’s allergic to flowers? You love flowers, so he’ll get you bouquets.

Humming, Jungkook makes his way to the flower shop. The snowflakes fall lightly. It’s winter. Jungkook met you in the winter of 2002. You also got married in winter, the year 2013. Other people don’t like this season, especially Hoseok, who watched Namjoon suffer a fall accident because of slippery ground three years ago. Thank goodness Namjoon is okay now.

Jungkook buys flowers and your favorite wine. He’s almost home when a ghost from the past blocks his way.

“Oh, if it isn’t the beloved scoundrel of my bitch of a soulmate.”

Jungkook stiffens, eyes turning dark as he takes in the lone figure of his father.

“Jeon Sungmin.” Jungkook’s tone is scathing.

“The one and only.” Sungmin juts his chin. “Did you miss me, son?”

“Don’t call me that.” Jungkook clenches his fist. Unadulterated anger fills his heart. He’s trying hard not to punch this pathetic man. “In case you forgot, I still have a restraining order against you. I can even arrest you myself.”

Sungmin lets out a sardonic laugh. It’s loud—the kind of laughter that makes Jungkook’s skin itch. He can’t see colors but could’ve sworn he sees blood. Maybe he just wants to claim blood.

“Don’t act so tough on me, boy. In case you forgot, you just stood like a dumb bastard when I killed your bitch of a mom.”

“Stop.” Jungkook chokes, feeling a lump forming in his throat. He can’t breathe. Memories have come to haunt him.

“Scared, aren’t we?” Sungmin drags his limping feet to Jungkook. Twenty years in prison broke his body but not his soul. Even with only his tattered clothes and one functioning eye, Sungmin can still bring terror to his son.

“You should be. You’re nothing but a pathetic scourge.” Sungmin pulls Jungkook’s collar, slamming him into a cold wall. “Now be of use and give me money.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. His eyes droop, wanting to puke as he feels his father stealing his wallet. He hears screams inside his head, the pleas of his mother. Jungkook-ah, run. Please. You have to save yourself. 

Jungkook remains rooted in his spot back then, just hollowly looking at the blood on the floor. He watched as Sungmin smashed the baseball bat into his mother’s head.

More screams. Sungmin didn’t stop the beating until the police officers came.

Twenty years later, Jungkook is still the same. He still can’t stand up for himself. He watches his father take his wine and wallet, leaving like nothing happened.

Jungkook doesn’t know how he manages to walk back home. He stays outside, ruined flowers in his lap. He cannot get in as his keys are inside his stolen wallet.

Jungkook could only wait for a purple-eyed girl whose eyes he thought were gray.

****

Like Jungkook, you get off work early as well. Your secretary runs after you, saying that you can’t leave yet. However, you dismissed the secretary and passed the work on to Yeonjun instead. You hate that you are not home yet. You are actually supposed to take the day off to plan your anniversary date with your husband better.

It’s your 10th anniversary, after all. You are thinking of cooking Jungkook’s favorite food and giving him a…body massage. Many things are running into your mind—you can’t wait to try them all with your husband. Too bad work is holding you back.

“Sunbaenim, what do you think about this color combination? Is the shade of blue too dark for this winter’s theme?” Yeji excitedly shows off her design.

You rub your neck roughly, stopping yourself from throwing profanities. Calm down. Yeji is a hardworking designer who only wants the best for the team.

“I’m thinking of using an aqua frost instead. One shoulder sleeve should do the trick if—”

Oh my God. ‘Someone, please kill me now.’ You scream internally.

“Yeji,” you press your lips into a thin line. “I actually can’t entertain you right now. Would you mind checking in with Taehyung instead?”

Yeji’s shoulders drop. “Ah, Taehyung-sunbaenim isn’t here at the moment.”

“What do you mean he’s not here?” You feel your head pulsating. “Where is he?”

Everyone is so busy. Taehyung can’t possibly skip work, right?

“He’s at the coffee shop downstairs.”

That son of a--!!

You stand up abruptly. Taehyung’s coffee break ended an hour ago! How can he still be at the coffee shop!? You are seething in anger. You know Taehyung is your soulmate, but you can’t just connect to him. The first few months are okay. However, you soon realize how incompatible you and Taehyung are. Your connection starts with colors, and it also ends there. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I’m going to call him.” You exit, ignoring Yeji’s call. Honestly, what you said is half lie and half-truth. You just really, really want to leave the office. It’s a pure happenstance to bump into Taehyung in the elevator.

“Hey.” He calls your name. Remnants of joy are still visible on Taehyung’s face. Two coffee holders are in his hands—he got the whole team some drinks. “I got coffee. Where’re you going?”

“Home.” You press the elevator button. “It’s my husband and I’s anniversary.”

“Ah.” Taehyung nods in understanding. He never once shows any sign of disappointment over his soulmate spending time with another person. “Didn’t you say Detective Jeon likes eating sweets? Jimin-hyung baked a chocolate cake today. Will you accept it as my anniversary gift for you two?”

You pause. It’s like your brain short-circuits upon noticing Taehyung’s expression when he utters Jimin’s name.

Jimin—the barista and baker at the coffee shop where Taehyung frequents.

“Taehyung,” your heart stutters. “D-Do you remember your first day in the office?”

“Of course.” Taehyung offers a small smile. “It’s hard to forget that day, don’t you think? We both saw colors for the first time.”

You blink at him, not saying anything.

Taehyung avoids eye contact, thinking he’s not smart enough to understand what you implied. He tries to remember every detail of that day.

“I think I came to the office ten minutes earlier. I got everyone coffee. Come to think of it, Jimin-hyung actually saved me that day. He knows everyone’s order—Hey, are you alright?”

“You…” You gasp. “You met with Jimin before seeing me at the office, right?”

“Yes?” Taehyung’s hands are getting clammy for grasping the coffee holders. It doesn’t help that you are acting weird, making him more anxious.

“Taehyung, I think there’s been a glitch.”

Yeji goes after you a few minutes later. Both of you and Jimin are taking too long. Luckily, she instantly spots you at the elevator door. You look agitated, while Taehyung seems dumbfounded.

“Sunbaenim!” Yeji tries to stop you two, but you and Taehyung have already gotten inside the lift.

“Yeji, there you are.” Taehyung passes the coffee holders to Yeji. “Drink this with the others. We’ll be taking another break. See you later.”

“Wait—!!”

The elevator door closes.

Yeji whines, “I still have to show you my designs….”

****

You rush home, excited to see your husband. However, your excitement quickly turns into horror when you spot Jungkook sitting on your porch.

“Jungkook!?” Your eyes dilate. Jungkook is staring into nothingness. You are familiar with this kind of expression, the kind where you are forced to swallow your insults because you know. 

You know something terrible happened to your husband.

You quickly open the door and pull Jungkook to his feet. The detective is still unresponsive, letting you drag him into the bathroom. You did all the work; you immediately opened the heater and got warm clothes.

“Kook,” you call softly, cradling Jungkook’s hands to blow on them. “ Can you lift your arms for me? Let’s get you changed, alright?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer but does what he’s told. You are shaking as you help your husband change. You want to give the detective warm water and candies, but Jungkook still looks shaken. You can only gently drag him to bed. You lay down beside Jungkook, hugging him close to your chest.

You didn’t ask any questions, allowing Jungkook to breathe first.

“I--” Jungkook hiccups, sounding broken. He weakly grips the hem of your shirt.

“I’m here, Darling.” You kiss your husband’s forehead. You hug him even tighter, wishing to melt your body and bones and offer all your warmth and love to Jungkook.

Jungkook calls your name, his voice almost sounding like a wounded animal.

You caress your partner’s cheeks. They’re wet. It takes everything in you to pick up the pieces of your broken heart. No. You can’t fall apart now. Jungkook needs you.

“Mn. I’m here. You can tell me what you want.”

“N-No.” Jungkook whimpers, “I don’t want anything. I—I don’t deserve anything.”

“Jungkook.” You break the hug and force Jungkook to sit up on the bed. He’s warm enough. He’ll live.

The detective cast his gaze down, though—an indication he doesn’t want to hear whatever you have to say.

It pisses you off.

“Jungkook. Look at me.” You demand sternly. But Jungkook shakes his head.

“No, you’re mad at me.”

“Heck yeah, I’m mad. I’m so mad I can punch your face right now.” You have been patient with him, believing he’s vulnerable and in need of space. But your heart is only soft for a sad Jungkook, not for a Jungkook who blabs stupid things.

Jungkook balls his hands into fists, “You don’t understand. It’s so noisy in here.” He points at his head, “They won’t shut up. I’m—he….”

Jungkook gasps for air. You panic. You rub Jungkook’s back.

“Jungkook,” the saddest thing in this world is not seeing colors; it’s watching your beloved deal with the pain while you sit there pathetically, unable to take even a fraction of his hurt.

What good is a soulmate when all it can bring is color? Why can’t you take away Jungkook’s pain?

“He’s back, my father is out of jail.” Jungkook grips the bedsheet, “He’s come back for me. He hurt her before. He always takes away the people I love.”

Trauma is a part of Jungkook; napping silently and with one wrong shake, it’ll wake up and wreak havoc.

“You should run. Leave me. I don’t have a use to you, anyway—”

“Hush,” you can’t bear to listen anymore. You pull Jungkook to your chest, but the detective struggles.

“Please. You have to listen to me! Just leave! We’re not soulmates. I don’t understand why you’re still here!" Jungkook pushes your chest, but you catch his hands, burying Jungkook’s face into your neck.

“Oh, ma moitié.” The French endearment sounds easy coming out of your mouth. Jungkook melts at once. He sobs against your skin.

Ma moitié translates to my other half.

Jungkook wants to curse this unfair world. That’s right. How can you and him not be each other’s other half? It’s difficult to fight for you when fate is against you two. Sometimes Jungkook feels like no one has the right to tear you apart, mainly because you two paint each other's life—not with colors but with love. You and Jungkook are soulmates by heart. Many people call you twin black. The monochromatic world doesn't rob the two of you of happiness, love, and care. It takes one Jeon Jungkook to know that you like drinking cold water, not just 'cold water.' It has to be a certain degree of coldness:

If the water sits in the refrigerator for two hours, that's not cold enough. If it's water coming from a semi-solid ice cube, then that's too cold. 

You are fussy, but you give your effort to Jungkook similarly. Whenever you pick Jungkook up from work, you never fail to put your expensive leather jacket on the passenger seat, so Jungkook wouldn't have to deal with a burning hot seat. You don’t mind being stuck in the traffic and driving for hours to pick him up at work every day.

“Why can’t you be mine?” Jungkook doesn’t have the energy to push you away. His hatred is directed toward fate, himself, and his deranged father. Why are they against you and him being together?

“But I’m already yours, Kook.” You lick Jungkook’s tears and kiss his eyes. “Everything about me belongs to you. This,”

You guide Jungkook’s hands to your eyes, lips, and neck, then lower Jungkook’s hands to your heart. You let the detective feel your beating heart.

“You hear that, Kook?” Your eyes well up with tears. “That’s my heart telling you something.”

Goosebumps prick at Jungkook’s skin.

You do not break eye contact. “I love you, Jungkook.”

You have said those words countless times before, but it doesn’t fail to take Jungkook’s breath away—especially now that the I love you is said so softly…so romantically.

“You’re my soulmate, Jungkook.”

Jungkook flinches, shaking his head rapidly.

“T-That can’t be. You…you see colors. I don’t. We’re—we’re….”

Why are you lying? Why are you giving Jungkook false hope? It’s cruel.

But you are insistent.

“Jungkook,” you kiss him. “Stop thinking for a while, yeah? Focus on me. Focus on my heart. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jungkook answers against your lips. He never responded before, simply allowing and relishing the taste of your sweet lips.

“I love you so much,” Jungkook repeats, groaning and biting your lips until it draws blood. Jungkook had never allowed himself to possess before, scared that he would end up ruining what he loved. But today is different. You are addicting. Claiming he loves you gives him so much power--

He pushes you to bed, pressing himself on top of you.

Jungkook kisses you. “I love you. I love you. I really, really love you.”

 --so much happiness.

“I love you.”

--so much color.

Jungkook stops kissing you; his head spins.

--so much color.

Color.

The monochromatic world is slowly changing.

Color.

More colors.

Jungkook’s eyes grow wide.

He looks at you under him.

He gasps and calls your name. Your name sounds like a prayer coming out of Jungkook’s mouth.

“Your eyes…they’re purple.”

You chuckle under him. You wipe Jungkook’s tears.

“Took you long enough to realize, Kook.”

Jungkook laughs hysterically. He stares into your eyes again, ensuring he’s not dreaming or going crazing.

Your eyes are really purple—not gray.

At this very moment, Jungkook realizes something: out of all the suicide methods in history, Jungkook thinks that if he were to try one, it still wouldn’t work because seeing the purple in your eyes will bring him back to life.

Really. No amount of oxygen can compare to the image of you lying on your bed, purple eyes glistening as you whisper sweet nothings to your soulmate. With that, Jungkook feels he can finally breathe.

****

Meanwhile, on Aurora Fashion Lane, Taehyung runs toward the coffee shop. The conversation he had with you at the elevator rings inside his mind.

There has been a glitch.

That’s right. Taehyung remembers that day like the back of his hand.

It’s 6:23am. He went to a coffee shop looking so composed, but he’s actually very nervous. However, the presence of the barista calms him down.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” Jimin, the barista, asks. A soft smile adores his pretty face.

Taehyung feels his heart skipping a beat. He licks his lips, “You can tell?”

“You smell different.”

“Really.” Taehyung feels blood rushing to his face.

Jimin laughs. “Don’t be conscious. I said you smell different, not bad. I can tell because I’m blind. My other senses are heightened because of it.”

“Ah.” Taehyung is fascinated. Jimin prepares coffee like a pro. He won’t know Jimin can’t see if he didn’t say it.

“This one is for your head designer; she likes her coffee with some liquor. I sneak some little candies onto her tray so she can bring them home to Detective Jeon, her husband.” Jimin pushes a coffee cup to Taehyung.

“This one is for Yeji. She prefers iced coffee even when it’s freezing cold. This one is for Ji-Eun. She likes tea and not coffee. Yeonjun never changes his order. It’s always two shots of espresso. Jake drinks anything, as long as it’s not too bitter. And this,”

Jimin smiles, “Is for you. A bulgogi sandwich and iced latte. The sandwich is not spicy, so you don’t need to worry. Have a good day.”

Taehyung feels like floating in the air when he goes to work. He first sees you at the door, looking so pensive early in the morning.

You are thinking about your husband. His birthday is coming soon. You want to give him something precious.

A wristwatch? Nah. That’s too simple.

A perfume? Nope. You prefer it when he smells like you.

What about a picnic date near the sea? You can arrange for a firework display and…

Confess.

You flinch at your own thought.

Confess.

You want to confess to Jungkook because---

--you love him.

“Good morning.” Taehyung greets.

You are startled. You snap your head up to meet Taehyung’s face.

All of a sudden, a splash of colors welcomes you.

You see colors, and so does Taehyung.

“So yeah, I think there’s been a glitch.” Taehyung tries to explain to an expressionless Jimin. He swallows when the barista doesn’t answer.

Taehyung releases a deep sigh. Right. He probably sounds crazy right now. It’s not cool to suddenly barge at someone’s work and announce that you think the barista is your soulmate.

Taehyung scolds himself. He’s about to apologize and tell Jimin to ignore what he said when—

“I know,” Jimin responds.

Taehyung blinks up at him dumbly.

Jimin’s lips twist, “Didn’t I tell you I’m blind?”

What’s his blindness got to do with anything? Taehyung still likes him.

“Taehyung, I’m blind.” He repeats. “I’ve been blind since I was born. When I dream, I don’t dream visually, but.”

There’s a sudden pause. Jimin looks lost in thought.

He continues after a while, “The night before I met you, I dreamt of you. I saw a man who told me I was his soulmate. You two have the same voice, and here…” Jimin brings out his sketch pad and finally shows it to Taehyung.

“I draw the face of the man in my dream. Does it look like you?”

Taehyung gasps dramatically because, my gosh. Jimin has perfectly drawn his face!

“This is really me…I’m your soulmate, Jimin.” Taehyung stutters a breath. His heart beats fast.

Jimin chuckles softly, and then he touches Taehyung’s eyes. “Yes, you told me in my dream, too. I’m just waiting for you to realize it in real life.”

The thing about soulmates is it’s complex. Researchers even claim there are different universes, all of which have the concept of soulmates. Some hear the thoughts of their soulmates in their heads. Some are immortals and will only die if they do the act with their soulmates. And then comes their world, a monochromatic place where you’ll see colors once you look at your soulmate’s eyes.

But it’s not that simple. Sometimes, you have to free yourself from your own judgment first. Sometimes, you must be honest first; sometimes, you just have to wait.

****

Accept this fic while I take my time writing my ongoing JJK series here.

This is originally a soukoku fic I've written before. If you prefer that version, click here. I've converted it into a JJK x reader because it was requested by an anon here. If there are obvious mistakes in pronouns and such, please tell me because as said, this is originally a fic for a different fandom and it used to be a mxm pairing. I may have missed some thing while editing it.

I've written the same concept of soulmate ft. JJK years ago. It's a series which you can read here.

I appreciate comments the most! If you have suggestions about addtional tw, please don't hesitate to message me. Thank you ~~

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 7)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds

Part 7 Recognition

It was time to start again. Alastor couldn't forget what his mother had wanted, even if she didn't ask it of him directly. And while he finds his comfort again in killing, Detective Brady finds a lead.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, smut, reader's thighs as ear muffs, referencing cruel racists in the early 20th century south, reference to marital violence, pussy eaten, p in v sex, no creampie BOO, bad dancing, Alastor's southern accent, Alastor's mother, gossip, murder, greed , two idiots pretending they aren't madly in love, poor family planning, lots of 1920's slang with notes for your ease」

I think I fixed the broken tag list!

....it's been over a month. Here's nearly 9000 words of our favorite idiots. I feel weird labeling this smut now as...we are...kinda past the smut point and just making sweet sweet love. lol ugh gross. thank you to everyone whose offered help, donated, and shared the word about my mom! It’s been an immense help and has made her a little emotional (in a good way) <Florida stole my moms teeth— explanation and donation link> unrelated, anyone want some RadioDust?

Minors…. Minors. My inbox counts as interacting when you’re literally in there requesting smut. I know your bio has no age but baby honey darling I can tell by your writing. 🔞 Do Not Interact 🏠🚗

A development he knew was coming even if no one else believed him. A drug addict with debts to the local crime syndicates disappearing was neither suspicious nor a mystery. Everyone was confident it was obvious Tommy was at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain or halfway to California.

But not to him, not for Detective Brady. He had been on the beat for the better part of a year, convinced there was a connection between some of the disappearances in town.

No one wanted to hear it though, most people didn’t even care the people were missing. Only the occasional wife, concerned how she would keep a roof over her head and food in her kid’s bellies with the man of the house gone. But other than that, no tears or chest beating for the missing men and women.

Which made him confident there were countless more unreported cases. Just because no one missed them, a crime is a crime.

But, no bodies, no blood, no crime scenes… he looked like he had lost the fucking plot to his colleagues.

The city didn’t want the bad press, not to mention the fact there was no actual crime to be reported. Someone up and left down? Okay, he was a wife beater? Probably left with his mistress. The cruel den mother of the home for unwanted kids? Her assistant takes the lead and she moves onto a new town to menace. Probably running from the people angry with her.

But he finally had something. Tommy was pimping out dancers, and even laid hands on one. Surely there was a man looking for revenge for that. Can’t knock around a man’s woman and have it go unanswered.

So he tried again to find the woman whose only name he knew was a moniker. Autumn Hind.

Every time Brady came to the theater, another excuse. You left early. You were on the roof smoking—- oh, you slipped out the back. Weekends were your off days, so that was useless.

“You’re obsessed.” Detective Freeman threw an eraser he’d picked off his pencil at Brady. He had seen the man devolve slowly over the past couple months.

“Thanks.” Brady was staring at his notes.

“Not a compliment, Kenny. Shit happens, people leave town. You’re acting like a handful of no shows are some conspiracy.” Freeman came to stand behind Brady, leaning over to read his notes, “How can you even read that chicken scratch?”

He clapped the notebook shut, “Every report was a person less than liked. What are the chances they all leave town in the middle of the night, last seen in the same general area?”

Freeman patted his shoulder, “Did you just ask me why a bunch of assholes,” he stood up and made a show of stretching out tired muscles, “who liked illegal hooch* and jazz with plenty of enemies disappeared?” (*booze)

Brady slapped his desk, “There! You said it! They had enemies. But what— what if they had one enemy in common. A bar manager or — or a,” he was still looking for that link.

“Kenny, the boogeyman isn’t roaming New Orleans killing people. If the higher ups don’t care, if the families don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

The sleep deprived detective sunk into his wooden chair, swiveling side to side anxiously, “Tommy’s mother cares.”

“Yeah well mom’s are famously bad judges of character.” Slipping on his jacket, he shot a worried look to his partner, “Ya gonna go home? Janet’s probably a mess. You’ve been keeping late hours.”

“Nah not yet. I gotta get to the theater before this dame goes ghost on me again.”

“Yikes, still? You’ve been chasing her for a while.” He was making a slow inching walk to the door.

“It’d be easier if I had some support. I gotta do this on my own time.” A deep sigh, well past the point of hiding his frustration with his colleagues and bosses. Freeman looked over the wrinkled shirt and wilted tie, evidence of a man losing his grip.

“Welp, good luck buddy. Hope you get to the bottom of whatever this is.” He gestured at the messy desk and disheveled man, “See ya tomorrow.”

Brady waved without looking up. His eyes were staring into the black leather of his notepad. Tommy was the only recent assumed victim with any real suspicion. The woman whose husband disappeared after going to see a show? Only enemy to him was her, and she wasn’t strong enough to take him down. Deadend.

Most recent, nice young man from up north. Went out for a good time, hoping to catch a little lady for some stress relief, according to his coworkers. Never showed up at work the next day. No one had a bad word to say about the man. Making him an outlier, but still. He was young, strong, soft spoken. Not an enemy in sight but no family to worry, either. Deadend.

But Tommy. Someone cared he was gone. He was in the jazz game, the drug dens, the illegal drink business, and had a heavy hand. He was the perfect bad man, right?

He looked across his desk. Bad men. The occasional unsavory woman. Maybe it was just their time. They pissed off the wrong people.

Or the wrong person.

Someone who worked downtown, someone into dance and drink, someone with nights free to do his work. Maybe a hired gun? No, some of these people didn’t have the money for that.

Plus, one person and so many missing? That would be unheard of, it’d be some kind of record for Louisiana.

A record Brady could claim.

When he entered the theater James, the manager who replaced Tommy, noticeably rolled his eyes, getting in front of the man. “It’s real bad for business to have a cop in here all the damn time. Come on, if you’re not here for a raid then could you be a little less obvious.”

Brady looked past him, “What do you mean?”

“You’re— what is it? What can I do for you?”

“Here again for Miss Autumn. Care to give her real name yet?”

“No can do. Ain’t my business to tell. She’s finished her set, asked to head home early.” Brady turned and kicked a chair over, a large man approaching behind the manager before seeing the hip badge and backing up. “Nah we’re not doing that. We’ve told her you’ve come by but she’s a busy lady. Several gigs here and there. Enough, you’re harassing the dancers now.”

With a snap, Brady had his finger in the manager’s face, “Whatcha gonna do? Call the cops?”

“She. Isn’t. Here. What the fuck do you want? For me to tie her up and bring her to your station?”

That’d be ideal.

A month, nearly. Coming once or twice a week to try and speak to you but every time he missed you. He was going to snap if he heard one more time you were gone. Maybe everyone was in on it. Maybe you werenin the back right now laughing at him.

Brady scanned the room, “Where’s she live?”

“How the fuck would I know— please, leave.” James gestured to the doors.

He lifted his badge up, waving it at the patrons seated closest to him, “Yall know it’s still illegal to partake-,”

“Jesus! Enough!” The manager pushed him back, flashing an apologetic smile to the guests, “She moonlights Sundays at The Dime near the park on 5th, singing for a friend. That’s all I got about her life off stage. Will you fucking go?”

The detective perked up, “See, was that so hard?”

Finally, he could feel his fingers grasp the shifting shadow that was his only lead.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I never said sorry.”

You turned your head, not expecting him to say something serious. Waiting, he didn’t add explanation. Sorry? What had he done… ran out of milk? Forgot to bring in the towels before it rained last week? A quick search of your memory yielded nothing.

“For what?”

He was staring off in front of him. “For putting you in danger before. In the park. I am sincerely sorry.”

You’d somehow almost forgotten. It’d been weeks. Every bad feeling that night had brought you had been carried away by good morning kisses and gentle words before sleep. Nearly every night was spent in his bed, Alastor dropping you off at your apartment when he went downtown for work. The incident in the park was a different lifetime already.

Had he really put you in danger? Or had you rushed into the danger of his hobby to feel closer to him?

“I put myself in that situation. You didn't throw me at that guy. I don’t do a damn thing I don’t want to do. You should have learned that by now.”

Tough act for a woman who jumped up to pour some man’s coffee.

You shook your head, you had to stop equating doting on Alastor as a show of weakness. It wasn’t. Even if admitting that meant admitting you were wrong.

But he had put you in danger’s way, he knew it. “No, you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if it wasn’t for me.”

Your laughter bounced off the car windows, “Alastor, you met me getting choked to death by a strange man. People will always make dangerous situations for women to be in. Don’t act like you’re special.” A sly smile to ease his anxious heart. “I’d rather be in danger for you than just because I’m a woman. If it’s gonna happen anyway, might as well be worth something.”

His hand slipped onto your thigh, expression softening before his own smile grew again, “Don’t lie to my face so easily. I am very special, we can all agree.”

You looked around, the two of you alone in his car on a side street, “All? You know the trunk is still empty, right?”

“Oh, is that so? You’re quite dangerous yourself, I nearly forgot why we were here.” He patted his pockets to make sure he had what he needed. “When I give you a wave, back up to me, okay? Don’t leave the car. Just drive off if-,”

You kissed his cheek, “Shut it. Not a chance. Go give em hell, baby.”

Alastor crumpled against his steering wheel momentarily, your words cutting his heart open in a most wonderful way. He could never have predicted getting kisses before beginning his dark work. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps proof someone in hell was in full support of his actions. Straightening his back and checking his hair and glasses in the mirror, he flashed you a smile before slipping out of the car.

When Alastor said he was ready to begin killing again, you were a mix of excited and scared. Excited for normalcy to return but scared of the dangers presented there in. You’d been dodging the blue eyed detective for a while already, and moving forward meant possibly making mistakes he could grab a hold of. Not mentioning the risk of someone hurting Alastor again…but for your part in everything, you and Alastor found a compromise.

A deal had been made. You’d stay in the car and bring it to him when he was done. He had asked you flee if something went wrong but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Crawling into the driver’s seat, you tried to remember what he had taught you. How to get it started up, how to make it go backwards. How to make it go, in general. You’d never driven a car. Well, not until Alastor insisted on teaching you. Driving up and down the long stretch of road he lived on, Alastor white knuckling the door handle as you jerked the car forward with every failed shift. You had started on his land, but he feared for his home's safety with you behind the wheel.

Your hands slipped down the steeling wheel, big and round. Your mother would’ve had a hoot had she seen you in the driver’s seat. Clearing your throat, you leaned into the back of the car and double checked the canvas was properly secured.

Another man tonight. The few times you’d both gone out for leisure, having preferred to spend time alone at home, Alastor had gotten gossip that piqued his interest.

You remembered the way the woman’s hand touched his arm when she leaned in. “You didn’t hear it from me but it’s best to avoid French Study on Thursdays. Real piece of work slipping something in drinks and robbing people.” He reported what she had said back to you. It’d panicked you, realizing you were closer to being on Alastor’s list than you’d realized.

“No, the issue isn’t the stealin’. It’s what he does with the people with,” he had been delicate as he said it, taking another long sip of whiskey, “other things of value. And the fact this man has no need to steal. It’s ridiculous! His family has been land ownin’ and well off for generations.” Alastor was always impassioned when discussing the things he hated, even when slipping into drunkenness. His accent came through when he had too much to drink, his real accent. The accent his mother had. “You robbed men for power balance, for their assumptions you were easy to manipulate to begin with. He? Uh, Him? He’s just a piece of shit. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. And no one would report him ‘cause his family name.”

His drink spilled a little, when you had offered to clean it he just slipped the button up off. He lost his usual classy air as the bottle emptied. Which you actually liked.

The benefits of drinking on his back porch was no need to worry about decorum. Music was softly spilling from the open window behind you, Alastor’s prized record cabinet spinning the newest presses.

“It’s like there’s a little bug under my skin,” he wiggled his fingers over his sternum, “It’s gonna dig into my bones if I don’t cut it out.”

Despite your own drunkenness, you nodded and followed along, “So, ya gonna kill ‘em?”

Alastor pouted, making you snort, “I don’t want to think about that right now.” He enunciated every word clearly in his practiced and professional voice.

You’d ended the evening playfully arguing the merits of prohibition on the jazz scene and watching Alastor dance around the wrap around porch. But the conversation hadn’t ended for him.

Little hints he was still focused on it popped up over the following week. Alastor randomly asking you how it felt to be drugged, did you wake up in pain? Embarrassed? Scared? You caught him staring at the greenhouse from the window one morning, lost in thought. Before he had finally said he wanted to go out again, you understanding what that meant, you’d seen him turning a dinner knife over and over in his hand impatiently.

And now here you were. In the car beside a park late Thursday, Alastor having done some scouting while you’d finished up early at the theater.

It took hours. Which was good, it meant Alastor wasn’t rushing. He liked the stalking aspect of killing, of watching someone from across a room knowing exactly how their night would end. And as that man whose name would soon be buried with him alternated smiling and barking orders at staff, Alastor felt his stomach flutter. Like watching a slab of meat slowly turn over the fire. The crueler he was, the worse he acted, the more Alastor found his fingers tapping on the bar with anticipation. Perfect. Damn yourself more. No fake smiles or double faces, no, people like him didn’t even try to play the game others were forced into. Born with money and land already theirs, they didn’t even know the rules.

But Alastor did. Alastor mastered them at the tender age of 14. When he realized his father’s features were a shield. His mother’s lessons on manners and charm his weapons. The first time he was in mixed company, when someone leaned in and whispered a cruel “prank” he had planned for a young dark skinned woman on the other side of the room, he understood. They pulled back and smiled at him, and he managed to muster one of his own. Just smile, they’d take it to mean whatever they wanted it to mean because they thought he was of the same mindset. They assumed it. Like so many other things people would assume about him as he grew.

When he told his mother the story after getting home, she shook her head. When he had asked her what he should have done, she set down her book.

“Well, I’d love to say you should have stood up for her. But I’d also like to have my son above ground.”

He asked her why she couldn’t have both.

“Sweetheart, we don’t usually get the choice to do either, let alone both.”

He offered a solution, after a moment of thinking, “I shoulda buried him first then.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if that was how the world worked?” She returned to her book, “If God just struck em down dead as soon as they hurt people. Better yet, before.”

It would be nice. It was nice. Because Alastor couldn’t wait for God to make the world his mother mentioned. He grinned ear to ear, gloves a second skin, as the man crawled backwards in the grass like an animal cornered. His heart was pounding in his ears. Where to cut first? The gut, his family fat and soft from the money they made off the labor of others? The pale neck of a man who never spent a day outside, instead indoors drugging strangers for sport? The chest covered in a fine cotton shirt he didn’t appreciate?

He wished he had many arms, as many as he could imagine, to slash and tear in tandem.

“What do you want? Money?” the animal asked him.

Alastor shook his head no. No, he didn’t want money.

“Do you know who I am?”

Alastor nodded. “That is precisely why I am here.”

Would he beg? Cry? Bargain? Experience told him it’d be the latter.

“Alright well, if you know who I am you know you’re making a mistake. Here.” The man opened his wallet and pulled out a few greenbacks, holding them out for Alastor. Alastor’s smile softened slightly, remembering tossing you a wallet once before.

He reached down with his left hand to take the money, but instead grabbed the man’s wrist. Swiftly, quicker than the man could process, he took the knife tucked into his belt behind his vest and stabbed the man in the stomach.

Staring into his eyes, he could see his own image looking back at him. Smiling.

Alastor grabbed your face with both wrists, hands bloody and one still holding the knife, and kissed you when he’d flagged you down.

“Is this for bringing the car around without running you over?” Your eyes glanced at the knife beside your head. He apologized, tossing it into the trunk.

“No, just happy to see you.” A mischievous grin that made your knees weak, his body shimmied closer until he was pressed against you, stealing another kiss. His arms stretched out to keep from bloodying you. Your fingers slid up his cheeks to return the kiss. “Thank you, dear.”

When you returned home, to his home, that is, you took to task bringing in the laundry he’d left on the line and putting away the things still on the counters from breakfast. You couldn’t resist going to the second floor room and looking down into the greenhouse. You couldn’t see perfectly well, but you could see nonetheless. Alastor didn’t want you in the greenhouse yet when he was working. He said it was the ugliest parts, the kind that would sure give you nightmares or rob you of your appetite.

Considerate. But, it only made you more curious. Would you be sick if you saw? Would you never eat meat again?

What would you do if you didn’t have any reaction at all?

You watched Alastor leave the greenhouse and lock the door behind him, so you hopped down the stairs to meet him in the hall beside the kitchen.

He’d been sweating, shirt open to reveal a thin white undershirt, and under his arm was a canvas roll. He lifted it up, “Tools. Rinsed them off but I’d like to dry them under the electric lights.” You grabbed the aprons from the wall hooks, Alastor letting you slip it over his head and tie it for him. “Why so tight?”

“I like the way it makes your waist look.” You’d seen him wear it when making biscuits. It made his shape so clear. It reminded you of watching water drip down his sides and roll off his hips in the shower.

He beamed, “I’m listening. What exactly do you like about my waist?” Sharp brows raised as that friendly tongue peeked out at you.

“Hush.” You cooed.

You stood on the long side of the table, him at the short, and took turns wiping the tools dry and checking the other’s work.

As he grabbed each one he would tell you what he used it for. Holding up the garden shears and explaining the point along the blade that had the strongest force. The advantage of curved pruning blades when used on a human body. His eyes were gleaming as he spoke, looking so lovingly at each item like it was a loyal pet.

He finally noticed you were grinning and chuckling softly, so he dropped his smile for dramatic effect, “What? What’s so funny?”

Shaking your head, you set down the next item for him to inspect, “Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re talking about your passions. Your face lights up from the inside out.”

His breath hitched, smile actually lost as he processed every syllable. Your turn now to notice him staring as you looked up from your work. You recognized that look though, the wide eyes and serious lips. The air of the kitchen felt like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm rolled in.

Alastor set the tools back onto the canvas one by one and carried them to the counter. Before returning he picked up a small knife and set it near the edge of the table.

“Come here.” He nodded his head to space in front of him. The way he said it, that tone, made your heart begin to skip beats.

You slid between him and the table, Alastor lifting you up with a startling ease and setting you onto cool wood. Kicking your legs a little, you set nervous hands onto your lap. You wanted to touch him. To pull him by the apron straps into you.

“How do you always say the right things?” He closed the distance between you, one hand on your neck while his mouth came to your ear. “The things I didn’t know I wanted to hear?”

Swimming. Your mind was swimming. “Why is your idea of right the same as my idea of the truth?” You could feel the grin. Sighing into your ear, down your neck, his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the table enough to press your core into his clothed erection. Even through his pants and the apron, you could feel him clearly. When did he get so hard? You always wondered in those moments if it was the topic of discussion. Or the knives. Or your need. Biting your lip wasn’t a thought out action, but Alastor loved to see it. Rolling his hips into you in response.

“Wanna go upstairs?” you asked.

He shook his head, slipping off his glasses.

“Oh no, don’t even wanna see me?” You teased, but firm hands held you tighter to him in response.

“I won’t be letting you get far enough away from me for that to be a problem.”

When he leaned down and his lips so very gently pressed into yours, you could feel it. That missing something from before. It was in the air, it was rolling off of his body and dampening your senses. A desire, a drive that you felt that first time you had sex with him in that apartment above the theater. A motivation that was lacking last time in his bed.

His eyes were staring down into yours, waiting for your response. Eagerly you replied by chasing his mouth with yours. A chain of kisses as you tried to ever remember enjoying kissing another person as much as him.

Not a single soul. Why did it feel like this was all you ever needed? Eyes closed and lips on lips, hands in his hair, it felt like you’d been holding your breath all of your life. His body on yours was a gasp of air.

For Alastor, he couldn’t even think of breathing when around you. Let alone when your mouth was on him. Every time you touched him all he could think about was the word ‘affection’.

So when your tongue swiped up his lips, he moaned as he opened for you. Not because he was new to kissing someone with so much lust. He’d grown accustomed to the things you did to him. No, because you were a fever that had taken hold of him and your kiss the medicine that soothed his delirium.

He wondered, was that why people called it ‘love sick’?

“You really like me, don’t you?” He asked, nose sliding up your jaw.

An opportunity presented to you. A chance to spill over the edges.

You pushed it away, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer.

“Something like that, yeah.”

His hands pressed flat against the table to balance the deep roll of his hips against you. One of your own fell behind you to keep from falling backwards, the other flung over his shoulder. When you moaned into his cheek he captured the sound with his mouth and slipped his tongue back into you.

You liked him. He’d known people to love and not like their partner an ounce, but the way you appreciated his quirks made his heart sing in its brittle cage. You never ceased to see him. The issue with always putting on a show is people tend to be disappointed when the actors become human again. But you never met his persona. He was knife wielding, bloodlusting Alastor from the first word. So when he was himself, you recognized him clearly. Because he was all you ever knew.

And you liked him

You appreciated him.

He dared to think maybe he could inspire more from you. A thought that made him twitch below the belt.

Closer. He needed you closer. He needed you so near to him that he’d never forget the feeling of being wanted. It’d be imprinted on his chest and his arms and his lips.

Impatient hands slipping up your sides, along your neck, down your chest. His greedy mouth suddenly understanding the same greed he once marveled at in your own kisses. Hot tongue sliding over yours, delving deeper into you with every return.

When his hands seemed to come to an agreement, they yanked you forward again. You’d fall off ass-first if he pulled you any further.

You watched with only slight horror has he grabbed the small knife and hiked up your dress in tandem. A gulp, worried the other shoe had finally dropped on a too-good situation.

“Are you particularly attached to these panties?” His eyes were looking up and over his glasses.

“No?” Did you really need panties, you wondered. Ever? Girdles we’re falling out of fashion perhaps you’d all be naked again soon enough. Maybe you two could start another Eden. A pomegranate’s juice the new red staining his skin.

Not even a tremble, his hands lifted each side and sliced them free.

“Oh?” You didn’t have a real question in mind when he tucked the panties into his back pocket. Just a need to express you saw it and didn’t understand it.

Alastor took your hand and pressed it against his hardened length, eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness to them. But when your hand took hold of him and squeezed, everything softened in his features. Funny how where one area grew stiff another melted.

He rolled his eyes closed as you finally undid his belt and pants. A struggle you didn’t see, Alastor trying to keep from pouncing on you like a horny virgin. He didn’t want to rut into you, he didn’t need the pleasure. He needed something he couldn’t see or explain. He just knew you held it behind your teeth.

When your skin pressed into his and you both moaned together he was sure you were the same. One person, split into insufficient parts. Finally lined up flush in place.

When you circled your hips against his aching cock, he wondered what you were chasing after. Was it the pleasure? He’d give it to you in spades.

He was on his knees with his face between your legs before you could close your thighs in surprise.

You needed both hands now to keep from falling back onto the table. “Alastor,” a whine.

He knew better than to talk with his mouth full, so he let two fingers work their way into you with shallow thrusts. Easing you open for him.

“Yes?” His eyes didn’t leave his fingers, glistening under the kitchen light. You hadn't thought much ahead past his name, once his fingers were in you and curling up to find your spongy and soft bundle of nerves your mind had gone empty.

“We can just fuck, if you’re horny.” You watched him watching himself.

“Where’s the fun in that?” His mouth returned to your mound, broad tongue forming a point and finding your clit.

A lazy moving tongue would be frustrating if not for his fingers punishing your g-spot. Consistency was key, and his hand was focused and skilled.

Suddenly you remembered the piano in the sitting room. That’s where you knew that movement from. That clearly practiced muscle memory.

Alastor felt confident everywhere but rarely did he feel comfortable. When your thighs came together and squeezed him at the ears, he felt positively cozy. Would you be so kind as to be his ear muffs come winter? He’d have to remember to ask when his mouth was free. How many cold nights he could now rest assured he would have warmth just a little dive of his head away.

Lowering his mouth, nose buried in your muff, he wriggled his tongue in with his fingers. Not enough, rarely was anything enough any more. He stilled his hand and prodded at your sensitive walls with that intrusive tongue, relishing the little movements you made in response. Taking his digits out entirely, he buried his wet muscle as deeply as he could reach.

The huffs of exhales you were making triggered a moan from him that you felt through your skin. His enjoyment was tripling your pleasure.

Goosebumps ran up your arms at the combine sensations of his moaning and prodding.

When his lips and tongue returned to their uneven teasing of your clit, three fingers now swiping past your inner spot with every thrust, your hands came to his head. Fingers slipping through his hair and gripping every time your body shook. Encouragement, the more you tugged the surer he was he was doing the right things.

And oh, he was. You said the right things but Alastor always seemed to act on them. Your senses lodged themselves between the even stroking of your g-spot and the unpredictable movements of his tongue. One kept the pressure rising as your orgasm climbed, the other pushed you along jolt by jolt.

Curious thing. That night in the park he didn’t have much reaction to your enjoyment, but he found himself not fully softening in his lap as he continued. Normally, unless still physically stimulated or the rare time you stirred something in him, he wasn’t very… battle ready.

But the feeling of you pulling him in by the head, fingers in his hair and thighs at his cheeks; this was different than the others. He was sure now it wasn’t just physical pleasure you wanted. His pride said it was more.

Dozens of times before— he truly was a rake in some aspects, though admittedly it was all in the pursuit of avoiding “sex”, as defined by most, not chasing it — he helped a date find release with his tongue. But it never did anything for him. They moaned and said his name and screamed. Which was lovely. Who doesn’t enjoy recognition?

When you said his name, it was heavier. It was material, it had mass and as its gravity began its pull he found his mind circling that sound. He was pleasing his darling, not placating. And it made him react in that unusually crass way.

He felt like an apex predator when killing, tearing open animals made for him to hunt. But you made him feel baser. Prey in your gentle bite.

As your orgasm mounted, you began tugging at his hair to pull him off. You didn’t need him to stop, but everything was suddenly too sensitive. It was alarming to feel your body rocking from overstimulation. A strident cry filled the kitchen as your back arched off the table. He didn’t let up, despite how much you thrashed under his mouth. Rolling pleasure, muscles electrified and shaking beyond your control.

You patted his head harshly, “Good, I’m good. Alas—tor! Fuck!”

Ah, he loved when you swore. It punctuated your otherwise preternatural aura with a touch of humanity.

He stood and leaned over your now reclining body. Your pussy still clenching and legs shaking as he admired his work. You admired his shape in his apron, his broad shoulders and sharp eyes. Caught between your legs like a lion in a mouse trap; he acted like he had no way free of you. His grin widened and he made a display out of licking each finger clean. Eyes never leaving yours.

You knew many men to squawk at going down on a woman. To balk at wearing an apron. To grimace at the suggestion of cooking a meal while their lady took a nice bath or enjoyed a coffee. Alastor seemed to not think twice about any of it. How nice it would be. To have a partner beside you, to not be the woman in the often referenced “behind every great man is a great woman.”

“Alastor, I want you.” You pulled him down by the neck and stole a kiss. When he began to stroke himself fully back to life you pressed that hand to his chest. “Not like that. Though I’m not declining the offer.”

His eyes saw something in yours. “Sweetheart, you have me. There is no part of me that isn’t possessed by you. I know we keep things relatively… tightlipped for safety but I’m your fella and you’re my gal.” His nose touched yours. “But if you want more, I’ll become more. I’ll break myself apart and make myself better.”

Your heart sank. Sitting up to command a little authority, a feat given you were sitting panty-less on a kitchen table, “Don’t you dare. I’ll always meet you where you are, got it? Don’t go… groping around in the darkness for me; trying to find what I need. I’ll always come to you. Because you’re more than enough as you are.”

A little cough to clear his tightening throat, “I’ve not had a day of darkness since you arrived.” A kiss to your forehead before a soft thumbpad wiped at the corner of your eye. “Did I make you sad?”

You wanted to say it. But not now, not like this. You didn’t want Alastor to connect love and sex. To think one was necessary for the other.

While you were coming to learn how lovely it was to pair the two together, it was a fact they were wholly independent things. And you couldn’t allow him to think they were a set.

“You’ve made me too happy. It’s absolutely terrifying.”

But Alastor had found your expressions of acceptance always tumbled the circle of Love to overlap with that of Sex. It was only in that mixed space did he find desire in pleasure.

A wicked smirk, “Let me pile on my affections and drown out your fears.” His hips rolled into you again, a surprising eagerness returned to his lap. “Can I continue?”

With a nod and a smile, “But not another word of change, buster.” You leaned back on your hand for support. Alastor was happy to return to your heat, lining up and sinking into you. An embrace like no other, one he found particularly earnest when with you.

Close. Finally. You began where he ended, a natural extension of who he was and who he could be. The things he could have. A relieved sigh he didn’t try to hide before he began moving, a moment when his tension could melt. You were both an unseasonably warm autumn day and the cool comforting shade of an unfamiliar tree. Both the heat and the relief.

He watched your body rock against the table, even fully dressed you managed to look more scandalous than any show he’d seen downtown. He was grateful he didn’t seek this comfort often in others, the way his mind melted made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t think straight. And then you began to make those lovely little groans, high pitched and needy, and he was sure his soul was errant.

As his thrusts deepened, cock no longer kissing your cervix but ramming into you with good intentions, you dropped back as you lost the battle against his hips.

Alastor’s arms slid up our waist and pulled your arms towards him, “Too far, I can’t see your face.”

Your arms were slung over his shoulders as your back curved for him, “You don’t need to see my face.”

“Tsk, wrong.”

Your new favorite place was right in front of him, wherever his line of sight was you wanted to be in it. Nose to nose, heads tilting to recapture soft lips and softer moans.

Until the softness left, Alastor’s skin slapping against yours as he dragged those lovely sounds from you. He watched your eyes roll closed, mouth open as you moaned with the safety of the seclusion of a country home. A thought bubbled up, inspired by you.

“I want the neighbors to hear you.” That smile half cocked across his upsettingly handsome face. His hand slipped between you both to repeat the motions he learned before. Hard and fast, no choice but to raise your voice.

Your head fell back, clit still sensitive, “You don’t have neighbors!” A new moan hitting the walls.

“I do— just a few miles down the road, dear.” His mouth latched onto your neck but he didn’t suck like he wanted, he couldn’t bite. Your skin was your job, your body not his to mark. Suddenly he remembered, “Do you still have that make up? For your bruises?”

You couldn’t understand why he would bring that up while balls deep in you but you nodded.

“Would it work on your neck?” He nipped lightly.

It clicked, “Absolutely.”

You felt like a teenager again. When his tongue swiped over your soft flesh before he began to suck on the skin there you could feel the heat rising off your chest. You could feel him everywhere, and with the knowledge he wanted to hear you, you tossed your shame out of the kitchen window and relaxed into the pleasure.

As he moved up your neck he left little marks behind. There was no sense left you didn’t occupy. He could smell the soap and sweat of your skin, taste your cunt still on his tongue, your sights and sounds a decadence he couldn’t get used to. And the feeling of you… velvety walls, a feeling finer than silk as he slipped in and out of you. So incredibly hot on his most sensitive areas, pulling him back in with admirable strength.

He felt his orgasm ratcheting up but tried to hold back. He wanted more time to experience your ecstasy, to wallow in your openness. Even pressed skin to skin now wouldn’t satisfy that deep desire for this unique level of intimacy. So he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he had it.

But, he knew he should prepare. “I don’t want to dirty your dress.” A lust heavy voice penetrating the nap of your neck. He’d made a risky release before at your urging, something he often thought about when work got quiet. But he knew he needed to think clearer now.

“Then don’t.” A terrible reply but you wanted all of him, every drop of his hunger for you. “Keep the mess in me.”

“My dear,” he slowed his hips, autopilot keeping them moving at all, “I don’t think now is the time for,” you tightened around him to trip him up, which worked spectacularly. Alastor had take several seconds before continuing, “talks on family planning.”

A pang of nausea and fear, small and sharp in your abdomen. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of biology, just that Alastor brought out your baser animal instincts, too. And before, when he came buried as deeply as he could reach, it felt like you’d actually completed some ritual. Bears hibernated, birds migrated, Alastor came in you.

You’d never let a man do that before Alastor. “I just want to… accept everything you are willing to give me.”

He bit his bottom lip to redirect some attention away from his now throbbing member, “And when you’re sure on me, I’ll always provide.”

A pout that he kissed, you accepted the terms. An argument could be made you were already very sure, but you were well aware how naive that sounded when you’d known each other for so little time. Had a coworker told you she’d met a guy and within three months was ready for… the consequences, you’d have laughed and asked if she was drunk or just stupid.

Alastor wanted to provide. But he knew you’d be the one with the raw end of the deal, he couldn’t risk coercing a decision in the heat of the moment. If your mind was half was addled as his with pleasure then you were in no state for big decisions.

Life changing decisions.

Decisions that filled empty homes.

Fuck, why wasn’t he a less considerate man?

When his kiss deepened, so did his ministrations. He was fully sheathed and so unwilling to draw back more than a couple inches you wondered if he had changed his mind. It felt like a man not wanting to stray too far from home. One hand on the small of your back, his other other on the back of your neck. When he pulled out he pressed his tongue further, only stopping the kiss when he came onto the little space of table between your thighs. Soft and swollen lips parted as his breaths ran ragged. A smile spread across your face as you watched his eyes open, witnessing a pleasured blow out of his pupils.

When he grabbed a kitchen towel and cleaned the table, you chuckled at his grimace. “See? My way is cleaner.”

He didn’t reply at first, taking the cloth and hovering over the sink before tossing it into his trash. “Only in the short term. We can finish up tomorrow with the tools?”

Your legs kicked again, not ready to slide off, “Mm, it’ll be easier in the daylight.”

“Instead,” he zipped his pants but removed the belt and set it on the counter, “Let’s get zozzled* and sway around the sitting room? Crash where we land.” (*drunk)

“I’ll pour if you get the music on.”

He turned to leave but paused, “No, I’ll handle the drinks. You always have too heavy of a hand.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining last time…”

“I’m not sure I remembered I was at home and not at a drum* last time…,” He uncorked the label-less whiskey, grabbing two glasses with one hand. “Didn’t wanna insult the pretty waitress.” (*speakeasy)

Fair. You weren’t much for drinking and always underestimated the strength of illegal hooch. Some were weak and some could kill you. But fancy Alastor had connections with the kind of people no one dared to risk harm to, so he always had the most trustworthy goods.

Good music, great whiskey, and even better company. You thanked him for being safe while working, he praised your ability to learn new skills so quickly. After a few drinks he pushed the coffee table against the wall and you drunkenly swayed around the room to something playing smooth and low. As much as you enjoyed your conversations, having your head tucked under his chin as neither of you said a word somehow filled in the little cracks of your heart more so than any talk. For him too. No tension after sex, no stress of how long he’d get to breathe before the next instance of prodding to do it again. He could smile and close his eyes and feel the room swing and sway in total safety.

A safety neither of you knew was being threatened from afar.

When you woke, Alastor was gone. A note on the table letting you know he’d run out to grab some things for breakfast. Telling you to relax and recover.

You put the furniture back, bringing the glasses to the kitchen and his belt to the bedroom.

Coffee and a slow perusal of his home. Intimate details you tried to not stare at when he was there. The rare photo of his mother, a woman you didn’t speak about, a conversation you didn’t need to have, but someone you knew existed fondly still in his life. A silent thank you to her.

No photos of a man to give thanks to you so you turned to the little curios and mementos. 

Little seashells and sand dollars, a small gator’s skull. Books, about anatomy and history. Novels about crime and love and mystery. Ticket stubs for films he’d seen. Little bits of his mother scattered in. A woman’s necklace. A chatelaine* with all of the accessories and tools. (*wikipedia page)

When you felt you’d spied enough, you crawled into his side of the bed and inhaled as deeply as you could. His pillow smelled like him. You let yourself sleep off the hangover surrounded by pieces of Alastor.

Pieces you couldn’t contain. Pieces left around town as a dick* hunted for his personal monster. (*a detective, but also, a dick, fuck this dude?)

Beth, or Betty as you called her, the friend you often sang for, was cleaning up from the previous night when Brady walked in. She tried to tell him they were closed, but he took a seat at the counter anyway.

“I’m looking for a singer named Autumn. She been around lately?”

She paused, knowing the name was tied to your work. This man didn’t know you. “Whose asking?”

“The city of New Orleans”, he set his badge on the counter top.

“Is she in some kinda trouble?”

“She the kinda dame to get into trouble?”

Beth laughed, “She doesn’t try to but men, liquor, and jazz tend to make it happen. She’s okay, right?”

He took a deep sigh, trying to blink away the exhaustion and remember he needed to be someone strangers trusted. Being honest hadn’t been working and being rough barely got him a lead. “Well I was hoping you’d know. Found out someone roughed her up a bit ago and just wanting to make sure she’s okay. But I don’t have her legal name, no address, nothing to track her down.”

Shaking her head, she leaned onto the counter, “What? Some egg* forget it’s just a show?” Brady shrugged. “I can’t say. She hasn’t been by in a couple weeks.” (*man)

He asked why. Feeling the deadend approaching.

“She was just doing me a favor. Once she got a guy she didn’t have much time.”

Fighting the urge to slam his fists against the wood and sling his notebook across the bar, Brady took slow breaths. Jaw clenched as he grabbed his pencil, “That is wonderful news. Hopefully a fit guy who can… keep her safe.”

Beth laughed a little, “I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a daisy*, but real kind.” (*a non-masculine man)

“Could I get a name? Or her address? Wanna follow up. See for myself that she’s doing well.”

She tapped the bar with two fingers and winked, “Ah no can do. Flatfoot* or not, I don’t tell men where to find sleeping ladies. But her fella is in radio though. I recognized his voice right away. Popular too, really ritzy air about him.” (*cop, detective)

As he left, he slapped the notebook against his palm over and over. When he stopped to take a second to congratulate himself something caught his eye. Across the street was a park he knew well. Following the block and turning, he could see the white and green awning of the cafe he’d seen you at before.

Had he been there? He hadn’t questioned why you were alone on such a nice day. But maybe you weren’t. Maybe you’d been playing him from the start.

Enough games.

When you took the stage that evening, a Friday show with a promising crowd, you felt like solid gold. Alastor would be there to pick you up in a few hours, you had every need met. And now you had the adoration of strangers to pump up your chest.

Until you passed your come-hither eyes over the crowd and a striking ocean blue pair knocked the wind out of you.

James was standing behind Brady, mouthing an apology. You missed a beat in your routine but forced your smile back. It took a second, to slide back into the actress you were when away from Alastor. Every time it got harder and harder to fall back into that role but you managed. His eyes never left your face, and you thanked God your heaving chest could be seen as fatigue and not the sheer panic that had taken ahold of your body.

When you were on the other side of the curtain you considered rushing out the side door, into the alley and down the street. But you couldn’t. You’d successfully brushed him off for so long but now that he had seen you, had made it clear he was there for you, you couldn’t flee. Innocent people don’t hide from cops.

Feet dragging, you saw some of the dancers standing around the dressing room door. “He’s out of his gourd if he thinks I’m changing with him in there.” One said loud enough to ensure Brady heard. When you entered the room he was sitting at your make up table, legs spread and your shoes in his hands.

“There she is!” standing, he extended the shoes to you, “Don’t stare like a deer in the lights. I’m sure you knew I was coming. Slip these on, we’re going for a ride.” He gave them a shake, “You can call your mac* from the station and let him know you’ll be late.” (*man)

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog  , @poinappel l , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

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[dayasusays]

helloooo i hope you're fine:) can we have headcanons or one shot of husband bruce being jealous and overprotective with reader? smut pls 😮‍💨

HAWWO :3 SORRY FOR DELAY i’m completely fine tyyy!!! hope u’re too 💋

oh. OH… overprotective bruce… 🫣

i enjoyed writing this!!! really!!!

warnings ! — SMUT, headcanons, public sex (the restroom at his gala), fem!reader, husband!bruce wayne

summary ? — you made him jealous.

౿ . . ` ౨ৎ ENJOY 🦇

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who needs to keep you in his sights during his gala because otherwise he'll worry.

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who only gets distracted for a couple minutes, but you already find someone to talk to.

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who grits his teeth when he sees some guy put his arm around your waist and pull you closer. and you don't even resist; you don't push him away, but you keep laughing and occasionally throwing non-ambiguous glances at bruce. oh, he gets it.

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who appears completely out of the blue behind your back, pulling you to him by the waist and whispering in your ear: “you have a new friend? how nice,” and leaves a brief kiss on your lobe while his head rests on your shoulder.

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who knows you have your privacy, but right now he's unceremoniously invading it. and you love it.

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who slowly pulls you towards the restroom and never for a second removes his hand from your waist.

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who leaves a ton of wet kisses on your neck, pressing his strong chest against your back. he can't resist little nibbles because you seem to have completely forgotten that you're married. married to a jealous man who will always find a way to show you that you belong to him.

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who keeps whispering in your ear: “have you forgotten your place, love? right next to me so everyone can see that you're my wife,” his palms move down to the slit of your dress and stroke the inside of your thigh, “look at you. you're so fucking beautiful that everyone wants you to be with them,” god, you've always been amazed at how good he is at speaking.

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who always takes the time to fuck you whenever you decide to tease him. honey, you're playing with fire because he can fuck you anywhere, whether it's the batcave, the car, the restroom at a restaurant or his gala.

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who doesn't waste any time when he enters you in one smooth thrust. you rest your hands on the sink, biting your lower lip and trying not to let out a loud moan, but he fills you so fucking well. “feels good, doesn't it? your husband's big cock inside,” bruce mutters, picking up the pace right away. he doesn't have time to mess around with you, my god, he has to go on stage in ten minutes to give a speech.

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, holding you down while he fucks you. i mean, just look at him; it would be weird if he didn't. he'll never let you fall, holding you tight in his arms.

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who takes exactly five minutes to bring you to orgasm. he knows the exact angle at which he hits your g spot with perfect force with each thrust, he knows what to say to make you clench around his cock even harder, he knows which places to kiss and bite to make you even more sensitive. your husband is a goddamn detective, and you both love and hate that fact.

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who gives you a couple more thrusts, muttering angrily “he touched you so shamelessly and you did nothing,” his rough thrusts are almost torture because of your sensitivity after orgasm, “you won't get one more step away from me, princess, no one can touch you like that.”

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who always comes after you, biting your shoulder.

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who tidies you up in seconds by fixing your hair, dress and underwear; doesn't bother to clean you because “consider it a punishment, sweetheart. back home i'll be sure to do something about it.”

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who smiles slightly at your grumbling about how uncomfortable you'll be because the feel of his semen on the fabric of your underwear, while exciting, is still uncomfortable.

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who will leave a brief kiss on your forehead and remind you that you're the one who made him jealous.

“you do it every damn time.”

“and you still fall for it.”

“little brat… love you,” bruce pulls you closer, his fingers gripping your waist a little harder as you pull him in and kiss him.

⌗ — husband!bruce wayne, who spends the rest of the evening admiring the bites on your uncovered neck and shoulders. damn, he did it and he's so proud of himself. ୨♡୧

🦇 abt me | m.list

[chaosandmarigolds]

Before we begin. I would like to remind you all that Caleb is a fictional character, he cannot be hurt- but so is Simon Riley so do with that information what you will :)

“Garrick.”

Johnny clears his throat before speaking, the commotion of the station loud through the phone, “Ya n the missus still in th’ country?”

To that Kyle frowned, moving carry on bag to sit down on the chair, “We’re just gettin back from Las Vegas, Becca got-“

“Ollie is gone.”

well. That sent a shock through his system, with a quick straighten of the posture Kyle speaks again, “An’ Simon doesn’t-“

“Some bullshit happenin’ makin it look like he helped his girl with kidnappin em from da dad, dad’s takin em …”a breath, “Si doesn’t know Ollie is gone yet. He’s been in questionin for five hours kno.”

Kyle looks down at his boots for a moment, meanwhile his wife gives him a confused stare, “Jesus- fuck, you need me?”

“I dunnae ye. Probably, ya got a ETA?”

Kyle shrugged and then looks at Rebecca, who had her luggage stolen so they were waiting on the security to do their work. “Si’s kid is missin.”

She stares up at him in disbelief for a moment, “How?”

“Bio-dad bullshit.” Kyle puts the phone to his ear again, “Hows Cap holding up?”

“Pissed off. But we all are.”

“Ya seen LT yet?”

“Nah, got her’ two hours go.”

-

If he were being honest, he wanted to simply take the gun and shoot the detective- it would finally make that man shut his mouth. However, Simon was showing self restraint, yet that task grew harder with each moment. So as he sat in the empty room, he was mainly focusing on keeping his breathing even, and temper in check.

About ten minutes went by before someone came to let him go, and to no one surprise Price was behind the door with the officer.

“I need you to be-“

“Where’s Ollie? Where is she?”

Price tried to keep his expression neutral, “Caleb had temporary rights-“

“The fuck does that mean? Where is MY SON?” Okay, so temper wasn’t in check but he was doing his best.

“He’s going to Las Vegas.”

—

Rebecca sipped her coffee as she sat in the airport lounge, after talking the security and as Kyle gave out the description of the small boy. She was currently going through Caleb’s social media, as someone had gone through a lot of trouble to edit photos where Simon had been in and replace them with himself, somehow editing the timestamps as well. Which was funny, because normally she was the phone taking the family photos.

With a frown she turns her phone over and looks around the bustling airport.

That’s when she spots Caleb. Hoodie pulled up to cover his face and quickly walking through the terminals.

Some part of her knew she needed to tell Kyle, and to not rush after him. And she knew he probably could’ve over powered her/ but it was so easy to just use that book she had grabbed as she went after him to take him down.

He probably could’ve thrown her off but instead he let her pin him down, panicked eyes and heaved breathing. “I swear! I didn’t- it wasn’t my idea! They-I owed the em money! I had to!”

“Where is Oliver?”

“They had me hand him off-off to some lady! I don’t know! Russian, tall, I don’t know!”

Rebecca looks down at him, her heart beginning to race as the security began to come over and to grab them, and she slowly turned as Kyle pulls her away. “I don’t…I don’t think is about Ollie. I don’t think this is about him at all.”

-

Ollie stares at the ground of the small plane, having a cup of water and a little baggie of goldfish in front of him. His eyes red with tears.

“Oh, come now little man, eat up. Get strong.” The woman coax’s, her voice muffled by the accent but her smile sweet, “Your father does not want to see you hurt.”

“I wanna go home.”

“I know. But you cannot go right now, your father- he owes us a debt.”

—-

Tee…tee hee 🤍🤍

(Am I getting carried away? Yes obviously. But I am having too much fun to stop)

[nsharks]

preview (again) of part 20 | bleeding blue :-)

The heat dissipates as you land hard.

Dread takes hold of you.

It's Blue— screaming.

You fly up to your feet, spitting dirt from your mouth, and break into a sprint. Ghost is already meters ahead, grabbing the knife from his ankle, inspiring you to do the same. Voices—unintelligible, but unmistakably human—grow clearer with each stride towards the camp. Visitors. Ruthless blood pumps in your ears. If they have dared to hurt her...

Ghost makes it there first. You part through the trees and snap your eyes over the clearing, relieved to see Blue behind the fence. Still draped in an oversized sleep shirt, she juts the tip of one of her dad's rifles through a gap in the fortification, aiming at four intruders. 

"Don't come any closer or I-I will blow your heads off!"

"We're not here to hurt you," one says: grizzled. Calm.

At first glance, they don't appear threatening, but you know better than to make that sort of judgement, your fingers tightening around the handle of your knife as you ready your stance the way Ghost has taught you. Two of them are mounted upon a brown horse—a teenaged boy and a woman some years older than you—with two men flanking their sides, chests swollen in tactical gear and backs mounted with rucksacks.

Their clothes are dirtied but they don't seem helpless. The men are tall and brawny, nearing Ghost in size. The older one, who you figure was speaking to Blue, wears a tattered boon hat and sports a dense, brown beard.

You make a quick sweep of your eyes to detect any weapons and spot the distinctive 'L' of a handgun at the younger one's waist. He hasn't withdrawn it yet, even as their heads slant in your direction, but you don't wait for him to—arching the knife in one swift motion above your head.

Ghost grabs your wrist. 

His stance shifts as he stares back at them. Then, he motions for Blue to lower the gun.

You jerk your wrist free with a quiet hiss. “What are you doing?"

He doesn't spare you as much of a glance and strides brusquely across the dew-lit grass, leaving you there by the tree line. Confusion knots your stomach. He greets the bearded stranger with the gruff utterance of a name: "Price."

He... knows them. The realization hits you, widening your eyes, but you’re too bewildered to move even an inch.

A masculine gesture ensues when Ghost reaches him; a clap to his shoulder, a nod of his head. "Simon."

Simon?

Then, the younger one steps around the horse and you instinctively flinch, half-expecting him to whip out that gun of his, but instead he offers Ghost a tilt of his chin and a worn smile. "Lt."

"Kyle.”

The exchange is perfunctory. You listen from paces away, unsure where your place is in this.

Nervousness has you fiddling with the blade of your knife, needing something to do with your hands. It is difficult to make out their words for a moment, deep voices turned to short murmurs. You glance a sideways look at Blue and find her eyes rounded in curiosity.

The next words you make out are from Price. "This is my wife, Nereida," he says and helps the woman down from the horse. Even from your view, you can tell she is beautiful in a raw, Grecian way. Fatigue paints violet beneath her dark eyes, and her hair is spine-length and black.

The young boy slips down beside her.

"And this one is—"

"My nephew," Kyle says. "Ari."

Now that you're looking closer, the relation between the two is evident, from their dark skin to the smooth bridges of their nose. The boy reaches a hand out to Ghost but it is left ignored. He clears his throat and waves for Blue to come over. She hesitates for only a second before unlocking the gate and darting to his side.

"I'm, um, Blue," she introduces herself, playing with the hem of her shirt over her knees. "Sorry for... threatening to shoot you. I didn't realize you know my dad."

"We're sorry for scaring you," Nereida offers.

Blue scrunches her nose. "I wasn't scared."

[writingwithfolklore]

Writing Foundations: Creating Paragraphs

                You can have the best story in the world, but if it’s all in one chunk on the page, you may struggle to find people willing to read it. To break it up, you need to know where and when to create new paragraphs.

Every new paragraph starts with an indent. So, to create a new paragraph, hit the enter key, and then the tab key, which is typically on the left side of the Q and either says TAB or looks like two stacked arrows pointing in separate directions.

So when do you start a new paragraph?

1. Anytime a new character speaks

The most obvious place to break up your paragraph is when a new character is speaking. Take this example.

“Hi John,” said Mary as she walked into the room. John was reading a book, and tucked a bookmark between the pages as she sat next to him. “how was work?” “It was good,” she replied, “but my boss really didn’t like the draft I sent her.” “That’s too bad, I thought it was some of your better work.”

Vs.

                “Hi John,” said Mary as she walked into the room. John was reading a book, and tucked a bookmark between the pages as she sat next to him.                 “How was work?” He asked.                 “It was good,” she replied, “but my boss really didn’t like the draft I sent her.”                 “That’s too bad, I thought it was some of your better work.”

See the difference? So you make a new line whenever a new character is speaking. In the case of Mary speaking twice, “It was good…” “but my boss…” we keep that in the same paragraph. Whereas when John speaks after Mary, it becomes its own paragraph.

The only time you may split the same character speaking is if they have a large chunk of dialogue. In that case, you can split their dialogue according to the next rule.

2. Any new idea

This isn’t necessarily a hard rule like the last one is. We have a lot of room to make interesting creative decisions when breaking up description or action. For the most part, though, you’ll want to break up your paragraph whenever there’s a new thought or idea. So:

                A thin plastic film coated the room, making the furniture gleam in the sunlight streaming through the windows. On her right sat a couch upholstered in ivy coloured fabric, untouched by time.                 Anna swept her fingers through her hair, chewing on her lip. She watched Rick out of the corner of her eye, “What are you thinking?”                 The detective’s expression was completely neutral, though he clutched his pen tightly in one fist. In his other hand was a notebook, three questions written across it in blocky text, 1. Why are all the clocks stopped at 5:32? 2. Where’s the murder weapon? 3. Why did my wife leave me? “Same as the others,” he said, tapping his pen against the last question, “the plastic wrap killer.”

So in this example we go from describing the room, to describing an action Anna is doing, to describing the detective, and then his notes. These are all separate ideas, so we can split them into their own paragraphs.

                As well, as long as it’s about the same character or within the same ‘idea’, description can be paired with dialogue. You can see Anna’s dialogue comes after the description of her. You can totally do this, or you can split it into its own paragraph if you’d like. It looks natural where it is because Anna is the subject of the paragraph, and she’s also the one speaking.

                In the case of the detective speaking, his action comes between dialogue. Also allowed, since the detective is the subject of that paragraph.

3. Any new location or skip in time

Similar to the last, if the scene starts outside, when they move inside it’s a new paragraph. If they go into a new room, get into a car, etc. Any time they change location, it starts a new paragraph. Same for a skip in time. If you need to go from day to night, new paragraph.

Kayde looked anxiously up at the looming oak doors. The windows were dark, layered in years of dust and grime. It’s now or never, they thought. They pushed through the doors and into the foyer. Kayde seemed to wait there for hours, and by the time someone came to greet them, it was already dark outside.

4. For style/effect

                This is one of my favourite parts of writing. Once you nail when you should be splitting your paragraphs, you can start to play with splitting them for effect. I do this quite a lot. Take this example:

                She fixed an ugly stare at herself in the mirror, long locks of brown hair hanging in front of her eyes. A pair of sharp scissors gleamed at the edge of the glass, pinched between her fingers. Dania raised the scissors to her hair.                 Snip.                 A lock fell towards the sink, the edges rough and imperfect.     ��           Snip.                 Another.                 She chopped and hacked away at her hair until it was clumped in an unsightly pile over the drain of the sink, her head round and covered in patches where she didn’t quite get close enough to her skin.                 She was finally free.

                While the cutting of her hair could be in the same paragraph, it gives it more drama and effect when it’s split. Any time a character is going through something shocking or emotional, maybe try playing around with the paragraph to see if you can add some additional drama to it.

                Paragraphs can be as long or short as you’d like them to be, as long as you have intention behind it!

[leupagus]

Guys I Might Have Three Nickels

I've been watching "Agatha Christie's Marple" for the past few days and it's pretty good! Marple adaptations all tend to have a better caliber of actors than a lot of bog-standard mystery shows (looking at you, "Madame Blanc"), and while Joan Hickson's Marple is right up there with David Suchet's Poirot and Jeremy Brett's Holmes as "literally can never be beaten, these are the best anyone's done it," both Geraldine McEwan and Julia McKenzie do a fantastic job as Miss Marple.

Then I got to "The Secret of Chimneys," Season 5 episode 2

and guys

Guys

So there's a murder of a viscount, like there is, and this detective Finch rolls up and immediately spots Miss Marple (in her NIGHTIE! standing at the window like some kind of hussy, honestly Jane) and doffs his cap to her with that little smile that makes you go, "huh."

At this point I've watched a couple dozen Miss Marple episodes where she goes through detectives like wildfire and this guy's supposed to be a "*guru*" so I'm expecting some battle of the egos or something and like, Stephen Dillane is great! But bleh, I might have to skip this one.

Then my dude asks Miss Marple to SHOW HIM THE BODY, with a pleased little smile at her as she goes "uhhhhhhhh but my knitting?" (He even does that thing where you use someone's honorific and wait for them to give you their name, and that's when I was like "ohhh this bitch knows exactly who she is.") What follows is what I can only describe as a meet-cute in the secret passageway where the viscount was shot (and in fact the body is STILL THERE) and where Miss Marple literally asks the police equivalent of "is there a Mrs Finch" and he looks at her like this:

At which point I'm like "ohhh my dude not only knows who she is, he deliberately came here without a sergeant so he could draft her," and sure enough he just starts...handing her pieces of evidence like "hey babe can you decipher this note for me thanks love you" while Miss Marple is like, "this approval and camaraderie coming from a cop... not sure if want."

Next is a series of romantic strolls through the gardens while they discuss murder, during which Finch reveals his undying love I mean his research into Miss Marple and the "dozen case files" of her previous exploits that he's collected like some deranged fanboy. Miss Marple responds to this by BLUSHING LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL and stammering about how pish tosh it's nothing really, and I couldn't find a gif of it but he's staring at her like this:

Yeah I bet u r tempted

He also makes a half-hearted attempt at negging her "amateur sleuth" status, only to then immediately assure her that he makes like, so much money being a big fancy detective and can keep her in all the yarn and garden seed she could ever desire.

There's also a late-night tryst at the compost pile right after Finch has been (mildly) poisoned and Miss Marple is like "men are so weak" as she roots through the garbage for clues.

Not how he wanted their first date to go D:

The next morning there's another murder which: bummer, but also allows the two of them to read love letters together and for Finch to give Miss Marple the following look as she explains how secret assignations among lovers can "quicken the ardor":

Miss Marple then goes onto solve the murders and btw hands over the priceless diamond that's been literally missing for two literal decades that she found in her spare time. The entire scene features Finch looking at her like this:

After the dust settles, Finch and Miss Marple have a lovely moment where he calls himself "another one of your casualties," then super casually mentions that he's probably going to have to go on assignment to use the diamond in a daring international espionage case and I can't decide if he's asking Miss Marple to go with him or simply trying to show her that he is cool and smart and would make an excellent wife, but either way the episode ends with her turning him down and Jane, we need to talk about your priorities.

Anyway I've already written 2K about the subsequent 10-year epistolary romance these two have following this episode because I make poor choices.

[the-daydreaming-show]

❝baby mine, don't you cry❞ — Richard “Dick” Grayson

jason's version

The arrival of your first child and the chaotic energy he brings into your life (which is saying a lot, why chaos is a part of you). So imagine the gray hair you obtained thanks to your First Joy.

NOTE:

People forget that as Dick was a troublesome little sh*t and he still is. We love him but he is the chaotic son and @igotmessymind agrees with me!!!

This story is part or the BATMOM SCARLET WITCH UNIVERSE that i have create. I hope you enjoy!!!

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

WARNINGS: Dick's parents die; a boy who is very angry with the world; a very stressed new mother (you); Bruce is there, but that's not what this story is about, but he is a good father in this world.

Technically, the first time you met Dick was directly after his parents died, but he wouldn't remember that until he was an adult. And you never counted that as your first interaction with your boy because of the tragedy of the whole scenario.

You and Bruce had gone to the circus that day in the subtlest way a Wayne could go anywhere. It was a date night, one that both of you had recently defined as mandatory every week. First so that Bruce could have a break, and second because that way you guys started spending time together somewhere other than the batcave. Something that, according to Alfred, you both desperately needed as a couple.

You two were in the front row when Mary and John Grayson plummeted to their deaths in the middle of their circus act, leaving a horrified ten-year-old Dick. The boy's scream was something that, even years later, if you closed your eyes, you could still hear with terrifying clarity. Once the tent was evacuated and the crime scene isolated by the GCPD, the newly promoted Captain Jim Gordon arrived and, before you left, he very subtly approached you and your husband. He asked you if you could do something for the child. The forensics team will arrive at any moment now, and they will have to uncover the bodies. Nobody couldn't get Dick to move or to react in any way, and Jim wanted to spare the boy seeing his parents like this more than he already had.

Jim had been aware of your and your husband's identities for a while, so the request didn't surprise you. To the contrary, you quickly agreed. He took you back to the tent. Dick had been lowered from the platform, but he remained curled up in a ball on the floor, next to where the bodies of his parents were covered in white sheets, which were turning redder from day to day. Little with each passing moment. You approached him, with the most delicate step possible, and placed a hand on his hundred, entering his mind gently and gently guiding his consciousness out of the shock of the situation. It was superficial magic that didn't get you into the boy's mind very much, just enough to help him and not force him. In a few seconds the boy's head snapped up, and you let Jim quickly take control of the situation, allowing one of his detectives to guide you back out of the closed area, then back to your husband. 

You had to help your husband out of his own shock that same night, forcing him to stay home and not go out as Batman, without accepting any complaints. Alfred helped, agreeing with the idea immediately. The death of the Grayson's in front of his own son was something that came very close to Bruce's heart, too many buried memories that arose uncontrollably.

The first official meeting that both of you remember is almost two weeks later. After you and Bruce had decided to take care of little Dick into your own hands. All because you find out how the boy kept sneaking out of the houses where the state put him at least once a day since that fateful night.

“Dick, this is my beautiful wife, y/n Wayne” Bruce introduced them both that day when the boy arrived with his suitcase and his eyes wide open, surprised by all the luxury that Wayne Manor represents. Smile at yourself and look briefly at your husband in reproach for his choice of words. He just shrugged, not at all sorry for his words. It's the truth. You ARE beautiful, and you are MY wife, he thought in his defence, knowing you would listen. You rolled your eyes and returned your attention to the child between the two of you.

“It's a pleasure, Mr. Wayne” The boy said suspiciously, but politely, not believing how good the situation looked for him and not trusting you or your husband at all.

“It's nice to meet you too, Dick” you told him, smiling sweetly “No need to be so formal, just call me y/n, it's fine”

Dick's mind couldn't stop thinking about how pretty you were. The way you were sweet in that first meeting was bittersweet for him, because he reminded him of his own mother, of that affection that she used to give him and that he would never receive from her anymore.

“Lunch is almost done” you tell him as you lean a little more towards Bruce for support, “Are you hungry?. Alfred prepared a buffet just to welcome you” you explained trying to push those thoughts away for now, you desperately wanted him to feel good and comfortable there.

“Alfred?” the boy asked, confused.

“Our butler” Bruce explained 

“He's more like family than anything” you clarified, “Like a grumpy grandpa who won't let you touch the stove without breathing over your shoulder” you teased a bit.

“Did he say my name, Mistress y/n?” said the aforementioned, coming from the kitchen and looking at you accusingly.

“No, not at all” you denied it and Dick couldn't help but smile a little at the mischief, to which you winked at him and offered your hand.

“Come on, let me show you the dining room” you invited him and the boy left your hand dangling for a moment, thinking about his next move. But, since you didn't stop smiling or offering him your hand, Dick decided to take it last, mainly because he was hungry.

Dick let you guide him, serve him food. He talked to you a bit during the meal until Bruce had to go to Wayne Enterprises for a meeting, then you showed him the mansion and his room. You promised him that you would go shopping this week to decorate it to his liking so that he would feel more comfortable.

During that week was the honeymoon phase.

The social worker you and Bruce had meetings with before Dick arrived explained about the phase. It's when everything seems perfect and the child shares his best manners. Either out of fear of how you would react. Or hoping to see how long your stay in the house would last, if it's worth getting used to or not. But the act would end sooner or later.

And it was exactly one week later (a Tuesday to be exact), the day after Dick started attending his new school, that the boy act ended and the adjustment phase officially began.

“This stage is the most difficult, so I need you to be prepared for it, especially in a case like Richard's” the social worker explained to both of you with seriousness. You had taken every word she gave you with like it was the bible, but at the end you still weren't ready when it started and everything that happened hit you like a truck.

You were in your studio in downtown Gotham, having a meeting with the designers who work with you and discussing that winter's new clothing collection for the brand. When Nina, your personal assistant, enters the office after timidly knocking on the door with a worried face.

“Mrs. Wayne” she called out to you, to which you look at her, smiling kindly upon seeing her “I know that you asked me not to bother you unless it was an emergency” she said, remembering what you had told her, you frowned immediately worried, because Nina was extremely effective and if she was there it was because it was genuinely an emergency “Gotham Academy is on call, it's about your son” she told you, and you immediately called off the meeting before leaving on the phone.

It turned out that not only had the school called, but GCPD had called Bruce around the same time.  Dick, your only ten-year-old boy, had run away from school and ended up being found in Crime Alley by an officer who recognised him from the news.  The officer in turn informed Jim Gordon, knowing the proximity to the Wayne's, and he gave the order to bring the boy to his office in the centre of the city, to then call your husband.  You never knew what god to thank for Dick that would have been found by one of the few good cops in Gotham, but you did anyway.

“What is he thinking?” you asked worriedly while talking on the phone with Bruce, already on your way to the police station, with Alfred driving, “Anything could have happened to him.  If he didn't want to go to school he could have said, he insisted on starting this week, I don't understand!-” you stopped, passing your hand over your eyes and sighing heavily.

“That was probably the point, love” Bruce said softly. “He wanted you to leave him at school and not think about the matter anymore.  It is likely that his plan would have always been to escape, surely he would have done the same yesterday if he had not been assigned a partner for his first day” he explained to you, his voice accompanied by the movement of papers on the desk in his own office.

The day before, which had been Dick's first day of school since the death of his parents, the school had assigned one of its older students to guide him on that day, so he had been watched all day. But that day had been different, and your son had gotten up in the bathroom in the middle of the first class, and had not returned to the classroom. So the school had called you when they realised the boy was missing.  And Jim had called Bruce shortly after when the patrolman found him. And Dick had taken a cab to Crime Alley, of all the places.

“He's safe, you need to calm down, love” Bruce continued, getting up from his desk, to walk up to the large windows in his office and look out over the city, as if he could see you from the top of Wayne Tower “We'll talk to him when he gets home, before dinner, but upsetting you like that won't help” he advised you, even though he was just as worried about what had happened.

“Alright, alright” you whispered while taking a deep breath.

At the door of the police station you were met by a uniform who was waiting for Jim's orders, who took you to the captain's office where, sitting with his head down and his arms crossed tightly across his chest, you found Dick. 

“Richard Grayson” you started in a stern tone, walking towards him and crouching down in front of him, to check that he wasn't hurt. “¿What were you thinking?¿Why do you think of getting in Crime Alley alone?” you asked calmly but firmly, looking at me as the boy avoided returning the gesture “Dick, look at me” you insisted, looking for his gaze, but the boy continued to refuse, almost tempted to close his eyes to make his denial clear. 

“Mrs. Wayne” Captain Gordon called to you from his desk, where he had been watching the interaction, and you quickly stood up to greet him.

“Jim, you don't know how much I appreciate you for this. I almost had a heart attack when the school called me to say that Dick was missing” you told him as you shook his hand. 

“Don't worry, your boy was just taking a walk, a bit of a dangerous adventure, but he came out without a scratch” he reassured you while looking at the crestfallen boy sitting next to you, and he did not miss the way your hand trembled slightly “Gomez” the officer who had brought you to the door looked at his boss ready to receive his order “Why don't you take little Dick to get something to eat from the vending machine down the hall?” and his question didn't need an answer. Dick left with Officer Gomez without saying a word, as you watched his back walk away through the glass in the office door.

“Y/n, please, sit down” Jim asked as he approached one of the chairs on the guest side of his desk, sitting down across from you immediately after you did.

“I'm sorry, I just-” You tried to apologise for how upset you were, but the man stopped you with an understanding smile.

“Don't worry, y/n. I was close to an aneurysm the first time my Barbs ran away from school” he told you trying to calm you down, to which you giggled at the thought of the adorable red-haired little girl who was the only daughter of the Gordon family.

“They start younger and younger” you plead, with a mixture of amusement and concern looking at the older man.

“Well this is Gotham, our kids have to grow up faster than others” he explained to you, while he served a glass of water from the jug that he had on his desk “Your butler had the same reaction when I found your husband walking in the same place years ago, shortly after the death of Thomas and Martha” he remembered, offering you the glass, which you accepted with anguish.

“God, he already acts like Bruce, and he hasn't even been with us for two weeks” you lamented, to which Jim couldn't help but chuckle a bit at your concern.

“Welcome to parenthood, your heart gets used to it sooner or later” he comforted you, running his hand down your back reassuringly.

Things got worse before they got better. Dick started running away not only from school, but from home, and he started yelling at you at unexpected times. There was no way for you to figure out what was making him mad because it was different what you did or didn't do every time he started his tantrum.

That was the case for more than two months after the first incident. Alfred told you that Bruce had been the same for a full year after his parents died. Bruce told you it wasn't your fault, despite what the kid was yelling at YOU all the time. But you could do more than feel guilty. You didn't want to fix things with your magic. When you retired you decided that your life could not be what you did with your power, it was more than just your power, and it was time to start accepting it, enjoying it. But you don't know how to help him without that power, either, at least not in a very deep way. So you did the only thing you could think of, you kept offering your hand to little Dickie, even though half the time he seemed to want to bite his hand.

It all came to a head one afternoon after you brought a very angry Dick to Wayne Manor from school. Gotham Academy had called you to talk after he tried to escape again. They informed you that maybe it was time for you and Bruce to look for another school for the boy, since his behaviour was not appropriate for the establishment.

“Dick, we need to talk” you called out to the boy, seeing him run towards the stairs as soon as you closed the front door. Alfred was shopping for dinner and Bruce was at League HQ, so you were the only one to argue with the kid that day “Dick Grayson, come back here, we're going to have a talk about this sooner or later” you said, going after the boy with a calm step, but Dick heard you coming and ran to his room at the moment he made the second floor of the house, slamming the door shut before you managed to finish climbing the stairs.

You sighed heavily as you stopped at the sound of the door slamming. You wanted desperately to go into the room and demand that the boy tell you what was bothering him so much, you wanted desperately to fix whatever was bothering him so much. But you knew you couldn't really fix the source of his problems, even if you had the magical potential to do so. You learned long ago that death is something even you must let take its course, for the sake of the very existence of the whole. You also didn't want to enter the boy's mind with magic, it wouldn't be fair to him to do that, so your options were limited at the end of the day. So you stood there, helpless.

You were having a hard time, not because you didn't want the task of taking care of Dick, but because it was a mixture of situations that seemed unfair to you. First the poor boy lost his parents together in front of his eyes, and he did so after the death of the Scarlet Witch, after you decided it was better to start a life without the chaos magic that characterised you. If the boy had crossed your path a couple of years earlier, neither Mary nor John had fallen to their deaths that day, you would have stopped it right there in that tent of the circus without much thought. But it hadn't been.

Although, you didn't need to read his mind to know one thing: Dick hated you. Totally and intensely. He had made it clear to you on more than one occasion.

And yes, he did. Dick hated everything about you. He hated the way you made his room look like the ideal in his mind of what he wanted. How you personally prepared his lunches for school. How you wore it and personally attracted you everywhere. How you smile with affection, how you patiently accept every insult and scream. I also hated how you tried so hard that he wouldn't notice that Bruce wasn't there much. Or how you always found him when he got lost in the halls. Also, when you brought him cookies and hot chocolate when he couldn't sleep, even though sugar didn't really help him sleep at all. He only made him happy for a while.

Why couldn't you be like the wicked stepmothers of the stories? 

It would be easier for him.

He hated the way you loved him, because it made him want his mom back, and it made him remember that she was gone, it made him want to accept you and Bruce as his family too. But he didn't need a new family. He necessitated his family, his parents, and his circus friends. He wanted his life back.

He hated you. He hated you. He hated you.

Dick curled up on the bed, with the blankets you personally picked out with him, which were Superman, and hid his head on the pillow. There he remained. At eleven years old, Dick had never been the type to be capricious or suspicious. His parents had always taken pride in saying that his son was very well-behaved and fit in wherever they went with the show. But now he just wanted to hate and never stop doing it, he didn't want anything else because the world was cruel, and it didn't deserve more than his hate. You didn't deserve more than that for being so good that it made him want to feel like before, and it pulled his mind to a better place every time you caressed his hair lovingly and made him feel at home.

That night, after eating the sandwich that Alfred had kindly given him when he refused to come down for dinner, he went to sleep without expecting you to come and say good night, as you had done since he arrived at the mansion. Usually, he didn't go to sleep easily, but his desire to avoid you overcame the fear of his nightmares, so he quickly fell asleep.

You arrived after he began to snore softly, already sunk in sleep. You entered, opening the door as quietly as possible, to see him spread out on his bed, with his pyjamas on, and the sheets almost falling off the bed due to his movements. Likewise, you couldn't help but feel the tenderness warm your heart, thinking to yourself that this should be a good step on the right path, because the boy hadn't slept well since he arrived at the mansion and since before, according to the reports of the social worker. So that he was sleeping at that time was good. You took victory silently and closed the door to the room, using the surface of your powers to close the curtains that let the moonlight into the room before walking away. 

You went down to the cave after that, where Bruce was getting ready to go out for the night.

“How is he?” he asked while putting on his gloves, as soon as he heard you walking out of the elevator.

“He's asleep” you told him with a big smile, happy for the small victory.

“Really?” Bruce asked, pleasantly surprised.

“Yes” you answer, reaching her side, unable to contain the smile of happiness, for that reason “I know it's not much considering what happened today-” you started, but your husband stopped you by placing his hands on your cheeks affectionately.

“It's a good thing” he assured you, smiling at you, and you kissed his lips lightly “We still need to talk to him tomorrow though” Bruce said, gently breaking your bubble, to which you sighed.

“If it makes you feel any better, Mistress y/n” Alfred began from the chair in front of the batcomputer “I could make you a list of the number of private schools Master Bruce was expelled from before he finally calmed down” he offered to what Bruce rolled his eyes in amusement “It's including Gotham Academy, of course” he clarified with amusement.

The night passed as normally as it could. But around one in the morning you went upstairs to check on Dick, as you always did at night when you stayed in the cave. It was the third time you'd checked, and he'd been fine the first two times, having started snoring louder on each visit.

So you expected to hear the boy snoring when you reached the hallway of his room, instead, you were met with crying. You stopped in place for a moment, because it was the first time you had heard Dick cry since he had arrived at the mansion.

“Mama” the boy cried, half awake and half asleep, “Mama” kept calling between sobs that shook her little body violently.

The most instinctive part of you walked quickly towards the door with a soft step, but the same logic made you stop at the door before even touching the handle, apart from that he told you that the boy was calling for his mom, for Mary. Not for you, he didn't want you. And for a moment you decided that you would not go in, and we let him cry all he needed, and tomorrow you would try to get him to talk about it. It might be a good time to suggest therapy. Yes, that was the best option and the best way to handle the situation.

“Mom, mom” you heard. Now fully awake, Dick continued to sob with his broken heart, and he broke yours with the sound of his cracking voice. So the institute won.

You walked into the room ready to be yelled at almost immediately. But you did it anyway, sure-footed and ready to do whatever it took to make your precious boy stop suffering once and for all. You knew that that would never leave him, but you would still try.

“Dickie, baby” you said as you approached the bed, to sit on the edge of the mattress next to him, running a hand over his back as he continued to cry and sobbed loudly “My joy, it's okay, you're-” and then the force of the child colliding with your chest stopped you.

In the time Dick had been there, he had never allowed you or Bruce or Alfred to get any closer than to hold his hand or stroke his hair. So when the boy threw himself at you crying and hugging your waist as if his life depended on it, he surprised you. He was hugging you as if he was afraid that you would disappear from one second to the next (theoretically you could do that, it was part of your powers, but that wasn't what the boy was afraid of). He sobbed into your chest as his knuckles turned white from clinging to you.

“It's okay, my joy” you comforted him, hugging him back and kissing his hair “Everything will be alright” you promised him, not quite sure what else to say to make him feel better and hugging him tighter to match his strength, so he would understand that you won't be leaving soon

“I want my mum” the boy sobbed, not with an internal intention to hurt you, but as if asking you to do something. You were an adult, you could fix anything, that's what adults do, and the ten-year-old was practically begging you desperately for a solution as he felt.

“Oh, I know, Dickie. I know” you said hugging him tighter “I'm so sorry, baby” you apologised, feeling bad for having no more than words to handle the situation, knowing that nothing will bring that child back to his parents, no matter how much you want to make it happen for him.

You would do anything for that boy. You would destroy yourself, and you would build yourself up again. Not only that, but you would empty out entire universes and kill God himself if necessary. But for now, you just held him while he cried, while he called out to a mother who lay twenty feet under. You knew, at that moment, that there would never be anything you wouldn't do for that boy. And Dick decided that night that maybe you weren't so bad.

Dick Grayson couldn't believe he was standing in the Batcave. He also couldn't believe his adoptive father was Batman. Now he understood why he was always missing for so long, it wasn't that Bruce was ignoring him, it was that he was down there, being a hero for Gotham City. His mind was racing as he walked around the place asking your husband questions and inspecting every nook, artefact, and blemish he found in the place. You and Bruce watched him from a distance, grinning like fools at the uncontrollable excitement of the boy who had long felt like he was your own.

“This is AMAZING” Dick would say whenever something particularly struck him, which means he said it every few seconds.

“See, he told you he would be excited” you told your husband while you took his hand, he smiled at you and brought your clasped hands to his lips to kiss your knuckles affectionately. A silent way of telling you: You were right, love.

“WOW” exclaimed the boy, he was now standing on the platform where the different suits that your husband had used as Batman are displayed “With all due respect, Bruce, but it's good that you left behind the combination of purple and yellow, it was too much” the boy scoffed, pointing at the first suit on display behind him.

“It was the eighties” your husband defended himself with a grimace, rolling his eyes at how similar the comment was to the one you had made the first time you set foot in the cave several years ago. You just laughed as you looked at him, happily remembering that moment.

“Purple looks amazing on you, my love” you assured him, caressing his cheek with your free hand. “Very intimidating” you said, to which both you and Dick chuckled, while Bruce continued to regret his fashion decisions.

“I tried to talk him out of it, Master Dick” Alfred commented, joining the bandwagon of teasing Bruce about his old fashion decisions. “But he insisted,” he shrugged gracefully.

“Okay, I'm going to throw him out of my cave if you don't leave my purple suit alone” Bruce complained, to which you and Dick shared an amused look before the boy returned his attention to the suits on display. Alfred smiled as he watched you kiss your husband in compensation, earning me a goofy smile from him, the one the butler had seen a lot since you two got married.

“HOLY SHIT” Dick suddenly exclaimed, to which you and Bruce turned to look at him wearing it, your husband ready to spring into action at your son's exclamation “You've got the Scarlet Witch suit here!!” the boy exclaimed excitedly, looking at your husband in disbelief before running to stand in front of the glass where your old suit is on display. Well, the word suit was an understatement, because it was a red bodysuit, with a belt, the cape, and high boots. An outfit that was not the best choice for fighting, but you never question it too much, because you were always comfortable in yourself and in that outfit, too.

Bruce and you shared a look. It was time to drop the second bomb on the boy. Now you were the one worried about her reaction.

“How did you get it?” Dick asked excitedly, his nose glued to the glass, pawing it with his breath “I thought the Justice League couldn't get her body back from the Dimension of the Damned after she closed the portal to save us” he said, thinking aloud, while analysing the garment.

Up close, he could see the details of the fabric, the way the cloak had a texture and wasn't smooth as it seemed watching it from the television. It was as if magic was embedded in the fabric, and it moved even when she was still on the mannequin. The boy was fascinated, definitely marking this as the best day of his life.

“Well that's true. The League was unable to recover her body after she closed the portal” explained Bruce, as he hugged your waist, pressing his fingers against you at the memory of those events that still haunt him “But the suit is here for its protection, nothing more, it still belongs to its owner” Bruce finished, letting the boy think a little about his words.

“Wait,” Dick said, frowning and turning away from the video, to walk to the railing of the platform. And how do you have it, if she never left the Dimension of the Damned?” the boy frowned, thinking hard that how could it be that this was the original costume.

“It's more like early retirement than death” Dick jumped in place when you appeared next to him, speaking sweetly to him “But yes, the Scarlet Witch never made it out of the Dimension of the Damned” you explained to him, while you crouch in front of him, the boy turned to face you still confused by what he was saying “Dick, do you remember that we told you that we had to tell you a couple of things?” you asked him and the boy quickly nodded “Well first we wanted to tell you that Bruce is Batman, as you already deduced” you pointed to your husband on the lowest platform “And the other one is that I'm-” Before you could say more, Dick squealed with excitement again.

“YOU ARE THE SCARLET WITCH, HOLY FUCK!!” the boy yelled with his eyes as wide as his eyelids would allow.

“Language, Master Dick” Alfred scolded absently from below.

“OH-MY-GOD” The boy yelled again, looking at me as if you were hanging the stars from the sky, throwing himself on you, hugging you with his arms around your neck “I knew you weren't dead, I argued every day with my friends about this, it didn't make sense for YOU to die just like that, no amount of spawn could kill the Scarlet Witch, it's absurd-” The boy began to ramble as you picked him up in your arms, he hug your hips with his legs intuitively, and you walked down with him in your arms. Smiling softly at the boy's excitement, it was Bruce's turn to give you the Told you so look “This is the BEST day of my life” Dick finished his ramblings as you pulled up next to Bruce, with him still sitting on your hip, and proceeded to grab your husband's neck and hug you both tight. The pull made your husband laugh at the boy's sudden outburst. “My parents are the coolest people on the planet next to Superman, this is the best” the boy declared proudly, ignoring the surprised looks you and Bruce shared immediately after that.

It was the first time his parents had called you, and Dick didn't even think about it much longer, it came out of him so naturally that you two didn't say anything else either. You were mom after that and Bruce was dad, as if the boy had forgotten how to say his name from one moment to the next. And he did it with the greatest happiness in the world.

That night, after Bruce went out on patrol, and you dragged a still very excited Dick to bed, as you tucked him into bed, tucking the covers over him, your son's face suddenly scrunched up at a particular thought.

“What's up, Dikie?” you asked, as you ran your hand over her forehead, concerned at the sudden change in expression.

“Weren't Batman and the Scarlet Witch supposed to hate each other?” he asked you confused, looking down with his head tilted from his pillow.

You laughed, relieved and amused by the question.

“That, my boy, is a story for another day”

And that was it.

TAGLIST: If someone wants to be added or removed from this list, they can request it, is OPEN.

@some-lovely-day @simonsbluee @yuki-chan23 @miyakana @myst3batz @otchae @d3m0n8ch1ld @marsenbie @mynameisnotlaura @andieperrie18 @randomboostsofmotivation @totallynotme420 @igotmessymind @amarawayne @calsjack

[fluentmoviequoter]

Quit for a Reason

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader (ex-agent turned neurosurgeon)

Summary: When a suspect begins looking for you while you perform a surgery, Tim finds out why you quit your job in law enforcement.

Warnings: descriptive fight scene and injuries (stabbing), neurology terminology, depiction of brain surgery (not overly graphic), angst to fluff

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

“I have to work a double shift today,” Tim complains, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he pulls you closer.

“How will I survive?” you ask playfully, turning to kiss his cheek.

“That’s what you miss most, right? The unpredictable hours, the sleepless nights. Paradise for a cop.”

“Yeah. That’s what I miss about being an agent,” you agree with a smile. “Definitely not all of the times I got to see you throughout the day.”

“Uncalled for. I’ll try to call if I get a chance.”

“I’ve got a couple surgeries today, so I may not answer. Nothing personal.”

“Feels personal.”

Your smile falls, and Tim immediately catches your shifting mood.

“How are you?” he asks. “I know it’s been a while since you switched careers, but making a change that big can’t be easy.”

“I- I’m still helping people, I know that. Just, some days it feels like I made a mistake.”

“You had your reasons.”

“Are you-“

“Mad that you haven’t talked about what happened? Not at all. It’s your life, your decision, and if or when you want to tell me, you already know you have my support. You were the best agent and now you’re the best neurosurgeon. I’m with you,” Tim answers, tapping your wedding ring as he says he’s with you.

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

As you prepare for your first surgery of the day, you force any thoughts of Tim out of your mind, focusing entirely on the job at hand.

“Dr. Bradford,” a nurse calls, running down the hallway. “We’ve got a cop in the ER with a brain herniation. He needs emergency surgery.”

“Get Dr. Davidson to operate on the patient in OR 2,” you command. “I’ll perform the emergency. Have someone get the rest of my scheduled patients seen to!”

You run down the hall, praying and begging for it not to be Tim. You’ve operated on many cops, and you hate when any of them come into the hospital. When you don’t know who it is, though, you immediately worry about Tim.

“Dr. Bradford,” one of the ER nurses calls. “We’ve got the OR prepped.”

“Who’s the officer?” you ask, pushing a door open to sanitize and prepare for the surgery.

“Detective Caradine,” he answers. “The first opinion is a brain herniation.”

“What type?”

“Unknown.”

“Let Detectives Harper and Lopez know that he’s in surgery,” you say before securing your mask and entering the operating room.

As you begin operating, looking for the source of the problem, memories of your time as a law enforcement officer in one of these rooms threaten to break your focus.

“What caused the unconsciousness and loss of brainstem reflexes?” you ask one of the nurses.

“Head injury during an altercation with a suspect according to the officers who brought him in,” she answers.

“The officers brought him in? Not an ambulance?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The brain stem is compressed,” you deduce. “Upward transtentorial herniation. We need to get the pressure of his brain tissue to relax the posterior ventricles before it’s irreversible.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Detective Harper? Detective Lopez?” Celina calls. “A doctor at Shaw Memorial just called. Caradine is in emergency surgery.”

“What happened?” Nyla demands.

“He hit his head during a fight, I believe. Lost consciousness.”

“Who’s the surgeon?” Angela asks.

“Uh, Dr. Bradford,” Celina reads. “Wait-“

“Yeah, it’s Tim’s wife,” Nyla answers.

✯✯✯✯✯

You move the scalpel away from a new incision just before a gunshot echoes. Closing your eyes briefly, you continue working, demanding one of the nurses to block the door.

“Someone is looking for him, I’d guess,” you say. “But I need all of you to stay calm and focused on this patient or get out of the way. I won’t hold it against you if you walk away and stay at the side.”

One of the nurses takes your offer, moving to the corner and sitting on the floor.

“The rest of you are with me?”

“Yes, doctor,” they answer.

You nod, looking for the brain tissue causing the brain stem compression.

“Nurse,” you call to the woman in the corner. “If you have your phone, call 911 and let them know.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Sergeant Bradford,” Wade says. “We’ve got a situation that you may want to know about.”

“What is it?” Tim replies.

“Caradine’s in surgery at Shaw, and your wife is operating. But we’ve got armed suspects in the hospital. We assume they’re looking for him, but with her past I thought you’d want to know.”

“Her past?” Tim repeats. “What are you talking about?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Sergeant Grey, someone called the tip line,” Nolan interrupts. “With a threat against Caradine and Dr. Bradford.”

“What past?” Tim demands.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Uh, someone- one of the nurses in pediatrics just texted me,” the nurse alerts.

“And?” you press. “Never mind, save it. He’s going into cardiac arrest.”

“CSF drain is inserted, doctor. Beginning chest compressions.”

“I’m removing a skull fragment, unless anyone has an objection,” you alert.

“Do it,” one of the new residents agrees. “CSF is draining, but not fast enough. If there’s going to be a chance of his recovery, we need to keep that swelling away from his medulla, or he’ll lose breathing and blood flow, correct?”

“Correct, and well done. I’m starting the removal now.”

“Doctor Bradford,” the nurse in the corner repeats. 

“What?” you ask, your voice short as your attention is focused elsewhere.

 “There’s a man with a gun looking for you and the patient. Someone called the police but-“

“Nothing we can do now. Stay over there and stay quiet.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“I’m not sure it’s my place to show you this,” Wade argues.

“Just press the button. My wife’s life is at stake and if there’s any chance this will help me save her, I’m watching it.”

Wade sighs as he presses play. A grainy security cam feed comes on, showing a warehouse. The date catches Tim’s attention: almost ten years ago.

You walk into the warehouse, responding to a noise complaint. Unable to hear a thing besides your footsteps, you call out, asking if anyone is inside. Pulling your radio from your hip, you tell dispatch it was a false alarm.

As you lower the radio, someone moves in the shadows, knocking the radio out of your hand and tackling you to the floor. A blade glints in the minimal light of the building, raised over your throat before you push it away, grunting in pain as you flip, your knees hitting the concrete beneath you.

Tim’s breath catches, unable to look away as he watches you fight for your life. He forgets that this video is a decade old, when you were still dating, and his worry for you builds as if you’re currently engaged in this fight.

You slip, falling forward as the man takes advantage, pushing you onto your back and kneeling against your legs. As you lean toward him, he plunges the knife into your torso. Your pained scream fills Wade’s office, and as the knife is removed and inserted again, your scream changes into an adrenaline-filled yell as you shove the man off of you, standing with the knife hanging from your stomach as you push him against the wall. After handcuffing him to a nearby post, you crawl across the floor and radio for an R/A before collapsing.

“How did I not know about this? We were dating!” Tim exclaims. “I should have done something, anything!”

“Clearly, she didn’t want you to know, didn’t want to talk about it at least. But now you have a chance to do something, Tim,” Wade replies. “Go help her out of this mess.”

✯✯✯✯✯

With the lights and sirens on, Tim races to the hospital as fast as he can. His mind plays through memories of you. The canceled dates around the time of the attack, followed by clinginess and a deep need to constantly be around Tim, begin to make sense. More than that, Tim can’t remember the last time he saw your stomach; what he mistook for insecurity or modesty was likely hiding scars. Alone in his shop, he knows he must remind you that he loves you, no matter your scars, career choice, or what you do and don’t share with him. He knows you had a reason to keep it to yourself, but he knows better than most how dangerous it can be to keep your pain, your scars, and your fear to yourself.

Silencing the sirens as he approaches the hospital entrance, Tim rushes past the barricade, his mind on protecting you and Caradine.

✯✯✯✯✯

“That’s all we can do for him,” you say. “How are his vitals?”

“They’re steady,” the anesthesiologist answers. “His BP’s a little low, but it’s steady.”

“Caradine! Bradford!” someone yells down the hall. “Your time of reckoning is here!”

“Move him,” you demand. “Wheel everything toward the wall, away from the window.”

While you wait beside Caradine’s head, out of sight as you check his vitals and the new stitches lining his scalp, you hope that the LAPD are working on catching the man yelling for you.

“We need to wake him up,” the resident says. “If we don’t do it now…”

“He may not wake up,” you finish. “Go ahead.”

While the anesthesiologist and the resident begin working on restoring his consciousness, you move toward the door. Something knocks against it as you approach.

“I’m coming in to finish it this time! Wasn’t expecting a two for one!” the man yells.

“Give me your phone,” you ask the nurse, quickly dialing a number you'll never forget. 

“Bradford,” Tim answers.

“Tim,” you say quietly. “Caradine knew his name. It’ll be in a file.”

“Yours?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’ll have Harper find it. I’m in the hospital; where are you?”

“Emergency OR 1. Tim, be careful.”

“I will. But you need to be careful, too. I love you.”

“I love you.”

The call ends, and you press yourself against the wall as you listen to the man who tried to kill you once get in to try again.

“LAPD, show me your hands!” an officer yells outside.

“Step away from the door!” Tim adds.

You sigh at the sound of his voice, but when someone yells “No!” you have an idea of what will happen.

“Everybody down!” you call, shielding Caradine as a few bullets rip through the door.

The noise in the hall dies nearly immediately. You take a shaky breath as you check yourself and Caradine for new injuries.

“Let me in,” Tim says at the door.

You nod at the nurse closest to the door. Tim rushes in, pressing a hand to your back.

“Get him to a room for observation,” you tell your operating team. “And then go home.”

Looking toward Tim as the room clears, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing your chest to his.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you whisper. “But, a few years ago...”

“Hey,” Tim interrupts, his arms hooked around your waist. “Wade showed me the video. But you still don’t have to talk about it until you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” you promise. “But can we go home first?”

“I was hoping you’d ask that.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Propped against an obnoxiously large pile of pillows, you tell Tim about what happened in the warehouse. He listens to every word, stiffening when he hears something that wasn’t in the video or your comments that thinking about getting back to him gave you something to fight for. As you finish the story, Tim pinches the hem of your shirt between his fingers, looking up at you for permission.

“You can,” you whisper.

He gently pushes your shirt to your waist, keeping his eyes on the scars littering your torso. Running a gentle finger across the largest of them, Tim frowns as you suppress a shiver.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur sadly.

“Not you,” Tim insists. “I’m sorry that I didn’t know, that I wasn’t here for you.”

“You were.”

Tim furrows his brows, and you pull his left hand from your stomach, showing him his wedding ring. “You gave me something to fight for, something to live for. And even without knowing why I quit, you knew that I had to have a good reason, and you supported me every step of the way. You love me, Tim, and you made sure I knew.”

“You don’t have to do it alone. I do love you, and I know you love me, but that’s not a reason to protect me from whatever you’re dealing with.”

Tim ducks his head to kiss your stomach, and you laugh, which causes him to smile and push himself up, rolling to your side to kiss you, showing you that he means every word he says.

[yumeka-sxf]

After what seems like a long time, we finally have a full "Forgers bonding" chapter, in a new location as well 😁

Even though the focus of the chapter was the murder mystery (heavily inspired by Detective Conan) and it didn't have a serious tone (just look at the names of the guest characters! 🤣) there were actually quite a lot of Twiyor tidbits scattered throughout, and I'm here to slurp them up!

Firstly is Twilight trying his best to make sure Yor and Anya are safe with their amateur skiing skills.

And as usual, overlooking anything abnormal that Yor does 😅

When they get to the lodge, he considers her feelings about sharing a room.

Even though she says she'll put up with it, he knows it makes her uncomfortable, so he volunteers to sleep on the sofa so she and Anya can have their own beds. Of course, just the thought of sharing a room with Loid is too much for Yor to handle 😅

Twilight starts to wonder when she doesn't come back for a while.

He's obviously happy when she returns - in the Japanese version, he even says おかえり(welcome back/home).

When he sees there's foul play going on, he immediately wants Yor and Anya out of danger (he also trusts that Yor will keep Anya safe).

Despite Yor being the only one without an alibi, he doesn't show any suspicion (even after hearing her "probably" slip up!)

And lastly, when the others start accusing Yor, he defends her. This scene reminded me a lot of the scene way back during the Eden interview where Swan started putting her down and he stuck up for her without any second-guessing. Even though Twilight gave a lot of fake smiles throughout this chapter, the mix of determination and anger in his expression on the below page is not fake - it's a true look of "I will definitely find the culprit (so no one should accuse my wife!)"

I guess my only nitpick about the chapter is that I wanted it to go on longer, mostly for more Forger interactions (and Loid/Yor reactions when sharing the same room, lol). I thought it would last at least another chapter where we'd see exactly how the mystery was solved. But I guess the joke is that the Forgers are the most OP crime solving team without even knowing it, so no culprit can get away from them for too long! Between Loid's intelligence, Anya's mind reading, Bond's visions, and (though it didn't come into play here) Yor's super strength, they'd be able to solve murder mysteries and apprehend criminals before the police could even file a report! 😂

A couple final comments, I like that Twilight decided to trust Anya's intuition in the end, despite not seeming that way at first (and did she seriously bring the detective outfit with her on the trip?😆) And just like with Yor, no questions about this peculiarity with Anya - no wondering why she knew the time and place of the next murder...what's that expression, "love is blind"? 😅

And Yor always ready to protect Anya ❤️(also looks like she's having some alcohol while Loid isn't...guess she needed something to calm her nerves at the thought of sharing a room with him!)

Endo is going to take a break, so next new chapter won't be until February 19th. Have a nice break, Endo-sensei!

[hotmomsonly101]

Olivia’s girl (Olivia benson x fem reader

Summary: when someone disrespects you and Olivia(your wife) needs to remind them who’s wife they just go fucked with.

Genre: cute

Warnings: light teasing

This morning I woke up in pain as I am 5 months Pregnant, the bed is empty as Olivia had already went to work, I slowly get up and go Noah's room and walk in and see him sleeping, I smile to myself and walk next to his bed and lightly shake him.

"honey its time to get up" I say as I gently rub his back and he is slowly waking up

"mommy" he says sleepily and slowly opens his eyes

"hi baby, time to get up and get ready for school" I walk to his closet "how about you wear the new shirt mama got for you angel" I grab it and go to his drawer and grabs pants as he slowly sits up in his bed

"I wanna see mama mommy" he says as he gets up and raps his little arms around me

"I know honey, shes at work but if you get dressed we can face-time her before I take you to school" I say and he gets happy and quickly gets dressed for school and I grab my phone and video calls Olivia

"hello princess" she says as she answers wearing her glasses in her office "what do I own the pleasure to see your beautiful face this morning"

"hi liv" I laugh as Noah sits next to me "Noah wanted to talk to you before I drove him to school"

"HI mama" he says waving

"hi my love, I see your in your new shirt, are you ready for school" she says

"yes mama" he nods and smiles

"did you brush your teeth" she tells him

"no mama" saying it truthfully and smiling

"go brush your teeth" she says in a sweet but motherly tone and he goes to the bathroom "how are you feeling babygirl" she asks me

"good just my lower back hurts so much" I tell her ad I get up to get Noah's lunchbox from the fridge and put it in his bag

"come visit my later" she says making that teasing and loving face I love and I giggle

"okay baby, I will come see you later, maybe you can see something later" I say smiling brightly

"mhm is that so?" she says In the dominant and seductive tone

"yes" I smile and we talk for a little longer and I hang up so i can get Noah to school, drive him to school and go home and take a shower, picking out an outfit I pick leggings and sweatshirt and vans, and I do a little makeup and do my hair in a half up half down hairstyle with a cute black bow, I go to my car and drive to the station I walk in and see Amanda and Eliot

"hey there beautiful" Amanda comes over and hugs me "you are glowing today how is the baby" she asks and rubs my belly

"active" I say and smile as Eliot comes over and hugs me too

"you do look amazing Y/n, the baby is making you look like a million bucks" he laughs

"wish I felt like a million bucks, but thank you guys, the baby is so active lately mostly when Noah or Liv talks to my belly" I say as I feel the baby moving a lot "is the lieutenant busy" I say

"I think she has a girl in office but go in girl" Amanda tells me as I walk to her office and knock and hear come in and I walk in and see Olivia with someone but I'm not sure who it is

"well hello, this is a new hire, Jane, and Jane this is Y/n my-" she gets interrupted

"friend?, wow girl, you should lose a little weight not gonna lie no man will want that sorry" she says I look at her and then at Olivia, I can tell her blood is boiling right now "I mean you are pretty but you are fat"

"excuse me, what did you just say to my wife" Olivia says and gets up with her hands on the desk

"your, wife?' she says not fully believing it

"yes my wife, detective, not that it would matter she isn't fat, she is 5 months pregnant with my baby, so watch what you say" she is so pissed right now

"you guys are married, lieutenant she is like 20" she says looking at me

"actually Jane, I'm not 20 I'm 29 thank you very much not that it is any of your business" I tell her

"lieutenant you are a beautiful woman and you're dating a child carrying a child"

"I'm not dating a child I'm married to my wife who I love very much and we have an age gap so what, we love each other, we've been married for 4 years and please get out of my site you're fired" she says pissed

Jane leaves and I look at Olivia "woah baby that was hot" I say causing her to raise her eyebrow and smirk

"oh yeah? I'm sure it was come here" she says and I go over and she grabs my waist causing me gasp and smile and lean up to kiss her as she lightly makes my back lean on her desk

"you are such a beautiful girl" she says and kisses me again "my girl" she says and smiles leaning to kiss my forehead.

[cl6udias]

AINT NOBODY’S BUSINESS

summary : charlie bushnell and reader have a secret relationship that isnt so secret anymore…

warnings: fluff !! use of y/n bad writing (sorry yall im trying) social media au !! slut shaming, not proof read, this is really short !! if i missed any just let me know💗

therealbambi: beach day !! its nice have a relaxing day after so much stress😔

comments:

iamcharliebushnell: HEY!! wheres my photo creds ? i worked hard to get these amazing pics

therealbambi: photo creds: this weirdo

diorgoodjohn: you hung out with CHARLIE?!? instead of me?!? this is criminal

therealbambi: he forced me i swear

iamcharliebushnell: i did not!! you asked me to come with you

therealbambi: liar.

iamcharliebushnell: your the liar sorry babe.

user7: BABE?!??

leahsavajeffries: these photos are so cute!!

therealbambi: thank you leah!!

user10: charlie and y/ns banter is so cute STOP

user1: FOR REALLL ALSO HIM CALLING HER BABE?!?

diorgoodjohn: hung out with my fav girls last night ‼️‼️

comments:

therealbambi: last night was so much we need to hang out moreee

diorgoodjohn: WE DOOO !!

leahsavajeffries: the food last night was actually to die for🙏🙏

therealbambi: i told yall i know good restaurants 🤗

y/nupdates: y/ns been hanging out with the pjo cast alot maybe her in season 2?!?!

therealbambi: maybe who knows🤷🏽‍♀️

y/nupdates: STOP WHAT?!?

@iamcharliebushnell: why wasnt i invited to this little get together😞

diorgoodjohn: since when you a girl?

user4: NOT CHARLIE TRYING TO JOIN THEM LMAOO

user5: how much you wanna bet he wanted to hang out with y/n

*liked by dior and charlie*

user5: BOTH DIOR AND CHARLIE LIKED MY COMMENT IM TAKING THAT AS A YES

iamcharliebusnell: i definitely only wanted to hang out with bambi

user5: I FEEL SO LUCKY RN STOPP

user2: Y/N AND CHARLIE STANS RN ARE GOING CRAZY RN OVER THIS (its me im y/n and charlie stans)

walkerscobell: real

this comment was deleted

mtv: spoted singer and actress y/n making out with a mystery man outside her house in LA last night👀

comments:

y/nfan1: STOP WHOS TAKING AWAY MY WIFE FROM ME WTF

y/nupdates: realest thing ever said

user11: that kinda looks like charlie ngl🧐

charliebushnellupdates: STOP YOUR RIGHT AND THEY HAVE BEEN HANGING OUT ALOT

user1989: if it is i think ill actually die imagine the album she would write about him STOPP

haterngl: she doesn’t deserve Charlie shes gonna break up with him in a week and write a break up album about “how horrible he was”

user0: fr ngl shes kinda a slut i mean how many boyfriends has she had

user89: if your jealous just say that boo😘

pjofan13: STOPPP I MEAN Y/N HAS BEEN HINTING ABOUT A BOYFRIEND AND HER AND CHARLIE HAVE BEEN HANGING OUT ALOT RECENTLY OMG

therealbambi: y’all are fucking detectives or something i mean damn

y/nismywife: IS THIS HER CONFIRMING HER AND CHARLIE?

user07: Y/N WHAT?!? WDYM

user13: WHAT DOES SHE MEAN BY THIS ARE HER AND CHARLIE DATING WHAT😔

authors note: sorry if this is bad 😔 im new to writing and stuff !! anyways part 2 will be posted soon !! i just ran out of photo room bc i made this on my phone💗

©cl6udias.tumblr 2024. all rights reserved. unauthorized copying, translation, or claiming of my writing or any works as your own is strictly prohibited.

[fortunate-cookie]

My Godfather’s Cousin’s Wife’s Brother. (Once-Removed)

Canonically, John Constantine's sister is a Masters. She married into a family with that last name.

Uncle Constantine AU, where Danny gets (literally) dragged to one of Vlad's family get-togethers. It's the first one Vlad has attended since becoming a halfa, and he wants to show off Danny. John catches sight of them and is immediately concerned about why his in-laws are covered in death magic. Becomes more concerned as he watches the dynamic between them: the controlling nature of Vlad and the barely hidden contempt from Danny. 

Time to get to the bottom of this. Might be a good idea to check up on their home environment, see what's going on there. He is an occult detective, after all. What's the point in that if he doesn't even look after his own family?

Danny, of course, does not trust anybody related to Vlad, no matter how sympathetic to ghosts they may seem