#cop reader

[dearmisshoney]

fool me once, fuck you twice

synopsis. you scam your dealer again by paying with fake bills. but theodore nott is not as stupid as you think, and not as harmless as you think. let’s just say... nott has connections and can teach you a lesson you will never forget.

pairing. dealer! theodore nott x reader x corrupt! cop! mattheo riddle

content/mdni. DUB-CON. mentions of NON-CON. fem!reader, dealer!theo, corrupt!cop!mattheo, cocky!mattheo, cocky!theo, aggressive!mattheo, condescending!theo, (kind of) slutty!reader, PUBLIC SEX. car sex (on the hood of the police car), THREESOME, doggy-style, deep throat/face-fucking, slight tit play, dry-humping, slight clit stimulation, spanking, rough play, power play, hair-pulling, handcuffs, slight sir kink (mattheo), teasing, praise, degradation, dirty talk, name-calling (good girl, baby, sweetheart, ma'am, but also whore, slut, fucktoy and fuckhole), objectification, very messy, (inaccurate aka idk about drugs) drug usage. raw sèx, FILTH

word count. 4.8k

a/n. OMG HONEY NO SUB/WHINY MEN? are you okay? yes, i am :)) this fic is for the third week of @acourtofchaos ’s event. let me know what you think about new approach and this new (?) au for matty! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

bright headlights flash in the rearview mirror of theodore’s car as another one slowly pull into the parking lot right behind him. his hand, latched around the mirror, slightly adjusts it to better see the plate number.

it is your car.

you, a somewhat recent customer he accepted after one of his best clients begged him to hook you up with the good stuff, have been biting more than you can chew.

not only were you dressing up like a slut every time you met with him — perky tits poking through the tight material of your tops, pussy peeking from underneath your micro-skirts — but you also half-assed your payment by sneaking in counterfeit bills.

theo always brushed to the side your skimpy outfits, not giving you any sort of discount for your promiscuous acts.

but he cannot excuse your usage of fake money.

no one cheats theodore nott.

“theo, hii!”

your exaggeratedly lively greeting hits his ears the moment he steps outside his car.

that sweet tonality of yours always made him roll his eyes back in annoyance, but right now it even angered him. your candy-like tone was definitely infused with venom and a dash of pride from the fact that you managed to trick the devilish dealer.

definitely, but not really. he would have reprimed you by now, but, alas, he had no evidence you did your almost-fake payment on purpose.

theodore is not an unreasonable man — he gives you the benefit of the doubt, hoping that maybe you didn’t know they were fake bills.

“the usual, right?” he muttered underneath his breath, more of a rhetorical question, clasping the edge of his trunk and lifting the lid to search for your order.

“awe, theo, why so gloomy tonight?”

you leaned against the opened trunk, arching your back into the created shape and pushing out your tits more. your tube top was barely sticking to your skin, gripping to your chest for dear life so as to not flash your dealer.

but if it happens, it happens — maybe that way theodore would finally give you a discount.

 “shit happened.”

it’s all he says as he closes back his trunk abruptly, without a warning. (un)fortunately, you reacted fast and your limbs were not trapped in the process. your expression did faltered for a second, your eyes popping out of your sockets and your mouth getting ready to spill curses, yet you composed yourself in time to receive the little transparent drug bag from theo.

“'m sorry, boo! can i help somehow?”

you were really adamant in seducing him, huh? leaning closer to theo, showing the peaks of your breasts to him, and seductively swaying your hips; you were serving your body on a silver platter as if it were nothing to you.

what a fucking slut.

“you having the cash to pay for this will do.”

he wasn’t going to feed into your depraved fantasies. so, shaking the bag with the greenish goods, he kindly demanded the payment from you. this evening you seem to be missing your purse, so theo’s reply was not out of line at all.

“of course, theo! you know i never disappoint.”

dipping your hand between your boobs and stretching out the tight material of your top, you pull out a fat stack of money, tied together by a red band. you shamelessly pushed the bills towards theo, flashing him a sultry grin as you intentionally let the top smack against your skin and make your chest jiggle.

what a fucking slut.

“i know.”

he groaned at the sight of your money, taken by surprise by your hiding spot. you've never had such a performance before, so to suddenly see bills emerging from between your tits… that made blood rush to his cock.

his unusual reaction was registered by you and your smile only grew bigger. theo was surely not discounting you this time, but now that you visibly made him falter… you will do your best to get that discount next time.

“pleasure doing business with you.”

you cheekily say to him as you slap the stack of money in his hand and impatiently snatch the bag from the other one. swinging the little packet in front of your hungry eyes, you admire the content for a bit before putting it away.

again, between your boobs.

what a fucking slut.

“see ya'.” it's all you say as you step away from theodore, spinning towards your car to leave the place.

“yeah, yeah.”

theodore only mumbled back at your, gripping the stash of money in his hand tightly. he carefully watches you as you start the engine, your headlights immediately hitting his standing figure as you slowly turn around and exit the parking lot.

he was planning on checking the money while you were still here, but your little stunt made him forget all about his plan, leaving him stranded alone with, most likely, suspicious bills.

“she better just be dumb.”

that was his wish: he really wanted you to just have unknowingly given fake bills to him. to just unknowingly cheat him and profit off of his business.

yet as he carefully checks each and every bill from the stack with a uv light, theodore discovered your true nature — you intentionally did it.

you dared fake your payment twice in a row, this time only using counterfeit money.

what a fucking devious slut.

“oh, she will pay for this! no one messes with me and leaves unharmed.”

he was chuckling under his breath as he gripped the money tightly, the discarded portable uv light bringing out the markings on every bill and the rage in theodore’s eyes.

they shimmer a treacherous blue, so stormy and so revengeful.

“that slut will regret it.”

with a mischievous grin on his lips, he drops the bills all over the car seat. then he reaches for his phone on the center console and, fastly typing a well-memorized phone number, he dials someone surely capable of bringing him justice.

“need your help with something.”

•••

“theodore the devil nott my ass, haha!”

stepping on the gas pedal hard as soon as you joined the main road, you upped the volume of your music in celebration. you used fake bills to fully pay for your drugs and that stupid dealer didn’t even realize.

you escape unscattered yet again.

“such a fucking loser, damn!”

and you continued your insulting monologue, replaying in your head how easy it was for you to take the package and dip. how his eyes were focused on your tits, then your money stack.

how he literally moaned when you dropped the drugs in your top at the very end.

“pussy boy for real.”

you've heard details from your friend about his sex life, but it all seems to be just a rumor. there was no way theodore nott, with his prudish reaction, fucks until daylight and makes his partners see stars.

he is an attractive bastard, yes, but he definitely hasn’t seen a pussy in his life.

“that makes it easier for me, damn.”

you were smiling like crazy when you realized your seduction game just became easier to implement. he’s been so unresponsive all this time because he was a prude. and maybe you were too bold.

“a sheer top will do for next time.”

you were already planning your future outfit, so excited to fuck up theo’s resolve to stay away from your enticing tendencies, but the red and blue lights of a police car glimmering in your rearview mirror brought you back to reality.

“no fucking way.”

all your enthusiasm dropped as you realized the police car was targeting you, signaling for you to stop on the side of the road.

“fuck, fuck, fuck.”

why were cops patrolling this route? and why were they out at this hour? you were indeed over the speed limit, so their reaction was understandable. but if they were to also body search you and find the drugs… you’re done for.

let’s hope the officer was a he. a young thirsty he who will give in to your dirty attics and let you go.

so, obeying his signals, the tires of your car halt with a loud screech. your hands fumbled to lower the volume of your music, and that’s when you registered the strong pounding of your heart.

you were anxious.

you dipped your hand in between your boobs, searching for your drug bag in hopes of removing it, yet you fastly return your hand back on the steering wheel when you saw the red and blue lights swirling so close to your car and a dark silhouette approaching the window. 

a sudden sharp knock on your window made your entire body twitch in your seat, legs shaking away from the pedals on the floor and rooting themselves as close to the edge of the seat as possible. without waiting for a second knock, you lowered the window with a gulp.

and there he was.

uniform pressed. badge gleaming under the red-blue lights. cop hat pulled over messy curls, yet barely hiding his brown eyes.

“license and registration, ma'am.” he drawls, voice gravel-like, a knowing smile plastered across his lips.

oh he was hot hot.

“o–of course, officer…?”

“officer riddle, ma'am.”

“give me one second, officer riddle.”

you could definitely try wiggle your way out of this one. officer riddle looked young and, judging by his constitution, he was definitely a desirable yet cocky man.

stroke his ego — and maybe his cock — and you’re definitely good.

so you scramble, leaning so far down towards the drawer in front of the passenger seat that your ass was on full display for officer riddle. opening up the drawer, you took longer than needed to find the necessary documents.

all that just to entice the cop.

you had no clue if your trick was working, but you knew for sure the officer got a good glimpse of your bubble butt and your naked cunt. your micro-skirt may not have come in handy with your dealer, but it will definitely affect riddle.

“was i– um– speeding, officer?”

returning to your initial position and handing him the documents, you bat your eyelashes cluelessly at him and purse your lips in confusion. you would have pushed your tits at him too, but the drugs tucked between them were burning into your skin, advising you to be cautious.

mattheo riddle takes your license and glosses over it slightly, before returning his gaze back to your face.

“twenty over. but that’s not the main issue.”

and that’s when your breath hitches, the drug bag feeling heavier against your chest.

“w–what do you mean?”

he doesn’t answer. just eyes you for a moment and, with a jerk of his chin, commands you to do exactly the thing you were most afraid of:

“step outside the vehicle, ma'am.”

your lips parted, ready to protest, but you swallowed your words and obeyed. if you make a commotion right now, it will make it worse.

so, complying to his order, you got out of the car. your heels clicked against the pavement, and you stepped into the cool air.

“bend over, hands on the hood.” he says firmly. “i will conduct a search. standard procedure.”

“search? may i know why–”

“standard procedure, ma'am.” he cuts you off in a harsh tone, one that allows no further questioning. “do not make me use force, ma’am.”

you complied.

he started his search from your wrist, skimming down your arms. it was deliberate yet professional, his fingers barely ghosting over your skin. then he hovered over your hips, pausing his hands at the swell of your ass.

“you nervous?” he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot and sticky. something darker was palpable in his voice, but you couldn’t quite figure out the reason.

“ah– a little.”

“you should be.”

and that’s when his hands unprofessionally gripped at your ass over the skirt, half of his palms hitting the material of your garment, half of it — his curious fingers — hitting bare skin.

“s-sir–?”

“public nudity? that’s a serious offense, sweetheart.”

his fingers dug deeper into your flesh, leaving indents into the plush of your ass, as he spread your legs slightly to make space for his own body.

“walking around like this?” he growls against the shell of your ear as his fingers raised the hem of your skirt higher and higher. “skirt so short and fuck me– no panties?”

your cunt was now on full display, shimmering underneath the moonlight because of the glossy arousal coating your lips and thighs. and to make it worse, the rugged material of mattheo’s pants were nicely pressing against it, making you buckle your hips back into him.

your stomach flips at his words, a mixture of desire and fear. you tried to beg for mercy, but only a small whine left your throat.

“not only you’re breaking the law…” he continued ruthlessly, raising one of his hands from your ass only to let it slap back against your skin. “you’re doing it like a desperate little whore.”

“p–please, officer, i–”

another slap.

“save it for the chief.”

before you can beg again, he roughly gripped your wrists and, binding them closer behind your back, he swiftly handcuffed you. now, with your hands tied behind you, the cold and hard metal of the cuffs digging into your skin, you had no chance of escaping.

you were fucked.

“c'mon, let’s go.”

he removed himself from behind you like nothing happened, pushing back down your skirt and even yanking your body from the hood.

“what are we–”

“we’re going to the police station. you’re under arrest, sweetheart.”

and with that brief explanation, he nudged you to move towards his car. his police car, with the red-blue lights still menacingly spinning.

it was bad.

if he takes you to the police station, they will surely find the drugs. shit, shit shit, you have to stop him right now. but how? what should you do to make him change his mind?

“wait– wait! officer riddle…” you breathed out courageously, heels skidding against the pavement as you dig them in.

resisting his pushing.

but he doesn’t stop at all, hand stiff against your lower back.

“don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“i will do anything–” you blurt out. “j–just– don’t take me there, please.”

that stops him.

his hand on you falters just enough to give you hope. you could see from the corner of your eyes how his own chocolate orbs flicker down your body — unreadable themselves, yet the mere action speaks volume.

“anything?” he repeats, low and dangerous.

“y–yeah!” you nod, heart pounding right next to your drug pouch. “p–public indecency should be punished privately, d–don’t you agree?”

for a moment, there’s only the whirling of the police lights and the thudding in your chest. then, with a devilish smile, mattheo drags you closer, your body falling into his.

“you think i am that easy, sweetheart?”

fuck it, go big or go home.

“i think you want to see if i am that easy, officer.”

that was enough. you didn’t even need to push your hips back into his crotch like you were planning to.

your body was instantly guided to the hood of the police car, shoved chest first against the cold metal. your legs parted instinctively, giving officer mattheo riddle the chance to position himself between them and yank your skirt back up.

“what a fucking slut.” he mutters as he slowly thumbs at your pussy, fingers cruising against your folds and collecting your arousal. “showing me this dirty cunt to fuck.”

he continues to mutter profanities under his breath as he undoes his belt with one hand. the other tightly clutches the handcuffs on your wrists, keeping them in place at the base of your back.

“bending over like a common whore to dodge a charge.”

you moan when he grinds against you, this time sloshing the head of his hard cock between your sticky folds. his fat tip presses deliciously against your pulsing entrance, offering enough pressure to make your eyes roll back.

“gonna fuck you raw, sweetheart.” he groaned in your ear as he carefully pushed in, cock splitting your pussy open inch by inch. “you need justice deep inside you.”

“oh my god–”

mattheo's hips snap forward, shoving his cock deep inside you with a brutal thrust, knocking the wind out of your lungs. the cold of the metal hood mixes with the boiling heat between your thighs, your breath fogging up the base of the windshield in front of you.

“is this what you wanted, huh?” he sets a brutal pace from the start, disregarding your comfort for good. “is this why you’re walking with your bare pussy out?”

his belt clinks faintly with every movement, still hanging loose around his hips, evidence of how quickly he turned from arrest to sex. his free hand comes down against you ass again and again and again, spanking your buttcheeks with force.

until red imprints of his hand remained on your skin.

“fuckin' tight–” he hisses, one hand still gripping your cuffed wrists, the other planted on your ass, pressing harder against it and exposing your hungry cunt sucking him in.

“and this wet for a cop? you’re so disgusting, sweetheart.”

you only moan, body trembling from his aggressive thrusts, metal handcuffs biting into your skin as he keeps a constant pace — fast and heavy. perfect rhythm to make you feel every inch drag along your inner walls while also bullying your cervix.

“fucking your way out of jail time… you always do that, hm?” he growls, each word punctuated by the slap of his hips against yours.

he was so mean, his mouth constantly running on and degrading you with every word. but you couldn’t even retort back, you lips only able to allow drool to pool on the hood of the police car.

he was hitting the right spots with every jut of his hips, and his heavy balls were perfectly hitting your puffy clit.

“aaah– n–noo–” another sharp thrust shuts you up again.

he grabs a fistful of your hair, nails scrapping the scalp, and pulls your head back just enough to make your back arch harder. the shiny handcuffs were gleaming beautifully against your newly-found arch, and, no matter how much you tugged at them to release your hands to support your body, you could only cry loud from the harsh pressure at your roots.

“lying, stealing, flashing your fuckholes at anyone who looks twice. i think one fuck is not enough.”

his pace increased, cock driving into you with enough force to rock the entire vehicle. the lewd, wet slap of skin on skin fills the night air, and the windows fog more and more.

“what do you think, theo?”

“t– theo?”

and that’s when you see him: theodore nott, your dealer, smirking like a demon from behind the windshield of the police car. he seems to have been here from the start, as he was seated nicely in the passenger seat, carefully eyeing you and pumping something you couldn’t see yet.

“yes, whore, theo. theodore nott.”

mattheo doesn’t let up, his pace violent, hands loosening against your hair and making you drop back onto the hood. the impact made you gasp in pain and pleasure, all his restless abuse somehow making you needier for more.

“you see what happens…” theo drawls, voice thick with arousal, now booming from right next to your exhausted body. “when you try to fuck me over, baby?”

turning your face sideways, you finally see him clearly. you see the way his eyes were dark with amusement, one hand lazily stroking his hard cock as he takes in the sight of you bent over the hood of his friend’s car.

“you get fucked twice as hard.”

it was definitely a bad situation for you, yet all you could do is gush more around mattheo’s dick, sucking him in like a vice and milking him dry. all you could do was eye theo’s own cock, all hard and weeping with precum, wishing it was in your mouth.

“she’s learnin' her lesson realllll well,” he grunts, hand stricking your ass again. “ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

you whimper weakly, nodding as best you can against the hood. “y-yes, sir…”

theo only smirks, cockily examining how obedient and pliant mattheo made you. “good fucking girl,” he praises you mockingly, thumbing your bottom lip before slapping the head of his cock on it.

“now open that pretty mouth and apologize to me too.”

you part your lips willingly, tongue flicking out to taste the salty precum on his tip. then you took him deeper, eyes fluttering closed as theo inserted his cock inch by inch. his groans, low in his throat, were music to your ears, now joining together mattheo’s raspy moans and creating the finest tune.

“that’s it.” he hissed, his hand tangling in your hair as he guides your head up and down his shaft.

“apologize with your mouth full.” he taunts, hips twitching forward as your warm mouth almost engulfed his entire length. “gag on it. make it sloppy, baby.”

and you did, as his hands didn’t allow you another choice, pushing your head all the way down to his navel. your throat was forced open by his cock, constricting around it from the sheer size of him and making you choke strongly.

mattheo groaned at the sight, cock twitching inside you.

what a fucking slut.

“fuck, she’s so dirty.” he growls, slamming into you harder and harder. “mouth full of cock while i wreck her cunt.”

your nails scrape at the hood of the car, knees shaking, orgasm bubbling in your stomach as the two men use you without mercy — like you’re nothing more than a slutty little debt to be collected.

“you like that, baby? you like being passed around like a toy?”

your muffled moans are enough of an answer, spit and precum seeping from the corners of your mouth as theo fucks your face deeper. he too was as turned on by your depravity as mattheo, his head tipped backwards with satisfaction, hands strongly caging your head.

“i should’ve known you were this desperate.” theo mutters, his voice rougher now, eyes looking from underneath his lashes at the way your lips stretch deliciously around him.

“all that fake money, all that attitude — when all you wanted was to be used.”

suddenly pulling you off his cock, face all wet and sticky, he gripped both of your cheeks with one hand, pursing your lips close to one another in a painful lock.

“where are the drugs, slut?” theo growled into your face, remembering what started all this. “still between those naughty tits of yours?”

he might have emptied your mouth to be able to answer him, but the way he was pushing at your cheeks did not help at all. so you only nod, excessively so, hoping theo will get the message.

“good.”

it's all he says before his fingers catch the edge of your top, tugging it down until your tits spill free, bouncing slightly with the motion. the bag also drops on the hood, hitting it with a small thud.

you hoped he would grope your breasts, tweak your hard perky nipples and give you the much needed chest stimulation. sadly, he completely ignores your tits, his hand sneaking across the hood and snatching the drugs.

“you don’t deserve them, you slut!”

not only did he took them back, he also opened the package right in front of you.

your lips part in protest, but no sound comes out. theo doesn’t give you a chance to process what he was doing, pushing his hand against your head and forcing you to stay flat on the hood.

“you better stay still.”

with one final threat, he dumped the greens all over your back. then, reaching into his back pocket for papers, theodore rolls the joint right there on your skin.

like your body is just another table for him to use.

you watch his fingers work through the sheer reflection on the windshield — deft, practiced — as he forms the joint with precision in seconds. lastly, with no hesitation, he lights the joint and, placing it between his lips, takes a long drag of his own products.

“want some, mattheo?”

“you know it.”

it’s all mattheo says before taking the joint from theo, slowing down his thrust to take a long drag, only to return to his torturous pace right after.

“you’re so dumb, sweetheart.” mattheo chuckled darkly as he slapped your ass. “trying to fool theo, seriously?”

his hand rains down your skin again, his red markings stinging all over. then, gripping the meatiest parts of your ass, he spread you open again, showing off to theo how good you are taking him.

“at least you’re a phenomenal fuckhole.”  

and mattheo was right. theo could clearly see the tight grip your cunt had on mattheo’s cock, how drenched you were from the two of them punishing you for your wrongdoings.

he might need to have a go at your pussy too.

“her mouth is also amazing.” theo added, returning to his previous place, next to your wet face. the joint was hanging from between his lips, the fumes reaching even down to you.

your beautiful puppy eyes immediately latched onto the drugs, begging theodore to share a drag with you too.

“awe, baby wants a taste?”

he mockingly asked you, pouting his lips in an attempt to imitate your desperate facial expressions. his fingers gripped the joint and removed it from his lips, lowering it closer to yours.

“you want a hit?”

you nodded frantically at him, face dragging across the metallic hood closer to his hand. your tongue poked out, your lips puckered, somehow hoping such gestures would attract the drugs closer to you.

what a fucking slut.

“nah–ah. your mouth has another purpose.” and so, he drags the joint away, taking a drag himself and blowing all the smoke right in your face.

“cock. your mouth was made to suck cock, baby!”

his tip was already slapping back against your lips and, without further reasoning, theodore pushed back into your mouth, resuming his face-fucking from before.

“you’re just a cock-hungry whore.”

mattheo added, rutting his hips harsher into you, pushing you further down theo’s dick and making you bury your nose into his happy trail.

theo’s fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as he fucked your mouth with cruelty. you gagged more around him, drool staining his pants and the police car. mattheo’s hips too slammed harder against your dripping cunt, the heat building impossibly fast.

“show us how good you are.” he growled, his voice rough against your ear. his wandering hands finally grabbed at your bare tits, kneading roughly, fingers pinching your nipple just like you wanted.

your body trembled under the assault of the two men. theo’s cock pulsed in your mouth, while mattheo’s dick twitched against your velvety walls. his grip on your hips tightened, keeping you still as his cock pounded faster, harder.

“cum on my dick. c'mon, whore.”

“be a good girl, baby! cream on his cock and i will give you a nice tasty load too.”

the joint, brought into the scene just to taunt you, fell forgotten somewhere on the pavement, their entire focus being now on you — their dirty, broken girl.

your body betrayed you, folding under the overwhelming pleasure. your pussy clenched so tight around mattheo it was almost painful, the slick heat of your walls burning hot and deep and pushing officer riddle over the edge.

“so tight and warm, shit.” mattheo cursed one last time, chasing his release with wild, sloppy thrusts.

theo too groaned low, his grip on your hair becoming increasingly painful. his own release was sudden, spilling hot and thick down your throat, making you choke one last time as he came hard.

mattheo roared above you at the same time as theo, his cock stilling deep inside as he fully painted your hungry cunt with his cum.

finally, after the restless pounding of both of your holes, you were allowed a break as the two men pulled out. you were a mess, full of cum inside and outside. the drugs on your back were mixed with sweat, but neither party seems to care about the waste.

“awe, baby, you’re tired?”

theo's venomous voice resonated in your ears like a distant echo. a small yeah was the only answer you could give, too exhausted to form full sentences.

“too bad, we’re not done.”

“i wanna feel your throat just break around me, sweetheart–”

“and i want to shoot my load deep in that dirty cunt of yours.”

“b–but–”

“do not pass out on us, baby.”

“not that that will stop us from fucking you, haha.”

©dearmisshoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @downbad4reid, @cafechichay, @lov3notts, @nottslove, @nottsangel

[differenteagletragedy]

Simon gets discharged after an injury sidelines him, and he’s sooooo annoyed about it. Sure, he’s older now, he’s not as spry as he used to be and the injury, a bullet that tore through some of the muscle in his leg, makes it worse, but he can still do the job.

Except he can’t, because the powers that be won’t let him, so after two decades of service, it feels like he’s back where he started. Aimless. It eats at him.

Eventually he lands on becoming a cop, figures the structure will be good for him. He knew it wouldn’t be exactly the same as the military was, but he’s not prepared for how boring it truly is.

He sits in his patrol car for hours sometimes, checking for people speeding or having the audacity to drive around without the right stickers on their vehicles. Sometimes he pulls people over just for the hell of it — he’ll ask “You know why I stopped you?”, just hoping for something fun to come from it. He’ll write tickets to assholes for no real reason, and he’ll let worried mothers with small children in the backseat off with empty warnings.

There are times that he sees some action, but it's always short-lived. A drug bust here, an assault there. There's a bit of adrenaline rush when someone resists, and yeah, it's a little exciting when he gets to use his strength, but it's nothing like what he had before. He can't find a way to sink his teeth into it.

Then he gets a call, a little hope of reprieve from the mind-melting boredom of a slow Tuesday night: drunk and disorderly female at a bar close to him. Yes, he can take care of that.

When he arrives, you're just outside the door, arguing with a bouncer. He can see immediately why police were called — you're clearly wasted, all flushed with messy hair and smeared makeup, but you've got some fight in you. Some fight that you're presently showing to the bouncer.

"This is so fucking unbelievable," he hears you sneer, words coming out all slurred. "I didn't do anything wrong! I'm not the one who should have gotten kicked out. This is bullshit and you know it, and --"

"Evening, miss," Simon interrupts, sauntering up to you. "What seems to be the problem?"

You turn, stumbling as you do, to face him, and he's immediately met with the vitriol you'd just been spewing at the poor bouncer, who looks at him now with a pitying gaze, his message clear: you're Simon's problem now.

"The problem," you begin, stepping closer to him, "is that all I was trying to do was have a good time and nobody wants me to."

"That right?"

"Yeah, that's right," you say, your voice a bit softer now. Simon knows what it is when you look up at him, lips pouty and lashes fluttering — it's just a tactic. But he still smirks, because at least he's not writing tickets.

"Actually, the problem is that you got drunk off your ass and when our bartender cut you off, you started causing a scene," the bouncer interjects.

"Nobody fucking asked you, Tom!"

Simon bites back a chuckle, but he can tell the conversation isn't going to go anywhere — just looks like you're a regular who had a little too much. He gives a nod to the bouncer, he tells him that he'll take care of you, then guides you back to his patrol car.

Or at least he tries.

But god, you're just so difficult. You're mouthy and stubborn, telling him that you know your rights, you're an upstanding member of society and he’s going to be sorry, just a constant stream of whatever nonsense pops into your head. He was just going to get you away from the bar, give you a ride home if you needed, but you won't shut up long enough for him to offer.

"This how you were acting inside?" he finally interrupts, leaning against his car. "No wonder they called me in, you're a bloody nuisance."

You gasp, and then you put your hands up, giving him a hard shove. He puts his hands on your arms, to steady you more than to stop you, then tuts, spinning you around and holding your wrists together with one large hand.

"Have it your way," he mutters, pulling out his handcuffs.

"Are you fucking arresting me?" you ask, bewildered. "Seriously?"

"Public intoxication and assaulting a police officer," he tells you. "Getting quite the rap sheet, aren't you?"

They’re empty words — of course he’s not going to charge you with anything. You’re just drunk, you’re not hurting yourself or anyone else. He’s a big boy, he can take a little pushing around. But the way he sees your eyes widen and your lips part when he spins you back to face him, a clear look of apprehension on your face, it makes him want to play, just a little.

“Assault on an officer … believe that’s a felony, yeah? You want to deal with that, or you want to keep your pretty little hands to yourself?”

“I’ll be good,” you answer automatically. “I promise.”

He considers. Imagines what you’d look like bent over the hood of his car, or draped across his lap in the front seat. He can see it in you — you would be good for him. He’d just have to pull it out of you first.

“One more chance,” he concedes. “But the cuffs stay on.”

PART TWO

[yanderedrabbles]

Two Faced -Yandere Stalker/Cop

Yandere! Cop who pulls you over for a DUI. You're barely under the legal limit and it's clear you can't hold your liquor in the slightest.

Yandere! Cop who feels his cock twitch when you blow into the breathalyser, your eyes flickering up at him all half lidded like he's just fucked you raw, teasing him that most fellas don't say please as nice as you do officer.

Yandere! Cop who says he'll follow you home, just to make sure you're safe. You don't see anything strange about it, he's a cop after all. But now he knows where you live, he knows what car you drive, he knows that your roommates always leave for school at the same time you do.

Yandere! Cop who looks so damn good in his uniform, who has the muscles to fill it out just right.

Yandere! Cop figures out early on that you're a hard-core party girl. Different guys coming home with you every weekend. He doesn't like it, but he understands. You're probably just lonely - filling your bed with strangers to chase away the cold.

Yandere! Cop aims to fix that.

Yandere! Cop who makes sure he gets the weekend off and who makes sure to run into you at the club. You're totally wasted this time, hanging onto his arm and running your fingers up his biceps, giggling about what big muscles you have officer.

Yandere! Cop who takes you home and just let's you sleep it off in his bed. His cock is raging and he wants to fuck you more than anything, but he's a gentleman and you're hammered.

Yandere! Cop who makes you breakfast and a good ol' fashioned hangover cure all the cops swear by. He drives you home and tilts your chin up to kiss you. "How about a proper date, babydoll?"

You giggle and blush and slip away before he can get an answer.

Yandere! Cop who can never get with you in the daylight. You'll kiss him and grind up against him on the dance floor and warm his bed later that night, but you're almost always gone by morning.

Yandere! Cop who doesn't want you as just a fuck buddy. He wants you as his girlfriend, maybe his wife someday.

Yandere! Cop who'll take what you give him. He'll fuck you screaming and when you leave the next morning, he'll bury his head in your pillow and try to catch the remnants of your scent.

It goes on for months. He's becoming a neglected dog, fed on the scraps of attention you give him. He's starving, he's ravenous, he's slowly going rabbid.

Yandere! Cop who does something he didn't think himself capable of - he starts following you. Just a little at first, just so he can learn more about you. He's curious and you don't talk about yourself so it makes perfect sense, right? It's harmless.

Yandere! Cop who breaks into your apartment when you're in class. Just to make sure everything is safe. And if he jacks off into your used panties, it's just a kind of payment. He's going above and beyond for you, doesn't he deserve a little reward?

Yandere! Cop who sees you kissing another man on the walk back from school. You've got your hands on his chest and you're standing on your tip toes under the magnolia trees, like the poster of a sappy fucking romcom.

Yandere! Cop who's never been more angry in his life. And so he sends you a bloody bullet in the mail, your name carved into the steel.

And it works. You call him, terrified that you pissed off the wrong person somehow.

Yandere! Cop who loves being there to comfort you, who feels so masculine and strong when you cling onto his arm and sob about your big, scary stalker.

Yandere! Cop who takes endless pictures of you going about your day and leaves them on your doorstep.

Yandere! Cop who slowly becomes your boyfriend. Who's there the second your stalker gets too close or frightens you too badly. Who makes you feel so safe in his arms.

Yandere! Cop who carefully suggests you move in with him. He's a cop afterall, and no one would be stupid enough to break into his apartment.

Yandere! Cop who'll do something vicious everytime he feels you straying away from him.

Yandere! Stalker who leaves your pet's head in a box on your porch when you refuse to cut off your male friends.

Yandere! Cop who coos over you when you sob, as though he isn't the one scaring you.

Yandere! Cop who is extra careful with everything he does, so that you never suspect that he and your stalker are one and the same.

He's a cop afterall, and he's just keeping you safe. Even if you don't always see it that way.

[lalalychee-x]

"Just this once, Officer?" Joel Miller x reader — NSFW!

♡ After a long day of working at the diner, you're a little too desperate to get home. Who can blame you? The cops don't actually hunt down speeders like they have nothing better to do...usually. And you're working on just above minimum wage, so you REALLY can't afford a ticket right now...

cw: afab reader, accidental creampie, sleazy cop Joel (but can you reallyyyy blame him? You're a bloody sweet angel in a striped blouse, checkered apron and shiney brown flats), car sex, semi-public sex, sex on a highway, mostly-clothed sex...

word count: 2896...

It’s nearly midnight when you finally peel off your apron and clock out. The fluorescent lights of the diner hum like flies, your feet ache in those shiny brown flats, and the scent of fries and burnt coffee clings to your skin like regret. The place was dead tonight. A few old men nursing pie slices, a trucker with too many questions about your name. Tips weren’t worth shit. Not even enough to cover what’s left in your gas tank.

You just want to get home.

The road’s empty, dark, the kind of thick Southern night that sweats through the cotton of your striped blouse and sinks into your bones. The world hums low around you—crickets, heat, your engine working too hard as your car coasts well over the limit down a two-lane highway. Just for a moment. You tell yourself it’s just for a moment.

And then—

Flashing red and blue in your rearview mirror.

“Shit,” you hiss, slamming on the brakes just enough to make your heart climb into your throat. You weren’t even that far over. Ten, maybe fifteen? You could cry. You don’t have the money for a damn ticket, and the last thing you need tonight is some clipboard-happy cop on a power trip over a woman because that's what the patriarchy's settled in.

You flick your signal and pull over, biting the inside of your cheek. The lights slow behind you. Park. Engine still idling.

“Goddamn it,” you mutter, already reaching for your glove box like muscle memory. License. Insurance. Bullshit smile.

You see him in the rearview. The car door creaks open behind the wash of lights, and a figure steps out—big. Broad shoulders, dark uniform, thick hands resting near the belt. Slowly, deliberately, he makes his way to your side window.

You sigh, roll it down just enough to be polite, and glance up with your best tired-innocent face.

“Good evening, officer,” you say sweetly, voice soft and worn-out with a twinge of your Southern drawl still hanging on, like old honey.

He leans forward a little, tired eyes raking over your face, blouse, then flats—then back up again. His hand rests lazy on the roof of your car.

“Ma’am,” he says, slow as molasses. “You know what you were doin’ back there?”

You lick your lips, nodding, already resigned to the inevitable. “Yeah. I was speeding.”

His eyes drag over you—slow, like he’s taking inventory. Striped blouse, buttons a little crooked from your rushed change after closing. Apron still tied around your waist like you forgot it was even there. Shiny brown flats, scuffed just enough to betray the hours you’ve spent on your feet.

Joel sighs like this night’s just been handed to him in a bad dream. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, brows drawn.

“It’s late,” he mutters, voice low and scratchy like he hasn’t slept properly in a few days. “And I don’t wanna have to give you a ticket, ma’am…” A beat. “Can I see your license?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble, already rummaging through your bag. Receipts. Lip gloss. A pen that doesn’t work. No license. Your heart stutters.

You pretend to still be digging while he stands there, patient, leaning just a little on your window frame. The air between you smells like diner grease, asphalt heat, and him—coffee and cigarettes with the faintest bite of cedarwood cologne. The kind of scent that sticks to flannel and flirts with your thoughts.

“Shit,” you murmur, still flipping through your wallet. “I don’t… have it. I think I left it in my other purse.”

Joel exhales, long and put-upon, and glances out into the road like maybe he could pretend this didn’t just happen. But then he turns back, eyes narrowing just a hair.

“Speedin’,” he ticks off, holding up one finger, “and no license.” He lets the silence hang before he adds, tired as sin, “I gotta give you a ticket, ma’am.”

You groan, dropping your head back against the seat. “Seriously?”

“‘Fraid so.” His tone’s a drawl now, a little too casual for someone ruining your week. “Rules are rules.”

He reaches to unclip the little pad from his belt, like this is just routine. “I’m just as tired as you are, sugar. Make this easy for the both of us and just take the ticket.”

“C’mon,” you whine a little, tossing him a playful pout. “Let it slide, officer. I had a long day. Two drunk truckers and a kid who tried to steal a slice of pie outta the warmer. I’ve been on my feet since lunch.”

He gives you a look over the edge of his clipboard. Dry. Curious.

“You flirtin’ to get outta this, sugar?” he asks, already amused.

You grin. “Only if it’s working.”

He huffs a half-laugh, shaking his head. “Ain’t nothin’ workin’ tonight. My feet hurt, my partner called in sick, and some asshole spilled chili in the back of the cruiser. Smells like a dead possum.”

“Jesus.”

“I know.”

“...That bad, huh?”

He nods solemnly. “Chili and onions.”

You gasp. “That’s criminal.”

He cracks a smile at that, lazy and reluctant. “See? Now that’s the offense you should be writin’ up.”

“Then you better let me go,” you tease, elbow resting against the open window. “I’m a victim here.”

He looks at you again, really looks this time—eyes flicking across your cheek, your mouth, your tired smile. Like he’s measuring something. The tension in his shoulders hasn’t softened, but it’s shifted. Less official. Less cop.

“Yeah?” he says quietly. “Victim, huh?”

“Yup,” You say, popping the 'p', loudly.

You can feel the way his eyes linger now, still holding that small amused expresseion like he’s trying not to let it get comfortable on his face. There's a beat of silence. It stretches.

“So,” you say slowly, shifting in your seat and letting your fingers graze the edge of the recliner switch just beside your thigh, all casual. “You got a wife or somethin’ waitin’ for you back home, officer?”

Joel arches a brow, clearly entertained. It was probably the most interesting thing he's seen all day. “Now that’s a real left turn, sweetheart.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“No wife,” he says, tipping his chin, still leaning lazily against your window like this is his front porch. “No woman, either.”

You hum like you’re surprised. “Really?” Your voice laces syrup-thick sarcasm. “A charming civil servant like you? Guess they just don’t make ‘em like they used to.”

Joel snorts. “Civil servant,” he echoes like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard all day.

“I’m just sayin’…” You flash a small grin, lips parted just enough to toe the line. “You give off a little… pent-up energy.”

He tilts his head at you, eyes narrowing with a new kind of curiosity now. Less bored. More alert. That eyebrow of his arches just slightly higher, and his mouth tugs into something that isn’t exactly a smile.

“Pent up, huh?” he repeats, slow.

You shrug, still playing the innocent card with a twang of devil. “Yeah. You know. Tense. Like you haven’t had a good fuck in… a while.”

The silence that follows is razor-edged and electric, the kind that makes your skin tighten and the back of your neck prickle. Joel’s jaw ticks. He doesn’t break eye contact. Doesn’t move.

You recline the seat back just a touch—barely noticeable, but deliberate enough that his eyes flicker to the motion. Your fingers still rest near the button.

His tongue wets his bottom lip. He exhales through his nose like he’s finally made a decision. The ticket pad in his hand—your ticket—he slides it slowly back into the pocket of his jeans.

“You in a rush to get anywhere, darlin’?” he asks, voice dipped into something low and gruff now, rough like gravel under tires.

You blink, lips twitching. “No, sir.”

He straightens up, clears his throat like that’ll somehow make this cleaner, less sleazy, less immoral.

It doesn’t.

“You got anythin’ else that ain't your license in there, sugar? ” he hums.

You don’t.

And you already know damn well, repeating with a shit-eating grin, “No, sir.”

You repeat, slowly turning the little button on the side of the seat with a click-click-click.

Now you're half out the driver’s seat of your busted-up sedan, your back pressed awkwardly to the worn upholstery, legs dangling out into the warm night.

Your checkered apron’s still tied messily at your waist, bunched up around your hips like it was trying to cover anything—like it ever could. Stockings stretched and torn just below the hem, ringed tight around your knees. The glossy brown of your flats catch the flicker of highway lights every time a distant car passes by, none of them slowing down.

And Joel—Joel’s standing between your legs, one hand braced on the car roof, the other dragging slow and rough up the inside of your thigh. He looks wrecked already, like the idea of you like this has short-circuited something in that cop brain of his.

“Christ,” he mutters, staring down at you. His gaze drags over the undone buttons of your striped blouse, the way your bra’s come unclasped at the front like it gave up the ghost. “What the hell are you doin’ dressed like a dessert menu, sugar?”

You huff a laugh, breath shaky as his fingers ghost over the crease of your thigh. “Makin’ ends meet. Y’wanna comment on my fashion choices or—?”

He cuts you off by pressing two fingers right to your cunt, dragging slick through your folds, spreading it slow.

“You’re soaked,” he says, voice gone thick.

You shrug, teeth catching your bottom lip. “Worked a double. Real tired. Told you I needed some relief.”

Joel’s not teasing anymore. Not with his words. Not with his hands, either. One big palm grabs the back of your thigh, lifting and adjusting until your hips are tipped just right. He steps in closer, belt already undone, jeans tugged down just enough.

He strokes himself once, twice—his cock thick and already leaking, before he lines up and pushes in, one slow, deliberate thrust that eases the air right out of you.

You gasp, fingers digging into the seat as he watches so damn carefully, watching his cock get wet and slick. Watching the way your cunt stretches just to fit him.

Joel groans, deep and low in his chest. “Fuckkkk, m’, gonna have to forgive that ticket now” he breathes. “You feel that?”

You nod, blinking up at him, eyes wide and half-lidded, mouth parted in disbelief.

“I said—” His hips roll forward, sharply like he's angry—cock bullying into your cunt as he does, “—you feel that?”

“Y-Yeah,” you choke out, stars flashing behind your eyes.

And he laughs, rough and satisfied, hand fisting in the side of your apron. “Good. ‘Cause you’re takin’ every goddamn inch.”

The car rocks with every thrust, tires creaking gently against gravel as Joel pounds into you—slow at first, then faster, rougher, until your thighs are trembling and the edge of the seat digs hard into your spine.

You can hear everything—the wet slap of skin on skin, the low grunt of his breath, the obscene, messy squelch every time he drags his cock back out of your dripping cunt. It’s filthy. Loud. So fucking loud.

You try to bite it back, a moan caught in your throat like you’re still in that diner, still being polite. But Joel’s not having it.

“C’mon,” he pants, one hand braced beside your head on the seat, the other gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise. “Don’t hold back now, sugar. Ain’t no one out here gonna hear you. It’s just you ‘n me—nothin’ but highway ghosts.”

You moan as he slams in deep, the kind of sound that tears out your chest without permission—raw and high and needy.

“There she is,” he growls, breath hitching as your walls flutter around him. “That’s it. That’s my good little whore.”

Something about the word makes your whole body seize, back arching off the seat, cunt clenching so tight around him he hisses between his teeth. It’s primal. Instinct. Your hips buck up toward him on their own, chasing it—chasing him—like your body was just waiting for someone to fuck the sweetness right out of it.

“Joel—Officer—” you gasp, nails clawing for purchase on the armrest.

He bends lower, the sweat off his neck dampening your collar, his voice right in your ear, slick with sin. “Ain’t it filthy, sugar’? Gettin’ fucked like this with your ass hangin’ out the car door?”

Your mouth opens but no words come—only a high, warbled moan as he thrusts harder.

“Any poor trucker could roll by and see you,” he murmurs against your throat, lips brushing your skin. “See how wrecked you are for me. You like that? Bein’ used like a dirty little thing where anyone could watch?”

You whimper, nodding fast—embarrassed, but not enough to stop. Not even close.

He laughs again, low and dark, fucking into you harder now, his hips slapping against yours in quick, brutal rhythm. “Goddamn, look at you,” he groans. “Takin’ me so good. Bet you needed this bad, huh? All dolled up like a pretty treat at work, but this is what you wanted. Nothin’ sweet about you now.”

Your whole body’s trembling, cunt stretched open around him, the car seat soaked, your breath sobbing out between pleads and curses. Every thrust threatens to knock you out of your goddamn mind.

“Gonna cum,” you choke, hand flying down to rub your clit in messy little circles. “Fuck, Joel—”

“Yeah? Then be loud, sugar,” he pants, thrusting deeper. “Let the highway hear what a good, law-bidin’ girl sounds like.”

You're shaking underneath him, blouse clinging to your skin with sweat, bra hanging useless around your ribs. Your apron’s bunched at your waist, sticky and damp, and your panties are tangled somewhere near your ankles—if not lost completely in the footwell.

Joel’s got you half hanging out of the car, the door wide open like the world should see, like he wants it to. One of your legs is hooked over his shoulder, the other bent up against the dashboard, your pussy stuffed full and wet around him.

You can hear how soaked you are, every thrust filthy and wet, slapping echoes swallowed by the endless, empty stretch of highway.

And you’re loud—so loud it would be humiliating if he weren’t moaning just as hard, panting over you with that sweat-slick jaw and furrowed brow.

"Goddamn, sugar," he grits, fucking into you hard enough to make the shocks creak. "You’re squeezin’ me so tight. You tryin’ to make me knock y’ up?"

"Maybe," you gasp, teasing, breath hitching. "Is it working?"

He groans, like you just knocked the wind out of him. “Shit, yeah it is. But I wanna hear it—go on, sugar.”

"Joel—"

"Ain’t no one gonna hear you out here. It’s just us and the fuckin’ stars. So be as loud as you want, sugar—be a fuckin’ slut for me."

Your fingers are working your clit fast now, frantic, desperate.

"Joel, I—oh, god, I’m gonna—"

“That’s it,” he groans, hips grinding deep and perfect, dragging against that spot inside you like he knows what he’s doing. “Cum on it, sweetheart.”

And fuck—you do.

You cum hard, twitching and moaning, head thrown back, thighs quaking. Something about it makes your whole body seize, back arching off the seat, cunt clenching so tight around him he hisses between his teeth. Your hips buck up toward him on their own, chasing it—chasing him—like your body was just waiting for someone to fuck the sweetness right out of it..

“Shit— fuck, I can’t—” Joel gasps, hips jerking.

You know he’s supposed to pull out.

You both know.

But your arms are locked around his neck, dragging him closer, keeping him deep, and he just lets go—

Spilling hot and thick in your cunt with a broken, wrecked groan.

“Fuck,” he rasps, still pulsing inside you. “Shouldn’t’ve done that. Christ.”

You're breathless, boneless, spread wide in the driver’s seat, both of you panting into each other’s mouths. You blink up at him, dazed.

“Do I get off that ticket, Officer?” You gasp, lips twitching into whatever weak, sassy expression you could.

You’re breathless, boneless, spread wide in the driver’s seat, both of you panting into each other’s mouths. You blink up at him, dazed.

“Do I get off that ticket, Officer?” you gasp, lips twitching into whatever weak, sassy expression you could manage, hips still trembling with aftershocks.

Joel leans back slightly, eyes raking over the mess he’s made of you — your ruined stockings, your open blouse, the shine slicking his cock as he slowly pulls out with a low hiss. He tucks himself back in with one hand and rests the other on the edge of your door.

“Y’ got off plenty,” he drawls, voice rough. Then, after a beat, “But yeah, sugar... consider the ticket forgiven.”

“Good, because you owe me a pill in the morning,” You groan, feeling his cum almost rush out of your abused cunt, “And those things are expensive.”

“Suppose I do,” He huffs, amused and fiddling with his belt, clinking it back in place, “Smart lass, ain't y’? Why don't you hand me y’ digits so I can get y’ that pill in the mornin’?”

♡ Please do not modify, steal, plagarise or post on other platforms without asking. Thank you!

divider creds: @enchanthings-a

[jeonstudios]

dextrocardia | 18

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: 4.2k

warnings: blood and violence, knife (and glass) wounds.

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 18/? 

<previous | next>

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

You run, feet pounding the floor as you flee into the living room. Determined, Hoseong follows, though not as quickly as before. A loud booming sound echoes through the apartment just as it looks like he's about to charge again—how, you don’t know. The water wasn’t quite boiling anymore, so it wasn’t hot enough to melt his skin off, but it might have left burns. You hope it has. His face did turn red almost immediately, but whether it’s from the water or rage, you’re not sure.

You don't know what the sound was either, not until you see a tall, dark figure storm into the living room with quick, furious steps. The living room is dimmer than the kitchen, and the figure is a little blurry, but you try to focus your eyes on it as it appears behind Hoseong.

“Oh, you fucking idiot,” the man spits, his voice even sharper than Hoseong’s. 

You close your eyes and let out a shaky sigh as your body relaxes almost involuntarily.

You’re not sure if Hoseong even registers what’s happening before Jeongguk yanks him back by the collar of his jacket, knocking the knife from his hand and immediately delivering a series of hard punches to his face.

Leaving the rest of the fight to Jeongguk, you stumble toward the wall and slide down with your back against it, partially protected by the L-shaped sectional sofa. You watch the fight—or rather, you watch Jeongguk beat the living shit out of Hoseong, your breaths ragged. At first, Hoseong makes a real effort to fight back, landing maybe one or two hits, but even in his prime, you doubt he’d stand a chance one on one against Jeongguk, much less now, worn out and possibly (hopefully) injured. 

Even though you assume you’re out of immediate danger, you still can’t calm down. Pain is starting to set in everywhere, and you can’t seem to take a deep breath, either from panic or the pain itself. Maybe it’s the adrenaline wearing off, or perhaps you’re going into shock? Your trembling hands press against your side, and you don’t dare look down to see the extent of your injuries. The glimpses you caught of your hands earlier were more than enough. Any more might push you into a full-blown panic.

With Hoseong now on his back, his upper half obscured from your view by the couch, the loud sound of fists meeting flesh echoes through the room.

You watch.

Punch after punch.

Losing track of time, you can't tell whether it’s been thirty seconds or three minutes when Jeongguk straightens up. There are dark circles of varying sizes scattered unevenly across your white living room wall. He pauses, glancing your way quickly with his chest heaving as he pulls something shiny from his pocket.

You hear the unmistakable sound of handcuffs clicking shut when Jeongguk bends back down. Hoseong, still mostly hidden from your view, only mumbles something when Jeongguk drags him closer to the wall, fastening the handcuffs to a radiator.

Then, Jeongguk hurries toward you, touching his jaw and unknowingly smearing blood across his skin. His wide, worried eyes meet yours as he kneels in front of you, trying to look you over and deem your condition.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice low but tense.

“I haven’t—haven’t looked, but it feels like I’m dying," you whisper, voice shaky.

You force your trembling hands to lift the hoodie for him, seeing his eyes go even wider.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, panic filling his voice as he reaches for you. “Put pressure on it.”

He pulls you closer by your wrist, effortlessly scooping you up into his arms. You slump against his chest, trying to stay awake. Unsure of how deep the wound to your side is, you at least know you’ve lost a lot of blood; your black clothes are damp with it, and there's a worrying puddle on the floor.

Jeongguk carries you through the apartment, past the door he evidently kicked in, and rushes down the stairs to his waiting car that stands abandoned, practically in the middle of the street. His bad parking job has gathered attention from a couple of pedestrians and a middle aged woman, loudly complaining about how her car's blocked in. It feels like you’re seconds away from passing out, maybe even dying, but you manage to stand (with his support) for the second it takes him to open the passenger door, his strong arms quickly helping you inside.

Without a word to the curious—now silent—bystanders, Jeongguk darts around to the driver’s side, jumping into the seat and starting the car in one fluid motion. A second later, he's speeding out of there, and besides the fact that he’s driving like a Formula 1 driver, you don’t pay much attention, already knowing you’re headed to the hospital. Jeongguk calls ahead, rushed but clear words warning them that you’re coming in with a 'deep stab wound and significant blood loss.'

“Keep putting pressure,” Jeongguk instructs after hanging up and tossing his phone somewhere to the side, his voice desperate, and his strong hand right hand pressing over yours. 

But you can’t, feeling your own hand lose the last of its strength. Your eyes are already closing.

You feel absolutely terrible the next time you open them. There’s no sharp pain, but your whole body feels sore, beaten, and heavy. A tired groan slips from your dry throat as you try to orient yourself. It’s bright, way too bright, but the rhythmic beeping to your left is what helps you place where you are.

You’re not alone. Your slight movement has alerted your visitor that you’re awake, and he immediately looks your way.

Jimin.

His eyes are soft as he meets your tired gaze, sitting slightly hunched over in a chair by your bedside, his hair a little messy. Although it’s good to see him, he’s not the one you want.

“Jeongguk?” you ask, your voice a weak whisper as your memories return to wash over you.

Just then, the door to your room opens as a nurse steps in. Before it swings shut behind her, you spot two figures in the hallway, their hushed, emotional voices drifting faintly into the room.

“...Right in front of her,” a familiar voice complains quietly, laced with anger and frustration.

“He wasn’t sure you wanted to see him,” Jimin explains, looking cautious. 

“I want him,” you plead, still groggy, hurting, and starting to get teary-eyed.

Jimin nods and stands up. “I’ll get him. Want me to dim the light?”

You nod gratefully as Jimin flicks off a switch near the door, dimming one of the ceiling lights. The nurse, smiling gently, copies some numbers from the monitor onto her clipboard. 

She introduces herself, but you’re on the brink of breaking down, your eyes watering more with each second, and so you can’t find it in you to care. She seems to understand and leaves quietly just as the door opens again, and Jeongguk steps inside. Your heart feels incredibly heavy as your eyes land on him. Heavy with both need and relief, weirdly enough. He approaches you carefully, his wide eyes hesitant, and he looks exhausted, still wearing the same black hoodie and dark gray jeans as before. 

Like a child on the verge of an inconsolable breakdown, you hold your arms out for him, your hands thickly bandaged. Maybe you’re still high on pain meds, or maybe it’s just how you are now, but you don’t care. After all, you nearly died again, and all you wanted was him. You survived, and here he is. What else matters?

Jeongguk is careful in the way he bends down, letting you place your weak, injured hands around his neck. There’s nothing holding your tears back anymore, and you hug him as tightly as you can, so thankful and relieved. 

In turn, he wraps his arms around you, holding you close but carefully, as if afraid he might hurt you.

You still haven’t said anything, and you don’t for a while; the only sounds in the room being your quiet sobs and the steady beeping of the machine. After a few minutes, you manage to calm down a little, but you don’t let go of him; instead you try to pull him into the bed with you. He gets the hint, mumbling “It’s bloody,” as he straightens up to shrug off his hoodie, dropping it carelessly on the floor. Left in just a black t-shirt, he bends down again and, this time, lets you pull him into the small hospital bed. 

Still breathing shakily, you rest your head against his collarbone, breathing him in. It soothes you. He’s very warm, very safe, and he smells like the best thing in the world to you. His arms hold you tightly, and the slow and gentle motion of his hands rubbing across your back lulls you back to sleep.

The next time you come to, it’s to hushed voices. 

“Oh? I’m sorry, sir, you cannot be in here. Visitation hours are between ten and six.”

Fluttering your tired eyes open, you see that the blurry room is dark, and so you simply close them again.

“She needs police protection,” Jeongguk answers tiredly and absentmindedly from beside, almost underneath you, and you feel his slow, warm breath in your hair at the top of your head.

“Police usually stay outside the patient’s room,” the nurse counters. Her voice is unfamiliar and although you’re not sure what time it is, you assume she must be part of the morning shift. “And I’ve certainly never seen them in bed with the patient.”

“Look, lady, respectfully, I don’t care.”

She doesn’t seem to buy it, and you’re a little surprised at Jeongguk’s choice of words. But then again, he’s probably exhausted and worried too, and he didn’t sound mean—just… tired and maybe a little annoyed. When the nurse doesn’t respond right away, Jeongguk sighs.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not leaving. If you want to call security, go ahead. As long as she wants me here, I’ll find a legal reason to stay.”

There’s a brief pause as the nurse considers before finally relenting. “Fine.”

She leaves. If you weren’t still mostly asleep and pretty out of it, you might’ve laughed. You still think it warms something in you, though.

“You awake?” Jeongguk asks quietly, softly brushing your hair away from your face with his fingers.

You shift, trying to pull him closer as you hold onto his shirt, breathing him in. 

“Yeah,” you mumble tiredly, eyes still adjusting to the light. As they do, they land on his hand as it comes into view.

The damage to your hands was mostly to the palms, one worse than the other, so the thick bandages leave your fingers free to reach for Jeongguk’s hand. His knuckles are red, swollen, and there are a few cuts on his skin. He lets you hold his hand to your face and gently run your fingers over his knuckles. Worry grows in you—don’t they look swollen? Could they maybe even be broken?

“You know I’d never… hurt you, right?” he asks quietly, and it takes you a second to realize what he means. It certainly wasn’t what you were thinking about.

You nod. “I know.”

“Good. So, how are you feeling?”

“I… don’t know. I feel… heavy. I take it I had surgery on my hands and… my stomach?”

“Yeah. Let’s call the doctor back here to explain everything. Also, Jihyo called your mom. She’s on a plane back.”

“Oh, no,” you groan.

“Yeah, sorry. But you were pretty bad.”

“It’s okay,” you say, knowing they did what they thought was best. It just means that you’ll have to actually tell her everything when she arrives. Which reminds you.

“What about... Hoseong?”

“In custody. He’s being treated at another hospital.”

“Okay. Good.”

Half an hour later, a female doctor stands at the foot of the hospital bed—while Jeongguk sits in the chair for once—going over everything. She has a kind face, looks to be in her forties, and she’s dressed in blue scrubs with one of those long white coats draped over them.

“So, while the wound to your abdomen was relatively deep and there were pretty significant lacerations to some of your intestines, we managed to stop the bleeding and repair everything. You’ll need to take it easy for a while, but if everything goes according to plan, there shouldn’t be any long-lasting damage.”

Well, it’s safe to say you’re relieved you didn’t look at your stomach; it seems like Hoseong essentially sliced it right open. 

“As for your hands, there will be some scarring as well unfortunately, and we can’t tell just yet if there’s been any nerve damage. Fortunately, the injuries were to your palms and not the fingers or back of your hands, where there are more ligaments and delicate structures. So we'll remain hopeful that the your recovery is smooth and that there's been no damage to your nerves.”

Nodding, you follow along as she explains. It sounds reasonable enough, and you’re just happy that you’ll hopefully still have two functioning hands.

The doctor continues, gesturing to the foot of the bed. “We also treated the cuts on your feet. They weren’t as severe as your hands, but we did put in a few stitches, so I’d suggest staying off your feet for a while. Both for your own comfort but also to not risk reopening the wounds.“

You must’ve really been out of it because you didn’t even really notice until now that, yeah, there’s something wrapped around your feet that’s not socks. 

“So there’s a chance I could make a full recovery, except for some scars?”

“Yes,” she smiles. “You were very lucky.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“No problem. We’d like to keep you for a few more days to make sure everything’s healing properly and to assess your hands as the swelling goes down.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

“Good. Just let us know if you have any more questions. The hand surgeon will be by later to talk more in depth about your hands as well.”

A few hours later, there’s another knock on the door. Expecting it to be a nurse or the hand surgeon, Jeongguk calls ‘Come in’ from beside you in the hospital bed, where he lies with your head on his chest. He went home for a bit to shower and change, Jimin staying by your side in the meantime, and when he came back, all you wanted to do was rest. And you wanted him close.

But it’s not a nurse. The person entering takes one look at you and bursts out in tears.

“Mom?” you say, and the bed shifts as Jeongguk rushes to stand, straightening his clothes—a black t-shirt and some gray sweatpants—as if he needs to look presentable for your mother. 

You’re sure she would’ve asked about the man in your hospital bed if she wasn’t so distraught, but she barely glances between you and him before she approaches the bed with teary eyes.

“I got the call, and I–I was so scared,” she sniffles, her gaze trailing over your body and bandaged hands like she wants to hold you but isn’t sure how to.

“I know,” you say, trying to comfort her. “But I’m going to be okay, I promise.”

“So… what… what happened?”

You bite your lip, looking to Jeongguk.

“I’ll head to the cafeteria for a while,” he says, and you nod, grateful.

It’s time to tell your mother everything.

The next hour is a hard and very emotional one. The pain on your mother's face as you recount everything, starting with what Hoseong first did to you and what the consequences were, cuts through your heart as well.

Of course, you spare her the details of the rape and most of the following abuse, not wanting to hurt her more than necessary or put yourself through the shame you know you shouldn’t feel but can’t help experiencing.

You decide to leave Jeongguk’s involvement out of it, certainly not telling her that you spent months wholeheartedly believing he would kill you if only given the chance. For reasons you don’t want to untangle at the moment, you realize that you don’t want your mother to doubt him.

Jeongguk returns at the hour mark, a brown bag in one hand and a takeaway tray with three coffees in the other. Although you didn’t tell your mother about the time you spent deathly afraid of him, you did tell her that you’re essentially only alive right now because of this one very kind policeman. Maybe you also admitted, a little shyly, when she asked that you really like him. And you do; it’s just a summary of your feelings if they were simple.

His hair looks windswept, and you’re briefly taken aback by how handsome he truly is. You’re well aware of the fact—and you’d definitely never forget—but sometimes it just hits you. His dark eyes scan the room, widening in surprise when your mother approaches him so quickly he barely has time to set the coffees down on the small table by the bed before she grasps his hand. 

“Thank you,” she says, trying hard not to cry as she clasps his one hand between her smaller ones. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you—that you saved my daughter. I wish there was anything I could do to repay you.”

“Mom,” you warn, embarrassed and wishing she wouldn’t ambush him like that.

However, Jeongguk’s surprised expression softens, and he pulls her into a very gentle one-armed hug, the brown bag still occupying his other hand.

“No need,” is all he says, and you meet his soft gaze over your mother’s head.

Your mother doesn’t stay long. By the time another thirty minutes have passed, she’s struggling to keep her eyes open. When you ask her about it, she admits to not sleeping at all, too worried ever since Jihyo called her with the news. She even forgot to retrieve her luggage at the airport in her haste to grab a cab to the hospital. Unfortunately, knowing that Hoseong is in custody but his friends are not still has her worried. It takes some time, but after convincing her that you’re safe now—not only do you have Jeongguk, but Jimin and Jin are always close by—she reluctantly agrees to go home and rest.

“So… how was it?” Jeongguk asks quietly a few seconds after the door shuts behind her.

You lean back in bed, letting your shoulders relax. You’re sure he knows how hard that conversation was; can tell from your puffy eyes and tired posture.

“Emotional,” you admit. “I never told her anything.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Nothing at all?”

You shake your head. “No. At first, I just didn’t want to worry her, and as things escalated… I was scared that involving her would make her more of a target. She couldn’t have done anything to help either way.”

He seems to be thinking about something, his gaze stuck on the hospital bed, maybe even on your hand where it lies by your side. 

“What does she know now?”

“Basically everything, except the… gory details. Or are you asking what she knows about you?”

“Both, I guess. I mean, I take it you didn’t tell her what an ass I’ve been?” 

If you had, she would’ve tried to tell him off, her shaky voice cursing him to hell. Evidently, she didn't do that.

“I didn’t, no. I left some details out; figured there was no use.”

Jeongguk leans back in the chair, clearly still bothered by something.

You raise your eyebrows in curiosity. “Why, did you want me to tell her?”

“No, but I also don’t want you to lie to her about me.”

You don't really know what to say to that, so you just look at him, understanding his mixed feelings. Unable to stop it, you yawn. These meds are making you so incredibly sleepy, and you feel like you’ll fall asleep within the next ten minutes whether you like it or not. Noticing how you lie back down, snuggling up with the blanket pulled to your chin, Jeongguk pulls out his phone. You keep your tired eyes on him while he focuses on the small screen, scrolling lazily. 

So effortlessly handsome. You can’t even tell if you prefer him with his hair styled—which he doesn’t do very often—and wearing something clean and ironed, or like this: in a hoodie and sweatpants, his black hair a little wild and messy. He looks so warm and so cozy, leaning back in the chair and manspreading casually.

Manspreading is not something you typically like, but when he does it, it just looks… attractive. Probably because you know he’s not one to subject some poor woman to it on the morning commute. He doesn’t invade someone else’s personal space, doesn’t take up room that isn’t his.

“I spoke to Jihyo while I was getting the coffee earlier,” he says, eyes still casually glued to the phone. “She’s really busy, but she wanted me to tell you that she wishes she could be here.”

“It’s fine. She’s already been here,” you mumble into the blanket. He looks so warm.

“Yeah, but you were still unconscious.”

The blanket smells like a washed hospital blanket, not like you know he does. He smells like comfort.

“Mhm,” you agree tiredly, fighting to keep your eyes open. A second later, Jeongguk looks up to see you still watching him—tiredly but with a hint of longing. 

He smiles. “Are you waiting for me to join you?”

You nod, certain that it comes off a little shyly. You weren’t very discreet, were you? The bed is pretty small, but you definitely prefer sleeping cuddled up to him rather than alone. It’s the scent of him, the feeling of his warm body against yours that makes you feel… You’re not sure if you can put it into words or if you just don’t want to, choosing to ignore aspects that will inevitably force you to make a decision. Not now.

Still smiling, he locks the phone and rises from the chair, making sure to flick the lights off before he comes to stand at your side. Scooting back to give him room, you watch as he lies down in front of you and slips his arm underneath your head. Then he’s pulling you close. So close that your face is practically in his chest. It becomes clear what he’s doing when a faint glow and quiet taps appear, originating from somewhere behind and above your head. Of course, he doesn’t have the same sleep requirements as you do at the moment, and if you were to guess, he’s probably working on something.

You’ve been left in a bit of a conundrum, though. What do you do with the arm that’s ended up in a bit of an awkward position at your side? The most natural thing would be to rest it against his waist, but it also feels… awkward to do that? Just because you, high on painkillers and almost murdered, like to cuddle with him doesn't mean everything's fine and dandy.

“You don’t have to do all of this,” you say quietly. Even in your slightly drowsy state of denial, you know that you’re confusing. You haven’t brought up the reason for your previous ‘split,’ and you haven’t really solved anything. After you almost died, you’re just relieved to be alive and that he’s okay too, and you hope he realizes that.

The near-silent tapping stops.

“I don’t mind,” he assures calmly, and his voice is quieter too. You like that he’s never seemed like much of an overthinker—at least not when it comes to what he wants. You lift your arm to put it around him, letting it hang off his waist.

He’s so warm, smells so good, and his slow and steady breaths lull you to sleep. As you drift off, you tell yourself not to think so much.

For the next few days, you remain on a fairly high dose of painkillers that keep you drowsy. You’re almost never alone; most of the time, Jeongguk is with you, but when he reluctantly leaves—either for the station or to go home and shower and change—Jin and Jimin take turns watching over you. Occasionally, they pop in to see if you’d like company, quickly taking the hint if you don’t and staying outside. 

Your mother sits with you a few times as well, but you can’t relax when she looks at you like she does; as if she’s heartbroken, which you realize she might very well be. You’ve had years to process most of what’s happened to you, and you guess you’d feel the same if the roles were reversed, but you can’t take it, so you send her home with the promise that you’ll be fine. You’re just resting, anyway. After a bit of convincing, she leaves, but not before making a knowing comment about how cute the kind policeman is. You dismiss her with an embarrassed smile and a wave of your bandaged hand.

As the hours turn to days in that hospital room, think is unfortunately all you do. You think about what you’ve experienced and what you’ve seen. The feelings you feel are complicated, woven together in an intricate pattern with threads of varying thickness. Pull on one and it tugs at another; pull too hard on a strong thread and thinner might snap. The closer Jeongguk is, the more tangled the mess seems to be.

<previous | next>

author's note: here's this!! posted in celebration of jeonstudios reaching a follower milestone and more importantly: the boys returning!!! i hope you liked it, please tell me if you did!! <3<3

[gpcwsl]

Leah and others are speeding because they're late to training, reader is police officer and stops her. Reader is a no nonsense officer and seems serious and intimidating, has many tattoos and is built. Whatever you want after that 🫶🏽

Leah Williamson x Cop!Reader

Speeding

WC: 783

MasterList

Warnings: Strong Language, Reckless Driving, Law Enforcement Interaction, Flirting with Authority Figures, Mentions of Kinks, Mild Betrayal, Humor & Shenanigans, short?

Song: Playing Dangerous - Blue Shore

Leah Williamson was already having a terrible morning.

Her alarm hadn’t gone off (or maybe she just slept through it, but she refused to take the blame for that). Alessia had been knocking on her door for what felt like hours, yelling about how they were already late. Kyra was waiting outside, arms crossed, looking like she was deciding whether to kill Leah or just let Rénne Slegers do it.

And now? Now she was speeding down the road, foot pressed a little too hard on the accelerator, because if they were late, they were dead.

“Leah, slow down!” Alessia snapped, gripping the handle above the door like her life depended on it.

“Yeah, mate, I’d rather be late than in a ditch,” Kyra added, bracing against the dashboard.

Leah scoffed. “We’re already late. I’m just trying to get us there before Rénne decides we’re bench material for the next five years.”

What she didn’t notice—because she was too busy being stubborn—was the police car parked on the side of the road. The blue and red lights flashed to life the second she sped past, and Leah’s stomach sank.

“Are you serious?” Alessia groaned.

“You absolute idiot,” Kyra muttered, sinking into her seat.

“Maybe they’re not pulling me over,” Leah said, but as soon as she did, the sirens blared.

“Pull. Over. Now,” Alessia ordered.

Leah let out the longest groan of her life, slamming her palm against the steering wheel as she slowed down and pulled onto the side of the road. She didn’t look at Kyra or Alessia, but she could feel their judgment.

“You’re so dumb,” Kyra said under her breath.

A firm knock on the driver’s side window made Leah jump.

“Roll it down,” came a voice—stern, no-nonsense.

Leah turned her head, and—okay, well, this was unexpected.

The officer standing outside was… intimidating, to say the least. Your arms were crossed, muscles straining against the sleeves of your uniform.

The tattoos covering your forearms were the kind that told stories—intricate designs Leah wanted to trace just to see where they led. Your sharp gaze flickered from her to the rest of the car’s occupants, and for a moment, Leah forgot she was in trouble.

“Window,” you repeated.

Leah scrambled to roll it down. “Good morning, officer,” she said, flashing a hopeful smile.

“Licence and registration,” you deadpanned.

Leah swallowed. “Uh, yeah, one sec.” She fumbled around for her wallet while Alessia and Kyra sat in complete silence, staring straight ahead like they wanted no part in this.

As Leah handed over her ID, she swore she saw the corner of your lip twitch, just slightly, before you schooled your expression back into something unreadable. You looked down at her licence, then back at her.

“You in a hurry, Miss Williamson?”

Leah cleared her throat. “Uh, yeah. We’re late for training.”

“You do realise speeding isn’t going to make that better?”

“I do now,” Leah muttered.

You sighed, glancing over at Kyra and Alessia. “And you two?”

“Oh, we told her to slow down,” Kyra said immediately.

“Multiple times,” Alessia added.

Leah shot them a betrayed look. “Wow, thanks for the support.”

You handed her ID back. “I should be writing you a ticket.”

Leah winced. “But…?”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “But I’m giving you a warning. No ticket. This time.”

Leah blinked. “Oh. Wow. Thanks, officer.”

You didn’t reply, just gave her one last look—one that sent an annoying shiver down her spine—before turning on your heel and walking back to your car. Leah sat frozen for a second, watching the way your uniform pulled against your back as you walked away.

When you got into your cruiser and Leah was sure you weren’t about to change your mind, she started the car again and pulled back onto the road.

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

“She was so hot,” Leah blurted.

Alessia groaned. “Leah—”

“I mean, did you see her? The tattoos? The arms? The voice? I think I just developed a cop kink.”

Kyra gagged. “Oh my god, please shut up.”

“She could’ve arrested me, and I would’ve thanked her,” Leah continued, eyes still wide, voice filled with far too much admiration.

“Leah,” Alessia warned.

“I would’ve asked her to frisk me.”

“I’m jumping out of the car,” Kyra announced.

“I’m so serious,” Leah went on. “I might start speeding in this area on purpose.”

Alessia shot her a glare. “You do that, and I’m telling Rénne.”

Leah gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

Oh, I would.”

Leah sighed dramatically, finally falling silent.

For a moment, there was peace.

Then, under her breath—

“Bet she looks good in handcuffs.”

“Leah!”

[timbradfordslover]

Warnings: none just lots of fluff

Summary: Tim's wife sets up a few pranks for April fools.

April fools day

Tomorrow is April Fools'. A day that Y/N Bradford goes all out for. Last year she deflated one of the tires in Tim's shop and had Jerry put some crickets in the war bags before his boot got them. This year, however, she wants to expand it to their house. While Tim is asleep in their bed, she gets her little pranks ready. First she takes his cuffs off his duty belt and replaces them with fuzzy leopard ones. After that she puts all the clocks in the house forward two hours and changes the time zone on his phone to match.

The next morning Y/N sits up suddenly and wakes up Tim. “Tim, wake up! We’re going to be late!’ She says loudly.

“Huh, what baby?” He says, sitting up, still groggy from sleep.

“Look at the time; we should have been up 2 hours ago,” she says as she watches him check his phone. He throws his shirt off and rushes to get dressed. Y/N goes to the bathroom to pretend to start getting ready.

She comes out and goes into the kitchen to see Tim making coffee. “Is it normally this dark when we get up? And why aren’t you dressed?” he asks, confused.

She smirks and pulls out her phone and shows the lock screen. He sees that the time was two hours behind and the date above it.

“Really, Y/N? You nearly gave me a heart attack with that.” He says slightly annoyed.

“I’m sorry,” she says, giggling as she wraps her arm around his waist and leads him back towards the bedroom.

After she visits with Lucy in the locker room at the station, Y/N goes to the roll call room to wait with Angela and Harper.

“So what pranks you got this year?” Angela asks with a knowing smile. She and Harper know about her little jokes she likes to pull on Tim. She’s been doing it since they were rookies.

“You’re about to see,” she laughs mischievously. A minute later Tim comes in looking embarrassed. He marches up to where the three detectives are sitting.

“Hi, Tim,” his wife says, looking up at him.

“Give me my cuffs, he says annoyed.

“I don’t have them. Maybe Smitty took them,” she says with no emotion. “

"Really, babe; don’t make me file an incident report.” He whines.

“Here," she says, pulling them out of her pants pocket. "Don't lose the other ones," she says with a smirk.

Tim’s face turns red as he goes to his seat next to Nolan.

A few hours later, while Tim is out on patrol with Aaron, Y/N goes and gets a ticket book from Jerry and goes to her desk to write one. She writes it for “unlawful use of good looks.” Once she is done, she goes out to Tim’s truck and puts it in between the windshield wipers.

“You ready?” Tim asks, coming out of the locker room to meet Y/N in the bullpen.

“Yep. You want to get food or make something?" she asks him as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

"We can get something," he answers.

They walk out of the station and head to Tim’s truck. Tim goes around it to open the passenger side door.

“What is this?” he asks as he picks up a small paper from the windshield.

“I don’t know. What does it say?” Y/N asks him.

“Really, baby?’, he says with disbelief as he reads the ticket she wrote.

“What does “unlawful use of good looks even mean?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

"It means you're very good-looking", she says while laughing.

"I can't with you," he chuckles as he gets into the driver's seat.

[nestingdoves]

♡ dexter morgan x sibling reader

♡ incest. implied biological but adopted works.

♡ gender unspecified reader. jealousy, possessiveness (reader towards dexter). anger issues (reader). reader has repressed murder tendencies. manslaughter/murder cover-up (dexter and reader). depictions of gore. sibling kissing. reader is a lil freaky about dexter being bloodied.

♡ don't like? block/scroll and move on, easy peasy

imagine you and your brother dexter getting adopted by the morgan family. you, who always clutched tightly to dexter. you're practically inseparable, though that's mostly on account of your clinginess.

but you're otherwise the perfect child - withdrawn, dutiful, getting along better with your foster mother than your other two new family members. always cleaning up, tidying up beds, getting lunches ready - always stuffing another granola bar in dexter's lunch because that specific flavour is the one he likes.

things with debra are horrible. you're always antagonizing each other, subtly underdoing each other's work, tattling to your mom and dad about every other thing.

only dexter can get you to behave, his brow setting and lips pressed together. "that's not how we're supposed to act."

the conflict with debra is really the only issue you have with your adopted family- that and how venemously protective you are of dexter. going somewhere? you need to sit beside him. he stole debra's food? you'll either own up to it and proclaim that he'd do no such thing. (you watched him eat it.)

but you don't display the same tendencies as your brother; so when harry takes you out, sitting you in a boat and asking if you ever felt urges... you say no. because you haven't. not in the same way that dexter does. but all the same, he knows something is off.

and when dexter comes home with bloodied shoes, you clean it off, scrubbing your fingertips raw. when someone is bothering you, picking on someone, you tell dexter first. ride home, call dexter. want to go to the theatre, call dexter. nightmare, crawling into dexter's bed.

harry is, understandably concerned at how close you are with dexter but doesn't act on it. yet.

but there's a yawning reach inside you, something that demands to snap, a temper short and fists fast. but dexter always takes you back, reminding you how to act. to behave. though he never reprimands you whenever you deck someone for calling your brother "weird".

when he goes to the dance, you sit at home, knuckles tight, breath hot as you think of some girl putting hands on your dexter. but when he comes home, tells you how boring it is, you exhale, breath shuddering in your chest. because he's still yours.

still yours even when he comes home with lipstick stains on his neck, yours when he comes into your room the second you make a distressed noise. he's yours when he catches you staring at your hand once when you cut your palm, watching the blood rain down your wrist (and it haunts like a memory). yours when his calloused hands, strange cuts on his own palms as he wraps your hand up.

he's yours, yours, yours.

and you'll hurt anyone who gets in your way.

but even then he's yours when he's teaching you to drive and he's talking about some girl harry wants him to see. about debra who grabbed his sweater without asking.

you see red, red, red, and hear a woman screaming as your foot hits the metal. only interrupted by dexter's calm "there's a person in the road" moments before you crunch right into them.

neither of you move, sitting their casually in the car, as if you didn't just run someone over. the windows are down, the evening air washing over your skin. you can hear moaning and crying outside your window. can see dexter's eyes watch you through the rearview mirror. he doesn't say anything.

but neither do you.

he doesn't say anything when you reserve the car and rev right back over them, feeling the car jolt beneath you both. you continue to smear guts and entrails over the pavement until the sounds stop.

"stay here." he says, a heavy sigh leaving his mouth, jaw setting as he unclips his belt. you watch him through the rearview window as he opens the trunk, pulling out bags and some cleaning junk that he left inside.

when you climb out, he passes you a pair of gloves. something inside you squirms, hot and sticky, as you look at the gore pressed into the tires. seeing dexter work, muscles flexing under his shirt, mouth drawn into a thin line, pulling intestines from the undercarriage.

an itch started inside you, gnawing at your gut and bones, a presence that demands the harvest. as always, you listen to every word dexter says, every command as he helps you clean up the mess.

washing the asphalt is harder but gallons of water pours the mess down the gutters. cleaning out the front grill is harder but - dexter does it all. telling you quietly as he always does how to take care of things like this.

that yawning hunger doesn't relent. doesn't relent when you two hose down the car and wash off your hands.

"you need to calm down," he says quietly, finally as he sits in the driver's seat. your pulse is beating fast in your chest. he's noticed. he always notices.

reaching over, you brush your fingers over his cheek, smearing the blood over his cheekbone. his eyes dart to you then back towards the road.

when he continues speaking, beginning to talk about rules and guidelines, a code that you don't care to understand for, you unclip your seatbelt and reach over, pulling him towards you and kissing him like a part of you is trying to eat him.

"we're not supposed to do this." dexter says, brow furrowed. he always says things like that to you; like he's memorizing a guidebook. maybe you don't give a fuck.

"we're not supposed to run over a guy, not call the cops and cover it up either," you say. "I think we're past the point of what's allowed."

"oh," he says, as if he hadn't thought of that. and this time, he doesn't stop you when you kiss him again, when you lick the blood spatters off his face, when you all but shove your tongue down his throat and crawl into his lap.

dexter doesn't tell harry about you. but he doesn't go out with girls (or boys) anymore, even though harry sighs and tries to coax him. tries to coax you too.

and if you're a little less angry, a little less ferocious, and that's something.

(later, when the family goes hunting minus doris, harry catches you just watching a fox struggle in a bear trap, doing nothing to put it out of its misery or looking away. and as his heart sinks, he realizes that maybe he should have paid attention to you too.

but when he brings you up to dexter, your poor, sweet brother just shakes his head and says, "no, they're not like me". because as much as you protect him, he protects you, too.)

when harry finally passes, dexter is the one who takes your hand and leads you away. debra laments about how siblings shouldn't share apartments but it doesn't matter. none of it matters when you know, feel it in your bones, that dexter won't leave you.

[be-xkyy]

I couldn't help but write this, I feel inspired after watching a police movie.

Tw: yandere, violence, abuse of power, dirty talk, unprotected sex, age gap, infidelity, alcohol, dubcon.

Masterlist

Yandere Corrupt Police Officer who has been a cop for almost ten years without getting a damn promotion, in addition to having to deal with his crazy wife who only knows how to complain and rant when he's at home. She is a real bitch.

So it's normal for him to be upset and frustrated. He has to be in the patrol car all day and all night, patrolling the streets looking for assholes who can't follow the damn rules. They deserve a good hit or two or many before threatening them and taking them to the station.

But what I hate the most, damn it, are weekend nights, having to deal with drunk and high teenagers in their fancy cars, spoiled brats who think they're better just because their parents are wealthy. Fuck them. He drives on the empty roads, except for the occasional car passing by, on a quiet night. Until he sees a sports car speeding down the avenue, clearly exceeding the damn speed limit. Bastard.

He steps on the accelerator and turns on the siren, following the car that doesn't slow down for a few blocks. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turn white, and he feels his blood boil. Whoever it is, they're screwed. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the car slows down, pulling over to the side of the road and turning off the engine.

He does the same, parking right behind the car and turning off the siren, and only the red and blue lights flicker in the night. He gets out of the car, annoyed, adjusting his belt before slamming the door. He walks towards the car, approaching the tinted window that slowly rolls down, revealing the typical rich kid, blonde, blue-eyed, and obviously high. But he doesn't pay attention to it; his eyes are fixed on his companion, a sexy little thing that makes his crotch feel tight—maybe his girlfriend? He isn't sure, but what he is sure of is that he wants you for himself.

“Officer, we may have exceeded the speed limit a little bit, but if you want, you can give me a ticket—” The boy speaks with slurred words, clearly under the influence of substances, but he doesn't let him finish, interrupting him with an authoritative voice.

“Get the fuck out of the car now, both of you. And get close to the hood, quickly.”

He looks annoyed as you two hesitate, his annoyance doesn't calm down when the boy finally opens the door and gets out staggering. You follow his example, standing in front of the car, blinded by the high beams. He approaches and grabs the boy tightly, delivering an unexpected punch to the stomach that takes the wind out of him. You let out a scream as the boy doubles over in pain. When you try to approach your boyfriend, he places his hand on the holster of his gun, looking at you, and you freeze.

“Weren't you taught that you must stop automatically when a law enforcement officer orders you to? Because you're trying to act smart, huh?”

He says this while putting the boy face down, folding his hands behind his back, grabbing the handcuffs from his belt, and fastening them on his wrists. Then he stands up, looking at you standing there like a scared servant. Sexy girl. A mischievous smile slips onto her lips, and she gestures with her head towards the hood of the car in front of you.

“Bend over the hood, quick.” He watches as your clouded eyes widen in disbelief at his words almost as if you can’t believe what’s happening. You shake your head as you say in an alcohol slurred voice “No. You can’t-”

“I can. And you can bend over the good way or I can bend you over the bad way, but I advise you to be good for your boyfriend’s sake.”

You bite your lip hard looking at your boyfriend on the ground in handcuffs, small tears pricking your eyes as you lean over the cold hood your cheek and palms flat against the metal, he reaches over his hands quickly grabbing a handful of your covered ass, squeezing the globes tightly before pulling up your skirt revealing your ass and lace panties.

“Looks like you were going to have fun huh? Did I ruin your moment? Don't worry I'll make it up to you at least baby”

He says in a teasing coo as he raises his hand and brings it down on your ass. Smack, smack, smack. You gasp at the spanking that leaves your skin red and stinging painfully. You close your eyes when you hear the sound of his zipper opening, he brings his fingers up to your mouth hitting your lips.

“Spit.”

You reluctantly comply letting your saliva drip onto his fingers and he uses it to lube up his fat member pumping a few times before pulling your panties to the side revealing your puckered hole and glistening pussy he guides his cock into your folds sliding in as far as he can until he bottoms out, you bite your lip to keep from whimpering at the feeling of being so full.

He growls at the feeling of your walls throbbing around his cock as you try to accommodate him. Your nails dig into his head as he begins to thrust into you hard, the head of his cock hitting your g-spot over and over again making you dizzy, he places his hands on your hips using them to move you back each time he thrusts into you sending currents of undue pleasure through your body.

“Fuck– you're tight, huh! You don't get fucked enough huh baby? Poor pussy”

He says in an amused voice, when you don't respond he grabs you by the hair lifting you up and bringing your back to his chest, you feel his hot breath against the shell of your ear sending shivers down your arched spine.

“You know I wanted you from the second I saw you, I don't usually do this with women but I wanted you, I wanted you, very romantic huh, darling?”

He laughs against your ear as if it were very funny and you hold back so as not to insult him, you don't answer him and he rolls his eyes, without stopping thrusting into you he lowers the hand that is on your hip towards your pussy pinching your clit hard between his fingers and you can't contain your moans any longer, his movements become erratic at the same time that the knot in your belly tightens you try not to cum but it is difficult with all his attentions you reach the breaking point when he passes his wet tongue over your ear.

You can't help but cum, letting out a moan of pleasure as your vaginal walls contract around his cock. You can feel it throbbing inside you with a few final thrusts. He stops, letting out a guttural growl, filling you with his warm seed. You collapse onto the hood. He pulls out of you as his cock softens, sliding into his pants. He examines your open hole and watches as his cum slides out, so he uses two fingers to push his cum inside before adjusting your panties as he says in a threatening tone.

“I trust this will stay between the three of us, won't you? I'd hate to have to arrest you or worse.”

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Yandere Cop x Reader (part two)

Part one

You didn’t sleep that night.

You sat in the same room after he was gone, staring at the chair where he’d been. Blood still soaked into the rag in the bowl. The ropes lay coiled like dead snakes at your feet. You kept replaying the moment he slipped through the window in your head, over and over. The look he gave you before vanishing into the night. He hadn’t said goodbye like a man expecting not to see you again.

He’d said it like a promise.

You should’ve cleaned up. You should’ve burned the rag, tied the ropes back up to make it look like he’d fought and escaped—but you didn’t. You just sat there.

When your father came back an hour later, he didn’t even glance at you.

“Cleanup’s coming,” he muttered, tossing a burner phone into the sink. “Get out of the way.”

You moved without a word, stepped out of the room and shut the door behind you.

The next few days passed in a haze of tension. No sirens. No search parties. No mention of a wounded cop crawling his way out of your father’s grip. Your father seemed convinced the man had bled out somewhere in the dark.

You didn’t correct him.

Not because you were loyal.

Because a part of you… wanted to believe the cop was still out there.

And you couldn’t figure out why.

-------

The safehouse was cold. Abandoned now, supposedly burned. Your father didn’t like leaving behind traceable places, but he’d needed it in a hurry and used it anyway.

You came back because something was drawing you here. You told yourself it was to make sure there were no fingerprints. No evidence. But when you slipped in through the back, you walked straight to the room where you’d last seen him.

The chair was gone.

The blood wasn’t.

Still stained into the floorboards, soaked deep into the grain.

You stood in the doorway for a long time.

“You came back.”

You froze.

The voice came from the shadows behind you.

You turned, heart skipping.

He stood in the far corner of the room—half-lit by the moonlight spilling in through the window he’d escaped from. His jacket was different. Clean. His hair was combed back. But his shoulder was still bandaged, the makeshift sling barely holding. And his eyes—

His eyes were the same.

You took a step back instinctively.

He didn’t move.

“You should be gone,” you whispered. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I tried,” he said quietly. “I really did.”

His voice was calm.

“I got halfway out of the city,” he continued. “Made it to a gas station. Paid a guy to stitch me up. Stole some clean clothes. But I kept thinking…”

He took a slow step forward.

“I kept thinking about your hands shaking.”

You swallowed, suddenly cold all over.

“You’re bleeding,” you said instead, nodding at the stain blooming through the bandage.

He smiled faintly. “Not enough to kill me.”

Another step closer.

“You need to leave,” you said, but your voice cracked. “If my dad finds out—”

“He won’t,” he said. “I made sure no one followed me. I’ve been… watching.”

“Watching?”

He nodded once. No shame.

“I had to make sure you were safe.”

Your breath caught. “From what?”

His head tilted.

“From him. From this life. From what it’s doing to you.”

You took a shaky step back. He stepped forward in time with you.

“I’m not your problem,” you said.

“You’re wrong,” he whispered. “You saved my life. That makes you my responsibility now.”

“That’s not how it works—”

“It is to me.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

He moved closer. His expression shifted—something softer, something broken just under the surface. But it twisted, too, like he liked the idea of being broken for you.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, voice low. “You haunt me. The way you looked at me. The way your hands shook while you tried to save me and pretend you didn’t care.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I do. I know you better than they ever will.”

He reached into his jacket—slowly. You tensed. But when his hand came out, he was holding a folded piece of paper. Your breath hitched when he handed it to you.

“I found this in the safehouse,” he said. “Your name. I know it now.”

You didn’t open the paper. Your hand closed around it like it might burn.

“You should’ve stayed gone,” you whispered.

He smiled again. Not a full smile. Just enough to show you he wasn’t afraid.

“You didn’t want me to.”

And the worst part?

He was right.

He moved toward the window again, this time backwards—watching you the whole time like he thought you might vanish if he blinked. Before slipping out, he murmured something that chilled you to the bone:

“I’m not going to let them have you.”

Then he was gone.

And for the second time, you were left standing alone in the dark, wondering what the hell you’d just let into your life.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

Masterlist

Tag:

@magicaldestinyharmony

[yanderedrabbles]

What happens when the Yandere state trooper finds out y/n is pregnant?

(❤️)

Oops, looks like you're stuck with him.

Yandere Cop - Baby Trapped

Yandere! State Trooper might be an asshole, but he's not an idiot. You've been avoiding him.

Yandere! State Trooper who puts an alert out on your plates and is the first one pulling up when they get called in. Who plans to draw this out for as long as possible and think of your pretty lips on his cock the whole goddamn time.

Yandere! State Trooper who sees you flinch when he shows up at your window. Who can't hide his annoyance when you keep avoiding his eyes. Who raps his baton on your car door and snarls at you to look at him when he's talking to you.

Yandere! State Trooper who asks you to kindly step out of the vehicle and when you do, he's grabbing hold of your upper arms, digging his fingers into the flesh and pressing you between him and the car.

Yandere! State Trooper who wedges his knee between your thighs and scraps it across your clothed cunt.

"Why're you avoiding me, hmm?"

Yandere! State Trooper who watches you go pale, trying to shrink into yourself like that will somehow make him go away. You claim it's nothing, you just haven't been out much.

Yandere! State Trooper who shakes you like a ragdoll and snaps that you're the shittiest liar he's ever met. And you spill your secret in a stuttering rush of words.

You've missed your period.

Yandere! State Trooper who carefully presses his hand against your lower belly, his mind going a mile a minute. There aren't any other men in your life, he's made sure of that. So it's his, without a doubt.

Yandere! State Trooper who smiles slow and lazy. Do you have any idea how expensive kids are? Were you really going to manage with a job, a single income and kids?

Yandere! State Trooper who finally has you in a position where you can't possibly say no to him.

Yandere! State Trooper who knows more than anyone how tightly binding the law can be. And when you're his wife...well, the law has and always will be on his side.

"Tell you what dollface, why don't you come over and we can pick out your ring together?"

[konigofmyheart]

könig is your personal hand warmer…

・❥・yelps when you put your freezing hands against his neck, catching him off guard as he doesn’t wear his mask around you

・❥・yet instead of pushing you away, he grabs your hands and stuffs them down the top of his thick sweater, pressing them against his chest <3

・❥・give it a couple of seconds and your hands are practically burning up (how is he so warm all the time?!)

・❥・now, if you trail your hands just a tad further down and squeeze, that’s the full body warm up activation sequence, schätzchen…

[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>

[ilovelosermen69]

Girls when they see a man in uniform

[timbradfordslover]


Warnings : intruder at elementary school

Summary: You have to respond to a dangerous situation at your kid’s school and some rookies have something not so pleasant to say.

Word Count: 1600ish

Unfortunate visitor from the past

Now you are engaged, and Tim is now a Metro Liaison Sergeant. Both of you keep your personal lives very private, so only Sergeant Grey and Angela know about Jasper.

You and Tim walk into the precinct to the smell of stale coffee and printer ink. The station is filled with the soft shuffling of papers and soft morning chatter amongst the other officers before roll call. You both head to the locker rooms where Tim changes into his uniform, and you get ready with Harper, Lopez, Chen, and Jaurez. You all chat about cases you've been working on and discuss plans for girls night.

"Y/L/N, come see me in my office for a second," Sargeant Grey calls across the bullpen from his office door.

You walk over and step into his glass office. "What can I do for you, sir? you ask politely.

"Officer Wrigley called out sick, and I need someone to train Officer Daniels today. I know you haven't been a T.O. for years, but you're all I got." He explains from behind his desk.

"Don't worry about it; I got it, sir." You say with reassurance.

"Thank you. You're dismissed." He says, and you walk out to change into your patrol uniform.

30 minutes later you're walking into the roll call room. You walk down the aisle and sit next to Nolan.

"Hey Y/N, are you riding patrol today?" He asks, noticing that you're in uniform today.

"Yeah, Grey's got me filing in for Wrigley today." You replied as Sergeant Grey walks up to the podium at the front of the room.

Sergeant Grey then leads roll call, and Tim discusses a suspect that Metro is tracking. His facial expression slightly changes once he notices you’re in uniform, but he remains professional during the briefing.

“Why are you in uniform?” Tim asks in an unamused tone as he walks up to you after Grey dismissed everyone.

“Grey needs me to train Daniels today because Wrigley called out,” you explain to him.

“You haven’t been a T.O. for at least ten years,” he protests. He doesn’t like the idea of you riding patrol, much less with a “toddler with a gun.”

“It’s just for today, Tim; I’ll be ok,“ you say with a reassuring smile while looking up at him.

“Alright, if there are any problems, call me,” he says.

Later that day, while you’re riding with Officer Daniels, you get a call from Tim.

“Hey Tim,” you say once you answer your phone from the holder in the shop.

“Y/N, you need to come back to the station; it’s about Jasper.” He says in a soft but serious tone.

“Why is he ok? Is something wrong?” you ask while your face heats up and your heart starts beating fast.

“We’ll talk when you get here; I love you,” he says calmly.

“I love you too. We’ll be there in 5 minutes,” you reply before ending the call.

"May I ask who Jasper is?" Officer Daniels asks next to you.

“My son,” you reply in a stern voice.

"Is he— " he starts, but you cut him off.

"No more questions, boot," you bark, sounding a little too much like Tim.

You pull into the garage area of the station and park.

“Get the gear squared away, then come find me when you’re done.” You say as you round the front of the shop and stand next to the passenger side to make sure Officer Daniels understands.

“Yes ma’am,” he responds as he starts grabbing the war bags from the back of the shop.

You turn away from the shop and walk through the glass doors and enter the station. With heavy limbs and an anxious feeling, you look around for Tim.You walk into the bullpen and see him in Grey’s office. You take a breath and walk over to the glass door and step in. Tim is sitting in front of Grey in his Metro uniform with his sleeves pushed up.

“What happened? Is he ok?“ you ask in a shaky, uneven tone.

“Sit, Y/N,” Tim says calmly while gesturing to the chair next to him.

Despite wanting to remain standing, you slide into the seat next to Tim.

“We got a call about someone trying to break into Jasper’s school. They’re on lockdown until we can identify the suspect.” Grey says slowly with concern written across his face.

Tim reaches over and holds your hand to provide reassurance.

“Do we know if he’s ok?” You ask, concerned.

“As far as we know, he’s perfectly fine. I sent Metro there on standby.” Tim says in a soft tone.

“Do we have visual on the suspect?” You ask about switching from being a worried mother to a cop.

“Yes, Metro got a shot of him.” Grey says, passing over a tablet.

Your eyes widen as you focus on the man in front of you. You know this man, if you can even call him a man. You never thought you’d see or hear from him again.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Y/N,” Grey says, breaking the silence.

“I know who this is. It’s Jasper’s biological father,“ you exclaim.

“Has he ever tried contacting you before in the past?” Grey asks.

You shake your head. “Nopenever. He said he didn’t want anything to do with him once I told him I was pregnant.” You reply.

Just then Tim’s phone rings.

“Suspect has broken into the building; do you want us to go in after him?” Wells, one of Tim’s buddies from Metro, says on the other side.

Tim looks up to Grey for confirmation, and Grey nods.

“Yes be advised that he is the father of one of the students, “ Tim says to Wells.

You abruptly stand up and head to the door.

Tim immediately gets up after you. "Where are you going?" He asks worriedly.

"To go help," you say.

"No, you're too close to this. I don't want you to do something irrational you'll regret." Sargeant Grey says.

"Then what am I supposed to do? I won't be able to focus on anything else." You exclaim worriedly while messing with your engagement ring.

"Then I will have you sit in a shop out of sight during the operation. Bradford, you can give orders from there." Sergeant Grey compromises reluctantly. He wants to protect his children as much as possible.

Meanwhile...

A couple of the rookies sit in the bullpen doing paperwork with their T. Os are sitting at a nearby table.

"I found out Detective Y/L/N has a son today." Officer Daniels shares with the group.

"She does?" Another rookie named Brooks asks.

"Is it with Bradford?" Another asks.

"Can't be. He was married before Y/L/N." A nearby P2 says.

"Wait, he was?" Brooks exclaims.

"Yeah, to a UC. Got hooked on drugs, though going undercover." The P2 explains.

Just as the P2 finishes their sentence, Tim clears his throat. "Are you idiots done?" He barks at them.

The group looks back at him in shock. They are too stunned to respond to Tim. You stand next to him, just as shocked as they are that someone would talk about a fellow officer like that.

"You all should know better than to talk about another officer's personal business like that, let alone a senior officer." He yells at them.

He looks directly at the P2 standing next to where Officer Brooks is sitting. "You've been a cop longer than them; you should have corrected them. Now if I hear talk like this again, you'll be getting a blue page," Tim says finally.

"Come on, baby, let's go see about Jasper, Tim says to you while putting his arm around your shoulders and leading you to the door to the garage area.

10 minutes later, you and Tim pull up to Jasper's school right as you hear Metro call in a code four. A few ambulances pull up a few minutes later to make sure there aren't any injuries.

Tim steps out of the car and gestures for you to get out after him. He walks over to where Wells is, with you walking closely next to him. His fingers lightly brush against yours as you walk.

“Hi Sir, we didn’t have any casualties, and your son is perfectly safe. Only a few staff members were slightly injured. The suspect is in that shop over there if you would like to question him." Wells explains to both of you.

"Thank you," Tim says before turning to you.

"What do you want to do?" He asks.

"I don't want to talk to his father, but I would like to see Jasper," you say to Tim.

"I'll go talk to the principal and see if you guys can take him now,“ Wells suggests.

"Thank you,” you say.

10 minutes later, Wells brings Jasper out with his things.

"Mom! Dad!" Jasper calls while running straight to you and Tim.

"Hi baby, did you get scared?" You ask while you squat down to hug him.

He lets go of you and moves over to hug Tim.

"I was at first, but I knew you guys would be here to help." He leans against Tim's leg while Tim pats his head.

"Are you ready to go home, buddy?" Tim says while bending down to his level.

"Yeah, I miss Kojo," Jasper says, and Tim and you both giggle.

You watch as Tim holds Jasper's hand as they walk over the shop. You're very proud of Tim for sticking with you and being such a good dad to Jasper when his wasn't around.

[stellamarielu]

can’t stop thinking about charlie reid saying “give in, it’ll feel good” so i had to do something about it….

smut ahead mdni!!

“You gonna come already? That’s pathetic.” Charlie’s voice spits out from his position standing between your legs.

He has you sitting on the edge of his desk with two fingers pushed into you, working you open through slow steady strokes.

You were alone in his office. Staying later than usual, with the intent of having Charlie sign some documents, but you both knew where you’d end up.

Ass on his desk, skirt bunched at your waist, with the rasp of his sinful words melting against your ear.

“Oh c’mon sugar, I know you wanna let go.”

His words coax you closer toward release, but you shake your head, refusing to give him the satisfaction of making you finish when he’d only just pushed his fingers into you.

“Can feel the way you’re squeezin’, so desperate.” He keeps murmuring above you, ignoring your stubborn attempt to disobey his orders.

“Just give in.” He leans down, his breath fanning across your face, and his fingers sliding in and out of you with a gentle bend.

“It’ll feel good.”

He braces a hand on the back of your neck, holding you firm, and looking down to watch his hands disappearing between your legs.

“I’ll give you another, don’t worry.”

He says it like he’s being generous; like he’s not going to make you come so many times your trembling and pleading with him to stop, overstimulating you like it’s some sort of punishment. Twisting your pleasure into exhaustion, making you walk a fine line between complete bliss and utter ruin.

That’s why you hold back. Choosing not to give in to the first wave of release that threatens to wash over you, because you know what’s ahead of you.

You know Charlie will use every last inch of you for his own pleasure, making you cry out and beg for him in a voice you don’t even recognize.

But with the way his fingers stop plunging into you, coming to a halt deep inside, pushed in to the knuckle and curling repeatedly, you have no choice but to give in.

You clutch at his forearms, his back— anything to help stabilize you while your body tenses, trying to hold back the needy whimpers forming on your lips.

“Atta girl.”

His voice is far from gentle as he keeps his digits buried in you. Fingertips continuing to rub that same spot deep inside, with no sign of stopping.