#undercover as lovers

[another-miracle]

the thing about hands (4/?)

When Hisame tells Obi of the plan, the first thing Obi wants to do is to laugh.

Because, conniving snake that he is, this is the best he could come up with? 

Obi slides his gaze over to the wretched slime of a man, hoping to project just how incredulous his suggestion is. In turn, Hisame raises an infuriating eyebrow and smirks. Obi’s blood boils. 

A scan across the ballroom; Little Ryuu, who, inexperienced as he is, has his hands clutching his little glass of punch for dear life; Shuu, smiling with daggers behind his glazed eyes; Miss Kiki, with one brow raised, mirroring her- ugh, really?- fiancé. The murmurs around them only increase in volume as Miss and Lord Eisetsu make their way to the gardens.

Obi realizes he does not have the luxury of time.

Plastering on a smile, he excuses himself with a short bow to Hisame. Passing on his wine glass to Little Ryuu, he ruffles his hair and shoots him what Obi hopes is a reassuring look. 

Obi then makes his way toward what can only be his doom.

Approaching the pair, he begins to unbuckle the official cloak draped over his uniform blacks. From where he stands, Miss is stiff and evidently uncomfortable. Obi puts that at the forefront of his mind, instead of paying heed to his heart threatening to claw its way out of his chest.

“Young Miss,” he calls, schooling his face into something neutral- he hopes-  and tries his best to appear nonchalant as he passes on the cloak over Miss’ shoulders. Obi thanks whatever deity there is out there that he has his gloves on. There is no need for him to be familiar in any way, with the softness of Miss’ skin around her collarbones.

Obi’s eyes shift towards Miss, silently confirming the plan. Obi’s right hand then tightens, ever so slightly, around her upper arm. He steps into her space, directs his face towards hers, and begins the count.

1.

Miss’ frame is slight, or perhaps Obi is just larger now. He remembers her weight slumped on him when she was drunk, what seems like a millenia ago. How different she was- they both were- back then.

2.

Her breath passes over his neck, warm and short. As if realizing this, Miss clamps her mouth shut, a blush forming on her cheeks. Obi’s fingers twitch around the cloth, entrapping them further. 

3. 

Miss gazes up at him, her eyes shifting left and right. Obi wants to tell her to look at his nose, or the space between his eyebrows - an amateur move, really. But he finds the way the firelight reflects off her eyes, revealing a different shade of green with every movement, entrancing. He catalogues each one in his mind.

4. 

At this distance, Obi can see the light freckles splashed across Miss’ nose, a testament to the much-needed sunlight she’s been exposed to ever since leaving Lilias. His chest hurts from the need to kiss every single one. 

5.

Miss breathes, and her chest expands, contracts, brushes against the hand Obi perches politely over his cloak. Obi tries to avoid combusting on the spot.

6.

A breeze unlatches a lock of hair from behind Miss’ ear. Again, Obi locks his fingers further into the cloak, willing ice into his veins to keep up the facade of a man colder than he currently is. Instead, he burns.

7.

 Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. Obi’s gaze flickers down, snaps back up, refusing to pay any heed to that any more than necessary.

8. 

This is torture of the highest order, he thinks. 

9.

-this is something I want every day of my life.

10.

Obi closes his eyes, tattooing Miss’ face behind his eyelids. He smiles, releases his hand from its supposed death grip around Miss’ arm. The traitor hovers around Miss’ back, though, as Miss thanks him and he bids his regards to Lord Eisetsu. 

As the pair walk away, Obi holds his arms behind his back, fingers digging into his sleeves. He releases a breath, and wills the pounding his ears to stop. 

A hand clamps down on his shoulder, startling him. Obi turns. Miss Kiki’s face is unreadable as she returns her hand to her side. Little Ryuu comes up next to him and passes back his wine glass. Obi accepts it, takes a large swig from it, and exhales once more.

His fingers continue to twitch around the stem of the cup, Miss’ warmth a phantom ghost searing the skin beneath his gloves.

[sabraeal]

Minimum Distance, Chapter 2

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki Trope Madness 2024, Championship: Undercover as Lovers

Feathers might settle on silk, but Obi’s heart is still taking flight, pounding in triple time as Doc takes her eyes off him, tipping back her chin to show off the spray of freckles beneath her jaw, right where the most delicate part of her skin stretches to cover her pulse. There’s a part of him that knows he should be worried about the man at the door, that he should already be composing a plan to get not only her but Ryuu out of this house, global lockdown or not, but—

But there’s another, louder part that sees an invitation. That got the fucking Save-the-Date from Doc anteing up that whole dance across the carpet and has some real opinions about just how well her skin would hold a mark. Who is really stumping for him to test some hypotheses about how freckles taste.

Telling it to shut up isn’t hard. Just another Tuesday here in paradise.

“Well…” Her neck stretches just a fit further, straining the limits of her voice, but she finally gets the door in her sight. Takes a minute one she’s got it to worry at her lip, leaving the barest, babiest dints behind, the kind he’d love to feel against his— “I guess I should go get that.”

Obi sits back on his knees, staring. She’s real confident for a girl who wanted to switch rooms one shower ago. “Doc, shouldn’t you— hngh?”

She wriggles, hips not just worming but also squirming right beneath him, and it’s doing something both wonderful and terrible to the wiring up and his brain. Real light show right where his lizard ancestors party down.

Doesn’t mean he was born her bodyguard yesterday though. Grandpa Gator might be personally projecting the world’s sexiest powerpoint presentation, but Obi’s already shifting, one of his thighs catching under hers, trapping it up between his knee and elbow. Gets her wrists for good measure too, both of them bound up in one hand, ignoring her surprised little whine when he pins them to the mattress.

That’s Bodyguarding 101 when it comes to Doc: can’t trust any of those little interested noises when he’s got his hands on her. Her interest in manhandling is purely academic; with only two geriatrics to keep an eye on her as a kid, anything more physical than a side hug registers as a novel experience. A real Only Child Problem.

Imagine that, being the only kid in the house. Absolutely buckwild.

“Wasn’t the whole point of swapping rooms so that you wouldn’t be getting any midnight rendezvous from that creep?” he growls, frustration itching just beneath his skin, deep enough he can’t scratch.

“Well, yes,” she allows, back flat against the mattress. She couldn’t be more thoroughly bed-bound if he tied her to it— which, god, he should really not be thinking about right now. Not when he’s got his knee between her legs and all that’s between him and skin is some skimpy teddy. It’s got the same sort of effect on him as a whole bottle of tequila: absolutely devastating for the parts of his brain involving high function, excellent for his circulatory health. “But there’s no problem now, if you’re here.”

There’s actually a bunch of problems— most of which start and end with his body’s sudden interest in showing off what sort of improvements this new three mile jog habit has made on his dick game— but there’s still the overhanging stuck in this dude’s smart house for the foreseeable future and we don’t know what his long game is. Short game, though, seems pretty fucking clear.

“Doc,” he hisses, leaning close enough everything but her eyes blurs, like that guy who painted haystacks for a living. “That doesn’t mean he won’t try to—”

“Um, hello?” There’s another knock, more insistent this time, and god, this guy might be some…pharmaceutical savant or whatever, but it doesn’t seem like anyone ever bothered to teach him how to read a damn room. “Are you there, or…?”

Doc’s mouth thins, her jaw getting that stubborn set it does when she’s about to haul off and jump out a window, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t even squirm under him, just lays there, staring up at the ceiling, brow all furrowed and—

And that’s why he doesn’t even see the pillow coming. He barely has time to register she’s slipped a wrist free— right through the gap between his thumb and fingers, the minx— before a pound of down feathers takes him right out. He keeps his grip, fingers locked around the only wrist he’s got left, but all his air being replaced with eiderdown doesn’t do much for his stability— a fact Doc’s all too ready to exploit, using their momentum to put him right on his back.

Damn. Probably should have seen it coming. Taught her that one himself right after that whole clusterfuck with Umihebi, along with a few of the less brutal takedowns in his repertoire.

Instead he’s left breathless, trying to win a wrestling match with the pillow over his windpipe— a fight he could win, if she wasn’t clambering down him the whole time, rubbing bits of her over parts of him primed to pay attention. A solid toss knocks the thing back— right in time to catch a flash of strawberry-print cotton as she dismounts, scurrying toward the door.

It shouldn’t do anything. Not when he could write his own dissertation on the classification of every shade and shape of bush. But apparently his dick hasn’t gotten the memo on that one, stretching both his credulity and his waistband before he slams the pillow over his crotch, adding a new shade of blue to his vocabulary.

By the time he’s got any mind to stop her, Doc’s already peeking her head through the door, telling number twelve of the Forbes Fifty Under Fifty, “Excuse me…it’s really late?”

“O-oh, Shirayuki. Yes, of course. It is late. Very late. It’s just, you see…” From this angle he can’t see the guy’s face, just the nervous fluttering of his hands, like two drunk birds trying to fuck their way out of chimney. “I think there may be some…misunderstanding? Are you, er…?”

Alone, that’s what this asshole is trying to say. Because that’s how he wants her: vulnerable. How all these rich jackasses seem to think she should be. And here he is, trapped on this bed as thoroughly as if Doc were holding him down, debating whether she’s in enough trouble to saunter up and risk showing off just what sort of heat he’s packing.

He stifles a groan. This is how it’s always gonna be, isn’t it? Finding some new way to live his life on the edge, no matter how cushy the gig is; as strung out on her as anything that came in a little plastic baggy.

“Am I…?” Doc leans out the door, her weight shifted over her feet-- the perfect way to be snatched off them-- and that’s enough to get him off the bed.

Big Pharma’s prodigal son had seen fit to provide every room with one of those cushy bathrobes, even nicer than the ones he steals from every hotel where the Big Boss sets them up, each one monogrammed with their initials in the nicest, curliest cursive. Obi doesn’t know just how this guy decided which of his aliases to use, but he’s glad to have something on hand that might do a better job of obscuring what gray cotton won’t.

There’s not enough time for him to be strategic about it— he just strings it across his shoulders and knots the belt over his waist, hoping velvet is heavy enough for even his circulatory system to struggle against. By the glance Rugilia gives him when he leans behind Doc in the doorway, all casual menace, before his eyes drop straight to his crotch—

It isn’t. But that guy still looks away first, flushed right past the collar of his stupid robe, so at least his dick’s overactive imagination has gone and paid off for once. Oh boy, just wait until Kiki hears about this one. Princess would put that shit right in the company newsletter.

“Want to explain what you’re doing here?” Obi hardly needs to fake the gravel in his voice. Doc might not have ridden him hard or put him away wet or anything, but it’s the closest he’s come in almost three years. “Standing around Doc’s door at the witching hour?”

“B-but…” Obi’s got a healthy dose of skepticism when it comes to these people with more zeroes in their bank account than brain cells in their head, but when Rugilia’s eyes widen, jaw going so slack he can see all the way back to his tonsils— well, he’s gotta say, it’s convincing. “But it’s supposed to be your room.”

Now it’s Doc’s turn to stare at him, and, well, that throws are few things about this night into perspective. Damn, too bad Master’s not still hanging around in the closet— he could use a reminder that Obi’s still a hot commodity. “So, you’re here for me?”

It’s flattering, even if this stick figure isn’t his type. Certainly the most aggressive come-on he’s had in a while. He might even think about it, if he wasn’t on the job. Sometimes a boy likes to be chased, after all.

“N-no, wait, that’s— that’s not what I meant.” Rugilia might be huffing and puffing now, glaring at the both of them like it’s their fault they found him caterwauling outside their door like a hard-up tom, but Obi doesn’t miss the way his eyes keep drifting south of his equator. “Oh, honestly, if you two want to— to! You could have just said you wanted a room together.”

Doc clears her throat, guilty. “We were, um…trying to, ah…be discreet?”

“Discreet? Whatever for?” He crosses his arms, flushed. “At least then I would have known to check the cameras before I came down to—”

“Cameras?” Obi asks, but it’s too late, Doc’s already barreling ahead with, “We haven’t told the company we’re dating!”

Rugilia blinks, eyebrows bumping blindly over his nose. “Do your departments really work closely enough that you have to?”

Doc’s looking at him, like he’s got his finger on the pulse of these fraternization regs for some reason, but he’s still stuck on— this guy really thinks he’s a lawyer. This guy looks at the scar cutting across his naked chest and the other riding high by his hairline and sees four year college. Sees another three years post-grad at least, internships, sees passing the goddamn bar—

“Anyway, I wasn’t coming here to be a…er…pest,” Rugilia continues, suddenly as confident in his bathrobe as he would be in a three-piece suit. “I had a favor to ask.”

Right, this guy came here for a reason. Even if it wasn’t to take advantage of the California King situation past this door, this guy is up to something. Something that involves Doc. “Listen, Doctor Lyon doesn’t—”

“Oh, ha! I didn’t mean Shirayuki!” Rugilia waves his hand, utterly disarming— until he fixes his stare on Obi. “I’m here for you, Mr Won.”

Well, he didn’t have that on his eccentric billionaire bingo card tonight. “Uh.” He steps back, making space. “Then come in, I guess.”

[kirayaykimura]

a day late and a keycard short

Obi had the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen on his arm, unfortunately. 

He was supposed to have a tall blonde in a distractingly low-cut gown as his date to the tedious silent auction he found himself trapped in for the evening. She would get their mark, Mr. Ernst Blofeld, for the evening to strike up a conversation with her using this eye contact trick she developed years ago (that only worked about forty percent of the time), float the idea that she and Obi were very open to a more private party, would he like to show them his hotel room?, and then drug him to the gills, steal the weapons he was about to sell, intercept the buyer later, and vanish into the night. Instead, his date was a short red-head in a collared gown and heels she clearly wasn’t confident walking in. The opposite of Blofeld’s type. The way his eyes traveled down her body and away without a second glance confirmed it. This would be-

“Oh, dear. I am so sorry!” Shirayuki said to Blofeld. Who she just stumbled into. 

-challenging. 

“You would do well to better control your woman,” Blofeld said to Obi, ignoring Shirayuki’s apology completely. 

And the old money flaunted its old-fashioned politics as well. Charming. 

Blofeld’s look of distaste morphed into a pained grimace when Shirayuki accidentally drove her stiletto into his toes. With soft leather like that, she was bound to leave a mark.

“Forgive me, I must have had one too many drinks tonight,” Shirayuki said. Yuzuri would’ve sold the clumsy drunk act better, but Shirayuki’s lack of commitment to the bit by not even attempting to slur her words was funnier. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” Obi said. Maybe, if Obi was lucky, he might be able to strike up a conversation with Blofeld later without the woman who had bodily harmed him twice and get a different plan rolling. Otherwise he’d have to get creative, and no one liked when he got creative in the field. 

Obi led her out of the hotel ballroom and towards the elevators across the lobby with a hand on the small of her back. If anyone asked, he would say he was only thinking about alternative plans to secure the drug later. He simply didn’t have the brain space to note the way the lace of her dress felt beneath the tips of his fingers or the heat of her body through the cloth. That would also be weird to note about a coworker so he absolutely did not do that, stop asking. 

He was so distracted, both thinking and not thinking, that he nearly stumbled over his own feet when Shirayuki pulled him into a corner of the area in front of the elevators. She was lucky he was naturally graceful, otherwise she’d be smushed against the wall right about now. 

Obi raised an eyebrow to silently ask what she was trying to do. Shirayuki pointed at the ceiling and mouthed, Dead spot. 

No cameras. Got it. 

Then, she slipped a key card out of her sleeve and flashed it at him triumphantly. 

“Damn, sticky fingers. Impressive,” Obi whispered, catching on to the fact that she had clearly pickpocketed Blofeld during her run-in. 

“I gave him mine, so that should buy us some time,” she whispered. 

He wouldn’t notice it was missing, and wouldn’t be able to burst in on them rummaging through his room with the key he did have. Not a bad plan at all. One day he’d stop being impressed by Shirayuki, maybe, but not today. 

“Let’s do it,” Obi said.

[jeonstudios]

dextrocardia | 17

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 3.4k

warnings: uhm... blood, injuries to hands and feet...

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 17/? 

<previous | next>

© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

Determined, Jeongguk drives west, soon swapping his car for another black one at the rental. While he waits for the staff to grab the right key, he enters an address into his phone’s GPS, scanning through the satellite images in preparation. 

Ideally, he would’ve scoped the place out beforehand. In person. But he doesn’t have that option, so he tells himself that it’ll be fine. He just has to be careful. 

A few moments later, he gets into the driver’s seat, driving the new car back east, passing both the station and not too far from your apartment building. There’s a part of him that wants to stop by, to beg you to come back with him, but he ignores it, knowing full well that you wouldn’t appreciate it.

Luckily, the sun has already set by the time he arrives at the address an hour later, providing him the cover of darkness. The street in front of the two-story suburban house is quiet, and he slows the car to a stop at a safe distance. He’s relieved to see a few other cars parked along the street, making it easier for him to blend in.

Despite not being trained in surveillance quite like you, Jeongguk tries to think two, even three steps ahead. He manually switches off the interior lights before killing the engine, ensuring no harsh lights give him away if someone happens to be watching. If that someone also happens to know him, he’s fucked. 

Surrounded by darkness, he quickly scans the area before slipping out of the driver’s seat and into the back. Hidden from view, he picks up the binoculars he borrowed from the station, leaning against the seat in front of him as he peers through them.

Although it’s dark, the streetlights and the glow from inside the house are enough, and he starts by inspecting the cars parked outside. They’re ordinary cars with plates he doesn’t recognize. Unlocking his phone—the brightness set as low as possible—he writes the plates down to look them up later.

Then, he turns his attention toward the house. It’s a white-painted home with a decent-sized porch that almost reminds him of the house he shared with you during the mission, only smaller. He keeps his gaze on it, noticing movement through the mostly curtain-covered windows on the bottom floor, but it's impossible to make out any details. Just shadows dancing against the beige fabric.

A sudden sound interrupts the silence, and through the side-view mirror, Jeongguk spots a vehicle approaching from behind. He ducks, staying completely still. The dark car passes, and a few seconds later, Jeongguk peeks out from behind the driver’s seat again. The driver is parking outside the house, and so Jeongguk holds his breath.

The door on the driver’s side opens, but the man inside is distracted by something in the passenger seat, and as he begins to step out, his face remains hidden from Jeongguk’s view. He’s wearing dark clothes; a thicker winter jacket of some kind, and his hair is black. Nothing incriminating or identifying.

Come one, come on.

With both feet on the ground, the man turns his head to quickly scan the street, and Jeongguk sinks back down in his seat, his eyes wide. 

JJ.

Jeongguk watches his coworker slam the door shut, only to round the car to seemingly grab something from the backseat floor out of view. A second later, JJ emerges with a small black bag in his hand—just like the one Sana briefly described to Jeongguk after he’d stumbled across her and Jihyo buried in papers and questioned them.

JJ heads for the front door of his “stepsister's” house, taking the two steps up in a single stride. Jeongguk watches him knock and then how he stands there, waiting for someone to open. Again, Jeongguk holds his breath, praying that tonight will lead to a breakthrough. 

It’s almost as if they know that Jeongguk is waiting, on the edge of his seat, because whoever is behind that door is taking their goddamn time. Additionally, his phone chooses the worst time to ring, the vibrations unnoticeable for his target but distracting for him. Then, the door opens, and Jeongguk’s dextrocardic heart skips a beat, and maybe it also fills his veins with anger.

Ryung.

You have a hard time putting your feelings into words, somehow satisfied by your recent breakthrough but also jittery and nervous about what it might mean. You could be one step closer to finally putting some very bad men behind bars, or at least try to, but you’ve also realized that, yeah, there’s a risk that you’re in more danger than you thought.

On one hand, you’re probably farther away from JJ (at least), but on the other hand, you’re alone. Although you didn’t stay with Jeongguk that long, it’s still taken you some time to get used to not living with him anymore. Your apartment is smaller than his house, but it’s a pretty home; recently renovated but with a homey feel to it. At least you try to convince yourself that.

“Okay, my phone’s about to die, but you have a safe flight. Bye,” you tell your mother, waiting for her goodbye before hanging up and slipping your phone into the front pocket of your black hoodie. 

Your mother. You’ve tried to keep her as unknowing and uninvolved as possible, and although she knows that the city’s police force has been dealing with some corruption, she doesn’t know that you’re in the middle of it. It’s been relatively easy to keep her in the dark, or at least in the shadows; she’s not the most updated person, preferring to stay off social media and only read physical newspapers now and again.

For the longest time, before everything unfolded and while you dealt with the harassment at work and the tampering of your car, you thought your end was inevitable, and you didn’t want to worry her. Now... well… you guess you still don’t want her to worry. It would be useless as there’s never been anything she could do to help you. If anything, she’d be in danger too.

Living alone again, you've set a new bedtime routine in place. It includes a hot drink—usually tea but sometimes cocoa—along with lazily scrolling the internet on your laptop with the lights dimmed while the TV hums in the background. It helps take your mind off things and the human voices make these dark nights feel less lonely.

Tonight, however, the nine o’clock news reported a mass shooting involving multiple gunmen not too far from your station, and you watched in horror as the news anchor described the chaos. Squad cars from neighboring districts had been called in to help your understaffed station handle the panicked crowds and roaming gunmen. As a criminal investigator, there’s nothing you can do to help; you’re not trained to handle a task like that. You think about your colleagues, mainly all the officers called in, hoping none of them get hurt tonight.

To calm your nerves, you put the kettle on and rummage through the cupboard in search of your tea. Maybe chamomile will calm you until there’s an update.

But you don’t have time to pick out a tea bag before there’s a sharp knock on your door. You freeze. It’s late—almost ten p.m.—and you haven’t really made friends with your elderly neighbors.

Swallowing hard, you turn around and very slowly make your way from the kitchen to the door. Your heart pounds against your ribs, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Maybe it's Jeongguk?

Holding your breath, you rise onto your toes to press your eye to the peephole. A chill runs down your spine, and your blood freezes.

It’s not Jeongguk. It’s Hoseong, and he’s dressed in black, staring right at you, smiling.

You stumble backward, body locking up in fear.

He looks the same as you remember him—tall and muscular with dark eyes. But his hair is longer now, nearly reaching his jaw. He used to seem so charming to you, but even if he mostly looks the same, all you see now is how unsettling he is.

“I know you’re in there,” he sings, hos voice teasing. “And a little bird told me you’ve been having trouble with your door. The latch, was it?”

He knows about your door? You step back slowly, heart pounding. What do you do? You always lock your door—like now—but lately, the latch has become misaligned. It’s a small issue. Barely noticeable. Just enough to make locking and unlocking tricky sometimes.

But there’s a gap. A weak spot.

Then, you hear it. It’s a faint, eerie sound, like someone sliding a thin object, maybe a credit card, into the door. As if to wiggle the latch loose.

What do you do?

Your first instinct is to scream for help, but when you think about it… Your neighbors are elderly, and Hoseong is definitely armed and on the warpath. The best thing they could do is call the understaffed, already busy cops. They can’t help you.

Instead, you rush to the kitchen, yanking open a drawer and wrapping your trembling fingers tight around your sharpest knife. A second later, you hear the unmistakable sound of the door sliding open, followed by quick, angry footsteps.

Hoseong is smiling when he steps into view, a knife glinting in his hand. The smile is twisted, never reaching his eyes, and instinctively, you start to back up against the counter. He looks angry, frustrated, maybe even worn beyond the smile. You guess life on the run brings an element of stress.

“Finally, I’ve got you alone,” he seethes, striding toward you. “You’ve ruined my life, you know that? Fucking whore.”

You hold your knife out, preparing to defend yourself as best you can. But the truth is that Hoseong isn’t just a good bit bigger and a lot stronger than you—he’s also faster and more athletic. And most importantly, he’s trained to defend himself and disarm others in a way you just aren’t.

So when you thrust the knife toward him as he closes in, he dodges with ease and uses his free hand to grab your wrist hard. In one fluid motion, he clamps his knife between his teeth to get his other hand free, harshly yanking your knife from you. It clutters against the floor somewhere out of view. Next, he’s taking his knife back, shifting his grip on it, and preparing to strike.

With one hand still trapped in his grasp, you don’t get the angle or opportunity to disarm him like he did you. Instead, your left hand only manages to grab the blade. You’re not sure if you feel how it hurts or if you just know that it does, but something warm starts to drip down your hand as you try to keep the knife away from you, gritting your teeth.

Somehow, you manage to land a kick to his crotch, and despite the less-than-perfect angle, the pressure of the knife lessens as Hoseong stumbles back. Seizing the opportunity, you push him away with all your might, sprinting toward the only place with a lock. 

The bathroom. 

Almost instantly, Hoseong regains his balance, and he’s so close that you briefly feel the graze of his fingers in your hair as he sets off after you. Panicked, you grab anything within reach, hurling it back between you to slow him down. A tall, vintage vase crashes to the floor, a frustrated ‘fuck’ drawn from Hoseong, and it’s what buys you just enough time to reach the bathroom and lock the door behind you. A split second after you’ve twisted the lock, he’s yanking on the handle. Hard.

Alone in the bathroom, gasping for air, you fall to your knees. Blood is quickly collecting on your gray tile floor, and you have to look away from your shaky, torn-up hand. Your other hand reaches into the pocket of your hoodie, fumbling with the phone as you pull it out. It’s nothing more than pure luck that it didn’t fall out during the commotion. 

Suddenly, a booming crash shakes the door, and you both see and feel the impact as Hoseong tries to kick the door in. Quickly, you scramble to sit in front of it, pressing your back against it and planting your feet firmly on the floor.

You glance at your phone, already knowing there’s no use. The police won’t have anyone to send, and even if they did, Hoseong’s going to get you before they’ve even dispatched someone. Eyes blurry with tears, you press on a contact, lifting your phone to your ear and listening to the signals. 

“Hello?”

Hearing his familiar voice, the deep but slightly surprised greeting, is what does it, and you break further. He sounds like he didn’t expect you to call, probably because you’ve made it clear that you don’t want him around.

“Jeongguk?” you sniffle quietly, shakily, knowing that there’s nothing he can do either. All officers were called in, so he’s at least thirty minutes away. 

He must hear the overwhelming emotions in your voice because his next words are clearer, sharper, as if he adjusted the phone to hear better. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s here–” you whisper, your voice trembling—especially when Hoseong kicks against the door again, the shockwaves hitting you.

“–What?” Jeongguk questions, and you hear rustling in the background.

“Yeah, Hoseong’s here, and he’s got me,” you cry, nearly dropping the phone as the door is hit again. You do your best to grip the device tightly. “I’m not gonna make–”

Silence. Not even the rustling you heard on his end. You lower the phone to look at the screen through tears, only to find it black and dead.

This time, you’re not gonna make it.

Closing your eyes, you try to get a deep breath in. Maybe two. You know it’s inevitable, but are you just going to wait for it? Desperately, you open your eyes again, looking around the blood-stained bathroom for something—anything—to use as a weapon or shield when Hoseong inevitably breaks the door down. 

But there’s nothing, and hit after hit rattles the door against your back. You’re not sure why he didn’t bring a gun. Of course, he’ll succeed tonight anyway, but a gun would’ve spared him some effort and you some unnecessary terror. Sure, someone might hear a gunshot, but he’s not being very quiet now either. You have a feeling he saw his undisturbed opportunity with the mass shooting happening and the police stretched thin. If someone in the building has called, it will still be a while before anyone arrives. He'll be done and on his way by then.

Despite the lack of weapons and protection, your eyes focus on something you can use to at least buy you some time. You stand up on shaky legs, quickly heading over to the bathtub, and with all your might, try to drag and push it in front of the door. Adrenaline still pumps through your veins, but you’re starting to feel the pain of your hand, blood smearing across the white porcelain. 

The tub is incredibly heavy, but even in your state, you manage to wedge one end against the door. You’re fairly certain that it’ll keep Hoseong from breaking the door in, but the tub only reaches your thigh, and Hoseong might break through the door above it. After all, it’s of the flimsier kind, and you’re surprised it’s held on for so long already.

Or, he might realize–just like you have–that the door doesn’t swing inward. It swings out.

“You can’t hide in there forever,” Hoseong pauses his assault on the door, his voice the angriest you’ve ever heard. “You won’t be able to weasel your way out this time.”

“Why can’t you just let it go?” you finally yell, your voice strained.

“Let go? Let go?” He spits the words with fury, his rage palpable. “You’ve ruined my life, you understand that, right?! Either I live the rest of my life on the run, or I risk rotting away in jail just because you couldn’t let it go.”

You want so badly to yell obscenities at him, insult him for being too stupid to realize that he ruined his own life. He decided to assault you, turn everyone against you, and make attempts on your life. He took the risk, and he only has himself to blame now that karma is chasing him. But you don’t voice those thoughts, fearing that it would only fuel his anger and that’s the last thing you need.

“But how does this help? Coming here to hurt me now? If anything you’ll only risk a longer time in jail?”

“I don’t care,” he argues, his voice still dripping with hatred. “Life on the run will be better knowing that you’re six feet under and that your heroic boyfriend couldn’t save you.”

And then, there’s silence again. It doesn’t last long, but there’s something eerie about those four or five seconds before you hear a sharp metallic sound. 

Eyes widening, you realize that yeah, he’s also figured out that the door swings outward—he doesn’t need to kick the door in if he can unscrew the latch instead. That's what the metallic scraping is; his knife working the lock.

Your heart pounds as you frantically scan the room again. Maybe if you could wedge a broomstick or something under the handle and across the door frame? But there’s no broomstick. There’s nothing. So you’re left holding your breath and waiting for him to succeed. It feels like ages, but it’s probably only a minute or so before the lock falls to the floor with a metallic clang.

You back away from the bathtub and the door, knowing that it most likely won’t make any difference. And you’re right—the door swings open half a second later, a raging Hoseong setting his eyes on you and charging.

You try to dodge him, but he grabs you by your wrist and pulls you out of the bathroom. You stumble as he drags you out, your hip banged violently and painfully against the tub. 

“You fucking whore. You’re gonna pay for what you’ve done,” he promises, making sure to drag you across the vase shards on the way back to the kitchen.

In vain, you try to avoid them, wincing when they cut your feet. Your pain makes Hoseong—who’s of course wearing shoes—laugh, but he stops when you surprise him by throwing yourself to the floor.

The shard you grab cuts your skin, but you try to ignore the pain as you drive the sharp point into his back, piercing through his thin black jacket. Hoseong curses and his posture falters, but you doubt it did any real damage even if it hurt, and you’re right. You barely have time to blink before he whirls around, swinging his knife at you. Unfortunately, you don’t dodge the blow completely, and you feel how it swipes your side.

Still holding your wrist in a tight grip, it’s Hoseong’s turn to stumble when you yank on it in an unexpected direction; the kitchen sink. You manage to get a few steps closer, and that’s all you need. As he swings again, you reach for the kettle, hurling the scalding water over him. Some of the scattered drops hit your face and hands, stinging as they land on your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the pained yell Hoseong lets out as he drops your hand and staggers back.

Exhausted and in pain, you'd hoped it would be the end of it, but it's not. Seemingly running on nothing but fumes, adrenaline, and anger, Hoseong straightens up, and then he’s focusing on you yet again, gritted teeth and angrier than ever.

<previous | next>

[crowlls]

Omoshiroi

[writtenbyan-aries]

Summary: agent!reader and agent!chris go undercover on a mission together and they have to be rather.. close

Warnings: SMUT, strong language, enemies to lovers, heavy tension, being undercover, fake(ish) relationship, love confession, unprotected sex, creampie, general filth

Word Count: 10.8k

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You stormed into the office, making your way up to Chris. Your hands met his chest, giving him a shove backwards, “What the fuck, Chris!? That was my fucking shot. Not yours.”

Chris stumbles back but steadies himself with a smirk, his eyes filling with amusement at your anger, “Relax, y/n. You act like I stole your fucking lunch money.” He laughs at his own joke, “It was a good shot, and you know it.”

He sits down, leaning back in his chair, “But if you weren’t too busy running your mouth, you would’ve seen it coming.”

You scoff, and before you speak, he cuts you off, “You should thank me. I just saved you from embarrassing yourself.”

“I’m going to kill you.” As you step forward, the chief calling for you and Chris cuts it short. Chris stands up from his chair, his brows flicking up, “Try me.” He smirks, motioning to the door, “After you, princess.”

You shove past him, stepping into the chief’s office.

Chris follows you in and you roll your eyes. The chief motions to the chairs, “Sit down. We’ve got bigger problems than your childish bickering.”

You clench your jaw, sitting down in the seat next to Chris, but you don’t pay any attention to him. You let out a sigh, “What do we have?”

The chief looks between the two of you, his tone stern as he speaks, “Look, I know.” He scoffs, “Everyone, knows you two have your issues, but I need you to understand this isn’t some kind of joke.”

You nod, “I know it’s not, chief. What’s the case?”

The chief leans back, sliding a file across the desk and Chris and you both reach for it. You snatch it before he can grab it, flipping it open.

“You’re going undercover.” The chief sighs, “You’ll be after a high-profile arms dealer. We’ve been tracking him for months, but we need someone to get in close, someone he’ll trust. His operation is on the verge of blowing wide open, and we need to know who’s pulling the strings behind him.”

You watch as he glances between you and Chris, silently tell you what you already know before leaning in, “The target’s name is Vincent Marlowe. He’s been moving weapons through legitimate businesses, using them as fronts to not get caught. We need you two to play the part of a couple getting close to him and his associates. It’s a delicate operation. Any slip-up could blow this whole thing.”

You glance over at Chris as he taps his fingers against the edge of the desk, his smirk faulting into something more, focused.

He glances over at you, “Looks like we’re stuck with each other for this one. Try not to screw it up, alright?”

He glances down at the file in your hand, pulling it from your grasp and, clearly pretends, to study it while he waits for you to go back after him.

You sigh, looking up at the chief instead, “How do you want us to do that? We play a rich couple?”

The chief nods, holding up a picture of Marlowe, showing it to both of you before continuing.

“Exactly that, y/n. Marlowe’s into high society stuff. Luxury events, private parties, the whole lifestyle. It’s the perfect opportunity to get close to him and his network. You’ll need to play the part of a rich, influential engaged couple with a lot to offer. Think.. private jets, expensive tastes, that kind of thing.”

He looks directly at you, then Chris, making sure you both understand the importance.

You give him a nod, “High end shopping, something I’d have to sell my house for.” You sigh, leaning back into your seat, “Got it.”

“We’ve got some intel on his events, it’s in the file, but nothing solid enough yet. You both know the routine, blend in, gain his trust, dig up what you can.” He pauses, giving you both a look, “Keep it subtle. No arguing, bickering, or any of that shit. Don’t be too obvious and most importantly, do not break your cover.”

Chris chuckles, glancing over as his eyebrow arches up, “Rich couple, huh? Guess I can fake it.” He smirks, clearly enjoying the thought of playing the role with someone who claims to hate him.

“It’s a job, and I for one, am good at my job, so.” You nod at the chief, “Got it. I’ll text you when we land.” You stand up from your chair, and Chris follows you, “I guess I’ll see you at the airport, princess.”

“Stop. Calling me that.” You snap, “Jesus Christ.”

He raises his hands in mock defense, “Alright, alright, I’ll lay off. I was just going to offer you a ride to the airport.”

You roll your eyes, “No, thanks. I’m good.” You walk to your office, but Chris continues to follow, “Come on, I’ll keep you from being late.”

You grab your stapler, tempted to throw it at him, but you use it on the paper in your hand, “I said, I’m good.”

“Suit yourself. Don’t cry to me when you’re late.” He turns and walks away. You roll your eyes, taking a deep breath as you take in what these next few days mean.

━━━━━━━━ 𖦏 ━━━━━━━━

You arrive to the airport, before Chris, shocking.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up early,” Chris teases with a smirk, his eyes moving over you as he tosses his bag onto a nearby seat. He looks unfazed by the time crunch, and that pissed you off even more.

“Didn’t think you had it in you.” He smirks, earning an eye roll from you, but you ignore him, mumbling low, “wasting my breath.”

Chris laughs, sitting down across from you, “Yeah, I get it. You’re so done with me, but come on. Can’t you just admit for the sake of the mission that you actually love this? You’re not fooling anyone with the whole, don’t care attitude.”

You glance up at him, “Do you ever shut up?”

He lets out a playful sigh, “Only when I’m asleep, y/n.” He leans back, grabbing his phone, “But if you want some peace and quiet, you can always just admit that I’m right.” He smirks, “I know it’s hard for you, but that can just be our little thing.”

He shoots you a wink, shaking his head as he looks down at his phone. You roll your eyes, looking away.

On the jet, you force yourself to speak, “What are our cover names?”

He leans back in the seat and stares at you, “Right.” He starts, his tone now more focused, “We’ll be using fake shit for this.” He laughs, “You’ll be Charlotte Carter, a socialite and philanthropist. Real high-class stuff.” He raises his brows, his tone sarcastic, “Got connections in all the right places.”

He glances up at you, his eyes scanning you for a moment. You scoff, “Charlotte Carter? Please, that sounds like something straight out of a comic book.” You shake your head, “But, fine. Who are you?”

“I’m Ryan Bennett. Corporate guy with a bit of a reputation.” He smirks, “Think.. rich businessman, keeps a low profile.” He shrugs, “The kind of guy who blends into the background but still gets invited to all the best parties.”

He leans back in his seat, staring at you, “Do you need me to go over it again, or do you have it?”

You roll your eyes, “I got it.” You scoff, “Now.. our engagement story.. how did-“ you motion to Chris, “Ryan, propose to-“ you motion to yourself, “Charlotte?”

Chris seemed caught off guard by the question, but he quickly covered it up, “Ryan proposed to Charlotte at a private gala.” He leans back in his seat, “A big, extravagant affair. Candlelit dinner, a string quartet in the background, the whole shebang. He got down on one knee in front of all their friends and family, because, you know, he’s classy like that.” He smirks, “And, Charlotte, being the sophisticated woman she is, said yes, but only after a little dramatic pause, of course.” His smirk grows, “How’s that sound? Think Charlotte would go for a proposal like that?”

You sit there taking in his answer for a moment, “Yeah, sure.”

“Well, you’re stuck with it, so..” he leans back, “We need to make sure our stories are straight, y/n. How we met, how long we’ve been together, you know.”

“You act like I don’t know that, Chris.” You stare at him and he laughs, “Hey, I’m just making sure.” He raises his hands, “Wouldn’t wanna leave anything to chance, right?”

You pull the file over, “Yeah, right.” You look down over it, and you can feel his eyes on you, “What?”

You flick your eyes up at him.

He leans forward, letting out a sigh, “We’ll stick to the basics for our story, alright.” He leans back giving you a shrug, “Met at an art gallery, had a whirlwind romance. Nothing too complicated. Just enough to make it sound legit.” He pauses, “You good with that?”

“Art gallery?” You think about it for a few seconds before letting out a sigh, “Yeah, that’s fine.” You turn your attention back to the file, silently cursing when Chris opens his mouth again, “Right. An art gallery. Real classy, just like you, Charlotte.”

Your eyes move to look up at him, watching as he leans back in the seat. There was a shift in the energy between the two of you, but you weren’t saying anything about it.

Chris actually stays silent for a while, letting the weight of the mission settle as you both took it in.

As the plane lands, you sit up a little to stretch. A yawn slips your lips and Chris nods, “Yeah, that flight was killer. Figured you would have slept for more than half of it.”

You roll your eyes, “I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.” You watch him stand up to gather his things, eyes leaving him as soon as he turns around.

He notices, the smirk on his face tells you, but he doesn’t say anything, “You ready to make this whole rich couple thing work? Or are you planning on taking a nap the second we hit the ground?”

You give him a shrug, “Might crash for an hour if we have time. I don’t know.” You stand up, letting out a sigh as you move to gather your bags, “My back is killing me.”

He nods, making his way towards the exit, “I’m sure those seats are awful for someone who doesn’t sit still.”

You shoot him a glare, “I sat still, what are you talking about?”

He laughs, “Come on, we can get you a coffee. You know, so you’re not falling asleep on me during the mission.” He raises an eyebrow, his tone mixed with challenge and concern, “Unless you just want to sleep through the whole damn thing.”

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.”

He laughs, “Alright, okay. I’m just saying, maybe wouldn’t be the worst thing if you did. I actually might get a break from hearing your brilliant commentary.”

I shove past him, making my way down the jet’s steps before him, “You’re insufferable, Sturniolo.”

You hear him jog to catch up to you, “Insufferable? Nah.. I’m just more entertaining than you can handle.” He laughs, “You know, you could be a little nicer about it, though. It might make this whole, couple, thing more believable.”

He winks as you glance at him and a scoff leaves your lips, “I’ll start pretending when you buy me that coffee.”

You pull the car door open and get in, closing it with a slam.

Chris walks around to the drivers side after putting his bags in the car, as soon as he gets in, he laughs, “Buy you a coffee?” He shrug, “You know what? You’ve got yourself a deal, y/n. But, only because I’m in a generous mood.”

You raise your brows, “A generous mood? That’s rare.”

He chuckles, “But don’t think that just because I’m buying you coffee, you’ve won anything.” He smirks over at you, “We both know who’s really running the show here.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, whatever.”

Chris sighs, “Keep tellin’ yourself that.” Before you had a chance to say anything else, he speaks up, “You know, for someone who acts like they can’t stand me, you’re pretty fun to mess with.”

“You’re just an idiot.” You reply dryly, which earns a laugh from Chris, “Hey, idiots make the best company, don’t they?”

You don’t answer him, you just stare out the window, and that eggs him on more, “You know, if we didn’t have so much tension, we might actually get along.”

You look over at him, “What do you mean by tension? I hate you. Plain and simple.”

He clenches his jaw, quickly pulling that cocky smirk out to play, “Yeah, well. I hate you, too. But, hate really is a strong word, though, isn’t it? We can use.. complicated. How’s that?”

You go to argue, but you know that’s exactly shat he wants, well, actually. There’s no way out of this, so you just sigh, “Yeah, complicated. Whatever.”

Chris laughs, “See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” As you pull up to the coffee place, he looks over at you, “What do you want?”

You shrug, “I don’t know. Just-“ A sigh leaves your lips, “Get me a latte, vanilla with two sugars and an extra shot of espresso.”

“Vanilla latte, two sugars, extra shot of espresso.” He repeats the order back to you with a smirk, “I’d say you’re high-maintenance, but I already knew that.” He reaches for the door, “Stay here, I’ll be back.”

You stay quiet as he gets out, taking a deep breath as you let everything settle. It wasn’t often you got a second without Chris flapping his gums, it honestly felt kind of weird without it, but you wouldn’t ever admit that to him, though.

As you wait, your mind wanders, maybe it was you just being tired, but you kept thinking about Chris, and all of this other missions you’ve been on with him.

You guys were a good team, there was no doubt about that, but he got on your nerves, you just didn’t know if it was the good thing, or bad thing.

The longer you sit in silence, the more you questioned your, hate, for him.

Either way, you felt like it wouldn’t work, your agents. You know the game. Work and relationships don’t mix most of the time.

Chris pulling the door open snapped you from your thoughts, “Here you go, one complicated drink for the most complicated person I know.”

You scoff, “Yeah, thanks.” You take it and take a sip, letting out a sigh, “Let’s just go to the hotel. Get settled in. The party we need to attend is tomorrow night, so we can just study up the case, prepare tonight.”

“Alright, sounds like a plan.” He starts the car and starts heading toward the hotel, “Classic undercover move.”

You just shake your head, not giving into the banter.

“Just don’t expect me to be all business all night.” He smirks at you, giving you a shrug, “I’m still gonna keep you on your toes.”

“Just don’t do anything that’ll piss me off.” You sigh, but he’s shooting right back, “I can promise to try.” He says with a sigh, “But let’s be honest, it’s probably going to happen anyway.”

“Of course it is. It’s what you’re good at.” You mumble, looking out at the hotel as he parks, “Let’s just.. make it through the lobby, fiancé.”

“Wouldn’t be the best fiancé if I wasn’t make sure you weren’t bored, right?” He teases and you sigh, “If it helps you sleep at night, sure. Now come around and open my door. You need to act like you actually love me.”

There was no hesitation. Chris got out and walked around quickly to pull your door open, “Anything for you, darling.” He holds his hand out and you sigh as you take it, stepping out of the car.

Chris slides his hand around your waist, “Shall we, my love?”

You slip into the role easily, a little too easy, “Let’s do it, baby.” Your eye twitches at the pet name, but you play it off, following Chris’ lead into the hotel. His hand on your waist tightens as he walks you both up to the desk, “Hello, Ryan Bennett and Charlotte Carter checking in.”

The attendant gives a warm smile, “Yes, hello. Congratulations on your engagement.”

Chris smiles big, “Yeah, I’m a lucky guy with this one here.” He glances down at you and you keep the act up, “I don’t let anyone in easy, but this guy weaseled his way in.” You laugh, catching Chris’ smirk, “Can we get two keys please?”

The attendant nods with a slight laugh, “Of course, Ms Carter.” She glances at Chris, “You know, it’s the ones you least expect that make you the happiest.” She slides the keys over, “Enjoy your stay.”

“Oh we sure will.” Chris smiles, snatching the keys from the counter, “Here, sweetheart.” He hands you the key and you take it, “Thank you, baby.” I give the attendant a smile as we turn and I let out a scoff.

“Guess she has a point, don’t she?” Chris chuckles as he presses the elevator button, “Just don’t get any ideas, alright?”

“Trust me. My mind is on anything but you.” You step onto the elevator, pressing the correct floor button as Chris walks in to stand behind you, “Sure, sure. Just don’t get comfortable pretending like I’m not the most interesting thing on your mind.”

His voice is low, almost like he’s daring you to argue with him.

You sigh, sipping your coffee, “mhm, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

As the doors open, Chris walks out first and you furrow my brows, “What? Did I piss you off for a change?”

Chris stops in his tracks, turning slightly as he repeats your words, “Piss me off?” He’s got this look on his face, like he’s deciding on whether to be irritated or entertained, “Nah, just wasn’t expecting you to be so.. calm, about everything. Thought you’d be more, I don’t know, fired up?”

You laugh, giving him a shrug, “I’ve had my coffee, so I’m good for a while.”

As you walk down the hall, Chris follow you, “You’re not exactly good at hiding what’s on your mind, you know.” He stops as you press the key to the door, “You and I both know that if I pissed you off, I’d know it by now.”

His hand slides over the door, pushing it open, “After you, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, walking in. You instantly take notice to there being only one bed and you let out a sigh that feels like you’ve been holding in for hours, “Of. Course.”

Chris steps up next to you, a smirk plastered on his face, his tone teasing, “Looks like someone didn’t do their homework.” He walks over, tossing his bag down on the floor by the dresser, “I mean, it is our bed, right?”

You set your bag down on the chair, ignoring him completely as you try not to let him bother you.

“Relax, y/n.” He chuckles, “You can always sleep on the floor if you’re that upset about it.” He shakes his head as he pulls the files from his bag.

“I’m not sleeping on the floor.” You snap, “Screw that.”

“Fine, fine. Your choice, but hey, if you really can’t handle sharing a bed with me, I’m sure we can figure out something else, alright.” He shrugs, “I’m just.. offering ideas.”

“We can share the damn bed, Chris. We’re both adults, well. One of us, at least.” You flick a brow up, “Just.. keep your hands to yourself.” You motion, “There’s a sign downstairs about a cocktail hour, figured we could go, blend in.”

“Relax, sweetheart,” he says, his tone saturated in amusement, “You’re not my type anyway.” He sends you a wink before bending down to pull out a new dress shirt, “That’s a good idea, blending in is the way to go.”

Something twisted inside of you, almost like his words hurt you, but you didn’t want to accept it, so you masked it with a laugh, “Good.” You pull your dress out of your bag and start walking towards the bathroom.

You stop as Chris speaks, “Try not to take too long getting ready, alright? I’d hate to have to drink alone while you spend an hour fixing your hair.”

He was teasing you, but you were pissed. About what? You weren’t sure, but your words let him know exactly how you were feeling, that’s for damn sure, “Go. Have a drink by yourself, like I fucking care.”

You could feel his eyes on you. As you glance back, he sighs quietly, his tone lower than usual, “Yeah, alright.” He pause like he’s thinking about saying more, but he doesn’t. He just turns to throw his shirt on the bed, eyes not even on you anymore, “Just don’t keep me waiting, too long.”

You hesitate, but inevitably walk into the bathroom, and that’s the first time any room you and Chris have ever been in, felt like that.

You didn’t even know what to call that. Chris always got under your skin, but that.. that was different.

As you slip on your dress, you ear the quiet shuffle of Chris in the room. You walk back out and within the time it took you both to change, Chris’ smirk was back on his face, “Damn.”

You watch as his eyes scan up and down your figure. He forces himself to look away, rolling the sleeves on his shirt up, “Guess we’ll have no problem getting people to believe we’re together.” He glances up, “Are you about ready or do you need another five minutes to stare at yourself?”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah we both look rich, I get it, and no. I can put my lipstick on in the elevator.” You sit down on the bed to put your heels on, and you can feel Chris’ stare burning into you, “No need to get all defensive, just don’t want you to keep me waiting like you always do.”

“Oh my god, I’m ready.” You sigh, standing up to grab your small bag, “You know.. for someone who said I wasn’t their type, you sure are having trouble keeping your eyes off of me.”

You glance over at him and he opens the door. As you walk out, he chuckles, “You noticed that, huh?” He follows you out, “Guess that means you were lookin’ at me too.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you watch him push the elevator button. You dig in your purse pulling out your mirror and your lipstick, flicking both open to paint your lips.

Chris turns to face you as he leans against the wall, “And just for the record, I didn’t say you weren’t attractive, I just said you weren’t my type.”

You laugh slightly, continuing to try and cover up your real feelings towards it, “Is that supposed to bother me? Me not being your type?”

You step onto the elevator after him and he chuckles, “I don’t know, sweetheart.” He smirks, tilting his head ever so slightly, “But you’re sure working hard to act like it doesn’t.”

You clench your jaw, closing your eyes before looking down to toss your mirror and lipstick back into your small bag.

Before you can even say a word, he steps up behind you, his voice lower as he cuts you off, “It’s okay, though..” he pauses, “I get under your skin. You get under mine. That’s kinda our thing, isn’t it?”

You tilt your head, “I’m not-“ you pause, “Let’s just get through this hour so I can go back to the room and sleep on the damn floor.”

As soon as the doors open, you walk off, Chris following you with an amused huff, “Suit yourself, but if you wake up sore as hell in the morning, don’t expect me to listen to you complain about it.”

He pulls the door open and rests his hand on your lower back, leaning in to whisper low for only you to hear, “Showtime, sweetheart. Try not to look like you wanna kill me in front of all these people, yeah?”

With being reminded about the mission, you snap into action, playing the role of Charlotte Carter, Ryan Bennett’s fiancé.

With a smile, you walk with Chris to the bar. As Chris notices your smile, he leans in, almost sounding like he was admiring you, “There she is.”

He looks at the bartender and orders two drinks.

It didn’t take long for them to come out and Chris hands you yours and holds his glass up slightly, “To a long and happy engagement.” He toasts before clinking his glass with yours.

“To a long and happy engagement.” You repeat, bringing your glass up to your lips to take a sip.

His eyes stay on you over the rim of his glass, searching for anything real under the facade you’re trying to hard to hold up.

You don’t crack, you just scan the room, the smile still holding strong on your lips.

Chris leans in, “See anyone interesting?” He asks, gaming another sip of his drink, his hand staying on your waist. His thumb deliberately brushes over the fabric on your hip as he leans in to whispers just so you can hear, “Or are you too busy trying not to stab me with that tiny cocktail straw?”

“What are you doing?” You mumble, bringing your glass to your lips, “Your eyes should be on the room, not me, Ryan.”

“I’m just trying to make sure you’re not going to stab someone with that straw, Charlotte.” He chuckles, “But I’ll take note, next time I’ll keep my eyes on the room, since you’d rather be left alone.”

You shifted subtly at his words, a small sigh escaping your nose. It felt suffocating to be next to him. In the dress. In the room, surrounded by all of these people.

You didn’t know what was happening. You could feel the burn in your eyes and it confused you more than anything.

You pulled it together, taking another sip of your drink before shaking your head, “Whatever.”

Chris caught on, immediately catching the subtle shift in your energy, your posture. His hand tighten on your waist, pulling you closer to him with ease, “You know..” his tone is quiet, casual, “I didn’t mean to push you. I’m just trying to keep us in character.”

You tilt your head up, feeling that same burn returning and you decided to exit before it progressed. You left out a slight laugh, “yeah, character.” You set your glass down, avoiding eye contact with him, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Without another word, you turn, making your way through the crowd and into the bathroom. You immediately went up to the counter, hands gripping it tight as you tried to control your breathing.

Were you having a panic attack?

Did Chris really get under your skin this bad?

Was it the mission?

Was it being somewhere you felt like you didn’t belong and you feel like people knew?

Maybe it was a mix of everything.

But one thing you did know, was that this, has never happened to you before, and you weren’t really sure on what to do but fake it until you made it.

Meanwhile, while you were pulling yourself together, Chris made his way over, leaning against the wall as he waited for you to come out.

As you pull yourself together, you took a deep breath, slipping back into the role of Charlotte and smiled at yourself in the mirror. You turned, making your way out of the bathroom with the same, happy go lucky smile.

You glanced over, seeing Chris push himself up from the wall with the look like he’s trying to dissect what just happened. He walks up to you, “There she is.” His eyes scan over your face, “You good now, or should I be worried about you coming after me with that straw?”

You hold your ground, trying not to let anything show through the cracks, but Chris can read you, it’s what he does for a living, you weren’t stupid.

You laugh, gently pushing his shoulder, “You’re so funny, Ryan.” You slide your hand around his arm, nudging him subtly, “Come on, let’s go mingle.”

He knew not to be dumb and say he doesn’t fully believe you, because he knew you both couldn’t afford to have you walk off again.

He laughs slightly, “Yeah, yeah, I’m hilarious.” He leads you into the crowd, keeping up the playful act, “Don’t get too comfortable with the other guests.”

You laugh, “Oh please, you know I like talking all my fancy talk with people.” You giggle, “I think I need another drink, also, Vincent Marlowe is right up there.”

Chris notices the shift in your tone when you say the targets name. He nods, laying his hand on your lower back, “Alright, alright, let’s get you that drink, sweetheart.” He leads you to the bar, leaning in to whisper, “We’ll get Marlowe in no time.”

You lean on the bar, happily telling the bartender what you wanted, “And then.” You look at Chris, “Whatever my fiancé wants, please.”

Chris orders his drink, keeping it simple before his eyes move back to study you. He doesn’t gaze long, knowing how short fused you are right now.

He just slowly grazes his thumb over your lower back as his eyes scan out over the crowd. He turns back as the bartender sets down your glasses and he picks his up.

He angles it towards yours, “To us.” He clinks his glass against yours and leans in to whisper, “And keeping up appearances.”

You smile, keeping up with the facade, “Perfect toast, honey.” You clink your glass to his and take a sip. You look around before leaning in closer to Chris, whisper into your glass, “He’s coming down here.”

Chris’ posture becomes more on alert with your words, his hand tightening around your waist as he plays the cool, collected role, “Good.” He mumbles into his glass, turning to step closer to you, “Stick to the script. We’re a happy couple. Don’t get too cozy with him. Can’t afford to throw everything off.”

You clench your jaw at his words, tilting your head slightly, but you keep the smile on your face, pretending like he didn’t just act like you don’t know what you’re doing here.

Vincent Marlowe finally approaches and there’s a shift in the air.

“Ah, the happy couple as I live and breathe.” He chuckles, eyes grazing between you and Chris as he offers his hand to Chris first.

Chris shakes it, watching as his hand moves to you. You reach out, shaking his hand and you force your smile as Vincent’s hand lingers on yours, almost like he’s taking in every detail.

“Vincent Marlowe.” He finally introduced himself, a slight bow of his head, “Charlotte and Ryan, correct?”

“That’s right.” Chris nods, and you smile, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Marlowe.” You slide your arm around Chris’ waist, “Lovely cocktail hour, is it not?”

Vincent notices your arm going around Chris and he watches, almost like he’s sizing the both of you up, “Oh, please. The pleasure is all mine, Charlotte.” He offers a smile, “It is lovely indeed.”

His attention stays on you, “You two make quite the couple.” He glances at Chris then back to you. Chris’ hand stiffens on your waist, a protective hold, “Thank you, Vincent.”

Vincent chuckles, “It’s always good to see people so well matched.“

Chris immediately steps in casually, “Thank you, we’ve been together for a while now.” He looks over, holding your gaze just enough to keep it believable before glancing back at Vincent.

Vincent nods, “quite the lovely story.” His tone tells you that’s he’s buying into your fake facade, but his demeanor screams that he isn’t a fool, “You two should join me for dinner later.”

You give him a nod with a small smile, “Dinner sounds lovely, Mr. Marlowe. Just tell us the time and the place.”

Vincent is someone who doesn’t take being turned down too lightly, your agreeance fueled the fire in his eyes, “Excellent. I’ll have my assistant send over the details.” He pauses, “It’ll be a private affair, of course, just the right atmosphere to get to know each other better.”

You and Chris can feel the game Vincent is playing, you’re both on edge, but remain calm.

“Looking forward to it.” Chris says with a nod, and Vincent nods, his gaze lingering on you and chris for a moment, “I’ll see you soon.”

He walks away, leaning you and Chris alone.

Chris doesn’t move, he just lets out a slow breath, “That went well.”

“Yeah.” I sigh, bringing my glass to my lips, “What do you think dinner is going to entail?”

Chris leans back against the bar, his eyes scanning out over the crowd as he brings his own glass to his lips for a slow drink, “It’s gonna be a game, probably. Marlowe doesn’t invite people to dinner unless he thinks there’s something to gain.” He shifts his weight slightly, his hand still pressing to your hip, “We’ve gotta play it cool. Keep up the act, make him feel like he’s in control, but he’s not someone we want to underestimate.”

His eyes flick over to you before moving back out to the crowd, “We need to be ready for anything. Stay sharp, keep him interested.”

You nod silently, your gaze meeting the floor before all of those unusual feeling rush forward at an even harder rate. You take a deep breath, pulling yourself together, “We got this.”

Chris notices your shift in your demeanor, but he doesn’t say anything. He just steps closer, his shoulder brushing against yours with a sincere tone, “Remember, we’re a team. Whatever happens in that dinner, we’ve got each other’s backs.”

He glances over at you, “let’s just make it through the night. We’re almost done.”

━━━━━━━━ 𖦏 ━━━━━━━━

As you walk up to the desk, the attendant smiles politely, “Hello. How can I help you?”

“Any messages for Ryan Bennett or Charlotte Carter?”

The attendant slides an envelope across the counter and Chris takes it, turning towards you as he opens it. Inside is a small paper, Marlowe Private Estate. Seven O’Clock. Arrive Promptly.

Chris scoffs, shaking his head. He turns back to the desk attendant, “Thank you.” He turns, walking a few steps away with you, “You ready for this?” He pauses, giving you time to answer.

You look up at him, “I don’t have a choice.” You straighten up, “I’m good.”

Chris’ eyes scan over your face before he nods, “Good. Come on. No time to waste.” He lays his hand on your back as he leads you out of the hotel and to the car.

The car ride itself was quiet.

No one said a word.

It made it feel a lot longer than it actually was.

As soon as the car stops, Chris is out and walking around to open your door. He holds his hand out and you promptly take it, allowing him to help as you step out. He leans in, whispering just for you to hear, “Let’s make this count.”

You give him a nod, a fake smile forming on your lips as you follow Chris up to the door.

“Ryan Bennet. Charlotte Carter.” The butler nods, “Good evening.” He pulls the door open, motioning for you both to walk in, “Right this way.” He walks past you and Chris, leading the way.

The interior of Marlowe’s house is rich, luxurious. Dark wood paneling, high ceilings, and perfectly arranged furniture. Every surface conveys power and wealth.

No sign of danger as of right now, but it was just the beginning of the night.

Chris hand brushed against your back as he leaned in to whisper, “Keep your guard up. He’s been known to test people, see how much he can push.”

You give him a nod, keeping your composure as you walk into a room with Marlowe and a few other guests sitting by a big fireplace.

“You look perfect.” Chris whispers, and you felt your chest tighten. It felt both genuine and for the act, which only made your feelings push harder at the dam you quickly built.

You stayed silent and Chris rubbed his thumb over your back, “Let’s just blend in and see what we can see.”

You nod, following the butler up to be reintroduced to Marlowe. He notices you immediately, “Ah, Ms Carter. Mr. Bennet.” He greets as he stands, “I’m glad you could make it tonight. It’s not every day I have such illustrious company.”

He motions to the men in the room, “Charlotte, Ryan, I’d like to you to meet a few of my good friends. This is Harry Devers. Logan Marren, and last but not least, Steven Driers.”

None of those names ring a bell for you for Chris. You both offer polite nods and nice to meet you’s.

“I trust the trip was comfortable?” Marlowe asks, and Chris responds smoothly, “Of course, Mr. Marlowe. Thank you for hosting us.”

After a while of conversation, you smile, “Everything has been perfect, thank you. We’re happy to be here.”

Vincent studies you for a moment, trying to figure out if your smile is as genuine as you’re making it out to be, “I heard quite a lot about you two.” He pauses, “A power couple, some would say.”

He picks up before either you or Chris could speak, “It’s not often I meet people who understand the weight of the game. But then again, I suspect you already do.”

Chris response, his tone and smirk full of charm, “We’re just here for the fun, Mr. Marlowe. We don’t need the spotlight.”

“A power couple, huh?” You laugh lightly, “I wouldn’t say we’re that just yet.”

“Ah, modesty. I appreciate that.” Vincent chuckles, “Well then, I do hope you both enjoy the evening. There’s plenty to see.. and plenty to learn.” He gives a nod before walking off to take you into the next part of the night.

You glance over at Chris, looking away before he notices, or maybe he already did. You didn’t care, you bring your drink up to your lips and finish what little bit of liquid you had left.

You feel the weight of the room pressing in on you, the conversations swirling around you like a dance that you feel you’re just barely keeping up with.

As you set your glass down on the nearest tray, you catch Vincent looking at you and Chris, offering him a small subtle smile in return.

As he looks away, your eyes move to Chris and he smirks, which confused you, but he’s probably just keeping up with the act, “You good?”

You keep up the act, “yeah, great.”

Chris studies you for a second, his eyes narrowing as he seems to be looking for anything that gives it away that you’re not being fully honest.

His tone tinted with sarcasm, “Good. Because if you’re going to keep playing the part, we need to make sure we’re both on the same page. Don’t want Marlowe catching on to anything, right?”

You nod, tilting your head at him, “I know, sweetheart.”

Chris keeps his eyes on you, “I know you’ve got this, but if you need me to step in, just say the word.”

You swallow, “I’m fine, I’ll be fine.”

Chris nods, “We should probably get some air.” He motions towards the balcony, “Marlowe’s not the only one with eyes on us. Let’s give them something to talk about.”

You nod, walking towards the balcony with you on his arm.

The cool air hits you as you step out, the conversation fading as you grow further away from it. You take a much needed deep breath, feeling like you can finally fill your lungs.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Chris’ words sting, but you play if off, “Can we not do this now?” You glance over at him, “I’m fine.”

“Alright, alright.” He lifts his hands from the banister, “Well talk later, I get it.”

You clench your jaw, now really wanting to say anything, you knew he was going to ask about what happened at the cocktail party prior to this.

Your eyes glance over at him as leans casually against the railing, his posture relaxed, but there’s still a watchful sense in his eyes.

You look out, taking in the city lights scattered below, and how, despite the weight of the mission, everything feels almost normal, like it’s just two people simply enjoying a moment together.

Chris breaks the silent, leaning into you, “You’re doing a hell of a job pretending, I’ll give you that. Marlowe’s eating it up.”

A small smile rests on your lips, “That’s the plan right?” You glance over at him as he continues, “We can keep playing the part until we get what we need. Then, we go from there. Deal?”

You nod, “Deal.”

“Alright then, let’s get back to the show.” Chris offers his arm and you take it, filling your lungs with the fresh air before walking back in to be swallowed by the weight of the mission.

“Get ready, this is the part where we seal the deal.” Chris whispers before you make your way up to Vincent. Chris speaks up, “Mr. Marlowe, hope you don’t mind us taking a brief breather. Just needed to catch up a bit. It’s not every day we get invited to something this exclusive.”

Vincent chuckles, pleased by the attention, “Of course, of course. It’s been a pleasure having you both here. I trust you’re finding everything to your liking?”

Chris leans in, making the moment between them private, “Absolutely. We were just talking about that dinner you said about, seems like the perfect opportunity to continue our chat, maybe discuss future plans, you know?”

Vincent seems intrigued by Chris’ words, but he’s not easily swayed.

That’s where you step in, “We were actually hoping to discuss more than just a partnership over dinner.” You begin, “I think we both see the potential in aligning ourselves with someone like you. We’ve got the connections, the influence, and I believe you’re the kind of person who takes an opportunity when it’s right in front of him.”

There’s a pause, the weight of your words settling into his mind before he nods, “I think dinner sounds like a fine idea.” Still, he’s no fool, he knows you’re offering more than just words, and yet, he’s eager to see where this leads, “Let’s make it happen, shall we?”

“Perfect, Mr. Marlowe.” You give him a smile, “Let us know when and where works for you and we will see you then.” You offer your hand to seal the deal.

He takes it, gripping it firmly, “I’ll have my assistant reach out with the details,” he says, giving a nod of approval. “Looking forward to it.”

With that, he walks away.

Chris leans in, “Nice work.” He brushes his hand against your back, “Let’s just make sure we’re ready when the dinner rolls around. This is where things get interesting.”

Chris walks forward and you follow him out to the car. As he opens your door for you, his eyes scan over your face, “So, we got his attention. What’s the next step?”

“Talk in the car.” You whisper as you get in. Chris closes the door and walks around to slip into the drivers seat.

You keep your gaze out the windshield, “So we have him on the hook.” You glance over at Chris, “How do we really sell it at dinner?”

“We play it like we’ve been playing it all along.” he says glancing at you, “We’re the picture-perfect couple. Rich, in love, completely head over heels for each other. We keep it light, keep it playful. Make Marlowe think he’s seeing the real deal.”

You nod, “Good plan.”

Chris nods, “It’s all about control. We need him to believe we’re just like every other couple chasing the next thing, playing the game, you know? The more we show him that we’ve got it all together, the more he’ll trust us.”

After a moment of silence, Chris speaks up, “You good with that? You’re in control too, you know.”

You glance over at him, “Yeah, I know. I’m fine with it, I trust you.” You look back out at the road, the weight of the day weighing heavy on you. Before Chris can say anything about it, you pull your phone out and call the Chief, filling him in on everything.

The rest of the ride to the hotel was silent after the call ended.

━━━━━━━━ 𖦏 ━━━━━━━━

Once you’re back in the room, the door clicks shut behind you, and you can finally let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

Chris leans up against the wall, “We did good tonight, but tomorrow’s the real test.”

You glance back at him with a nod as you kick off your heels, “we did good.” You turn, rummaging through your bag, and you were just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

After a few moments of silence, and his stare burning into the back of you, he speaks, “You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m tired.” You lie, your words a mumble, “I’m going to go for a shower if you don’t need in there.” You lay your clothes over your arm and turn to look at him.

He stares at you, almost like he wants to ask more, but he doesn’t, “Nah, you go ahead.” He steps out of the way, “I’ll be here if you want to talk later.”

You nod, making your way into the bathroom. You turn it on, stripping off your clothes from the night and you step in. As soon as the water hits you, it’s like the key to getting all of those pent up feelings out.

Chris, being a big part of them, was also having his own feelings outside. Even though you tried to keep your sobs as silent as possible, he heard them. He just chose to let you have your moment.

Meanwhile, you were going through something that’s never happened before. You have never felt so out of place on a mission before. You have never been nervous, wanted to turn away, back out, nothing, like you do right now.

Things were blurring, that line between work and play was starting to merge together, at least on your end.

Chris gets under your skin, like, really gets under your skin, but you liked it. He didn’t make it easy for you, but when he said what he said, it was like gut punch, causing you to puke up all these feelings that were just under the surface and now you don’t know what to do.

You pull yourself together, allowing yourself to calm down before you got out and started to dry off.

You took your time and got dressed, making it look like you weren’t just crying under the stream of water before walking out.

Chris is sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes flicking up to you as you walk out. You motion, “Shower’s free.”

He nods, “Thanks.”

You walk over to drop your clothes by your bag and Chris breaks the silence again, “You alright?”

Your heart drops into your stomach, but you play it cool, “Yeah, I think I just needed a shower.” You look at him, and he doesn’t look convinced but he doesn’t push. He nods, standing up to walk towards the bathroom.

He stops, “You know..” he hesitates, eyes searching the wall like he’s trying to figure out what he wants to say, “You don’t have to fake it with me.”

With that, he walks into the bathroom, the door closing and the sound of the shower fills the quiet space.

You walk over, sitting on the edge of the bed with your eyes glued to the floor. Your head, that’s normally a calm, cool, and collected place, was being ransacked by everything all at once.

Chris’ words echoed in your mind, you don’t have to fake it with me.

But wasn’t that the whole point? To fake it? To play your part so well that even you believed it?

The sound of the shower turning off snaps you back to reality and you wipe your face. You grab the tv remote and lean back against the headboard, flipping through the channels on the tv like you’re not on the verge of packing up and pulling from this mission.

“There’s nothing good on.” I glanced over at him, watching as he walks over and sits on his side of the bed. He nods, “Yeah, hotel tv is always garbage.” He leans back on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows as he watches you flip through the channels, “You’re just flipping to flip now.”

You laugh slightly, tossing the remote down as you chew on your lip, thinking about what you want to say, how you want to say it.

“You don’t have to say anything, but if you do, I’m here.” Chris whispers, lying back against the headboard, his eyes are on the tv but his tone is genuine.

After a moment of silence, you finally give in, “I’m just, a mess.. I guess.”

“Yeah.” Chris acknowledges it, “You’ve been holding it together all day.” He turns his head towards you, “You don’t have to do that with me.”

His eyes stay on you, like he’s waiting for you to finally take off the mask, “Is it.. the mission? Or is it more?”

You shrug, “It’s.. everything. The mission, the luxury, the pressure, and-“ you stop before you say anything else. Your teeth gnaw at your cheek as you debate on whether or not you even want to say anything about him.

A part of you feels stupid.

Chris stays quiet, his eyes staying on you, “And?” His tone is gentle, “You don’t have to hold it all in, y/n.”

You take a deep breath, “You.” Your words are quiet, “It’s you.. and you..” I shake my head, “You telling me I wasn’t your type, was like a surprise gut punch that made me realize that I had actual feelings for you.”

You blink, “I thought we were just two people who got under each others skin for the hell of it, the fun of it, whatever, but apparently there’s more I didn’t even know was there.”

“And then the mission..” You continue, “I feel so.. out of place here. I don’t do the fancy dresses. I don’t do the luxury. I feel like I don’t belong here and every rich bitch down there was judging me and I feel like I was going to get us killed because they knew that. That dress I had on, one of the worst dresses I’ve ever put on.”

You keep going, “And then the pressure of this mission, I’m usually good with pressure, I’m good with this kind of stuff, and the fact that I’m losing my shit scares me because it’s not something that I do.”

You go quiet, your own words setting into you just like they are for Chris. He sits there silently as he processes before finally letting out a breath, “You don’t belong in that dress, y/n. You belong in your own element. You’re doing this mission better than anyone could, and I know it feels like a lot right now, but it doesn’t help that you’ve been handling it all on your own. As for the pressure, you’re not losing it. You’re just.. human.”

You glance over at him, your eyes staying on him as he pauses. His eyes moving to meet yours, “And about me..” His voice is quiet, “I’m not saying you’re not my type. What I meant was…”

He pauses, trying to find the right words, “I was trying to protect myself from what I feel for you, because this mission is dangerous enough without letting things get messy.” He shifts slightly, his words coming out with more honesty than you’ve heard from him before, “But I’m not doing a great job at it, am I?”

He chuckles slightly and you crack a smile, “We’re both not doing so hot right now.”

He shifts on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “Look, if you need a moment to figure this all out, I get it. But don’t think for one second you’re in this alone.”

He looks over at you, “We’re in this together. All of it.”

You nod, shifting to face him more, “That’s why I’m losing it, too. I’m trying to stay professional and on top of this mission and with you in my head, it’s hard. If anything were to happen to you because I wasn’t on my A-game, I couldn’t ever live with myself.” You hold your gaze on him, “That’s why I wasn’t talking much, barely acting myself, I was holding myself together and I was scared that if I spoke, I’d break in the worst moment.”

“I get it. I do.” Chris nods, “I’m not asking you to put this mission before yourself or us. You’re not the only one struggling with this, y/n.” He leans forward slightly, his eyes never leaving yours, “I know the stakes are high, and I know how much you care about the mission, but you’re more than just a partner to me, y/n.”

You nod, “You’re more than just a partner to me, too, Chris.”

His eyes soften at your words, “And that’s what scares the hell out of me. Because I don’t want to be the reason you get distracted. I don’t want to be the one who makes you feel like you’re losing control of yourself.” He reaches over, his hand brushing against yours, “But I want you to know, no matter how much this gets to us, we’ve got each other. We’ll get through this, together. We always do.”

You glance down at his hand on yours, which lingers for a moment, as he waits for you to respond.

You turn your hand, giving his a gentle squeeze, “I think the only reason I was a mess was because I didn’t know how to tell you. I think with what you said, now knowing you were trying to protect yourself, I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same, and I’d lose you completely.”

He runs his thumb over your knuckles, giving you a nod, “You don’t ever have to worry about that.” He starts quietly, “I was just trying to keep us both safe, trying not to lose my focus and make this mission harder than it already is. But losing you? That’s not something I can even imagine. I’m not going anywhere, y/n. Not now, not ever. I feel the same way, even if I didn’t know how to say it.”

You nod, keeping your eyes on his as he squeezes your hand, “We’ll make it through this together. No more pretending, no more pushing things aside. We’ve got each other.” He pauses, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips, “And I promise, I’ll be here, every step of the way.”

You stare at him, letting the silence settle for a second.

You keep your eyes on his then move them to his lips, allowing them to linger for a second before looking back into his eyes, “How’s it feel to be the one that broke the y/n y/l/n, huh?”

You laugh slightly, making light of the situation, and he smirks as he leans in a little bit closer, “Feels pretty damn powerful, actually.” he teases before he pauses, his face softening as his eyes scan over your face, “In all seriousness, y/n. I never wanted to be the one to make you feel like this. I just.. I didn’t know how to handle it, how to say the right things when everything got so.. complicated?”

He reaches forward, slowly brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lightly brushing your cheek, “But I’m glad it’s out there now, and you’re not broken.” He shakes his head, “Not by a long shot. But if I broke the y/n y/l/n, guess that means I’m the one who gets to fix her, right?”

He raises an eyebrow, his lips forming into a smile.

“Yeah I guess you’re right.” You smile, letting out a slight laugh, “You’re the only one who could piss me off and expect me to be right back there a minute later looking for another fight.”

“Guess I’m just lucky.” He smirks with a chuckle, leaning into closer, “I’ll take that as a compliment. I must be doing something right if I can keep you coming back for more.”

You nod, tilting your head, “Something’s right, that’s for sure.”

He smiles, eyes scanning over your features, “I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.”

You shake your head, “Neither would I.” You lean in, closing the space with your lips on his in a gentle kiss at first, but something shifts and you move to your knees in front of him. Your lips still moving with his as your arm snakes around his neck.

Chris responds immediately, his hands moving to your waist to stable you as he moves closer to you. His hand comes up to gently caress your cheek as he mumbles against your lips, “Been waitin’ for this.”

You smirk against his lips, turning to straddle his waist, “So have I.” You whispered as you lean forward, pushing him back to lay down. Your lips trail back his jaw and he lets out a low groan, tilting his head to give you more access.

“Guess we’re both a little overdue, huh?” He slides his hand up your back, gently grabbing the back of your neck to pull you into a heated kiss, a deeper kiss.

You grind down on him, earning another groan and his grip on your hip tightens, pulling you closer.

You had his full attention.

His hands slide down, pulling at the hem of your shirt and you break the kiss just to pull it off. His eyes scan up and down your bare torso and chest as his hands slide up to your sides.

He sits up, pressing his lips to yours before leaning back slightly, “Are you sure about this?” His voice was low, asking permission before moving to do anything else.

You give him a nod, lips pressing to his, “Never been so sure about anything.”

He responds with an even deeper kiss, his hands pulling you closer before rolling you over onto your back, lips still working against yours.

“I need you.” You whisper out, tilting your head back as he trails kisses back your jaw, stopping at your ear to whisper, “I need you, too, y/n.”

He presses kisses to neck, his hand sliding down to slip into your sweats. A gasp escapes your lips as you feel his fingers press to your clit, rubbing small circles as he presses his lips to yours once more.

Your breath hitches as his pressure grows harder, “Chris, please.” Your back lifts from the bed to press your chest against his. A moan leaving your lips as his fingers slip down and curl into you, “Fuck.”

“You’re gonna be so worth the wait.” Chris mumbles against your lips, moving to kiss back your jaw.

You let out a louder moan as his fingers work in and out of you, “Shit, yes.” You breathe out, “Yes.”

He pulls his hand away, out from your sweats and he grips the sides, pulling them down. His hands move to push his own down, his eyes trailing up your body as he holds his lip between his teeth, “You’re fucking perfect.”

Your face softens at his words, reaching out for him as he leans down. His lips immediately finding yours as his arm hooks your leg over it to bend it upward.

You whimper, your breathing rapid with the anticipation of what comes next.

As he slides into you, his name leaves your lips in a pleasure filled moan, “Chris, Chris.” You gasp, pulling him closer and he groans into your neck, “Y/n.. fuck, you feel so good.”

He quickly gets into a pace, it’s slow, almost like he’s trying to feel every inch of what you’re offering to him.

Your nails dig into his back, your leg tightening around his arm, “Feels so good.” Your head tilts back, gasping out as his lips suck a mark into your skin.

His voice is low, “You have no idea how much you mean to me, y/n. You’re everything I never knew I needed.” His lips trail up your neck to your lips, moving with them in a heated motion.

His pace picks up and he groans, “Can’t get enough of you.”

“I’m-“ you gasp, back arching from the bed, “Fuck, I’m not going anywhere.”

“M’never letting you go.” He mumbles against your lips before deepening the kiss. His grip on your body tightening as his pace grows harder.

Your nails drag up his back, leaving red lines in its path, “Fuck, yes. Yes.”

You were already there, on the verge of becoming a mess under him. You weren’t sure if it was the tension building up over time, or if it was the fact that what you both wanted was finally happening, but you were there.

And Chris knew it.

With his full attention being on you, he could tell from every movement you made, every sound you made, “Come for me, baby.” He groans low, “Fuck, I can feel you’re right there, just let go for me.”

His words push you into the deep end, pleasure engulfing you as your body tenses and tightens around him, whines slipping from your lips with moans automatically following.

His eyes are glued to your face as he guides you through, watching how your eyes squeeze shut and your lips part as your breathing becomes more rapid.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers before crashing his lips onto yours, “so fucking beautiful.”

His thrusts grow sloppy and you tighten your leg around his waist, “Don’t stop.” You plead, “Fuck, don’t stop.”

“Not stopping.” He assures, his lips pressing to yours harder. He groans against them, moving to press open mouth kisses down your neck as he groans louder.

You can feel his cock twitching inside of you, giving you what you wanted most in this moment, “Fuck.” You gasp out, “Chris.”

You both stay still for a second, taking in what just happened. You hold him tighter, hand gently dragging up and down his back.

He shifts, lying next to you with his face still in your neck. His hand gives your thigh a reassuring squeeze, “You okay?”

You nod, smiling up at the ceiling as your hand moves to lay on his head, fingers gently scratching, “Better now.” You turn your head, “You?”

“Better now.” He whispers against your neck, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, “Didn’t know I had it in me to break the infamous y/n.”

You laugh, “Well, you did.” I look down at him, “So what’s next? You want to go over how we’ll get Marlowe to agree to partner with us, or do you have another idea?”

Chris smirks, his fingers gently grazing your skin, “As much as I’d love to run through our game plan, I think we’ve had enough mission talk for one night.” He raises a brows, “Unless you’re telling me you’d rather talk business than stay right here, of course.”

You smirk, “Yeah, I’ve had enough business talk for one night.” You move around, pulling the blankets up over both you and Chris.

He shifts around, pulling you to his chest and he lets out a sigh, “That’s what I like to hear.” He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head, “Get some sleep. You need to shut your brain off for a bit. We’ll focus on handling Marlowe tomorrow.”

━━━━━━━━ 𖦏 ━━━━━━━━

Thank you so much for reading and thank you so much for being patient with me. I hope you liked this. Let me know. As always, I love you, catch you in the next one! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[batdadtruther]

Superbat Fic Recs 2/?

Lost Time Without You by rotasha | words: 68,792

In a universe where your soulmate’s injuries show up on your skin, Bruce is convinced he doesn’t have a soulmate, and Clark is seriously concerned for his soulmate’s well-being.

We'll Laugh About This Someday by cybox | words: 2,328

Bruce Wayne figures out Superman’s secret identity, but his plan to mess with him backfires when the mild-mannered journalist responds all too seriously.

Nothing You Can't Do by linndechir | words: 14,664

Bruce excels at an incredible number of things, from foreign languages to escape artistry, from engineering to gymnastics. Clark is more than a little intrigued.

The One That Got Away by rotasha | words: 44,974

Bruce and Clark dated for a while when Dick was newly adopted. Now, years later, Dick is an adult, and Bruce still has feelings for Clark.

Kind Truths by Mawiiish | words: 6,478

Bruce needs help with an undercover mission. Clark can never say no to him even though he probably should before he does something stupid. Like tell Bruce he's in love with him.

-- “Why me?” Clark can’t help but ask. He tries his very best to keep his voice level, to not sound as desperate as he feels. “Because I need someone there to watch my back,” Bruce says, a little exasperated. He really shouldn’t have to explain this to Clark of all people, it’s not like they haven’t been on missions together before. “I get that, but what about Diana? Shayera?” Anyone who doesn’t have a big fat crush on Bruce would do.

[iero]

“My God, I thought you were someone to rely on. Me? I guess I was a shoulder to cry on.” is such a wild line to put in a Christmas song to be honest!

[batlesbianism]

why can’t superheroes be normal anymore they’ve all got to be gay now

(artist is @kingofthewolvez!!)

[backtothefanfiction]

Trying to write undercover lover but it’s slow going, the length it’s built to in my head feels slightly overwhelming but I know it’ll all work out eventually. Just gotta keep doing little bits every day but currently writing out of order based on how I’m feeling in the moment and it’s so weird. I actually hate it. But I know it’ll be the fastest way to get this done for you all.

Anyway, teaser below the cut

Joaquin shot a glance in Honey’s direction. She was only a couple years younger than Joaquin but had far more money and power than he ever would. Dressed head to toe in Chanel, Honey was the eldest Dixon. She had gone to college and gotten a degree in business so she could take over some of the assets in her Fathers ownership. Mainly his series of clubs, hence the meeting in the Viper Room.

She was pretty for sure and if she had come from any other background she would have been exactly Joaquin’s type, but given his true nature for being here- and the fact he’d just had to kill a guy for sleeping with one of Dixon’s daughters- Joaquin thought it best to try and not see her in that light at all. But the way her calculating gaze locked onto him, her lips pursing together in a formal and somewhat judgmental way, he figured she was probably far less interested in jumping in his pants than her little sister was anyway.

[kirayaykimura]

The Art of Deception

The mission - which Shirayuki had chosen to accept after hardly any deliberation - was simple. Find the person attempting to sell a new poison that could kill in seconds, secure the poison and the seller, get the seller to explain how to make the poison, and figure out an antidote. She was currently on step one. 

This step would have been much easier if her informant hadn’t snuck out onto the balcony and then…off the balcony. 

“Well, that was selfish,” Obi said, peering over the ledge to see if the body of their best lead was possibly, in any way, able to get up and walk the forty story fall off. 

Obi was the actual spy on this mission. Shirayuki was decidedly not. She didn’t like it when other people lied to her and she was frankly terrible at lying to others. She was, however, an expert at plants and poisons, an area of expertise Obi did not possess. Thus, she was effectively a spy until she could shut herself away in a lab and get back to her normal life. 

“What should we do now?” Shirayuki asked. She peeked over the ledge as well and immediately regretted it. She’d seen a couple of cadavers in biology classes in college, but none had exploded in quite so gruesome a fashion as the one in front of her now. 

“We go back inside,” Obi said, ushering her away with a hand that never quite made contact with her back. “We move rooms. We let someone else call that in. And we go to the gallery opening tomorrow to start asking around.” 

–

Obi had sincerely meant the we part of that sentence. Almost immediately after entering the gallery a respectable forty-five minutes late-

“That’s not respectable,” Shirayuki said. They were already five minutes late and she was feeling anxious. 

“It absolutely is. You’re thinking of the word respectful, which it is not, but we’ll draw too much attention to ourselves if we’re the first ones there. People will talk if we camp out and watch the door.” 

-he abandoned her to chat up a woman who was slightly unsteady on her feet. Whether the wine in her hand or her heels were to blame was anybody’s guess, but Obi was ready to pounce on the possible opportunity of lowered inhibitions. He left Shirayuki with nothing but a wink and a mouthed, Talk to someone. 

She did. After a while. First, she had to get over the wrongness of striking up a conversation only for information. Then, it was hard to figure out how to steer the conversation away from the art in the gallery to anything useful. Are you trying to poison someone tonight? wasn’t exactly an icebreaker. 

Obi found her an untold amount of time later at a small cocktail table near the edge of the event, exhausted and rethinking her strategy. 

“Where have you been all night?” Obi asked, sidling up next to her from wherever he’d come from.

“Around,” she said after a pause. That felt like a safe answer. 

Ears are everywhere, Miss, Obi had warned her before they’d left their hotel room for the gallery earlier in the evening. His breath ghosted along the back of her neck, closer than necessary to clasp her necklace for her. He’d checked the room for bugs when they’d settled in, but couldn’t be too careful. All talk of the mission had been in hushed whispers and written on paper that Obi had immediately burned and flushed the ashes down the toilet. Be careful what you say out there.

“Around, hmm?” Obi asked. He leaned an elbow on the table, the backs of his fingers just barely brushing against her upper arm. “Meet anyone interesting while you were around?” 

“I did,” she said. “He used to run his own nursery, but he recently downsized to a personal garden after his grandson took over the business. He said he’d give me a cabbage if I stop by his farm sometime.” 

Obi slowly raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. 

“Oh, you meant-” Shirayuki started, then said, “No. No one interesting.” 

“You’ve only spoken to an old farmer and dull people.” 

“He wasn’t old. He had life experience.” 

“I’m starting to think I may have some competition. What will I do when you decide to run off with him and leave me here all alone.” 

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” 

“Good, because your boy is flush with cash. I bet your farmer can't provide for you like I can."

"What?"

"Someone mistook me for the valet and gave me five bucks." Obi took a five dollar bill out of his jacket pocket and waved it around like something to be proud of. "People just don’t carry cash like they used to, nor do they tip. Other than that, I’ve met no one nearly as interesting as you, either.” 

She was sure that wasn’t true. Everyone could be interesting if you dug a little. For the sake of playing along with wherever he was going with this conversation, she stayed silent. 

“I did, however, see a couple around the corner that I could use your help meeting. Word has it that they like chatting with younger couples.” 

Shirayuki stared blankly at him. 

“Here, you-” Obi looked down at her neck, then peered behind her. “Your necklace seems to be caught in your hair a little. Let me fix that for you.” 

She couldn’t feel anything caught, and her suspicions were proven to be accurate when Obi stepped behind her and immediately whispered, “Everyone here now thinks we’re engaged. It'll help move things along. Go with it?” 

“How did you manage to tell everyone so quickly?” was Shirayuki’s only question. 

“You’d be surprised how many people want to hear stories of young love.” 

A moment later, a ring was sliding on her finger under the table.

Breaking character for a short moment, she asked as quietly as possible, “Where did you get this?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Obi said. A gold band on his own finger caught the light as he brought his hand up to cup her cheek in his palm. He held her gaze for a long moment, then said, “I missed you.” 

Shirayuki knew what she would do. Botanist Shirayuki who saw the inside of a lab more than her own apartment would lean as far away as possible. She might even flee the event altogether. Undercover Shirayuki, engaged to a man she’d met two days ago and long enough ago that they were engaged by now, she decided, should do the opposite. She tilted her face into the inside of Obi’s wrist and leaned as if she wanted to settle in, to let him hold her up for the rest of the night just like this. In return, he swept his thumb across her cheekbone in soft half-circles. 

After a moment, Obi let his hand trace along the side of her neck and down her arm, twining their fingers together and leaving goosebumps along her skin his wake. 

“Come on,” he said with a gentle squeeze to her hand. “Let’s go talk to some people about some art.” 

[enhaflixer]

lhs - under the covers. TEASER

AN E2L UNDERCOVER COPS FAKE MARRIAGE AU | SMUT-HEAVY TEASER - NOW POSTED HERE

"If this is fake, then why are you begging?"

summary: you’ve never liked lee heeseung. he’s cold, unreadable, and way too good at his job—so of course, the captain decides to partner you with him for an undercover op that requires you to be married.

the rules are simple: go undercover. pretend to be in love. don’t actually fall for him.

except now he’s pinning you against a wall, calling you ‘sweetheart’ in that low, amused drawl, and touching you like he means it.

…so, yeah. this might be a problem.

genre: slow burn | enemies to lovers | undercover cops | fake marriage | SUGGESTIVE CONTENT word count: ~around 20K release date: TBA ⚠️ warnings 18+ MDNI: guns, violence, smut, tension, heeseung being annoyingly attractive while pretending not to care, reader being an absolute menace back, dangerous men doing dangerous thingshate sex but it turns into something desperate & messy, heeseung has a gun AND a filthy mouth (both are dangerous), "you need to stay quiet" but he makes it impossible, heeseung likes pushing you against walls (sometimes to protect you, sometimes not), explicit descriptions of tension: prolonged eye contact, teasing touches, and not-so-fake kisses that turn heated way too fast, sex as a distraction? sex as an argument? sex as a mistake? sex as an act? all of the above., one bed trope but make it fully unhinged (heeseung smirking when you wake up wrapped around him), heeseung is smug, teasing, and cocky in the streets but a menace in the sheets, "you said this was just for the mission. so why do you keep touching me when no one’s looking?", breathplay, lets keep it rough, ppl like it that way

-

This was supposed to be just another mission.

A simple cover-up. Blend in. Get close. Play the part.

Which is why you’re currently pinned against the wall of a dimly lit hotel room, Lee Heeseung’s hand wrapped tight around your throat.

His body is pressed against yours, his breath warm against your cheek, his voice lower than you’ve ever heard it.

"Stay still," he murmurs. Like he actually expects you to listen.

Your heartbeat is pounding, your breath coming out in short, sharp exhales. You hate him. You hate the way he’s looking at you, like he’s studying you, calculating, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

But then his fingers curl—slow, deliberate—and your body betrays you.

You choke back a gasp, your fingers digging into his shirt, and Heeseung—the smug bastard—smirks.

"Thought so," he mutters.

You should stop this. This is just an act.

Except you don’t stop him.

Not when his grip tightens around your throat. Not when he rocks his hips forward, just to hear your breath hitch. Not when he murmurs, "You were running your mouth all night. Where’d all that attitude go, Doll?"

Your nails dig into his wrist. "Fuck you."

"You first."

And then he kisses you.

It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s months of built-up tension, every sharp word and heated stare and unsaid thought spilling out all at once.

Heeseung kisses you like he wants to break you. Like he wants you to feel him everywhere.

Like he’s been waiting for this.

Your back hits the wall harder as his grip on your throat tightens, fingers flexing like he owns you. His knee presses between your thighs, forcing them wider.

"You’re supposed to be my wife." His voice is mocking, teasing. Mean.

Your breath is shaky. "And you’re supposed to be pretending."

His smirk fades.

"You think I’m pretending?"

Your stomach twists.

Because this isn’t pretend anymore.

The way his hands grip your waist, pushing up your dress. The way his breath hitches when your nails rake down his back. The way his mouth trails down your throat, hot and desperate.

Heeseung isn’t faking this.

And neither are you.

But neither of you stop.

Not when he hoists you up against the wall, one arm under your thighs. Not when his voice turns hoarse, needy, against your skin. Not when you whisper, "You hate me," and he exhales a low, broken,

"Not tonight."

TAGLIST: OPEN! reply to be added!

[jeonstudios]

dextrocardia | 16

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 6.5k

warnings: none besides.... fictional police work...

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 16/? 

<previous | next>

© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

Despite everything, you fill with a sense of excitement as you drive off, Sana in the passenger seat beside you. It’s nice to feel like you have a purpose again, and even if you technically had one during the last mission with Jeongguk, it was overshadowed by the danger you believed resided under the same roof. 

It’s a comfortable journey, and soon enough the highway turns into a pristine neighborhood, bearing no trace of the traumatic events that occurred there months ago. Most of it looks the same as you remember it but other parts don’t. There’s an unfamiliar car parked outside ‘your’ house, and not only that, but glancing through the large windows as you cruise by, you spot movement inside. Children? You knew people would eventually move into the house–a house that never even belonged to you to begin with–but it feels weird.

Putting your more than illogical feelings aside, you focus on parking your car outside the Jungs’ house instead. Before stepping out, you and Sana give each other one last once-over. Despite the relatively low risk of this initial part of the mission, you’ve still made an effort to appear inconspicuous, and it’s not only for your own sake. Considering what they’ve done for you–Hoseok especially–you don’t want to be a bother if they’d rather not have law enforcement be seen knocking on their door.

It’s Eunha who opens the door, eyes going wide when they land on your face. For a second, your worry grows; what if your presence isn’t actually appreciated? At all? But then her lips pull into a smile.

“Oh, hello?”

“Hi, we were wondering if we could ask you a few questions? About another case, not… yours,” you find your greeting turning into rambling.

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course. Come on in. I’m a little busy baking at the moment, but Hobi is home, and I’m guessing he’s the one you really want to speak with?”

She wipes her hands on her light blue jeans, leaving a white, powdery residue on the fabric before opening the door wider. 

“Thank you,” you smile as you step inside, looking around to see that, as far as you can tell, everything looks the same as when you last paid the Jungs’ a visit. When you think about it, Hoseok never brought up the bugs you placed in their house, so you’re guessing they never found them. Or if they did, they haven’t brought it up for some reason or another. You’re not sure, but what you do know is that you’re not gonna be the one to do it, just in case.

“Make yourselves at home. I need to check on the cookies. Hobi!” she turns to call out into the house, “We have guests!”

With an apologetic smile, Eunha excuses herself, and then you and Sana are left alone in the entryway. You share some kind of look. Sure, you didn’t expect too much hostility, but to leave you, two detectives, unsupervised in their home? 

A second later, the sound of footsteps approaches, and you smile toward the brown-haired man as he comes into view, his confused features turning happy. He takes in the sight of you before he closes the distance to give you a warm hug.

“How are you? You look good!” he compliments, also turning to shake Sana’s hand, a very sweet smile on his lips. “Hoseok.”

“Sana,” she greets.

“I’m doing well,” you answer, “He is too; made a full recovery.”

Hoseok’s smile falls, and he takes on a rather baffled look instead. “We saw on the news. About the station and the investigation and all that. Crazy. I mean, we knew there were corrupt cops, but to that extent?”

“Yeah.”

“So what brings you here?” he asks, a glint slowly returning to his eyes. “Was it maybe something I said one time at a hospital?”

You nod, “Yeah. Can you tell us what you know? Or give us any tips at all so that we can stop Kyung Sunghyun once and for all?”

You watch him contemplate. Since he first let that comment about Ksung slip at the hospital, you’ve felt that he’s a good enough man to at least not mind Sunghyun being investigated and possibly put behind bars. But what can he say without incriminating himself for essentially planning a robbery? And can he trust you if he accidentally lets something slip? You might seem like you’ve stopped pursuing him, but can he trust you not to, ever?

“Why don’t we take a seat in the living room?” He gestures for you to follow him, and after quickly taking off your shoes and jackets, you do, with Sana in tow.

Sitting on the Jungs’ couch, you wait for Hoseok to get comfortable and for Sana to pull her pen and notebook out of her bag. 

“Hey, love?” Hoseok calls out to his wife, turning to the two of you, “You want something to drink?”

“Oh, water would be fine,” Sana accepts, and you nod, “Yeah.”

“Hm?” Eunha appears in the doorway. She seems to have more flour on her pants than last time.

“Could you bring us some water?”

“Of course. Anything else?”

Hoseok thinks about it for a second before he lights up, “Oh, do we have some of those brownies left?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll bring a few pieces.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as Eunha leaves, Hoseok turns to you again, a look of concentration coloring his features. “So, what do you want to know?”

“Well, everything,” you say.

“Okay. I’ll warn you that I might not know as much as you think, and some things–not that I know them–I can’t say. I guess I can start by saying that, hypothetically, if I were a criminal of any kind, I would probably still stay as far away from other criminals as possible; especially if I had… valuables that might make me a target. No honor amongst thieves and all that, you know?”

Although his words deny any criminal activity, his expression reveals that he’s well aware that everyone in the room knows that he’s far from innocent. At least as far as the law is concerned. You watch him intently, waiting for whatever information he has and praying that it’ll help.

Sana drives you both home an hour or so later, you sitting quietly in the passenger seat and staring out the window as the world passes by.

“We need to tell Jihyo as soon as possible,” Sana says, “I can drive you home after if you want me to? Unless you’d rather stay with me?”

“No, it’s… fine. I’m fine.”

You are fine. Although it could’ve sent you into some sort of panic attack, it didn’t. It’s just a reminder of why you don’t trust men, and you feel yourself withdrawing instead.

Hoseok didn’t have too much info on the Ksung trafficking case. As you expected, they spent a pretty significant amount of time trailing Sunghyun and his closest men in order to map their routines. Not that Hoseok admitted it; it was very ‘hypothetical’. But from what you gathered, it was difficult to get close to the top men and almost harder to follow anyone. Then, when everything happened and Hoseok and Yoongi understood that you’d been watching them, they put the plans mostly on hold. Except for one thing.

“He, of course, doesn’t actually get his hands dirty if he can help it, and we weren’t–you’d have to be a whole team to keep track of everyone and what they’re doing. But …there might be a private plane flying mostly under the radar about once a month. Someone might’ve found… ‘receipts’ for fuel from different places, and when pieced together, they form a vague route.”

“I guess the question is, why the need to fly incognito? Is it possible it flies… cash or other valuables from the bank that they’d rather not have everyone know of?” Sana asks, and you nod in agreement. It’s a very valid concern; you wouldn’t want just anyone to know if you’re transporting valuable cargo, even legally.

“The plane is refueled more often and with less fuel than a cargo plane, according to the receipts. It seems to be a very small plane, with a correspondingly small fuel tank. And these days, flight tracking is the default; it’s definitely an extra step to opt-out. Sometimes even difficult to achieve.”

“So we’ll be looking into this plane, alright. Where are the receipts from? Is there a pattern? Somewhere we can go to see if we catch them as they’re refueling?”

“The first stop is around three hours from their headquarters, so you’d assume the plane is stationed around there somewhere, but it might have proved hard to actually find it. I’ll give you the coordinates for that and the other locations.”

“Thank you.”

It’s with genuine gratitude that you thank Hoseok. It’s truly ironic that one of the sweetest men in your story is a bank robber, while the police have taken on the role of your enemy.

“So how is your case coming along? You haven’t found them yet, I assume?”

You press your lips together briefly before sighing. You know you shouldn’t disclose anything, really, but again, with how much has been on the news, the public would’ve known if the wanted police officers had been apprehended. And they haven’t. You’ve been told not even the Jimin-lead actually led to anything.

So you shake your head. "Still looking.”

To your surprise, Hoseok looks to be thinking hard about something.

“Okay, so… this might not lead anywhere, but if you’re stuck and possibly trailing Ksung’s people anyway… rumor has it that Ksung has been paying off the cops for a while. Not sure what station, but maybe, someone–at least up until around two months ago–used to meet up with someone at seven a.m. on the fifteenth of every month. Like I said, it’s supposedly around two hours away from here, essentially smack dab in the middle between the closest stations, but given your previous colleagues’... reluctance to follow the law, it might be worth checking out.”

“But they’ve been on the run for months now,” Sana questions, “If Ksung has been paying for police protection or their deliberate ignorance, then what would be the point now? They don’t have anything left to offer.”

“Their silence, maybe?” Hoseok tries to offer an explanation. “They could be blackmailing Ksung into giving them the money they need while on the run. Pay up, or they’ll tip someone off?”

“If what we think about Ksung is true, wouldn’t he just… get rid of them if that were the case? Can’t be that much of a leap between trafficking and murder? Especially if they’re a threat to everything Sunghyun built?”

You adjust your position on the couch, sitting quite literally on the edge of your seat and looking at Sana. “Yeah, I honestly think so too. It wouldn’t make sense to let some of the most wanted people blackmail you like that. There’s a big risk that they’re caught and then they might blab and drag you down too. Better to get rid of them.”

“Maybe,” Hoseok adds, “But there were a lot of officers caught in the investigation, weren’t there?”

“Yeah. All fired,” Sana confirms.

“Again, I can’t promise it’ll help because it’s somewhat of a long shot, but what if you didn’t catch them all? What if…”

“--Someone’s still working at the station,” you continue where Hoseok trailed off. “And taking bribes?”

“And you think that person is helping Hoseong?” Sana wonders, her eyes wide.

“Don’t know, but what are the odds of two separate groups of officers being corrupt?”

You really don’t want to answer that.

Jihyo is surprised at your findings, but when you turn it around to look at it from another angle, it makes an awful lot more sense. Instead of questioning the odds of your two cases being connected, it’s not so strange to think that a criminal bank CEO might be bribing the town’s corrupt police. It’s just strange for you to have found yourself in the middle of it.

“So what do we do?” Sana whispers, glancing at Jihyo’s closed office door behind her.

“Wait. What’s today’s date?” Jihyo asks, her eyes going wide as she realizes what you’ve already had time to see.

“January fourteenth,” Sana explains.

Jihyo looks at you and Sana and the look you give each other. “No. We should wait for backup; the outsourced detectives will be here in a week.”

“We’ll miss the window,” you argue quietly.

Jihyo raises her eyebrows. “What if it’s not true? What if it’s a trap to get rid of you?”

“Set up by Hoseok? I don’t think so. He could’ve gotten rid of us today if he wanted to, and I don’t think he would; he saved us, after all.”

“Well, you more or less surprised him today, and people knew where you were, so it would’ve been stupid on his part. Getting rid of you while you’re ‘looking for someone else’ would be a better plan. And like you’ve said before, when he saved your life, he didn’t know that you were investigating him yet. Now that he does, he might’ve just been waiting for an opportunity. What are the odds of you finding all of this out on the fourteenth when the supposed meeting is taking place tomorrow?”

Well, when she’s putting it like that you have to agree that there’s a risk. Not a big one, you don’t think, but a risk nonetheless.

“I want to go,” you say before lowering the volume of your voice further, “If there is someone here still… if there’s a mole, we need to… we need to act as soon as possible. The longer we wait, even if we try to be discreet, the higher the risk of him finding out.”

Jihyo sighs, lifting her hand to rub her forehead until she seemingly decides.

“Fine. Do you want to go tomorrow? Together? Maybe you should bring someone else as well?”

“Who? We don’t know who the mole or informant is, and if you suggest bringing Jeongguk…” you trail off. Jeongguk is great, but this is not his area of expertise.

“He’ll want to go, regardless.”

“He’s not a detective.”

“He’s out on a call right now?” Sana asks.

Jihyo nods. “Yeah, I think so. Out patrolling, at least.”

“Don’t tell him,” Sana suggests.

“You don’t think it’s him, right?” Jihyo asks in disbelief.

Sana continues, “No, but… the more people who know, the bigger the risk. I think he’ll do more good here, keeping up the charades.”

A few hours later, you’re already in the car, heading toward the spot Hoseok pointed out on a map. The meeting isn’t supposed to take place until tomorrow morning, which gives you a valuable opportunity to scope the place out beforehand.

The sun has set by the time you reach a hill, the road ending in an empty cul-de-sac with a low stone wall overlooking the arches of a large, gray viaduct. There’s a road running parallel to you, only on the other side of the wall, below the hill. It doesn’t pass under the viaduct, which stands almost perpendicular to you, but instead turns to run alongside it. You lean your gloved hands against the stone wall, following the road and its sidewalk below with your eyes. 

The meeting point is supposedly a few meters from the sidewalk, up underneath the viaduct’s closest arches. From this spot, you can’t see beyond the arch, except for a few bushes and trees. It looks like it might be downhill.

Hidden by the elevation, the stone wall, and some trees, the current spot will be where you park the car tomorrow, and before checking in at a nearby hotel for the night, you decide to also check out the other side of the viaduct.

“So, how does it feel to be back for real?” Sana asks, stepping out of the bathroom and putting her toothbrush in her mouth.

Sitting on the bed, you flip through the TV channels. “Uh, good. I really missed this… feeling of having a purpose?”

She pauses the brushing, toothbrush still in her mouth as she speaks. “Mhm, I get what you’re saying. And… how does it feel, knowing that there might be someone we… missed?”

You take a moment to think about it. “I don’t know. I’m so used to walking around the hallways, paranoid of who might be waiting around the corner. Waiting for me to be alone somewhere. After a while, you just don’t have the energy to be that scared anymore.”

Sana nods in understanding, brushing her teeth thoroughly for another few seconds before she enters the bathroom again to spit the foam into the sink.

“Did you know that I basically didn’t fight them at all when they came for us during the undercover assignment?” you ask, fiddling with the remote on the white bedspread.

“Jeongguk mentioned something about feeling like you’d given up, but not a lot more. He wanted us to stay close and check up on you; said he thought the last year had taken a bigger toll on you than we’d assumed.”

“Yeah. I’ve been so scared for such a long time; felt for so long that I stand no chance whenever they actually decide to try it. I didn’t think there was any use in fighting them when they came, so I just… stood there. I closed my eyes.”

“But Jeongguk saved you.”

“He did, yeah. Let himself be stabbed by a fucking samurai sword.”

Sana’s quiet as she exits the bathroom again, a white robe in her arms. 

You let out a deep breath. “What would you do? If you were me?”

Immediately understanding, she sits down on the other bed. “I don’t know. I want to say that I’d give him a chance, but I think it might be easier said than done.”

You look down at your hands. “Yeah.”

“I do believe he’s a good guy, and I think he’s learned his lesson, but a relationship can’t depend on whether he’s good or not, if he deserves you, or whether you should forgive him, can it?”

“It shouldn’t?” you raise your eyebrow at her, smiling a little.

“No, I mean, you shouldn’t be with him if the answer to those questions is ‘no,’ but the next question is just… Do you want to be with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then… does being with him make you happy?”

You feel your whole body practically answer her question. Your eyes drop sadly to the bedspread again, and your shoulders lift a little anxiously. “I think he makes me feel inadequate.”

She looks at you sadly. “You know that you’re not, though, right? You get to feel that way, and he has no say over your feelings because he’s the one who caused them, but you’re more than enough. We’ll support you no matter what you decide to do.”

Nodding slowly, you take another deep breath, getting up from the bed to brush your own teeth.

Usually, you find it hard to wake up fully when the sun has yet to rise and it’s freezing cold. Even the hotel’s hard but warm bed would be tempting you to stay in. But not today. The moment the alarm blares, you’re already reaching for your phone to quiet it, sitting up and looking around. On the other bed, not far from yours, Sana is rubbing her eyes and yawning. Today’s the day you might actually find a good lead.

Due to the nature of today’s assignment, you’re armed, just in case, and you’re clipping small body cameras to your thick, black jackets. On your head, you’ve got black beanies, and your hands are gloved as well to withstand the cold.

The sun still hasn’t made it far on its journey across the sky when you park the car in the same spot as you did yesterday. 

“I’m in my position,” Sana informs through the earpiece. You dropped her off closer to the other side of the viaduct, where she’s currently hiding a little farther down a walkway and behind some parked cars. 

“Good. Me too,” you confirm, leaning your elbows against the wall. Thanks to the trees and the relative distance, you’re well hidden as you kneel behind the stone wall, focusing on the meeting point through your black binoculars.

“It’s five fifty a.m., and we’re both in position,” you repeat, more so for the recordings.

“And so we wait,” Sana concludes.

Despite the thick jackets, it doesn’t take long before you’re freezing. If you could, you’d sit in the car, at least to be protected from the biting wind, but the angle from there wouldn’t let you see over the wall. Sana complains quietly about her fingers while your cheeks hurt the most. Every glance at your watch is painful.

Six fifty arrives, and you focus further. But there’s no one. Once every few minutes, a car or two passes on the road below you, but that’s it. Seven o’clock. Still no one. You’re starting to fear that maybe you missed them? Did they change location? Or maybe they decided on another time? What if they really just stopped meeting up, altogether? Hoseok didn’t seem too sure, after all. You bite your lip, trying to keep your cold body still. If there is an informant, you need to catch him.

Then, at seven twenty, you hear something. It’s the rustling of thick fabric as Sana adjusts her position.

“Dark-clothed male, moving in. 4 o’clock.”

As slowly and inconspicuously as you can, to not draw attention, you turn your head. Sure enough, a man is walking on the sidewalk below and to your right. 

Just like you, he’s dressed in all black, a bulky jacket covering most of his body except his legs. He’s got the hood pulled over his head and his hands in his pockets.

“Can you get a visual of his face?” you ask, watching wide-eyed as he passes below you.

“No, he’s got something–a shirt or something–pulled up over his mouth and nose.”

“Okay, looks like he’s headed for the viaduct,” you say, waiting to see if he follows the sidewalk as it turns to run parallel to the viaduct, or if he steps in under the arch. “We’ll wait and see if anyone else shows.”

But the man doesn’t stop to wait for someone. He steps off the sidewalk, casually walking over to the closest of the huge pillars, graffitied in blue and green, and swiftly retrieves something from under a small bush. A bag?

“It’s a dead drop,” Sana exclaims as the man continues on his path, heading in her direction. It only took a few seconds, and anyone less observant would’ve missed the pickup. 

“Do you recognize him?” you ask, on the edge of your seat. “Can you follow?”

You’re too far away to follow him on foot, and driving down would be impractical and likely draw his attention, so you stay put.

Instead, Sana moves, the rustling loud in your ears, and you hold your breath. It’s always more nerve-wracking to watch someone else pursue and track a target than doing it yourself. If this man discovers her, you don’t know what will happen, much less what he’ll do if he recognizes her.

The man disappears from view, and for a while, all you hear is Sana’s breathing and that same occasional rustling of her jacket as she moves. Then, there’s a bout of silence before her quiet, shocked voice comes through. 

“I can’t follow him further; he’s getting into a black car. I… I think it’s JJ.”

As quickly as possible, you drive back to the station, wondering if you ever missed a clue about JJ. Considering how many men work at the station and how you’ve had to keep a very close eye on some of them, JJ has flown under your radar a bit. The tall man wasn’t anyone you’ve paid much attention to or interacted with, but he never came across as weird or suspicious; just as a regular man. He never outright harassed you, but he never stood up for you either, but then again, he wasn’t the only one using that approach. Additionally, you’ve seen him with Jeongguk a bunch of times, and you figured Jeongguk had cleared all the remaining men. Not that it’s Jeongguk’s fault, but still; you don’t think he’s easy to fool.

“How sure are you?” Jihyo asks in a hushed voice, her worried eyes flitting between you, Sana, and the closed office door. You know JJ is already at the station, you walked past him in the hallway, dressed in uniform. You weren’t able to follow the man, but considering you had to wait a bit and then drive down to collect Sana, it’s entirely plausible he made it back before you.

“Like eighty percent. It was hard to see, but… I’m pretty sure. Don’t know if I captured anything of value, but we can go through the recordings to be sure?”

“Maybe we can look through the work schedule as well?” you suggest. “If he hasn’t been clocked in at seven to eight a.m. on the fifteenth of the last few months–probably since they went on the run–then–” 

“–We still can’t rule him out,” Jihyo interrupts sadly. “Even if he’s been clocked in, he–maybe together with his partner–could’ve simply driven there while on duty, assuming they weren’t on an active call. Maybe not super likely, but not impossible. So if he’s been clocked in, we’d need to look at those exact hours and place him on specific calls.”

“Which might take a while,” Sana adds, and you nod, realizing that she’s right.

Your heart races. “So what do we do?”

“His car’s in the garage, right?”

Jihyo gives Sana a warning look. “We’ll need a warrant to search it, and this is not enough for one.” 

“But not to take a look through the window,” you say, biting your lip and meeting Sana’s eyes.

You wait for Jihyo’s objection, but it doesn’t come. “Be careful,” she whispers instead, following you toward the door. “If there’s one, there might be more.”

“Yes, boss.”

Being the first one to step out of Jihyo’s office, you glance the other way, just in case JJ happens to be watching. However, you don’t look where you’re going, and of course, you run headfirst into someone’s chest.

“Hey,” a deep voice says, its owner steadying you by your arms. Of course. 

Embarrassed, you look up, only to meet Jeongguk’s dark eyes. He’s dressed head to toe in uniform, the sleeves rolled up to expose his veiny forearms, tattoos and all, and it’s clear that he’s on his way out to patrol. You didn’t know he was really patrolling again, but then again, it doesn’t seem like they were getting anywhere on your case, and well… you don’t talk much these days. Like always when he’s near, your heart rate picks up, and your skin heats under his hands despite the fabric between you.

“Uh, sorry,” you apologize, looking away. You know you’re normally a pretty good actress, but today, you just feel too wound up and on edge. Jeongguk holds onto your arms, his observant eyes gazing over you.

“Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Everything’s fine,” you say with a nod, glancing at Sana. “But we need to go.”

But Jeongguk doesn’t give up. “There’s something’s going on, isn’t there?”

“No,” you lie again.

“You’re making me worried.”

“You don’t need to be.”

His gaze flickers between you and Sana, and even though you don’t think he’s completely buying it, he lets go. “Promise me you’ll tell me if you find out anything.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, already moving away. Technically, you being ‘off’ can simply be explained by the fact that you’re not entirely comfortable around him.

After getting rid of Jeongguk, you and Sana enter the station’s parking garage. The personnel floor is empty, save for about twenty to thirty vehicles, Jeongguk’s motorcycle included. Still, you make sure to look around before you start.

“What did the car look like?” you ask, peering through the back window of the closest one, a small dark blue car.

“Unfortunately, I couldn’t make out much besides the color and size. It was black and a pretty small one, I think.”

You look around. Almost all cars are black. Or at least dark enough to be mistaken for black. "Do we even know what his actual car looks like?"

“Well... Let’s just check all of them. Just to be safe.”

Even though you make sure to check carefully, the process goes quickly. Until Sana calls your name quietly, the black car in front of her being her sixth or seventh.

“That could be it, right?” she points toward something barely visible, halfway under the passenger seat. But yeah, it looks like black fabric, maybe part of a small bag, but you can’t be entirely sure.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“If we could only look inside,” Sana mutters.

“Yeah,” you sigh, your shoulder dropping in disappointment. “But all he did was maybe pick up a bag of unknown contents outside. It’s not enough. Should we just check the rest of them and then head back?”

Sana nods, “I’ll finish this row.”

Jihyo is still in her office when you return, having found nothing but the maybe-bag. She’s pacing on the phone to someone, motioning for you to enter when you cautiously peek your head through the door.

“Okay… Just get back to me as soon as you can, alright?” she says, sitting down behind her desk. “Yeah, okay, bye.”

“We saw what we think could be the bag, halfway hidden under the seat of a car that looks about the one the man got into,” Sana explains quietly after you’ve closed the door behind you.

“Okay, so nothing’s ruled out and nothing’s confirmed,” Jihyo concludes.

You nod, trying to think of the next steps. “Well, what if we review the camera footage? We were probably too far away, but you never know, right? And Jihyo, you could check the schedules and work hours, start cross-checking them with the calls responded to. I’ll see if I can dig up anything else about him.”

For a few hours, you work in Jihyo’s office, all three of you focused. Jihyo sits behind her desk,  trying to see if she can match JJ to specific calls on any recent fifteenths and thus provide him with an alibi. 

Sana sits in a chair on the other side of the desk, her laptop open in front of her as she goes through every frame of your recordings, and you sit on the floor, back against the wall, scrolling through both your phone and laptop. 

“Finding anything?” Sana wonders, sighing in frustration–a sign that the recordings aren’t giving her anything useful.

“Maybe…” Jihyo replies, eyes locked on her screen. “Can you read line thirty-seven for me?” She hands Sana a sheet of paper listing the calls.

“Sure. Uh… Call about vandalism came at six twenty-seven a.m., reported closed at eight thirty-two. October fifteenth, last year.”

“Six twenty-seven to eight thirty-two,” Jihyo repeats as you scroll through JJ’s instagram, clicking on yet another tagged friend.

“Mhm,” Sana hums.

“Well, he was clocked in… But it seems like… yeah, Min and Mark were the ones who responded to it.”

The room feels… tense in a way, something Jihyo is about to put into words. Meanwhile, you focus on your phone, fingers tapping away quickly and your heartbeat rising.

“Doesn’t seem like we can rule him out. Which, you know, sucks because we all trust him–maybe trusted him–and we don’t want yet another one to have betrayed us. But if it is him, then maybe… we might finally be getting somewhere? Maybe?”

“Yeah, I agree. Don’t like the direction we’re moving in, but at least we’re moving.”

“Hey, guys,” you say, your eyes still glued to the screen in your hands. “JJ has a stepsister named Jimin.”

“What?” Sana exclaims, her voice hushed and eyes wide as she turns to you.

“Yeah. JJ’s mom seems to be dating this Jimin’s dad, but it doesn’t look like they’re married; not even like they live together.”

“So there are no ties on paper?”

“No, no ties.”

All three of you exchange silent looks, realizing what this could mean. You might have an address.

After discussing your findings–all hushed voices and big eyes as you conclude that, yeah, maybe Jimin visited her brother at the station and stumbled across Hoseong–you decide to take a break. You need to pee and Sana complained only a minute ago of her rumbling stomach. To be fair, you haven’t had time to take any real breaks, much less eat.

Determined, you leave the office, discreetly looking around before heading toward the bathroom. Sana leaves for the cafeteria.

After using the bathroom, you sit on the closed toilet lid to gather your thoughts. It almost feels like you need to catch your breath, too. Do you dare hope that you might finally get them? Still, you find yourself imagining what you’d do if that were the case. It’s not like they’ve haunted you for decades, but even a few months stretching into years feels like such a long time. A lifetime, almost. You experienced life at the station before everything went down, but is it even possible to return to that? Maybe it isn’t; you’re not the same person anymore.

Still thinking deeply about what this revelation might mean, you head back toward Jihyo’s office. Occasionally–like now–the white halls are empty, but as you approach the wooden door with the frosted window, you hear voices inside. They’re not abnormally loud per se, but louder than they should be.

You open the door, and for a moment, the voices fall silent. Already back, Sana stands with a Saran-wrapped bread bun and coffee in her hands. Jihyo sits behind her desk as usual, her laptop open and the call papers scattered across her normally tidy desk. And Jeongguk is standing in front of it, still in his uniform, wild eyes looking back at you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything for the better,” you say, stepping in fully and closing the door behind you. “You’re with the guys more than we are. We don’t want them to find out.”

“There’s a risk anyway,” he says, turning to Jihyo, “We need to go there as soon as possible.”

Jihyo meets his gaze, her expression understanding but firm. “Jeongguk, like I said, we need to wait for backup. We’re understaffed, and there’s too much of a risk that they’ll recognize you. Besides, all of you inside this room are too emotionally involved at this point.”

His hands fly out, and though he tries to keep his voice down, frustration seeps through. “They were allowed to watch JJ accept a bribe in the first place?” he argues.

“Yes, and that was risky enough. If they recognize you, they’ll probably try to kill you. They’ve got nothing to lose, and you’re the reason they’re in this mess to begin with. Just hang in there until backup arrives.”

He shakes his head in frustration and disbelief. “This is crazy. They’ve tried to kill her so many times, and someone connected to them is still here. For all we know, he could be planning something on their behalf as we speak!”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I understand you’re frustrated; we all are, but this is the best course of action.”

He gestures toward you, “She needs to leave in that case. She can’t stay here.”

To be honest, you’re not that scared of JJ. He’s never seemed particularly interested in you, and you don’t think he’s planning to kill you or anything like that. Months have passed without you even suspecting he might be involved, and nothing has happened. Sure, you were mostly with Jeongguk until recently and not that often at the station, so while the opportunities might not have been plentiful, JJ has had his chances.

Jihyo sighs, leaning back in her chair. “It’s up to her.”

He turns to face you fully. “Come stay with me? Take a week off, stay at my place.”

You shake your head. “No, I’m staying at my place, and I’ll continue to work if I feel like it.”

“Please?”

You’ll never stop being surprised at how easily Jeongguk lets go of his pride. But by doing it so quickly, with so few reservations, it’s almost as if he grows in your eyes. You try not to think about him in that way.

You shake your head. “I don’t want you to think that you need to save me all the time. I’ll be fine on my own.”

He glances around at the three women in the room, none giving him the support he wants. He looks like he wants to say something, but suddenly, someone calls for him on his com radio.

“Go,” Jihyo instructs as Jeongguk gives you one last longing look before quickly exiting through the door.

Jeongguk can’t shake the new information, and as the day progresses, it keeps gnawing at him, his mind turning over every possible option again and again. While that last call–regarding a break-in—kept him distracted for a bit, his thoughts return as he enters the station again, Min heading off to the cafeteria.

He knows you’ve already gone home by the time he’s clocking out and heading for the locker room, still unsure of what to do. It terrifies him to know that there’s still someone who might want to hurt you, walking these halls. That he missed someone. 

He’s got three options to choose from. The first: go home. Get some sleep. Or at least try to get some sleep. And then just hope that JJ didn’t spot you this morning and is waiting to attack you outside your apartment door. Jeongguk knows that it’s what you want him to do; go home and not get involved. But he’ll never forgive himself if something happens to you.

Option two is to drive to your apartment and sit in his car outside it all night. He’ll do it if needed, but it’s not very tempting, and it’ll render him useless at work tomorrow. Additionally, if nothing happens tonight–which, yeah, it might not–then he’ll need to guard you the night after as well. Sooner or later, he’ll need to sleep.

Biting his lip, he enters the locker room, taking a lap to make sure he’s alone before pulling out his phone. Google gives him the number to the nearest car rental, and he wastes no time, pressing ‘dial.’

He’s picking option three, and he needs a car that isn’t his.

<previous | next>

author's note: i hope you liked it!! <3<3

[andthekitchensinkao3]

WiP Wednesday March 12

Thank you to @thosegayoldmen @lokimobius and @loki-is-my-kink-awakening for the tags. I haven't done one of these in a while. Still no Lokius content, sorry, but this week I bring you something kinda different.

You know how I always start off with bullet points? That's my zero draft. Well, then I write an actual scene based on the bullet points. Draft 1. And sometimes, by the time I've had a sleep or two, I go back and cut entire scenes. Or, in this case, rework it almost entirely. Want to see what I mean? Scenes under the cut, so as not to flood people's dashes with walls of text.

Scene from chapter 2 of The Two-Mage Job. Neve goes to see Emmrich in his laboratory after the battle on Tearstone Island.

Draft 1, including a since-then cut scene of the battle itself:

[Fighting Ghilan’nain was a nightmare in every sense of the word. One bad blow after another, endless waves of blight and darkspawn. Bellara lost to Elgar’nan was bad enough, but when Harding fell, sacrificing herself for nothing, another layer peeled off Emmrich’s scabbed-over soul. Lucanis tumbling to the unforgiving ground after delivering the blow to the blighted, distorted Mother of the Halla - Rook’s voice called out the Crow’s name through the storm, broken.

But… they had to get the dagger. It couldn’t fall into the hands of Elgar’nan, they couldn’t leave it behind, even if they would have to leave their fallen family.

Rook pushed himself through the magical winds, like the force of nature he was, and grabbed for the dagger. Because… that’s what he did. He would always go the distance, get the job done, whatever it took. Even when it took him, getting sucked into the Fade tear the moment he made contact with the dagger.

“Pari!” Emmrich screamed, forced to watch, paralyzed, as the tear closed, leaving not a trace behind, of itself. Of Rook. “PARI--”

Lace burst through the broken ground she’d fallen into, worthy of her Titan ancestry, glowing bright blue from the inside out. Darkspawn were crushed by her stone magic, leaving nothing but black and red smears on the ground; Davrin grabbed Lucanis, unconscious and badly wounded; Emmrich couldn’t stop calling out for Rook. Taash and Neve had to drag him out of there, flailing to get away, to stay behind and get Rook back, hands weaving Fade magic through the air, to find something, anything, a thread fraying, anything, where there was nothing to be found. There was nothing there to get him back from.]

***

Hours after the battle, he sat by the fire in his high-backed chair, turning the velveteen box over in his hands. Neve found him there, with a subdued Manfred in tow.

“Hey, Emmrich,” she said, one arm crossed over her middle, matter-of-fact, no frills. “Fred’s worried about you.”

“Of course.” He lifted his head from the wedding bands, snapping the lid shut. Love was irrational. Horrible and twisting, wounding even as it healed old scars - but all his scars were scraped open, excised, leaving open wounds gaping for air. Suffocating. He was suffocating. Rook… Bellara, sweet girl-- Lucanis on the brink of death, and Lace… Lace had returned from the dead, revived by the dormant lyrium coursing through her veins.

And what had he done to stop any of it?

“We all are,” Neve said, shifting her weight to her prosthetic foot.

“I’m more concerned with Rook-- With… Watcher Ingellvar being stuck in Solas’s prison. And Bellara, do you think? Do you think she could be…?”

“Emmrich.” She drifted closer, one step at a time. Her other arm closed over her middle, like a hug that wasn’t there. Manfred followed her into the room, hissing and forlorn, echoing her emotional state, though she hid it well. “You’re not thinking what I’m thinking, are you?”

Emmrich wasn’t the only one who’d lost someone he loved today. He put the jewellery box inside his waistcoat pocket and steepled his hands. “If you’re thinking I should procure a jar or three of refined lyrium and venture into the Fade… We’re on the same page.”

“A Harrowing without the capital ‘h’.”

“In a manner of speaking. I couldn’t traverse the Fade on foot and hope to stumble upon the prison, but if I let my conscience roam free?”

Neve made a face, but voiced no further objections. “You know, I think we could work with that. We’ll need something to pierce the Veil and get him back…”

He nodded once. “But if we don’t know where he is, such a tool would be useless.”

“Exactly,” said Neve. “I… have an idea or two about replicating Solas’s dagger. Varric says he knows the best Artificer in Thedas, and I’m thinking we can use all the help we can get.”

Manfred hissed, his teeth rattling with anxiety. He’d been cross with Emmrich since the night before, and coming back without Rook hadn’t exactly made things better. Rook or Bellara.

“Then we have the makings of a plan,” said Emmrich, and stood from his chair to take Manfred’s hand. “We’ll get them back, Manfred. You have my word.”

“I know Rook would call it a start,” said Neve, hazarding a small smile: neither one of them dared entertaining the possibility of death, because if nothing else, there had to be time, enough to salvage the situation. “We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”

---

And now for Draft 2, the same scene. Minus the battle, because there are other ways to convey tension and distress:

The next day, hours after the battle, Neve found him in the laboratory, lost in frenzied activity. Books were strewn haphazardly around him on the floor, a visual tattle-tail of his panicked turmoil.

“Hey, Emmrich,” she said - and he didn’t need to turn his head to know she had one arm crossed over her middle. That was her matter-of-fact, no frills voice. She only ever used it when they were up against it. “Fred’s worried about you.”

“Of course.” He plucked another book from the shelf, discarded it after a glance. Since when did Brother Genitivi know anything about traversing the Fade? Throwing it over his shoulder, he took out the first five volumes of the Ylivainio Chronicles. “I’ll be right out. Won’t be long.” Love was irrational. Horrible and twisting, wounding even as it healed old scars - but all his scars were scraped open, excised, leaving open wounds gaping for air. Suffocating. He was suffocating, and all he had to show for it was the velvet-soft green box sitting on his desk.

“We all are,” Neve went on, shuffling her feet further into the room. “Worried.”

“How are the others?” He turned around, but only because he had to put the stack of books down somewhere. His desk would do. “Lace, Lucanis?”

He was right. Neve had her arm across her middle, like a makeshift shield. “Glowing. And awake. Respectively.”

Nodding, he set down the volumes, but didn’t immediately go for the other five. “Bellara?”

Neve’s other arm came up to join her left. Her mouth twisted with something familiar. Regret. Fear. “No sign of her. Or Rook.”

“Of course.” He pressed his hands together, but the gesture reminded him of his last moment with Rook. He clasped his hands at the small of his back. “As for our absent leader…” He cleared his throat, not wanting to disregard what Bellara meant to the team. To Neve in particular. “I have an idea how we may find him.”

“Emmrich.” She drifted closer, one step at a time, until she was close enough to lower her voice. “You’re not thinking what I’m thinking, are you?”

He pressed his chin to his sternum. “If you’re thinking I should procure a jar or three of refined lyrium and venture into the Fade… We’re on the same page.”

“A Harrowing without the capital ‘h’.”

“In a manner of speaking. I couldn’t traverse the Fade on foot and hope to stumble upon the prison, but if I let my conscience roam free?”

Neve made a face. “You’re talking suicide. You can’t go into the Fade without someone to supervise. You could be lost forever, you could be possessed.”

“I know, my dear. But how else are we to find him?”

She shook her head, setting up a driving rhythm, pacing back and forth in front of his desk. “We’ll need something to pierce the Veil and get him back. Doesn’t matter if you find him, if you find him, and we can’t get him out…”

He nodded once. “Are you thinking… another dagger?”

“Exactly.” Neve stabbed the air with her finger. “Varric knows the best Artificer in Thedas, and I know someone who can shift the lyrium. Enough for a dagger, and your experiment.”

“We’ll need all the help we can get.” Emmrich agreed. Time was of the essence: Elgar’nan could put the next part of his plan in motion any day. “But I’d say we have the makings of a plan.”

“We’ll figure out the rest as we go,” said Neve, hazarding a small smile. “Like Rook would have done.”

Tagging everyone 😘💚💜🧡

@ghoulehhh @natendo-art @in-my-loki-feels @kusakichan15

@devilbearingtrouble @impulsemuppet @mirilyawrites @scifikimmi @silentxsymphony

@rin-love-is-green @confetti39x @stillwanderingflame

@insert-witty-user-name-here @blackbirdofasgard @dreamycloud @distracteddream

@mobius-m-mobius @dilfmobius @adorbspotat @lgwilt

 @redheadsramblings @starfleetteddybear @mercars-musings @starrose17 @holyglassbone @genocidalfetus @wolfpup026 @elodiah @notyourmamasdeerbat @lavender-tea-fling @otterpocketz

[daycourtofficial]

Hope yall bitches aren’t tired of me posting about Eris once Eris week is over because the drafts I didn’t get to….

[foggysirens]

is this the year i lose my fucking mind and finally write a dinluke Christmas fic?