#battle worn detectives

[elejah-verse]

elejah_au

[flwrkid14]

The Case of the Phantom Lipstick

Tim Drake is many things: a genius, a detective, a vigilante, a caffeine-dependent insomniac with abandonment issues and seventeen backup plans for every imaginable outcome.

What he is not, however, is delusional.

Which is why when he finds a kiss mark—an actual lipstick kiss mark—pressed to the inside of his favorite hoodie, he does not panic. He calmly, rationally, pulls the hoodie off, examines the fabric, and blames Steph. Probably Steph.

Except… it’s neon green. Not Steph’s color. Not Cass’s style either. Babs doesn’t do lipstick. Kon doesn’t own lipstick. And the only people who’ve been in his apartment recently are Bruce (definitely not), Damian (God, no), and Alfred (crime).

He throws the hoodie in the wash. Industrial cycle. Hot water. It should come out.

It doesn’t.

It doesn’t even fade.

It glows slightly under UV.

Okay. Fine. One hoodie. Maybe it’s old. Maybe he forgot something. Maybe he bought it that way.

But it happens again.

And again.

And again.

Old hoodies. New hoodies. Hoodies buried at the back of his closet that he hasn’t worn since he was sixteen. A hoodie still in the packaging, tags attached—he opens the bag and there’s a green kiss mark on the inside sleeve, like it’s been waiting for him.

They’re always placed differently. Sometimes hidden in the seam of a cuff. Sometimes pressed on the back hem. One tucked into the folds of a sleeve. One directly on the chest, over his heart.

He checks for tracking devices. Hidden ink. Sensors. Spoilers. Anything.

Nothing.

And it doesn’t stop with the hoodies.

One day, after a long patrol, he peels off his Red Robin gear and catches a glimpse of green near the collar of his suit. He freezes.

Another kiss mark. Same color. Right on the inside lining.

There’s one on his glove. One hidden under the fold of his utility belt pouch. One on the lining of his cape.

What’s worse? The Batcave scanners pick them up. There’s residual ectoplasm. Babs runs the data three times before looking at him like he’s either cursed or dating something from the beyond.

(He’s not. He’s pretty sure.)

Every attempt to investigate it fails. The cameras glitch. Video footage loops or scrambles. Laser grids are bypassed by something moving through walls. Magical wards short-circuit. Even Constantine shrugs when Tim reaches out.

“Strong liminal energy,” Constantine says, puffing a cigarette. “Someone’s got their spectral claws in you. Not a curse though. Feels like... courtship.”

“Courtship,” Tim repeats.

“Yeah. Spectral wooing. Ghost smooches. Congrats on your engagement, mate.”

Tim hangs up.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

Meanwhile, Gotham is experiencing what can only be described as “mild haunting.” But by Gotham standards, it’s barely a blip.

There are no mass possessions. No destructive battles. Just… ghosts. Hovering. Watching. Whispering things when Tim walks by. They show up at patrol spots. Float past his apartment. Some even drop cryptic notes: “May your union be fruitful,” and “Blessings upon the Chosen.” Occasionally they throw gifts at him. One leaves him a glowing thermos full of ghost flowers. Another—a floating knight in spectral armor—bows low while handing over a box of what Tim can only imagine is their version of chocolate, before vanishing with the words “For the chosen consort.”

Tim’s furious.

He’s not dating a ghost. He doesn’t know any ghosts. He doesn’t want to be courted by one.

...Probably.

Except.

Except sometimes, when he’s alone, he swears he feels someone there. Not threatening. Just present. A warmth in the air. A flicker in the corner of his eye. A soft sigh on the back of his neck. A whisper:

“Mine.”

And Danny Phantom—Protector of the Ghost Zone, King of the Infinite Realms, 100% a disaster bisexual—floats outside his window every other night with his face pressed against the glass like a cat trying to figure out if the human inside likes him.

Because Danny’s not trying to scare him! He’s just following tradition!

See, ghosts mark their chosen with energy. They ward off rivals. They court with gifts and blessings and acts of devotion. And yeah, maybe leaving lipstick marks on someone's battle gear is a little extreme, but Danny’s working with ghost etiquette, okay? And from where he's standing, no one's stopped him.

(Though Jason did try to stab him once. Danny considered it a bonding experience.)

Now Danny just needs Tim to say yes so the full wedding rite can be completed. The lipstick marks? Those are just... engagement placeholders.

The problem? Tim doesn’t know he’s essentially dating a ghost.

The bigger problem? Gotham’s ghosts do.

And they’re ready to throw hands with anyone who thinks they’re a better match for Tim Drake than the literal Ghost King himself.

Tim? He just wants one hoodie without magic lipstick on it. He’s not even asking for peace anymore. He just wants answers.

He’s so tired.

[anixvl]

BITTERSWEET || Y. J

pairing: boxer!jungwon x detective!fem!reader

synopsis: Jungwon, a rising star in the boxing world, lives by discipline and focus, known for his relentless fights and handsome looks. But his world is thrown into chaos when he becomes the prime suspect in your investigation of a dangerous crime syndicate running illegal underground fight rings. To prove his innocence, you're both forced to work together and navigate the corrupt system. But as the lines between duty and desire begin to intersect, you realize that the hardest battles are fought not in the ring, but in the heart.

genre: smut, enemies-to-lovers trope, angst, forbidden love, some fluff

warning: smut MDNI. Rough sex, dirty talk, public sex, guns, kidnap, cursing, open ending ?,

wc: 15.1k

an: hey guys heres part 2, anyways i hope u enjoy! <3

You slammed the door to your car, the sound of your boots hitting the ground with your ever confident stride filled the air. You were determined to finish this case and get justice once in for all. Justice for the murder of your former partner, colleague, your close friend.

You were in complete hysteria when you found out the death of your long-term partner, Hyunjin. Unresolved, you made it your duty and mission to find Hyunjin’s murderer, and you know it starts here. After endless research, you found it. Mr. Yang, the mastermind of a crime syndicate running illegal underground fights. It was previously Hyunjin’s case, before they killed him. After being advised multiple times by the police department to let higher-ups handle it; the very own department you and Hyunjin worked for years, you continued on with the case solo regardless. It was only a matter of time before they found out. You will find the murderer and avenge Hyunjin. It’s a must.

With every breath you let out, it vaporized into the freezing wind. The anger you felt, finally coming so close to catching the murderer, warmed your skin. You wore a big black leather jacket over your black hoodie, which was propped over your head to not bring attention to you. And finally, you walked into the run-down building.

The dim glow of the boxing gym’s fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows over the empty ring. The scent of sweat and leather lingered in the air as Jungwon pounded his fists into the heavy bag, each strike landing with a satisfying thud. The rhythmic sound filled the otherwise silent space, save for the occasional shuffle of his feet against the worn-out mats.

It was late—too late for anyone else to be here. Just how he liked it. No distractions, no expectations. Just him, his gloves, and the fight ahead.

Or so he thought.

The gym doors burst open with a sharp bang, the force of the entry sending them swinging against the walls. Jungwon froze mid-punch, his head snapping toward the disturbance. You stood in the doorway, the neon “OPEN 24 HOURS” sign flickering behind you, casting a faint blue glow against your sharp alluring features.

You are immensely stunning—though the deadly glint in your dark eyes made it clear you aren’t here for small talk. Walking with your hands stuffed into your jacket’s pockets, you carried an air of authority, but no badge in sight.

No uniform. No backup.

Jungwon wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and exhaled, “Gym’s closed.”

You ignored him. In a flash, you reached behind your jacket, pulled out a folded document, and tossed it onto the gym floor between you both. It landed with a crisp slap, the bold lettering of WARRANT FOR QUESTIONING staring up at him.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, amusingly, “You could’ve just asked nicely.”

You stepped forward, your boots echoing against the floor, “Shut it, you’re coming with me.”

Your voice was smooth but edged with something sharp—something personal. Jungwon exhaled through his nose, glancing between you and the warrant.

“What exactly am i being accused of?”

“Illegal underground fights. Money laundering. Possible ties to the Black Dragon Syndicate,” You stated, analyzing his undeniably handsome face.

God, not to mention the look of his body…

Jungwon let out a short laugh, shaking his head, “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

“Maybe,” you tilted your head, eyes locked onto his like you were waiting for him to slip up, “Maybe not. Either way, I have questions.”

Jungwon’s eyes trailed down your body, sensing something was off, “Where’s your badge?”

You raised your head defiantly, “I don’t need one.”

Liar.

Jungwon had been in enough situations to recognize when someone was playing outside the rules. And judging by the way your fingers twitched at your sides—like you are itching for a fight—this wasn’t just a routine questioning. This was personal. And he could read right through your pretty face.

“I see,” he mused, stepping out of the ring.

He smirked, “You’re not supposed to be here, are you?”

Your expression remained unreadable, “I’m here because your name keeps coming up in places it shouldn’t.”

“Or because you need answers you’re not getting through official channels.”

The flicker in your gaze told him he was right. Something dark coiled in his chest. He didn’t know what you were looking for, but if you are this desperate, you are dangerous. Maybe not to him—not yet—but to yourself.

Before he could think too hard on it, you moved.

Fast.

In one swift motion, you grabbed his wrist, yanking it behind his back with expert precision. Jungwon twisted out of your grip just as quickly, breaking free and stepping back.

You lunged again, and he dodged, catching your wrist before you could land a hit.

you were skilled—he could feel it in the way your muscles tensed, the way you adjusted your weight in a split second, ready to counter his next move. But so was he.

You both clashed, a flurry of movement and near-misses, neither fully committing to hurting the other but neither backing down.

Then, you changed the rhythm. Instead of another strike, you feinted—just enough for him to react—before sweeping his legs out from under him.

Jungwon hit the mat with a grunt. Before he could push himself up, you pointed a gun at him, your other hand held a pair of cuffs.

He looked up at you, lips still curled in amusement despite the fact that you’ve just floored him, “Woah, pretty, thats a dangerous toy you have there. Let’s put it down, yeah?”

You leaned down, voice low and firm, “This isn’t a game, Jungwon.”

Your mask had cracked—just a little—but enough for him to see it now. The anger simmering just beneath your calm exterior.

Jungwon’s smirk softened, “Who are you really after?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Stop acting. I know it’s you who’s been behind all of this.”

"I already said you have the wrong guy."

“Actually,” you murmured, reaching into your jacket pocket.

Jungwon barely had time to register the movement before you pulled out a sleek black USB drive, holding it between your fingers like a loaded gun.

His stomach twisted.

“Recognize this?” you asked, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp.

Jungwon kept his expression neutral, “Should I?”

You smirked, but there was no humor in it, "You should. Because I know exactly what’s on it.”

He clenched his jaw. He didn’t know what kind of information you had or how you got it—but if you were confident enough to use it against him, it couldn’t be good.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” you continued, stepping closer.

“You’re going to help me find the real culprit. The person responsible for all of this mess. And in return…” you twirled the USB between your fingers.

“This stays between us.”

Jungwon exhaled slowly, his mind racing. He could fight you on this. He could try to get away, call you bluff. But something told him you wouldn’t have come here without leverage you were willing to use and he just had too much to be guilty for to risk it.

So instead, he met your gaze, tilting his head slightly, “Blackmailing me, Detective?”

“Call it… an incentive," you shrugged.

He let the silence stretch between you both before finally giving you a small amused chuckle, “Alright, I’ll play along.”

You nodded, pocketing the USB again.

“Good,” you murmured, “Then let’s get to work.”

Jungwon sat in the passenger seat of your car, his body lazily slugged into the seat, his legs propped open. The soft hum of the engine filled the silence between you, the glow of streetlights casting fleeting shadows across his face as you sped down the empty roads.

He rolled his wrist as he played with the hem of the long bandages on his hands, "So, where are we going, Detective? Or do I not get that privilege?”

You kept your eyes on the road, your grip steady on the wheel, “We’re going to talk somewhere private.”

Jungwon smirked, tilting his head slightly, “Careful, that almost sounded like a date.”

You shot him a glare, “Are you always this shameless?”

Jungwon chuckled under his breath, his dimples showcasing his handsome face frustratingly, watching you from the corner of his eye. Now that he was sitting this close, he could see it—the exhaustion hidden beneath your sharp exterior. The tightness in your jaw, the way your shoulders never fully relaxed, as if you were constantly bracing for a fight.

Whatever you were after, it wasn’t just about justice. It was personal. He knew that. He looked out to the window.

"You never did tell me what’s on that USB.”

You remained silent for a moment, your fingers tightening slightly around the wheel. Then, you said, “Enough to ruin you.”

Jungwon whistled, “That bad, huh?”

“I don’t make threats I can’t back up.”

“Fair enough.” He studied you, curiosity growing, “But if you had enough to ‘ruin me,’ as you say, why not just use it? Why drag me into this?”

You exhaled through your nose in irritation, “Because you’re useful.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, “And here I thought you just wanted my charming company.”

You didn’t take the bait.

“My partner was murdered,” you said, your voice even, controlled.

“The higher-ups don’t want me on the case. They shut me out, told me to move on. But I know there’s more to this.”

Jungwon leaned forward slightly, intrigued despite himself, “And you think I can help because…?”

You hesitated. Just for a second.

“The Black Dragon Syndicate has connections to underground fights,” you admitted.

“I have reason to believe my partner’s killer is tied to them. And you?” you finally glanced at him, your gaze cutting.

“You may not be dirty, but you’re close enough to their world. Close enough to get me where I need to be.”

Jungwon considered your words carefully.

He wasn’t stupid—getting involved in something like this could destroy his career, his life. But then again… you weren't wrong. He knew people. He knew how the underground worked, how fighters got tangled up in things bigger than they could handle.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, Detective. I’ll do what I can, but after that, we're done.”

“Okay.”

“But,” he added, smirking, “if I’m doing this, we do it my way. You’re good, but you don’t know their world like I do.”

You arched an eyebrow, “And what exactly is your way?”

Jungwon leaned back again, his smirk deepening, “We start with a fight.”

You pulled the car into an abandoned lot behind an old warehouse, the headlights cutting through the thick mist rolling in from the docks. The place looked empty, but Jungwon knew better. This wasn’t just some random stop—You brought him here for a reason.

He leaned forward, glancing around, “Let me guess. This is where you try to get me killed?”

You shut off the engine and unbuckled your seatbelt, “That depends on how cooperative you are.”

Jungwon looked down, a genuine smile plastered across his face.

And God, those dimples your heart can never get used to.

“You really know how to make a guy feel special, Detective.”

Ignoring him, you stepped out of the car. He followed, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets as the cool night air settled around you.

you turned to face him, your expression unreadable, “If we’re doing this, I need you to prove you’re not just going to slow me down.”

Jungwon tilted his head, intrigued, “What, you want me to do push-ups or something?”

Your lips twitched—almost like you wanted to smirk—but you didn’t. Instead, you nodded toward the warehouse.

“There’s a fight happening inside. Illegal, no official records, all cash bets. It’s run by a middleman for the Black Dragon Syndicate.”

Jungwon frowned, “And you want me to fight?”

“No,” you closed the distance between both of you, “I want you to win.”

Jungwon's eyebrows furrow, he looks down at you, “You realize if I step into that ring, I blow my cover, right? I have a reputation to keep.”

“Then don’t lose.”

Jungwon studied you carefully, searching for any hesitation in your eyes. There was none. Your faces only mere inches apart. And although it was freezing outside, you can't help but to feel like you're burning up.

“You really are insane, aren’t you?”

You look away, trying to calm your rapid heartbeat, “You said we do this your way, Jungwon. This is your world. You know the rules. If I walk in there alone, I get nothing. But if you fight—if you win—you get me a seat at the table.”

“These people know me. They know what I can do. I don’t need to prove myself.”

“I know," You nodded, “all you have to do is get me close to the right people.”

Jungwon exhaled, irritated, leaning closer towards you, “You’re asking me to put everything on the line.”

You held his gaze, defiantly, “And I’m putting everything on the line, too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You held your gazes, faces so close it made your hands clench. The distant echoes of voices from inside the warehouse filled the silence between you, the weight of what you both were about to do settling in. The tension palpable.

Then, finally, Jungwon smirked.

“Fine,” he said, walking past you, "Try to keep up, Detective. The moment we step inside, you’re in my world now.”

Jungwon led the way toward the warehouse, his steps unhurried, confident—like he owned the place. In a way, he did. His name carried weight in the underground. He didn’t need an invitation, didn’t need to sneak in through the back. Wherever there was a fight, Jungwon was welcomed. Respected. Feared.

You walked beside him, your sharp eyes scanning everything. Light on your feet, your guard completely up. Your presence just as commanding, but in an entirely different way. You are striking—undeniably so. Even in the dim, grungy surroundings, you turned heads. It wasn’t just your beauty; it was the way you carried yourself without needing to show much skin. The lethal grace in your movements. The sharp glint in your eyes that warned people you are no easy target.

Jungwon noticed, too. But unlike the others, he wasn’t staring in admiration—he was entertained. Curious.

"Didn’t peg you for the type to blend in," he murmured, amusement lacing his tone.

You didn't even glance his way, "And I didn’t peg you for the type to care."

You were used to it—being looked at, admired, but so underrestimated. It didn’t faze you. You were too busy to care about anything other than your mission, too uninterested in wasting time falling in love. After all, you had your fair share with men and saw glimpses of how disappointing they could be.

As you reached the entrance, a heavyset bouncer stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze flickered from Jungwon to you, eyes narrowing.

“Didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” he grunted, “You fighting tonight?”

Jungwon smirked, “Maybe. Just here for business.”

The bouncer’s eyes shifted to you, “And her?”

Jungwon didn’t hesitate. He threw an arm around your shoulders, a smug grin tugging at his lips, “She’s with me.”

You barely resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs. Instead, you turned your head slightly, giving him a mocking smile and a sharp glare which practically threatened, Touch me again, and I’ll break your wrist.

He returned a cocky smile.

He looked at Jungwon, smirking, “Didn’t think you were the type to settle down.”

Jungwon chuckled, “Who said anything about settling?”

His tone was playful, but you caught the knowing glint in his eyes. He was enjoying this too much. His comment irked you. You move away from him.

Finally, he stepped aside, jerking his head toward the entrance, “Try not to get blood on the floors.”

Jungwon shrugged, following behind you towards the entrance, “No promises.”

The moment you stepped inside, the air changed. The heat of bodies packed together, the metallic scent of sweat and blood, the roar of the crowd as fists met flesh—it was intoxicating.

You took it all in, your sharp gaze flicking from the ring in the center of the room to the men gathered around it, placing bets with wads of cash. The underground fights weren’t just brutal—they were a business. A business with deep ties to the Black Dragon Syndicate.

Jungwon leaned toward you, his voice low, “Welcome to the underworld, Detective.”

You ignored him, scanning the crowd, “Who do we need to talk to?”

Jungwon followed your gaze, spotting a familiar figure near the betting table.

“There. See the guy in the gray suit? That’s Kang Min-sik. He handles the syndicate’s finances—the bets, the payouts, the money laundering.”

You nodded. “Then he’s our way in.”

Jungwon chuckled, “Slow down, pretty. You can’t just walk up to him and start asking questions.”

You turned to him, crossing her arms, "Then what do you suggest?”

Jungwon glanced at the ring, where the current fight was wrapping up. The crowd was hungry for more, the energy in the room electric. His smirk widened.

“We make an entrance.”

Before you could question him, he stepped toward the announcer’s booth, his voice carrying over the noise, “I’m fighting.”

The announcer, a wiry man with a scar over his brow, lit up at the sight of him, “Jungwon! You sure? Last time you nearly put a man in a coma.”

Jungwon just grinned, “Then let’s see if anyone else wants to take the risk.”

The crowd erupted into cheers, and just like that, the stage was set.

You clenched your jaw. You had come here for information, not a spectacle. But as Jungwon stepped toward the ring, rolling his shoulders, your realized something.

Jungwon wasn’t just fighting for show.

He was sending a message.

And every man in this room—including Kang Min-sik—was about to hear it loud and clear.

You stood at the edge of the ring, arms crossed, watching Jungwon like a hawk. You told yourself you weren't impressed. That you didn’t care about his reputation or the way the entire room seemed to gravitate toward him. Or the small anxiousness of him getting hurt.

But when Jungwon stepped into the ring—the lights casting shadows over the sharp angles of his face—you felt something stir.

The crowd roared as his opponent climbed in, a towering brute covered in tattoos. A challenger who clearly thought Jungwon was just another name to add to his kill count.

Jungwon didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. He only smirked, the same infuriating confidence he always carried, but now it felt different. Like he was proving something—to you.

The bell rang.

The brute charged, swinging a punch meant to take Jungwon’s head off.

But Jungwon was faster. He dodged, fluid and effortless, his movements precise. He ducked under the next swing, landed a brutal counterpunch to the ribs. The punch echoed through the warehouse, and the brute staggered back, gasping.

Your eyes flickered. He was playing with him.

You should have looked away. Should have focused on the mission.

But you didn’t.

Because watching Jungwon fight was like watching something untamed—dangerous but mesmerizing. There was no wasted movement, no hesitation. He was completely in control.

Another punch. A ruthless uppercut. The brute collapsed, unconscious before he hit the ground.

The warehouse erupted in chaos, cheers shaking the walls.

Jungwon turned, searching the crowd, and when his eyes landed on you—he smirked.

You scoffed, arms tightening over your chest, “Show-off.”

He climbed out of the ring, walking toward you, sweat glistening on his skin, knuckles bruised, lip busted, and a few cuts.

“Admit it, you were impressed.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve seen better.”

Jungwon smiled, “Liar.”

Before you could snap back, a new presence approached. Kang Min-sik, the man you had come here for, was watching Jungwon with a knowing smile.

“Still undefeated, I see,” Kang mused. His gaze flickered to you, “And who’s this?”

Jungwon wiped blood from his knuckles, glancing at you. For a split second, his expression softened, “Someone who needs answers.”

You stepped forward, meeting Kang’s eyes without fear, “And I think you’re going to give them to me.”

Kang laughed, but there was something calculating in his gaze, “Well, now I’m curious. Let’s talk.”

Jungwon leaned in close to your ear, his voice barely above a whisper, “Try not to get us both killed, alright pretty?”

Your eyes met, and for the first time, a genuine laugh escaped your lips. He faltered for a moment before falling into a smile.

"Sure."

You both followed Kang Min-sik through a dimly lit hallway behind the main warehouse, the muffled roars of the crowd fading into the background. The scent of old smoke and sweat clung to the walls, but you kept your focus sharp. This was the moment you had been waiting for.

Kang led you both into a small, lavishly furnished office—a stark contrast to the grunge of the underground fights. A leather couch, expensive whiskey bottles lining the shelves, and a single desk where he took his seat, gesturing for you to do the same.

Jungwon leaned against the wall instead, arms crossed, while you remained standing, you sharp gaze locked onto Kang.

"So," Kang began, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "what exactly is it that you need from me?"

"My partner was murdered. I have reason to believe the Black Dragon Syndicate was involved. I need names. Connections. Anything you know."

Kang chuckled, shaking his head, "Bold. You storm in here with a notorious fighter at your side and expect me to just hand over information? What makes you think I’d betray my own?"

You didn’t blink, "Because you’re not loyal to anyone but money, and I’m willing to make it worth your while."

Kang raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but before he could respond, Jungwon stepped forward.

"Careful, doll," he murmured, "Men like him don’t just take money. They take leverage."

Kang smirked, "Smart man."

You had known walking into this that Kang wouldn’t just hand you what you wanted. But you also knew you couldn’t walk away empty-handed.

Jungwon sighed, "Alright. Let’s make it simple. She’s not a cop anymore. She’s working for herself. And I vouch for her."

Kang's gaze flicked to Jungwon, "You vouch for her?"

Jungwon hesitated for a brief second before nodding, "Yeah. I do."

you turned to him, surprise flickering in your eyes.

Kang hummed, studying you both, then leaned back, "Interesting."

He tapped his fingers against the desk, "I might have something. But if you want it, there’s a price."

you expected that much, "Name it."

Kang’s lips curled, "A job. There’s a man the syndicate needs… dealt with. Not killed, just taught a lesson. Someone who thinks he can run from his debts. You two take care of it, and I’ll tell you what I know."

you immediately stiffened, "I don’t do dirty work for criminals."

Kang shrugged, "Then you don’t get your information."

You clenched your fists, your pulse spiking with frustration.

Before you could speak, Jungwon let out a slow exhale, "We’ll do it."

you snapped your head toward him in disbelief.

Jungwon met your gaze, You want answers? This is how we get them.

Kang grinned, "I like you, Jungwon. It's not easy to find a reasonable man who knows how to get something he wants."

You bit back a curse, shooting Jungwon a glare. You wanted to fight him on this—wanted to push back—but you knew he was right. You were already deep in this. There was no easy way out.

Kang slid a slip of paper across the desk, "There’s the details. Handle it cleanly, and I’ll give you your lead."

Jungwon took the paper. Turning on your heel, you stormed toward the door. Jungwon followed you, but before he stepped out, Kang called after him.

"You’re playing a dangerous game, Jungwon. Does he know you're doing this?" he tilted his head. Jungwon looks towards your direction, no sign of you.

"I hope you know what you’re doing," he continues.

Jungwon smirked to himself before walking out, "Wouldn’t be fun otherwise."

Jungwon caught up to you, his footsteps deliberate. You spun around, shoving Jungwon against the car with surprising force.

"What the hell was that?" you hissed.

Jungwon, still pinned against the metal, raised an amused brow, "That was me getting you what you wanted. I was expecting a 'Thank you,' but sure, this works fine, pretty."

You glared up at him, your body close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, "You don’t get to make deals for me."

Jungwon rolled his eyes, "And yet, here we are."

You hated how calm he was. Hated the way he looked at you—like you were some reckless fool who didn’t know how to play the game.

"I can't stand you already," you said, voice low.

Jungwon leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your ear, "Likewise, detective."

For a moment, the anger between you shifted into something else—something charged, electric.

Then you stepped back, snatching the paper from his hands, "Fine. But if you screw this up, I’ll be the one teaching you a lesson."

Jungwon grinned, "Now that’s a fight I’d actually look forward to."

Later, you both headed to a motel for the night. You knew it was only a matter of time before you were chased down and hunted. You needed to stay on the low. You changed into more comfortable clothes, waiting for Jungwon to step out of the shower. You sat at the couch, enjoying a cup of ramen. After a while, he showed up. He took a seat next to you, grabbing your cup of ramen and taking a bite. You furrowed your eyebrows, annoyed.

"Hey—"

You stopped at the sight of his busted lip and other injuries. Your face softened a bit. You sighed, mindlessly grabbing his hand to examine his knuckles. He freezes, looking at you as your fingers brush over his knuckles.

"This looks pretty bad. I'll treat your wounds. Stay right here," You stand up before he could protest.

You come back with the kit, sitting in front of him. You clear your throat, reaching for his hand.

"You don't have to do this, It's nothing serious," He protests.

"Just shut up," you scold.

You're slow and careful with his wounds, the sound of your breathing and Jungwon's soft groans in pain filling the silence. Then, you work your way to his face. You apply ointment to his cuts, softly blowing onto it. You lean closer to his face, treating his busted lip. You look up to meet his gaze, wavering a moment. You both look away and you pack everything up.

"Thanks," he mumbles.

"We should get some sleep. We have a lot of things to do," you suggest.

He nods.

"I'll sleep on the couch," he says, getting comfortable on it.

"Why not on the bed?" You asked.

"There's only one," He replied.

"So?" you raised an eyebrow at his uncharacteristic shy behavior, "I don't care whether or not you're on it."

He blinks, dumbfounded.

You walk into the room, making your way on it. He walks in, slowly making his way under the covers. Once settled, you turn the lamp off on the nightstand. Only the moonlight from the windows illuminates the bedroom.

You shift in bed, finding a comfortable position. You lay on your side, your eyes closed. You hear Jungwon shifting too, before it going all silent. Only the soft sounds of breathing can be heard.

"By the way," he broke the silence softly, "you never told me your name."

You open your eyes. You immediately find his eyes, him laying towards you. Your breath hitched.

"Y/n," you confessed softly, "My name is y/n."

There's a small moment of silence, staring at each other's faces under the moonlight.

"Y/n," he whispers your name tenderly.

You swear you've never loved the way you've heard your name be said before until now. Your favorite sound. Like it was meant for him to be said. Never sounded so correct, so right.

You woke to warmth. It took you a second to remember where you were—the dimly lit motel room, the scratchy motel sheets, the faint hum of traffic outside. But what startled you the most wasn’t the unfamiliarity of the room. It was the arm draped over your waist.

Jungwon.

your breath hitched as you realized how close he was, his body pressed lightly against yours, his warmth seeping through the thin barrier of fabric between you both. His breathing was slow, steady, still deep in sleep. You stiffened. You should move. You needed to move.

But for some reason, you hesitated. You couldn’t. You didn’t want to.

Jungwon, the man who drove you insane, the notorious fighter with an irritatingly charming smile and dimples to die for, felt… different like this. Vulnerable. At peace.

He’s still a criminal, you reminded yourself. A fighter who plays by no rules but his own.

But lying there, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest, it was hard to see him as just that.

your movement must have disturbed him because, within seconds, his grip tightened slightly before his breathing shifted. He stirred, his body tensing as he slowly became aware of your positions.

And then, you heard the smirk in his voice before you even turned to look at him. Your face burned up in embarrassment.

“When you said you didn’t care about me being in bed beside you, i didn’t think it meant to this extent, detective,” he teased.

Your face burned as you shoved his arm off and sat up, scowling at him, “You were the one holding onto me!”

Jungwon stretched lazily, completely unfazed, “I was asleep. You, on the other hand, let it happen.”

Your glare could have melted steel, “I was asleep, you idiot.”

He smiled, sitting up as well, his blonde hair tousled in a way that made him look ridiculously attractive. It was infuriating.

“Relax, Y/n,” he said, voice still husky from sleep, “You were having a nightmare, shifting in your sleep uncomfortably and it didn’t stop until you were close.”

Your face softened.

“Oh…thanks,” you mumbled, before yanking the blanket off and standing up.

Jungwon laughed, low and amused, but he didn’t push it further. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Alright, alright. So, what’s the plan?”

You grabbed your jacket, forcing yourself to focus, “We find Kang Min-sik’s target, deal with him cleanly, and get our information. And after that?”

you turned to face him, your expression serious, “I’ll let you go.”

Jungwon held your gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes.

But then he gave a small smile, “Sure, Detective. Whatever you say.”

And for some reason, you had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t be that simple.

The morning air was crisp as you stepped out of the motel, the scent of rain still lingering from the night before. You walked ahead, your mind sharp despite the exhaustion weighing down on you.

Jungwon followed, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

“You’re quiet,” he noted.

You didn’t look at him, “Just thinking.”

“About how much you enjoyed waking up next to me?” he teased.

You shot him a glare, “About how I’m going to break your nose if you don’t focus.”

Jungwon chuckled, “You’re the cutest when mad.”

The target Kang Min-sik had given you was a man named Park Sung-ho, a mid-level bookie who had been skimming money off the syndicate. He wasn’t dangerous—not in the way true criminals were—but he had crossed the wrong people.

And now, you had to decide how far you were willing to go for the information you needed.

you found him in a rundown café on the outskirts of the city, hunched over a newspaper with a half-finished cup of coffee in front of him. He looked harmless—just a man trying to disappear.

you exhaled, “This feels wrong.”

Jungwon leaned against the wall, watching you, “You knew what this was when you agreed to it.”

“I agreed to handle him, not do the syndicate’s dirty work,” you turned to him, your voice firm.

“We’re not going to hurt him,” you warned.

He reached over to move a hair strand from your face. Jungwon studied you for a second, then smirked, “Guess I’ll have to be the scary one, then.”

Before you could react, Jungwon strolled forward and casually slid into the seat across from Sung-ho. The man tensed immediately, his fingers tightening around his cup.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” Sung-ho muttered.

Jungwon tilted his head, “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Trouble’s looking for you.”

Sung-ho swallowed hard, “Listen, I don’t have the money—”

Jungwon leaned forward, his voice dropping into something low and lethal, “We’re not here for your money. We’re here to give you a message.”

You watched, arms crossed, as Jungwon’s entire demeanor shifted. This wasn’t the reckless fighter you had been dealing with. This was someone else. Someone who knew exactly how to make a man sweat. And you’d be lying if this wasn’t doing something to you in strange ways.

Sung-ho paled, “Please… I have a family.”

Jungwon’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers tapped once against the table, “Then you should’ve thought about that before stealing from people who don’t forgive.”

You exhaled sharply and stepped forward, placing a hand on Jungwon’s shoulder.

“That’s enough,” you said, your voice softer than before. Jungwon glanced up at you, something flickering in his gaze.

But after a moment, he leaned back and sighed, “Lucky you. The detective here has a soft spot for people like you.”

Sung-ho looked between you and Jungwon, eyes wide.

you pulled out a piece of paper and slid it across the table, “You disappear. Tonight. Take your family and leave the country. If the syndicate finds you again, we won’t be able to stop them.”

Sung-ho hesitated, then grabbed the paper. His hands trembled, “Thank you.”

You didn’t respond. You simply turned and walked out, Jungwon following behind you.

Once you were back on the street, he whistled, sulking.

“Didn’t take you for the merciful type. I’m starting to think you’re just nice to any man who isn’t me,” he shoved his hands in his pockets, kicking the rocks on the floor.

You shot him a look, confused, “And I didn’t take you for the type to play the villain so well.”

Jungwon shrugged, “I’m full of surprises.”

“oh, yeah?” you tried to meet his avoidant gaze.

was he…mad?

You walked in silence for a moment before he glanced at you again, “You know Kang’s not going to like this, right?”

you exhaled, “I don’t care what Kang likes. He gave us a job, and it’s done.”

Jungwon stared at you for a moment before breaking into a soft smile, “God, you’re stubborn.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his dimples, “You’re just figuring that out?”

His smile widened, but there was something different in his expression this time. Something closer to admiration.

As you made your way back to Kang Min-sik, you couldn’t ignore the shift between you both. The line between enemies and allies was already beginning to blur. And that was dangerous.

By the time you both returned to Kang Min-sik’s hideout, the air between you and Jungwon had changed. It wasn’t just the usual tension anymore—it was something heavier, something unspoken.

Kang was lounging in his leather chair when you walked in, a glass of whiskey in hand. He didn’t even bother looking up right away, his attention focused on the flickering television in the corner. When he finally did acknowledge you, it was with a slow, lazy smirk.

“You’re back early,” he mused, swirling the drink in his glass. “That means one of two things—either the job went smooth, or you decided to get creative.”

You crossed your arms, “The job is done.”

Kang arched a brow, glancing at Jungwon, “Is that so?”

Jungwon shrugged, all casual arrogance, “The guy got the message loud and clear. He won’t be a problem anymore.”

Kang studied you both for a long moment, tapping his fingers against the desk.

“Funny,” he murmured, “Because I heard a different story.”

Your spine stiffened. You should have known Kang would have eyes everywhere.

“I hear,” Kang continued, “that instead of teaching him a lesson, you let him go. Gave him a nice little escape route.”

He titled his head, “is that true?”

You held his gaze without flinching, “You wanted him dealt with. He’s gone. That’s all that matters.”

Kang’s smirk faded. “No, sweetheart. That’s not all that matters.”

Before you could react, one of Kang’s men moved. A blur of motion—faster than you expected. A blade flashed, aiming straight for your throat.

But Jungwon was faster.

In an instant, he grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it sharply. The knife clattered to the floor, and before the attacker could react, Jungwon drove his fist into his ribs. The man doubled over with a pained grunt.

The room went still. The sound of liquid trickling onto the floor filled the room. You looked over to Jungwon, his palm was dripping in blood from the huge slit he got from the knife.

Your heart pounded, but your expression remained stone-cold.

Kang let out a slow exhale, standing up. “Impressive,” he murmured, “You’ve still got it, Jungwon.”

Jungwon glanced at his hand like he wasn’t affected, “You knew what you were getting when you asked for my help.”

Kang chuckled, but his amusement didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. I did.” He glanced at you, “And you, detective—I should’ve known you’d pull something like this.”

You lifted your chin, “Are you giving us our information or not?”

Kang studied you for a long moment before finally sighing, “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that.”

He turned, grabbing a folder from his desk and tossing it toward you.

You caught it.

“There’s your lead,” Kang said. “But I’d watch my back if I were you. You made a lot of people unhappy today.”

You didn’t respond. You simply opened the folder, scanning the contents. Names, addresses, connections—pieces of the puzzle you had been chasing.

You looked up at Jungwon, who had gone unusually quiet. His jaw was tight, his fists still clenched.

what’s up with him?

“We’re done here,” you said, turning to leave.

But before you could step out, Kang’s voice stopped you.

“One last thing.”

You turned back.

Kang smirked, “You two make an interesting pair. Almost as if you trust in each other. That’s too bad.”

You furrowed your eyebrows but neither of you responded.

Kang’s smirk widened, “Careful with that. Trust is dangerous in this world. Especially when you think you have the other person all figured out.”

The night air was cold when you stepped out of the building, but you barely felt it. You clutched the folder tightly, your mind racing with the information inside. Jungwon was speeding ahead of you, you walked faster to catch up.

“Jungwon, wait! what’s up with you?” you called out to him.

Jungwon exhaled sharply beside you, “That could’ve gone worse.”

You examined him, “But it didn’t.”

He let out a low chuckle, anger plastered on his face, “You’ve got a bad habit of pissing off dangerous people.”

Trying to deescalate the situation, you smirked playfully, “You’re one of them.”

Jungwon turned to you, something unreadable in his expression. “Yeah,” he murmured, “I guess I am.”

He kept walking, your face fell to a frown. You held your breath. You grabbed his hand.

“What’s wrong with you!”

“Nothing!” he shouted.

Your eyes glanced down at the blood smudging on your hands as you hold his.

You shook your head, “this won’t do. Let’s go back to the motel to treat your wound.”

Before you could move, he yanked his hand from your grip.

“I don’t need your help,” he murmured, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Anyway, you have your leads and clues now, so this is over,” he locks eyes with you.

“This isn’t over. We haven’t even found the real culprit yet!”

“You can handle yourself perfectly fine!” He retorted.

“Stop…dragging me into this mess more than you have. Because of this, word is probably out about me being involved in this. Everything is on the line. My career. My reputation. Everything,” he continues, stepping closer to you.

The thought of being so close to finding out the long-awaited truth just for him to back out is killing you. You’re so close yet so far. And as much as you know you can handle yourself, you wouldn’t have gone this far without Jungwon. And you hated the thought of relying on him more than you thought you would.

“Jungwon,” you reached out for him, “I still need you. Please, we’re so close.”

Jungwon’s eyes flickered in something unreadable. He stepped impossibly closer to you. You could feel his heat radiating off him.

“Don’t…say stuff like that,” he fumed, “I can’t stand it. I can’t stand you a second longer.”

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. With all the anger and confusion that went through your veins, you let impulsivity take ahold of you.

“God I hate you so much, Jungwon,” you hissed, before leaning in to kiss him.

A million bolts of adrenaline fired up within you, sighing against the kiss.

Jungwon took his hands out of his pocket, cupping your face with his bloody hands to deepen the kiss. His response was urgent, desperate, and yet so tender. You both forgot how to breathe, too focused on your lips on each other to worry about taking a single break from tasting each other.

And then, finally, you broke away to catch your breath. Small pants came from one another, processing what just happened. Jungwon leaned in almost immediately after breathing to give you small and slow pecks onto your lips, refusing to be away from you. You smiled against the kisses, trying to move away but he locked you against him with his arm around your waist.

“Jungwon, stop it. Let’s go treat your wounds, okay?”

“Okay, but i’ll drive,” he stated, grabbing the keys from your pockets.

The moment the door shut closed behind Jungwon, he quickly captured your lips. Caught off guard, you stumbled back against the wall, a soft thud in result. You softly groaned against his lips, grasping onto his shirt. Jungwons hands travel down to your waist, his fingers sliding under your shirt to touch your bare skin. Your heart fluttered at the sudden contact. The kiss was now sloppy, hot, and desperate. He lifted you against him without breaking the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck. He blindly carried you to the bedroom, softly laying you on top of the bed. You sat up slightly, going further into the bed.

You felt like prey, the look in his eyes eliciting a lewd response from you. He took off his jacket before his shirt, he crawled slowly onto the bed. Eyeing you down dangerously. He hovered over you, kissing you slowly. He tugged at your shirt before helping you take it off. You tossed it aside along with the other clothes. He left hot wet kisses along your neck, trailing down to your chest. His big hands wandered across your body, resting to cup your breasts slowly. He sucks and bites the skin of your neck and collarbone before leaving more love bites onto your breasts. You let out small airy moans, gripping onto his hair. He unclasped your bra, tossing it aside.

He kisses you once more, “You’re so beautiful, it’s driving me insane.”

Your hands slowly glide against his bare chest, feeling him as he sucks onto the sensitive buds of your breasts. A warm pulse between your legs becoming gradually unbearable.

He pulls away, playing with the hem of your pants. You nod, allowing him to slide it off. You shyly tighten your legs together, embarrassed of how damp your panties are from the arousal. As if he couldn’t get any harder, the sight of you under him, wet just for him, made his cock ache. He forcefully pulled your legs apart before settling in between them. He leaned over to kiss you, hungrily. His bulge rubbing against you, creating torturous friction. You moaned, your hips subconsciously bucking up to feel more of him. He groaned against the kiss, his cock begging to be released from his tight pants.

“Jungwon, please,” you tugged onto his pants.

“Please what, y/n?” He teased, slowly grinding his hips into you.

“Stop fucking teasing,”you replied, becoming frustrated by the second.

He smiled before quickly standing up to unbuckle his belt and slid what was left of him off. Your eyes swallow the sight of him whole. He slowly pulls off your wet panties down your legs. He leaves a trail of wet kisses down your stomach. Finally, he envelops your clit into his mouth. The sensation rushed right through your body, causing a yelp in pleasure to escape from you. You reach out to him, gripping onto him as he savors you. Lewd wet sounds fill the room.

“oh, fuck—oh, Jungwon…” you moaned, biting your lip in hopes to keep quiet.

He pulls away, aligning his twitching cock between your wet folds. He rubs it in a bit, slow and deliberate.

you groan, “I can’t wait any longer…”

“What was that, detective? Couldn’t hear you…” he taunted.

“oh, you asshol—!” you argued, but quickly cut yourself off with a moan at the feeling of Jungwon pushing himself into you.

You felt like you were being filled up. So full.

He was slow, gentle, yet unforgiving.

Once all the way in, he leaned over to give you a sloppy kiss.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

You shake your head, softly whining at the stuffed feeling.

He smirked, pulling his hips back before pushing back in. He moved slowly at first, waiting till you adjusted to him. His face flinched in pleasure, your tight grip onto his cock driving him crazy. He cursed under his breath, picking up his pace. He threw one leg over his shoulder, wrapping his arm around it to secure. His hips snapped against yours, hitting spots deep within you. You moaned loudly, gripping onto the sheets beneath you in ecstasy.

“fuck…you’re taking me so good, pretty,” he whispered, admiring your fucked-out face.

“so pretty, just like this,” he continued, pressing a hand on your lower stomach, feeling where his cock thrusted within you.

“oh my—mhm,” you choked out, your mouth falling agape at the overwhelming sensation.

He let go of your leg, towering over you in missionary. He used his arm for support, kissing you tenderly. He left soft kisses onto your neck and jawline as he continued to thrust into you. The sound of leather jackets hitting the ground and lewd sounds filling the room.

“Not so bossy now, are you, detective?” he laughed, his voice coarse and airy.

“I still hate yo—!” you attempted to argue, but instantly failed at the feeling of Jungwon going deeper—faster.

“Shut up and take my cock,” he groaned, fisting your hair before slightly pulling your head back.

Your eyes rolled back, digging your nails onto his back. You clenched around him, approaching your high.

“So fucking pretty, my cockdrunk slut,” he grunted, his eyes locking with yours.

You stared back into his, feeling a knot begin to form in your stomach. It was all to intimate—too much to handle, yet neither of you could look away. Too scared as if to lose this special moment, this undeniable connection.

You cupped his cheek, glancing at his lips. Jungwon leaned in, kissing you lovingly.

“M’gonna cum,” you whined against his lips, wrapping your legs tighter around him.

“Me too,” he exhaled.

He quickened his pace, cursing under his breath. Finally, you let out one last yelp in pleasure, shaking violently against him as you reached your high. His cock twitched shortly after, filling you up entirely. He moaned your name like small prayers, thrusting a few more times to ride out the high. Then, he drops beside you. Sweating and panting, you both close your eyes and catch your breath. Lying on his stomach, he opens his eyes to face you. He meets your softly asleep expression and the way your chest rose and fell. He smiles to himself, finding it cute how fast you fell asleep. He reached to push out a strand of your hair from your face delicately, mesmerizing by your beauty. Wholeheartedly, just you. He loved the sound of your soft breathing, the smell of your hair, the warmth of your touch, and how perfectly you fit right in his arms. Like you were meant to be there for him. Just for him.

He scoot closer, wrapping you in his arms gently. You stirred softly in your sleep before snuggling up into his warm chest. He smiled, looking at you shift for a comfortable position. He analyzed your face until his eyes became heavy. He kissed your forehead before falling into a deep sleep of his own.

The next day, you hadn’t realized how long you fell asleep for. Your eyes flickered open at the stinging sensation of the sun. You looked around gently, finding yourself entangled in Jungwons arms. Your eyes widen as memories of the previous night flashed before your eyes. You freeze as he softly stirs in his sleep, groaning. Once it’s safe, you carefully and slowly manage to release yourself from his grip. You tip-toed across the room, picking up your pants from the floor. You hurriedly put them on, as you rushed down the hallway.

“Crazy,” you whispered to yourself scoldingly, “you must’ve gone crazy, Y/n!”

You threw on his jacket and put your shoes on before grabbing the keys from the table. You made yourself outside the motel, turning on the car. You sit there, recalling every single touch given to each other. You could still feel his lips on your body, his big and warm hands gripping onto your ass, and how broad his back felt as you scratched onto it. You groaned, resting your head onto the steering wheel in frustration.

How were you supposed to face him now? What is there to say after that?

You know you should ignore it, disregard it as a moment of weakness and desire, but you know it’s far much more than that. At least for you.

Jungwon reached out for you absentmindedly, only to be meet with a cold, empty, spot. He quickly sat up, looking around the room. Your clothes weren’t on the floor, the door was opened, and no sound of you. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Y/n?” he called out, putting on his pants.

No response.

He walked into the hallway, opening the bathroom door to check.

no one there.

He went into the living room, then the kitchen. He finally pieced it together. But then, the front door opened. He whipped his head around to catch your figure.

You held a plastic bag from the store and a nervous expression.

You tossed the keys onto the table.

“Y-you’re up…” you broke the suffocating silence.

You focused your attention onto the materials in the bag, trying to ignore his piercing gaze—and his unusual silence.

You took out the bandages and alcohol solution to treat his wounds.

“These are for you…we didn’t get to treat it yesterday so I—” You froze at Jungwon’s lips onto yours.

He cupped your face, pressing his body up against you. You lose your balance, your back hitting the wall. You softly moan against his lips, attempting to push him away but he deepens the kiss. You stop fighting it, gripping onto him tightly as you close your eyes and melt into him.

You break the kiss to catch your breath, your gazes meet. He glances down at your swollen lips. He leans in again, as if trying to devour you whole. You stop him, signaling to the table.

“Let’s get your wound treated first,” you swallowed, “please.”

“fine,” he mumbled, plopping himself onto the chair.

You let out a shaky exhale, sitting down in front of him. You open the contents, treating his wound delicately. His face would flinch here and there, but no sound. Jungwon observed you intently, as if watching an art piece. He couldn’t help it, and it frustrated him so much. He glanced down at his jacket you’re wearing. A small smiled crept onto his face, a prideful feeling in his chest arising at the sight of it.

You looked at his direction, realizing you’re wearing his jacket.

“Oh, i’m sorry…I grabbed the nearest jacket and i didn’t notice it was yours…”

“I don’t mind. It suits you better,” he smirked.

You blinked, dumbfounded.

After you finished treating his wound, you got up.

“We should get some days to rest…I’ve found the place and time that will lead us to Mr. Yang.”

He stiffened a bit before nodding.

You told yourself it would be the first and last time, that the first time was just a mistake, that you found him annoying, and that you couldn’t stand him.

Yet, you found yourself for the next few days in his arms over and over again, his lips worshiping your body, and his cock deep within you.

You both argue, fight, but end up making love to each other at the end of the day. It was a predictable, frustrating, routine. One which you both felt frustrated by but couldn’t change even if you wanted to. Because you both knew; you liked this more than you expressed.

And tonight, was just another one of those moments.

“ngh…fuck, Jungwon,” you moaned, riding his cock on the living room couch.

He looked up at you with his half-lidded gaze, immersed into the pleasure you gave him. His strong arms rested onto your ass, gripping and pulling it towards his cock every now and then.

“fuck, pretty, just like that,” he groaned, throwing his head back.

You bounced on his cock, your breasts mimicking your movement. Your moans became more persistent as you felt your orgasm approach. The room was filled with heavy breathing and the sound of skin. You were so adjusted to him, that he could easily slide in and out from you. It drove him crazy.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him sloppily. He returned the kiss almost immediately, locking you tightly against him with one arms around your waist and the other up your back. And then, he thrusted upward, forcing you to take every single each of him.

You yelped in pleasure, gripping onto his shoulder for support.

“You can take it, baby,” he cooed, watching your mouth fall agape.

You nodded insistently, biting back curses. Tears swelled the corner of your eyes, the pleasure becoming more and more intense.

“Jungwon I’m…” You cried out, digging your nails into his skin.

“I know, baby,” he moaned, “you’re taking me so fucking good…”

A ring of your cream built around his shaft, his cock glistening from how wet you are.

He slapped your ass harshly, leaving a permanent mark onto it. You whimpered, digging your nails into his shoulders. You clenched around him, his twitching cock begging for release.

And then, with a final thrust, you both come undone. He groans your name before coating your velvet walls with warmth. You shook vigorously, falling onto him in exhaustion. Panting, he welcomes you in his arms, embracing you.

You stirred softly in your sleep, slowly opening your eyes at the light of your phone turning on. You looked around, careful to not wake up Jungwon—who was sleeping peacefully in your arms. You felt a warm feeling in your heart at the sight of him. You reached for your phone from the nightstand. Your eyes gazed over the message from an unknown number.

‘Find the phone booth.’

The neon glow of the city flickered in the rain-soaked streets as you paced outside the dingy motel. You made your way inside the phone booth, just outside your motel room. You pressed the ringing phone to your ear. Static crackled on the other end before a voice—gruff and familiar—cut through.

“You’re in over your head, Detective."

Your grip on the phone tightened, “Then why don’t you tell me what I’m missing?"

A long pause.

“Mr. Yang. He’s a ghost. You won’t find him unless he wants to be found.”

"Good thing I make a habit of pissing off men like him,” you stated.

"And that’s exactly why you’re about to get yourself killed."

You exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over your face, “I don’t have time for riddles. My partner is dead, and I’m going to find out who put the bullet in his head—"

"Then stop looking where you shouldn’t."

Your face twitched, "What the hell does that mean?"

“See that key on top of the phone box? Take it to the mailbox. Go alone. And…” he warned, “Don’t show Jungwon.”

“What? why?”

The line went dead.

You lowered the phone, unease twisting in your gut. Something wasn’t adding up. Someone was playing you, nudging you closer to the edge of a trap you couldn’t see.

And the worst part?

You had a sinking feeling that Jungwon knew more than he was telling you.

You turned, heading to motel’s unit mailboxes. You opened the corresponding box with the key. Your hands trembled as you pulled the white envelope out, labeled with red pen ‘Y/N.’

You opened it to reveal various photos.

But, they weren’t just photos. They were surveillance footage snapshots of Jungwon.

The days and time leading to the murder and of the murder. At the same place of the crime scene.

Your blood runs cold and you feel yourself sick. You swallow hard, ignoring the familiar sting in your eyes and ache in your heart. But most of all, the boiling coursing through your veins.

No, this couldn’t be. Jungwon wouldn’t…?

Why was he there? Has he been lying to you this whole time? stringing you along?

The weight of the realization crushed you. You looked over at the glistening fire pit inside a metal can. You threw the pictures in. You made your way back inside. As you walked down the hallway, you felt sicker and sicker.

What does those photos mean? why should I trust him? Should I confront him? What should I even do?

You froze outside the bedroom door. Your hand hovered over the doorknob, hesitant. Then, you slowly opened it.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped together, his expression unreadable. The room smelled like rain and worn-out tension, like two people teetering between trust and betrayal.

"Who was that?" he asked.

You hesitated, looking over at the window with shifted blinds. He must’ve heard the phone ring…and saw me out there.

You flashed a soft smile, “An old friend. Says I should stop looking.”

Jungwon’s jaw tightened but then relaxes, returning a teasing smile, "Maybe you should listen."

Your eyebrows furrowed, "You sound just like him."

He gets up to walk over to you, placing a tender kiss onto your lips, "And maybe that should tell you something."

And although you knew those words were teasing and light, you couldn’t help but to feel as if there was a deeper meaning to it.

The words hung between you, heavy and unspoken.

For the first time, you wondered if Jungwon was trying to protect you—Or if he was keeping you from the truth.

So you waited, watching.

You both went to the boxing gym he practiced at. This was the ways he wasted his time, so you accompanied him. He rented out a private room, claiming he needed to focus. So there you were, sitting on the mini couch in the corner, watching as he boxed away all his thoughts and feelings onto the bag. You tried to focus on your phone, but your eyes kept finding their way back to his figure. He was panting, a determined look on his face, and his forehead sweaty. It turned you on, weirdly enough. Your mind drifting off to many dirty fantasies. Jungwon looked over to you, catching your gaze.

“What is it, pretty?” He asked, walking over to you.

You shifted in your seat, embarrassed. He tossed his boxing gloves onto the couch.

“Nothing,” you lied.

He narrowed his eyes on you suspiciously, lifting his eyebrows in a flirty manner. You could tell he was frustrated from his boxing performance, you saw the irritation on his face when he missed something.

“Don’t lie,” he warned, gripping your face to look at him.

You batted your eyelashes at him, innocently. Albeit to the many fantasies flashing through your mind at the moment just at the sight of him.

He tilted his head slightly, examining you. His thumb made its way into your mouth, coating it with your salvia. You suck on it softly, to tease. His face flinches, a bulge growing in his pants. He lets out a low chuckle. He leans down to kiss you, slowly. You lean back onto the couch, allowing him to tower over you, his leg between your thighs and his arms resting on either side of you. You sigh against his lips, melting into him. He kisses you deliberately slow, passionately, as if to drive you mad. And it was working.

His hot, wet kisses trailed down your jawline up till your neck. You softly moaned, incapable of thinking rationally. You looked at the door through your half-lidded eyes, the fear of being caught arousing you. He lifts off your shirt, you let him. He tosses it onto the floor, cupping your breasts that sat so pretty in your laced bra.

“My God,” he mumbled, “I can never get enough of you.”

He recaptures your lips once again, his hand trailing down your bare waist to grip your ass. You whimper against his lips, your panties feeling soaked. Breathless, he pulls away.

“Get on all fours. Now,” he demanded.

You nod, pushing yourself further onto the couch. You take off your pants, tossing them alongside his pants and other clothes on the floor. You get on all fours, your cunt aching to be filled by him.

He goes behind you, giving you a harsh slap on your ass before pulling down your wet panties. Your hips moved closer to him, pressing against his throbbing cock. He griped onto your hips tightly.

“So desperate for me, aren’t you?” he teased, rubbing his dick between your wet folds.

He cursed under his breath, pushing into you with a harsh thrust. You cried out, gripping onto the couch for balance. He started to rock his hips against you, his pace deliberate and hard. You could tell something was on his mind, and he was using you to release all the pent-up emotions he had. But you didn’t mind.

The sound of skin filled the room, but it wasn’t louder than the people outside the room. Your moans were broken, the air taken out from you as Jungwon pushed his cock further into you. He was filling you up so good.

His pace quickened, he reached for your hair, pulling it back to deepen his cock within you.

“Take it like a good girl, I know you can do it, detective,” he cooed, watching as you struggled to form words.

Your moans became louder, the pleasure becoming intense the more he hit the deep spots. Tears formed the corner of your eyes, you were drowning in pleasure. You didn’t want this to stop.

Jungwon softly shushed you, “Do you want everyone out there to know you’re getting slut out by me?”

You shook your head, whimpering in attempt to bite back your sounds. He lets go of your hair harshly, the mess of your hair and makeup arousing him.

“fuck,” he groaned, “look at you. Such a gorgeous mess.”

His hips snapped against your hand-marked ass, tears falling down your face. You’re a moaning mess, uncontrollable panting and incoherent words. Jungwon grabbed a boxing glove, placing it in front of your mouth.

“Open,” he demanded before stuffing your mouth with it. You bit down on it, hard.

His pace was merciless, pounding into you till your legs trembled. Your loud cries were muffled against the glove, your eyes rolling back into your head as he repeatedly hit your spot. Tears dripped down your chin.

He fucked his anger out on you, focusing on where your dick entered and slid out your cunt. His breath rigid and unstable. He cursed under his breath, throwing his head back. He leaned forward to harshly press you against the couch, arching your back for him.

This new position brought you to the stars. Jungwon let out a loud groan, slowing down only momentarily to thrust harder into you.

“i’ma fucking cum,” he grunted, pressing you harder into the couch the closer he got.

You only whimpered in response, feeling your legs violently shake as you became closer to your orgasm.

“Fuck,” he breathes, releasing his warm load inside of you.

Your eyes roll back, letting out one last moan before coming undone. Your legs immediately give out, falling onto the couch. You both laid there, entangled in each other’s arms till you were ready to go home.

The underground fight club reeked of sweat, blood, and desperation. The crowd roared around the cage as two men beat each other senseless under the flickering overhead lights. You stood at the edge of the chaos, hidden in the shadows, your gaze locked onto one man.

Jungwon.

You followed him here, the middle of the night, after kissing you on the forehead while you were “sleeping.”

He moved like a predator—fluid, precise, devastating. With a swift hook, he sent his opponent crashing to the ground. The bell rang, signaling his victory, but he barely acknowledged the cheers. Instead, his gaze flickered to the edge of the ring—where a man in a black suit surrounded by countless bodyguards sat, watching. A face I couldn’t manage to see beyond the countless of people.

Your hands curled into fists. Who was he meeting in secret like this? Surely it isn’t to fight, he didn’t seem to enjoy it a bit in the ring. Why is he doing this?

And then, it clicks.

You had spent weeks tracking down leads on your partner’s murder, and every single road led back to this place. To the crime syndicate Mr. Yang ran. To the fights Jungwon couldn’t seem to walk away from.

And now, you knew why.

“He’s…meeting Mr. Yang,” you whispered to yourself. Realization crashing down onto you mercilessly.

As Jungwon exited the cage, wiping blood from his knuckles, Mr. Yang gestured for him to come closer. You pressed yourself against the wall, listening intently.

"You’ve done well," He mused, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand, “But you and I both know fights like these won’t get you what you really want."

Jungwon didn’t reply. Your eyebrows furrowed.

Mr. Yang smirked, “I hear your detective has been getting too close. Poking around where she doesn’t belong. Looking for me?”

Your heart pounded.

"Leave her out of this," Jungwon said, voice cold.

Mr. Yang let out a low chuckle, “Oh, Jungwon. You don’t really believe you can protect her, do you?"

He leaned forward, his expression turning lethal, "Your little girlfriend is a problem. And problems need to be handled. You know this.”

A muscle in Jungwon’s jaw twitched, “What do you want, Seokjin?"

Seokjin smirk widened, "Y/n."

He took a slow sip of his drink before setting it down. "I’ll make it simple for you. You deliver Y/n to me. Alive. I’ll make sure she disappears, without a trace. No pain. No struggle. Just gone."

Your breath caught in your throat. You catch a glimpse of his face.

"You want me to turn her over to you?" Jungwon asked, the weight of it suffocating. "What happens if I refuse?"

Seokjin’s eyes turned colder, "You’ll make her an enemy, and you’ll be forced to kill her yourself. Your choice."

Jungwon clenched his jaw, the words burning like acid, “I’m not killing her."

Seokjin’s smile widened, “Then you’ll do what I say. It’s simple, little brother. You give me what I want, and I’ll give you what you need. Y/n will be safe. I’ll make sure of it."

Jungwon’s hands trembled, but he kept his face neutral. He wasn’t afraid of Seokjin. He was afraid of what he would become if he gave in. But there was no choice. Your life was in the balance.

"I’ll do it," Jungwon said quietly, “But this is the last thing I ever do for you."

Seokjin’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, “I’ll hold you to that."

As Jungwon turned away, the weight of the decision hit him like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t just betraying you. He was betraying everything he had ever believed in.

His undeniable love for you, in which he held dearly.

And for what? To save your life. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But deep down, he knew that the moment he betrayed your trust, he would lose you forever.

He couldn’t look Seokjin in the eye any longer—not after the ultimatum, not after hearing those words, but just as he turned toward the exit, the harsh whisper of a breath cut through the air.

“I heard everything.”

Your voice sent a shockwave through him. His blood ran cold.

Your figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the club, standing near the entrance with your gun still holstered at your side, but your expression was a mix of disbelief and crushing disappointment. Your eyes bore into his, like daggers, each one colder than the last.

Jungwon froze, his throat tightening. He had no idea how long you had been there, how much of the conversation you’ve overheard. But one thing was certain—everything had changed in that moment.

The distance between you both had just been measured in miles, and it felt like an ocean had opened up.

“Y/n…” His voice cracked despite himself. He couldn’t bring himself to take a step toward you. How could he? How could he explain this?

You didn’t move, your stance unyielding, "How long, Jungwon?”

Your voice was low, controlled, but there was a tremor in it, one that echoed deep inside him. Memories of all the moments you’ve spent together flashing before your angry eyes.

"How long were you planning to keep this from me?" you fought back the tears threatening to form in your eyes.

His eyes flickered between Seokjin, who stood silently, watching the scene unfold with a smug satisfaction, and you.

"I didn’t want you to know,” He hated the weakness in his voice, “I didn’t want you to be part of this."

"Part of this?" You laughed bitterly, though it didn’t sound like humor. It sounded like a wound being ripped open.

"You don’t get to decide that. I’ve been part of this from the very start. Every decision you’ve made, every lie you’ve told—I've been there. Has everything been in a lie?”

“No, I—”

“You think you were protecting me, huh? By keeping me in the dark? You think you’re a hero here?!” you shouted, your hands trembling in rage.

Your eyes were hard, unforgiving.

Jungwon clenched his jaw, but the words wouldn’t come. What could he say?

That he had betrayed you to save you? That in his twisted logic, letting you hate him would keep you alive?

He didn’t know if he could even convince himself of that anymore.

“You knew,” you whispered, “You knew what would happen to me the moment you decided to carry out this lie. You knew how much it meant to me! You knew you were signing my death sentence, but you still did it. You still betrayed me.”

His breath caught in his throat. You were right, and he knew it. Every excuse he had built up, every lie he had told himself to justify his actions shattered in that moment, leaving nothing but the truth. He had given you up to protect you... but in doing so, he had destroyed everything you’ve both built. Every kiss, every touch, every lingering gaze, every passionate night, the subtle phases. Everything.

"Y/n, listen—”

"No," you cut him off, your voice breaking.

The gun at your side glinted in the low light as you took a step forward, but this time, it wasn’t aimed at him. It was held loosely, the weight of it feeling heavier than anything you’ve ever felt.

“You don’t get to apologize now. You don’t get to fix this. You made your choice,” you hissed.

Seokjin finally spoke, his voice a chilling interruption, "She’s right, Jungwon. You’ve chosen your side. The moment you decided to play hero, you sealed your fate—and hers."

Your gaze shifted toward Seokjin, icy fury radiating from you, "You. I’m not afraid of you."

Seokjin raised his hands up, a mocking smirk on his face.

"You’re just a coward hiding behind your power, your money. You don’t control me,” you fumed.

Seokjin smiled, but there was no warmth in it—only a cold satisfaction, "I control everything. Including your fate, Detective."

You didn’t flinch. You took another step toward him, your eyes never leaving Seokjin’s, “Then come at me."

Jungwon’s heart sank as he watched you stand your ground, the fire in your eyes only growing stronger. You had no idea what you were dealing with. Seokjin wasn’t just a criminal—he was the mastermind, the puppet master who pulled every string in their world. And right now, he held all the cards.

But as you locked eyes with him, something shifted inside Jungwon. The familiar, heavy weight of guilt and regret flooded over him, and suddenly, it wasn’t about Seokjin anymore. It wasn’t about the choice he had made or the lies he’d told.

It was about you. He was so ardently in love with you.

The words exchanged between you both hit him harder than any punch could. You had never looked at him like that—never with such raw hurt and betrayal.

You turned to look back at Seokjin, but he was no longer in sight. Just a bunch of bodyguards.

"Where is he?" you asked, your voice steady despite the unease curling in your gut.

Jungwon didn’t answer right away. He just stared at you, his jaw tight, hands curled into fists.

"Jungwon," you warned.

"You need to leave," he said finally.

Your brows furrowed, “What?"

“Right now. Walk away and don’t look back."

A cold chill ran through you, “Why the hell would I do that?"

A low voice echoed from behind you, "Because you were never supposed to make it this far, Detective."

You whirled around, your gun drawn, but before you could react, strong hands gripped your arms, yanking you backward.

Jungwon didn’t move from his place, tightly having his hand fisted to prevent him from interfering. He looked away, couldn’t bare the sight of betraying you evermore.

Rage ignited inside you, hot and consuming, “You set me up."

You struggled against the men restraining you, fury twisting in your chest, “you bastard!”

Jungwon finally looked at you then, something unreadable in his gaze, "I’m sorry."

But you didn’t believe him. You couldn’t.

Because the man standing before you wasn’t the Jungwon you thought you knew. He was just another enemy. Another bittersweet memory.

The sharp sting of metal bit into your wrists as you struggled against the cuffs, your pulse hammering in your ears. The cold cement floor beneath you sent a chill up your spine, but it was nothing compared to the ice in your veins as you replayed the moment Jungwon betrayed you.

The moment he handed you over to his older brother, Seokjin Yang. The one you’ve been looking since the start.

Days had passed, and each one even worse than the other. Jungwon had returned home, where he was originally from, in Seokjins mansion. Where you were held captive, underground. It was a harsh awakening, to see that all this time you’ve known a version of him that wasn’t true.

But he didn’t try to correct you, nor open up about it either. And he technically didn’t lie, he wasn’t who you was looking for. But he knew…all this time. He stringed you along. He played with your feelings.

But it wasn’t the last time you’ve seen him. He would come down, everyday, with food trays and clothes. He looked different than when you first met him. He was properly clothed, his basic outfit probably costing a fortune. It was a bitter reminder that you hadn’t known him at all. He was just a rich, corrupt, boy after all.

And the family of your partner’s murderer.

He looked at the other untouched food trays from the previous days. He sighed, kneeling in front of you. You looked away, couldn’t bear the sight of him.

“You need to eat,” he urged angrily, “are you trying to kill yourself?”

You glared at him, your face pale and beads of sweat grouping on your forehead. Small cuts on your face and bruises on your body.

‘you did this to me,’ you thought.

You stayed silent. His expression softened, guilt plastered across his face. He placed the tray on the ground in front of you.

“Y/n, I know you’re angry, you have every right to be,” he pleaded, “but please. I beg you, eat something. At least drink some water.”

He grabbed a bottle of water and opened it, he pressed it to your lips. You hesitated at first, but then took a long sip. You brought your swollen wrists up to your mouth, wiping away dripping water.

His lip twitched into a hopeful smile. He grabbed a spoonful of hot soup, bringing it up to your lips. He blew on it before letting you swallow it.

But then, you spit it back to his face.

“I don’t want it,” you said coldly, “don’t show your face in front of me again. I don’t want to see you.”

He wiped off the food from his face with his shirt, revealing his bare chest. Your eyes flickered, memories of the intimacy you both once shared flashing for a split second.

The bodyguard at the door checked in and saw the scene. He came closer, ready to attack. Jungwon extended his hand, signaling to stop.

“Im fine. I provoked her,” he defended. He stood up, looking at me once more before turning to leave.

“I’ll be back,” he stated, “please eat.”

He didn’t come back for the rest of the day. You were slowly becoming impatient. You needed to leave.

How long were you going to stay like this? Helpless? You needed to leave.

Seokjins men paced outside the locked room, their voices low and guarded. They thought you were helpless. Powerless.

They had no idea who they were dealing with.

You forced yourself to stay still, controlling your breathing. Then, with one swift motion, you dislocated your thumb, ignoring the sharp pain as you wrenched your hand free from the cuffs. Blood trickled down your wrist, but you didn’t care. You had one goal.

Survive.

And then, make the Yang family pay.

You moved quickly, silently. One of Kang’s guards turned just in time to see you launch at him. Your elbow slammed into his throat, cutting off his air before he could sound the alarm. His gun clattered to the floor, and you caught it in one smooth motion, spinning just as another guard rushed toward you.

Two shots. Two bodies down.

The door burst open. You raised your weapon—

But it was him.

Jungwon stood in the doorway, breathing hard, his gun still lowered at his side. His dark eyes flickered between the unconscious men on the ground and you, standing there with a gun aimed at his chest.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

And for a moment, you had a flashback to the night you first met. You guys started like this, and now it seems like you’ll end like this.

Then your finger tightened on the trigger, “Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you right now."

Jungwon didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

He exhaled slowly, stepping forward, “Because if you do, you’ll never know the whole truth."

Your hands trembled, anger and betrayal warring inside you, "You don’t get to talk about the truth. Not after what you did."

His jaw clenched, “I had no choice."

"There is always a choice, Jungwon."

Something flickered in his eyes—regret, guilt, something deeper. But you weren’t ready to listen. Not yet.

"Move," you ordered, keeping the gun trained on him.

“No,” he said, standing in front of the gun. But as you brushed past him, his voice was quiet—almost broken.

"If I had told you everything back then, would you have believed me?"

You didn’t answer. Because you weren’t sure.

You heard the commotion upstairs, probably back-up. Jungwon grabbed your wrist.

“where are you going?,” his face softened, “i’m coming with you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, about to protest, but you had no time to spare. You both managed to rush out through a secret back way. It was cold, you were weak and exhausted, but you made it out. Your eyes frantically looked around for a car. You pointed the gun at Jungwon, signaling to the luxury lined cars.

“Turn one on. Hurry,” you threatened.

He nodded, grabbing keys from his pocket, he rushed to a car. You both got inside the car, he turned it on, you kept the gun pointed at him.

You left out a shaky exhale, clearly in pain. You flinched, glancing at your wound on your side and cut on your shoulder.

Jungwon glanced over to you, worriedly.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

You tightened your grip onto the gun, “Eyes on the road.”

You guided him to a place. The only place you could think of now. The only place you wish to be.

Home.

You push him inside, gun still pointed to him.

His expression was unreadable, he looked around, observing the place. You carefully reach for his pocket, your hands coursing through his body, taking his gun out. He didn’t reach for his weapon. He didn’t try to run. He just stood there, staring at you like he was bracing for impact.

"You betrayed me."

The words barely made it past your lips. You hated how raw they sounded, how much hurt was laced in them.

Jungwon exhaled slowly, “I know."

“you lied to me!”

“I did.”

Your finger hovered over the trigger. You had pictured this moment a thousand times since the night he handed you over to Seokjin. Since the night he let you believe he had chosen the enemy over you. The night he gave what you both had up. If anything.

"Then why?" Your voice shook, but your stance remained firm. "Why did you sell me out? Why did you let me think—"

"Because it was the only way to keep you alive!" His voice cracked through the silence, loud, desperate.

He took a step forward, and you immediately cocked the gun, making him halt. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.

"Seokjin was going to kill you, and nothing—not your badge, not your skills, not even me—was going to be able to stop him. So, I made a deal."

"A deal?" You scoffed, rage clawing its way up your throat, "You handed me over like I was some bargaining chip!"

Jungwon shook his head, “I bought you time. I knew you'd escape."

His voice was strained, laced with something that sounded dangerously close to regret, "I had to make sure Seokjin didn’t see you as a threat long enough for you to get out of there alive."

Your pulse roared in your ears, “You think that justifies what you did?"

"No," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, "But I’d do it again if it meant keeping you breathing."

For a moment, all you could hear was the rain outside, the faint hum of the city beyond these walls. The weight of his words settled over you like a storm, suffocating and relentless.

"I don’t need you to protect me," you whispered.

“I know that. But i can’t…I can’t help it,” he confessed.

He took another step forward, and this time, you didn’t stop him.

"Then why?" you asked again, but this time, the question wasn’t just about the betrayal.

It was about everything. The tension, the lingering touches, the stolen glances. The way his eyes lingered too long when he kissed you. The way he caressed your hair as you slept in his arms.

Jungwon swallowed hard, "Because I love you."

The confession hit you like a blow to the chest.

Your hands trembled around the gun, but you refused to lower it. You didn’t know what was worse—the betrayal or the fact that some part of you had wanted to hear him say it.

“How do i know that’s not just another one of your lies? How am I supposed to trust you?”

Jungwon took one last step closer, close enough that the gun was pressed against his chest. The only barrier between you two. His voice was raw when he spoke.

"You can hate me. You can pull that trigger. But don’t ever doubt that I would’ve given up everything if it meant keeping you safe."

The gun in your hands felt impossibly heavy.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you had the strength to pull the trigger.

Then, finally, you sighed, “You really are an idiot."

Jungwon blinked, "Excuse me?"

"You love me, but you thought lying to me and betraying me was the way to protect me? Idiot."

“There is something I must give you,” he said, reaching for his pocket.

You observed carefully as he pulled out a flashdrive. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“You need to see this,” he handed it over to you.

You grabbed your old laptop, the screen flickered on. You plugged in the chip. Jungwon sat at a safe distance beside you. The audio file played through the tiny speakers.

"Y/n… if you’re hearing this, then I didn’t make it."

Your heart clenched. It was him, Hyunjin.

"I don’t have much time. They know I’m close. But listen—Seokjin isn’t our enemy. He was helping me. He’s an old friend from high school…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But, I have proof that the real threat isn’t him—it’s someone inside our own department. Someone powerful. Someone who’s been playing both sides."

Your throat tightened as your partner’s voice cracked, “Seokjin tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen. And now I’m running out of time. If something happens to me, don’t trust anyone. Find the evidence. Finish what I started. And Y/n… whatever happens, don’t let them turn you into their pawn like they did me.”

The recording cut off.

You barely registered the moment the room started spinning. The flash drive felt like a dead weight in your palm.

You were too in shock. Hyunjin and Seokjin, friends? Hyunjin running from someone in your department?

This whole time…you had it wrong.

For months, you had poured every ounce of your rage into bringing Seokjin down. You had been convinced that he was the one who ordered the hit on your partner, that he was the reason for the blood on your hands. And now—

Now you know the truth.

Jungwon, who had been sitting beside you, finally spoke. His voice was careful, measured.

“Your partner had been investigating a dangerous underground crime syndicate—one even more powerful than Seokjin’s operations. He and Seokjin had a secret alliance, working together to take them down from the inside. Seokjin, despite his reputation as a crime boss, had been trying to dismantle the organization in his own way, using his influence to protect those who couldn’t go to the police. But then, Hyunjin got too close. He uncovered something that put him directly in the syndicate’s crosshairs—maybe evidence that tied corrupt officials and high-ranking officers to the criminals. He needed to get it out.”

“So he turned to Seokjin,” you continued.

He nodded, “But before Seokjin could move, the syndicate acted first. They made it look like Seokjin had ordered the hit on Hyunjin, knowing that it would shift all suspicion onto him. By the time we arrived to help as back-up, he was already dead. Which is why I was there the day of the murder. The real mastermind, A high-ranking official or someone within the police force who had been feeding information to the syndicate. They needed Hyunjin gone, and framing Seokjin was the perfect cover. That’s the real truth, Y/n.”

Your eyes flickered, tears stinging your eyes. This was your breaking point. You had been so blinded by rage, you hadn’t realized the answer was there all along.

Jungwon hesitantly reached for your shoulder, caressing it.

You turned to him, embracing him. He immediately welcomed you in his arms, caressing your back in comfort.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, “As long as i’m here, no one can hurt you…”

you pulled away, gently.

“I love you, Jungwon,” you confessed, “as much as I hate to admit it.”

He paused for a moment before flashing you a genuine smile, his dimples showcased.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to say that,” he whispered, towering over you.

He kissed you lovingly, soft, and slow. As if you were fragile, as if he was scared of hurting you.

As if he was going to lose you if he let go.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer. You fell back onto the couch, allowing him to hover over you.

“If I could go back and do it differently, I would. I’d choose you. Every time,” he whispered.

Your heart slightly ached.

"I don’t deserve you," he continued, “But if there’s even the smallest chance that you could forgive me… that we could try again… I swear, I won’t waste it."

"You’re going to have to prove it," you said softly.

Jungwon’s lips parted, as if he hadn’t expected you to give him even that much. But then, after a moment, he nodded, a small, almost broken smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He recaptured your lips again, this time more yearnfully.

"I will," he promised, “Every day, for as long as you’ll let me."

tbc…!

[astra-ravana]

Obscure Herbs

Here’s a list of rare or lesser-known herbs and their magickal correspondences, many of which are overlooked in modern witchcraft and occult practices.

1. Cock's Comb (Alectorolophus)

• Magickal Uses: Protection, strength, and victory in battles (physical or spiritual).

• Element: Fire

• Planet: Mars

• Associated Deities: Ares, Sekhmet

• Use: Burn as incense before conflict or challenging situations for courage.

2. Asarabacca (Asarum europaeum)

• Magickal Uses: Psychic visions, breaking hexes, uncovering hidden truths.

• Element: Water

• Planet: Moon

• Associated Deities: Hekate, Thoth

• Use: Place under the pillow for prophetic dreams or use in a tea for divination.

3. Balmony (Chelone glabra)

• Magickal Uses: Healing, emotional cleansing, renewal.

• Element: Water

• Planet: Neptune

• Associated Deities: Oshun, Brigid

• Use: Burn in purification rituals or use in healing baths.

4. Birthwort (Aristolochia)

• Magickal Uses: Transformation, banishing negativity, aiding childbirth.

• Element: Earth

• Planet: Saturn

• Associated Deities: Ereshkigal, Demeter

• Use: Used in ancient childbirth rituals; can be burned for removing stagnant energies.

5. Blue Cohosh (Caulophyllum thalictroides)

• Magickal Uses: Feminine power, protection of mothers, fertility.

• Element: Earth

• Planet: Venus

• Associated Deities: Hathor, Freyja

• Use: Carried as a charm for protection during pregnancy.

6. Calamint (Calamintha)

• Magickal Uses: Clarity, focus, preventing deception.

• Element: Air

• Planet: Mercury

• Associated Deities: Hermes, Odin

• Use: Burned to enhance mental acuity or added to charm bags for clear thinking.

7. Clary Sage (Salvia sclarea)

• Magickal Uses: Psychic awareness, third-eye activation, dream recall.

• Element: Air

• Planet: Jupiter

• Associated Deities: Apollo, Isis

• Use: Used in dream pillows or burned to enhance trance states.

8. Dittany of Crete (Origanum dictamnus)

• Magickal Uses: Spirit summoning, astral travel, love spells.

• Element: Fire

• Planet: Venus

• Associated Deities: Aphrodite, Hades

• Use: Burned to enhance spiritual contact, especially in necromantic rites.

9. Figwort (Scrophularia nodosa)

• Magickal Uses: Protection against hostile spirits, shapeshifting, banishment.

• Element: Earth

• Planet: Saturn

• Associated Deities: Hekate, Anubis

• Use: Worn as an amulet for protection during spiritual work.

10. Fleabane (Erigeron)

• Magickal Uses: Exorcism, warding off pests (physical and energetic).

• Element: Fire

• Planet: Mars

• Associated Deities: Thor, Sekhmet

• Use: Sprinkled around a home to drive away negative energies.

11. Goat’s Rue (Galega officinalis)

• Magickal Uses: Strength, endurance, prosperity.

• Element: Earth

• Planet: Saturn

• Associated Deities: Pan, Cernunnos

• Use: Carried for perseverance in long-term endeavors.

12. Golden Ragwort (Packera aurea)

• Magickal Uses: Wealth, success, protection of one’s legacy.

• Element: Earth

• Planet: Jupiter

• Associated Deities: Fortuna, Lakshmi

• Use: Used in prosperity spells or worn to attract wealth.

13. Herb Robert (Geranium robertianum)

• Magickal Uses: Luck, secrecy, invisibility.

• Element: Air

• Planet: Mercury

• Associated Deities: Loki, Hermes

• Use: Carried to avoid detection in magical workings.

14. Ladies’ Bedstraw (Galium verum)

• Magickal Uses: Love, protection, attracting kindness.

• Element: Water

• Planet: Venus

• Associated Deities: Aphrodite, Freyja

• Use: Placed under the bed to attract love or harmony.

15. Lungwort (Pulmonaria)

• Magickal Uses: Breath control, speaking the truth, strengthening the voice.

• Element: Air

• Planet: Mercury

• Associated Deities: Hermes, Saraswati

• Use: Used in spells for eloquence and clear speech.

16. Masterwort (Peucedanum ostruthium)

• Magickal Uses: Power, dominance, authority.

• Element: Fire

• Planet: Sun

• Associated Deities: Zeus, Helios

• Use: Worn as a talisman to strengthen personal influence.

17. Moonwort (Botrychium lunaria)

• Magickal Uses: Unlocking hidden doors, breaking barriers, lunar magick.

• Element: Water

• Planet: Moon

• Associated Deities: Hekate, Selene

• Use: Used to enhance lunar rituals and to aid astral travel.

18. Pennyroyal (Mentha pulegium)

• Magickal Uses: Banishing, repelling unwanted influences, protection.

• Element: Fire

• Planet: Mars

• Associated Deities: Ares, Lilith

• Use: Burned for spiritual cleansing or carried for warding off manipulation.

19. Self-Heal (Prunella vulgaris)

• Magickal Uses: Healing, self-improvement, resilience.

• Element: Earth

• Planet: Venus

• Associated Deities: Brigid, Isis

• Use: Used in healing rituals or teas for emotional restoration.

20. Toadflax (Linaria vulgaris)

• Magickal Uses: Warding off curses, preventing deception, protection.

• Element: Fire

• Planet: Sun

• Associated Deities: Apollo, Ra

• Use: Carried to prevent betrayal or used in warding spells.

21. Alkanet (Alkanna tinctoria)

• Magickal Uses: Protection, prosperity, hex-breaking.

• Element: Earth

• Planet: Saturn

• Associated Deities: Hekate, Pluto

• Use: Used in protection sachets and to anoint tools for grounding energy.

22. Angel’s Trumpet (Brugmansia spp.)

• Magickal Uses: Spirit communication, trance work, crossing between realms.

• Element: Water

• Planet: Neptune

• Associated Deities: Hekate, The Morrigan

• Use: Placed on an altar to enhance dream work and astral projection. (Highly toxic—do not ingest.)

23. Azedarach (Melia azedarach) – Chinaberry

• Magickal Uses: Warding off evil, breaking toxic attachments, commanding respect.

• Element: Air

• Planet: Mars

• Associated Deities: Ares, Kali

• Use: Leaves are carried in a sachet for personal empowerment and protection.

24. Bistort (Persicaria bistorta)

• Magickal Uses: Fertility, purification, emotional healing.

• Element: Water

• Planet: Venus

• Associated Deities: Brigid, Freyja

• Use: Used in fertility rites or healing spells for emotional wounds.

25. Bog Myrtle (Myrica gale)

• Magickal Uses: Psychic enhancement, dream work, repelling negative energy.

• Element: Air

• Planet: Mercury

• Associated Deities: Odin, Hermes

• Use: Burned as incense to enhance lucid dreaming and divination.

26. Bugloss (Anchusa officinalis)

• Magickal Uses: Courage, strengthening the will, truth-seeking.

• Element: Fire

• Planet: Sun

• Associated Deities: Apollo, Thor

• Use: Carried or worn as an amulet to boost confidence and resolve.

27. Carline Thistle (Carlina vulgaris)

• Magickal Uses: Warding off disease, exorcism, strength against enemies.

• Element: Fire

• Planet: Mars

• Associated Deities: Ares, Sekhmet

• Use: Hung in doorways or carried as a charm to ward off malevolent forces.

28. Celandine (Chelidonium majus)

• Magickal Uses: Success, legal matters, prophetic visions.

• Element: Air

• Planet: Jupiter

• Associated Deities: Hermes, Zeus

• Use: Used in court-case spells or placed under the pillow for prophetic dreams.

29. Centaury (Centaurium erythraea)

• Magickal Uses: Strength, breaking bad habits, healing emotional wounds.

• Element: Fire

• Planet: Sun

• Associated Deities: Chiron, Asclepius

• Use: Brewed into teas for spiritual cleansing and breaking negative patterns.

30. Cudweed (Filago vulgaris)

• Magickal Uses: Spirit communication, necromancy, ancestor work.

• Element: Earth

• Planet: Saturn

• Associated Deities: Anubis, Hel

• Use: Burned as incense during séances or placed on ancestral altars.

31. Dropwort (Filipendula vulgaris)

• Magickal Uses: Love, attraction, enhancing charm.

• Element: Water

• Planet: Venus

• Associated Deities: Aphrodite, Freyja

• Use: Added to bath rituals for attracting a lover or enhancing beauty.

32. Elephant’s Head (Pedicularis groenlandica)

• Magickal Uses: Dreamwork, expanding consciousness, energy flow.

• Element: Air

• Planet: Uranus

• Associated Deities: Thoth, Morpheus

• Use: Used in rituals for astral projection and dream enhancement.

33. Fumitory (Fumaria officinalis)

• Magickal Uses: Exorcism, purification, breaking hexes.

• Element: Fire

• Planet: Mars

• Associated Deities: Hekate, Kali

• Use: Burned to cleanse a space or added to baths for spiritual protection.

34. Great Burnet (Sanguisorba officinalis)

• Magickal Uses: Strength in adversity, courage, endurance.

• Element: Earth

• Planet: Saturn

• Associated Deities: Odin, Athena

• Use: Used in talismans for resilience and overcoming hardship.

35. Hound’s Tongue (Cynoglossum officinale)

• Magickal Uses: Binding, loyalty, controlling gossip.

• Element: Water

• Planet: Mercury

• Associated Deities: Hekate, Hermes

• Use: Used in spells to stop malicious talk and encourage faithfulness.

36. Jacob’s Ladder (Polemonium caeruleum)

• Magickal Uses: Divine connection, wisdom, accessing higher knowledge.

• Element: Air

• Planet: Jupiter

• Associated Deities: Zeus, Thoth

• Use: Used in meditation to enhance spiritual insight.

37. Loosestrife (Lythrum salicaria)

• Magickal Uses: Peace, balancing emotions, calming conflicts.

• Element: Water

• Planet: Moon

• Associated Deities: Kuan Yin, Selene

• Use: Burned or carried for emotional balance and conflict resolution.

38. Mouse-ear Hawkweed (Pilosella officinarum)

• Magickal Uses: Clairvoyance, invisibility, sharpening the mind.

• Element: Air

• Planet: Mercury

• Associated Deities: Loki, Hermes

• Use: Used in vision-enhancing spells or to increase focus.

39. Pellitory of the Wall (Parietaria judaica)

• Magickal Uses: Breaking barriers, removing obstacles, gaining access.

• Element: Earth

• Planet: Saturn

• Associated Deities: Janus, Ganesha

• Use: Used in road-opening spells to remove blockages to success.

40. Scabious (Scabiosa columbaria)

• Magickal Uses: Protection against deceit, uncovering hidden enemies.

• Element: Fire

• Planet: Mars

• Associated Deities: Ares, Nemesis

• Use: Carried as an amulet for protection in matters of secrecy or deception.

[thestarsaboveme]

Lads men x Reader who's really into horror movies

masterlist

this was a request from a kind anon.

summary: reader who really likes horror movies.

xavier | rafayel | zayne | sylus

caleb x reader | fluff

You hit pause mid-scream.

The actress's mouth is frozen in terror on the screen, and blood is mid-flight. Caleb's halfway through a handful of popcorn, hand still hovering near his mouth.

''Okay, hang on,'' you say, already flipping open your poor, battle-worn notebook. A scrap of storyboard falls out of the overstuffed binding, along with three sticky notes.

Caleb glances over. ''Pause? In the middle of a kill? Pips, that was a solid throat rip.''

You barely hear him. ''No, no, this scene, it's not just gore. See how it's in slow motion, and she turns around to her right side with her right arm missing? That's throwback to Tenebare. Argento used the same exact shot!''

Caleb stares at you. Then the screen. Then your notebook, which looks more like the coded diary of a conspiracy theorist than anything resembling film notes.

''I feel like you could write a thesis and solve a cold case at the same time with that thing.''

You nudge it toward him. ''Page 42. Cross-reference it with 67 for lighting parallels.''

He opens it. A post-it labeled BLOOD VOLUME IN SCENE vs. TENSION PAYOFF peels off and floats into his lap. He tilts his head, eyes scanning your tightly packed writing and manic arrows.

''…You're terrifying.''

You grin. ''Flattered.''

He sets the notebook down, carefully, like it might explode. ''Okay, so let me get this straight. You don't love horror because of the scares. You love it because it's a system?'

''Exactly.'' You tuck your legs up on the couch, eyes bright. ''It's architecture. Build tension, tip the balance, snap the rubber band. It's visual language, rhythm, misdirection.''

Caleb's expression flickers, equal parts impressed and delighted. ''You talk about murder like an engineer.''

''And you love it.''

He throws an arm around your shoulders with a grin. ''I do. I also love that your brain is doing all this while I'm still processing the part where the guy got his head split open with garden shears.''

You snort and rewind the scene for emphasis. ''It's a great scene. Practical effects. See how they hide the cut with the camera jolt?''

He watches silently, eyes now more focused on the frame than the gore.

After a moment, he murmurs, ''You know…with your sense of pattern recognition and obsession with visual language, you'd make a scary good detective.''

You look up at him.

He's watching you now, not the film. A playful little smirk tugs at his mouth, but there's something softer behind it too.

You raise a brow. ''Trying to recruit me into the fleet?''

He laughs. ''Nah. Just saying, if we ever get haunted or framed for murder, I'm putting you in charge of the investigation.''

You lean your head against his shoulder. ''Only if you promise to do the soundtrack.''

''With synths and dramatic bass drops,'' he says solemnly. ''Obviously.''

[ghostlynightpanda]

Hii!! I don't know if you're taking reqs rn but if you are could you possibly do this one Dazai x reader idea I had?

So this is based off my bsd oc who works at the ada and like she's one of the ability users there. Her ability allows her to like kind of summon the characters she writes, similar to kyouka, koyou and moris ability. However, unlike the aforementioned characters, my oc actually sees the characters like her own children. She's quite protective of them, even if they cannot die without her influence. (Overprotective mom core)

Now for the main point, it's like how dazai is with that ability of hers (fun fact: the name of the ability is 'Through our eyes'. This is subject to change but I named it that since my oc is an author and it's based off a quote I made up for one of her books 'through our eyes, we share our wounds. Yet still, the weight of your pain never decreases.') As far as I know, dazai wont be able to physically interact with her characters due to his nullification but he should still be able to talk to them. Even if Dazai isn't the type to talk to them, the characters would nag him into talking and yada yada.

This is basically it. super sorry for the long request, you can skip this if you want. Have a great day!!

Inkbound Hearts

synopsis: In a city of chaos and shadows, a writer with the power to bring her characters to life finds unexpected belonging in the Armed Detective Agency—where her fictional family begins to see a distant, broken man as their own, long before she dares admit her growing feelings for him.

content/warnings: ADA!Dazai x reader, fluff, 3.808 words

Yokohama's old train yard was a wreck of twisted steel, smoke, and chaos. Kunikida's glasses were cracked. Atsushi crouched behind a derailed cargo car, blood seeping from his shoulder. Even Ranpo was grimacing—an unsettling sight, given he rarely bothered showing up unless success was assured.

The mission had been simple: locate and retrieve a smuggled artifact tied to the Port Mafia. Low-risk. Clean. Routine.

Now the sky glowed the wrong color, a contract ability-user had unleashed something molten and monstrous, and the retrieval team stood seconds from annihilation.

Then the pages fell. Literally.

Thin, parchment-like sheets drifted from the sky, ink gleaming midair as they curled into lines of prose—sentences forming before they even touched the ground.

"What the hell—?" Kunikida began, but a shockwave swallowed his voice.

And then—

"Scatter, Rika!" "With pleasure!"

Twin voices rang out, sharp and sudden, like a snapped chord in a string quartet.

From behind a rusted crate, two figures surged forward. A girl in a high-collared tunic, wielding a serrated blade taller than herself. Beside her, a boy with a matching blade held in reverse grip, wearing a grin too wide for the moment—like war was a game and he was winning.

They moved in perfect tandem. Fluid. Calculated. Inevitable. As if their choreography had been written long before the battle began.

Steel met shadow. The beast shrieked. The twins carved through the chaos, a blur of synchronicity and sharpened edge.

Mid-leap, Rika cleaved through one of its legs. "Mom said not to overdo it." Yori laughed, narrowly dodging a writhing tentacle. "Mom also said to enjoy ourselves!"

The team stared, momentarily stunned.

Ranpo blinked. "Did… did they say mom?"

Dazai, arms loosely crossed, tilted his head. "Interesting. I didn't know the enemy had metaphors."

"No," came a voice from behind them — calm, warm, and completely unfazed by the chaos. "They're talking about me."

You stepped onto the field with a worn leather notebook in one hand and a pen behind your ear. Your clothes were scuffed with ink stains, your boots caked in dirt, and your gaze sharp enough to cut glass.

You looked down at the page in your hand — an open journal entry, half-written — and flicked your fingers once.

Another figure emerged from ink and air: a massive man in bronze armor, carrying a curved halberd glowing faintly red. He stepped between Kunikida and an oncoming beast's strike like it was nothing.

"I believe you all needed some help?"

Back at the Agency office, the mood was a strange mix of awe and exhausted suspicion.

Atsushi sat on the edge of a desk as Yosano wrapped his shoulder, but his eyes kept drifting to the twins—now perched on a filing cabinet, legs swinging in perfect sync like they didn't just go toe-to-toe with a nightmare.

Kunikida, nursing a headache, flipped through your notebook with a gloved hand.

"These aren't ability blueprints… they're actual narratives?"

You nodded from the couch, sipping tea. "Every character I write becomes someone I can summon. But only if I believe in them enough. Only if they're real to me."

"That's why they called you 'Mom'," Atsushi murmured, blinking wide-eyed.

"Exactly," you said gently. "I create them, raise them, protect them. They're family to me."

Dazai finally spoke, voice smooth as always, but eyes narrowed just slightly. "And how long have you had this… army of storybook people?"

You tilted your head. "They're not an army."

"They fought like one," he countered.

"They fight to protect what I care about. That's different."

Your gaze met his.

He held it for a beat too long.

And then: "Hm. Cute."

You weren't sure if he meant you or the answer. Probably neither.

Kunikida made noise about protocols and clearances and power thresholds, but Fukuzawa approved your placement within hours.

"Abilities born from emotional truth are rare," he said. "And dangerous. But I believe yours is grounded. That's what matters."

You introduced the Agency to a few of your mainstays:

Rika and Yori, the sword twins — chaotic, loyal, eager to duel anyone who made eye contact for too long.

Kaoru, the former soldier, stoic and quietly polite, already trading tired nods with Yosano.

Momo, the half-winged beast girl who'd accidentally eaten four of Kenji's rice balls before realizing they weren't part of her world's food system.

Rei, the tactician, who had already tried (and failed) to beat Ranpo in a riddle match.

You warned them, though.

"There will be more," you said, hand resting on your notebook. "There have to be more. I don't stop writing. I can't."

Dazai watched you closely as you said it.

Like he was reading the spaces between your words.

Yokohama's morning sun cast a warm, gold light over the bay, glinting off the windows of the Armed Detective Agency's office. The peace was deceptive, fragile—like everything else in this city.

The quiet didn't last long.

"Mom! He took my sword again!"

A blur of blue hair darted down the hall, followed by a boy only slightly taller, both no older than twelve. The slightly younger girl was puffing with righteous fury, her ornate blade now in the hands of her grinning counterpart.

"Did not! You left it in the umbrella stand!"

"Because I was drying it!"

From his desk, Kunikida pinched the bridge of his nose with the restrained suffering of a man who had memorized his ideal schedule by the minute. And none of it included a sword fight before lunch.

"You know this is a government-sanctioned office, not a kindergarten, right?"

At the center of it all, standing calmly with a cup of tea in one hand and a pen behind the ear, was you.

"I'm aware," you said sweetly. You snapped your fingers once, and both children immediately froze mid-run, blinking at you like guilty puppies.

"You two—outside, five laps around the block. And no summoning elemental bursts this time, Yori, Rika."

"Yes, Mom..." the two mumbled before darting out the door with a supernatural speed that made Tanizaki flinch in his chair.

Your ability Through Our Eyes manifested as an extension of your writing—your soul, quite literally, poured into words. Whatever characters you crafted in your stories could be summoned into the real world with form, emotion, and purpose. You didn't just give them roles—you gave them lives. Names. Histories. Pain. Joy. And love.

They came to life like flickers of imagination carved into reality—some warriors, some children, some ethereal beings. They were family to you, and you were their creator, guardian... mother.

They couldn't be destroyed unless you allowed it. Pain and injury were real to them, but death was negotiable. Their connection to you wasn't just magical—it was emotional. They felt your grief, your fear, your rage—and responded in kind. When you hurt, they hurt. When you smiled, they danced in the sun.

It was an ability born of empathy and imagination—a dangerous power wrapped in softness.

Despite the initial chaos, the ADA adapted—more or less—to your unique presence. You've been with them for a few months now and you felt home here. 

Kenji had taken to your younger characters like a duck to water. He spent his breaks rolling around in the grass with them, showing them how to fish, or trying to ride the winged horse girl you wrote for a fantasy short story once.

"I think Momo's part cow," he had said once, completely straight-faced. "She's got those eyes."

Momo, the aforementioned winged girl, had mooed out of spite and kicked a lamp off the wall.

Kunikida on the other hand had not adapted.

"This is not a daycare!" he barked one afternoon as a pair of your summoned twins reenacted a pirate duel behind the filing cabinets. "There is paperwork being trampled!"

"They're technically centuries-old sword spirits," you offered helpfully. "They just like to stay in child form."

"That does not help!"

You had to rewrite one of them as allergic to ink just to keep them off his schedule sheets.

Atsushi, poor sweet boy, had no idea how to handle your characters—especially the older girls.

They'd swoop in, touch his face with curious fingers, giggle at his stammering, and coo about his "puppy eyes." One even offered to braid his hair.

Atsushi turned beet red. "I-I'm not a doll—please stop petting me—!"

You eventually had to stop a flirtatious sky-warrior named Kaida who kept calling him "My little tiger cub."

Tanizaki mostly avoided eye contact. Naomi tried to get fashion advice from one of your more stoic female characters, who unfortunately didn't understand the concept of modern clothing and suggested Naomi wear a breastplate and fur cloak.

Naomi was delighted.

Yosano was fascinated. You caught her chatting with one of your battle-worn soldier characters, Kaoru, comparing scars and talking field medicine like old war buddies. It was oddly heartwarming... until you heard Yosano ask if Kaoru had ever tried battlefield amputation for fun.

Kaoru requested to go back in the book after that.

Ranpo didn't care at first... until one of the characters, Rei, solved a riddle he was working on, then bragged about it for two days.

From that point on, they were locked in a silent battle of wits—he would leave puzzles out, Rei would try to solve them first. Ranpo always won. He never said anything. But he smiled a little wider when Rei got close.

Despite the chaos, your presence felt like a strange kind of glue. You brought warmth—messy, loud, infuriating warmth—to a place that was often soaked in darkness.

The Agency was slowly, grudgingly, adjusting to having not just one new member—but an entire cast of them.

And in the center of it all, you stood—writer, summoner, mother, and soldier—pen in one hand, stories in your heart.

Dazai didn't dislike you. In fact, that was the problem.

He watched you from the corner of his vision more often than he cared to admit—pen tucked behind your ear, hands always moving, pages scribbled in ink and coffee stains, hair mussed from the breeze your "children" caused when they rushed around the office like a thunderstorm of feelings and half-finished story arcs.

You were messy. Warm. Full of empathy that made his skin itch in a way he didn't understand.

And your ability? It was unlike anything he'd ever seen.

Through Our Eyes—a strange, beautiful title for something so dangerous. The power to pull characters from your mind, from your stories, to give them shape and substance. Not just tools, not weapons. People. Emotions. Families.

It should've disturbed him.

Instead, it unsettled him. Because he could never touch them.

The first time it happened, it had been an accident.

One of the twins—Yori—had tripped near Dazai's desk. Instinctively, Dazai had reached out.

Yori vanished with a snap of nullification, evaporating mid-gasp like smoke from a snuffed-out candle.

Your head had whipped around, just in time to see Dazai's outstretched hand and the faint ripple of ability cancellation still fading from his fingers.

You didn't say anything—no anger, no blame—but your eyes… your eyes.

Hurt flickered there for just a second.

Dazai never touched them again. Kept his distance. He dodged their playful jabs, skirted around their boisterous presence, and avoided their relentless curiosity like it was a particularly persistent headache.

But they didn't take the hint.

Rika and Yori became expert annoyance artists—poking, prodding, and rattling Dazai's carefully maintained calm with relentless questions and teasing barbs.

"Why do you always look like you're hiding something?" Rika would demand, circling him like a mischievous shadow.

Yori would chime in with a grin, "You're like a puzzle wrapped in a riddle and dipped in mystery sauce."

He'd sigh, half amused and half exasperated, but they wouldn't relent.

The others joined in too. Kaoru quietly offered unsolicited advice on his posture, while Momo's sharp eyes would study him like a curious beast sizing up prey. Rei, ever the tactician, analyzed him with cool detachment, dropping cryptic comments that left Dazai wondering if he was the subject of some secret game.

No matter how much he tried to avoid them, your characters found ways to get under his skin—not physically, but emotionally.

And then, there was the breaking point.

It wasn't during a battle or an Agency mission, but a quiet moment turned sour when an offhand insult from an outsider caught one of them off guard.

Kaoru—the soldier—had heard a cruel remark, dismissive and sharp. The weight of it pressed down harder than any wound, harder than any physical pain.

Without warning, Kaoru appeared at Dazai's side, silent and steady.

Before Dazai could say a word, Kaoru reached out, placing a hand on his arm.

The world seemed to ripple—the edges blurred—and Kaoru vanished, retreating back into the worn pages of your notebook.

The office was suddenly quieter.

Later, when you found the spot where Kaoru had faded, you understood.

These characters—your family—needed refuge. When the chaos, the pain, the harshness of the real world overwhelmed them, they came to the one person who seemed able to hold that strange calm within the storm.

Dazai.

He might avoid them on purpose, but when they needed him, they found their way to him.

And when they touched him to disappear—returning to the safety of the stories—they found peace.

Until you summoned them again.

Dazai's reluctance to engage with your characters—your children— had always been clear, but beneath his cool, evasive exterior, something else was quietly unfolding.

What he didn't know was that your characters' persistent antics weren't random. They were driven by more than curiosity or mischief.

They knew.

They knew about you. About the way your gaze lingered just a bit longer when you looked at Dazai. The soft catch in your voice when his name slipped from your lips. The way you'd scribble furiously in your notebook, pages upon pages filled with stories that felt less like fiction and more like a secret confession.

Every stolen glance. Every shy smile you tried to hide behind a sip of tea.

Your feelings—careful, complicated, and still blossoming—wove themselves into the very fabric of the characters you created.

So it was no accident that Rika and Yori, Kaoru and Rei, Momo and the rest, took a particular interest in Dazai. Not just as an Agency colleague, but as a magnet for the attention they knew you wished you could give freely.

They taunted and teased him, prodded at his composure, not because they disliked him, but because they sensed his guardedness—and wanted to draw him out.

"Why do you act like you don't care?" Rika asked once, sharp eyes catching his every twitch. "We know you do."

"You're just scared to admit it," Yori grinned.

Dazai's smirk was slow to form, but when it did, it was reluctant.

What they didn't realize—what you hadn't yet voiced aloud—was that their restless energy was a reflection of your own tangled emotions.

After long days of watching the subtle dance between Dazai and your creations, you found yourself pouring those feelings onto paper.

The pen in your hand became a conduit for your heart—writing stories that blended reality and fantasy, crafting scenes where the quiet moments between two people said everything words couldn't.

You wrote about a man who was both distant and near, enigmatic but achingly familiar. A man who wore his walls like armor, yet somehow carried the weight of others on his shoulders.

Your characters echoed those stories, their personalities shaped by the nuances you poured into your pages—the laughter, the frustrations, the tenderness hidden beneath sarcasm.

And as the characters grew to like Dazai—not as a crush, but as something almost paternal, protective—they mirrored your own complex feelings, embodying a family you'd begun to build in this strange new world.

Later, in the solitude of your room—your pages scattered, your fingers stained with ink—you found yourself writing again. Not just to ease your thoughts, but to understand them.

You wrote about walls and doors. About people who closed themselves off because the idea of letting someone in had once led to ruin. You wrote about patience, about small kindnesses that chipped away at those walls without ever demanding they fall.

The next day, Dazai returned from a mission with a quiet sort of exhaustion in his eyes. No injuries, no dramatic flair. Just a weight in his shoulders that told you something had gone wrong.

He didn't speak to anyone—not even Kunikida. He simply walked to the break room, sat at the window, and stared out at the street below.

You entered a few minutes later, alone. No sword-wielding twins. No elemental bursts. No scribbled pages fluttering behind you.

Just you. And him.

You poured two cups of tea and sat down across from him without asking.

He didn't acknowledge you, but he didn't leave either.

"I rewrote Haruki," you said eventually, softly. "He didn't want to fight anymore. I changed him into a healer."

Dazai glanced sideways, having met the former soldier a few times. "And did he thank you for it?"

"No," you smiled faintly. "But he cried the first time he saved someone."

There was a long pause.

"You change them because you love them," he murmured. Not a question.

You nodded. "They grow. Just like we do."

He turned back to the window, his voice quiet but deliberate. "I don't know how to grow without breaking first."

You swallowed, the ache in your chest blooming like bruised ink.

"Then let someone hold the pieces," you said. "Even if it's just for a while."

His gaze lowered to his tea, fingers tracing the rim of the cup. For the first time since you'd met, he looked… unsure. Not lost. Not masking. Just tired.

And still, he didn't leave.

Outside, the city carried on in its usual rhythm—cars moving, people walking, birds weaving across the rooftops. But inside the break room, everything had slowed, softened.

No confessions. No declarations.

Just two people, quietly sitting at the edge of something not yet spoken, but deeply felt.

The shift between you started small.

Dazai didn't seek you out—but he stopped avoiding you. He'd drift near when your characters were out, pretend he was simply walking by when really, he'd linger near the edges of your quiet presence. You learned not to startle that fragile nearness. You let him arrive and leave on his own time.

Some days, he'd speak.

Some days, he wouldn't.

But he always stayed longer than he meant to.

Once, after a mission that left half the Agency nursing burns and bruises, he showed up at your door without knocking. His coat was torn, his expression unreadable.

"I don't want to talk," he said.

You stepped aside to let him in.

He didn't speak a word for over an hour. You just sat with him. Two cups of tea between you. A soft hum of wind through the open window. One of your newer characters drifted briefly into the hallway, then vanished again at your subtle shake of the head.

Later, when he stood to leave, he paused. Something almost apologetic in the curve of his shoulders.

"Thank you," he said. Barely above a whisper.

You didn't ask for more.

It became a pattern.

Not daily. Not scheduled. But real.

He'd show up sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes between missions, sometimes with eyes hollow from seeing too much. And you would be there—with tea, with silence, or with stories if he needed them.

You never asked what happened. You never pried.

And in return, he began offering more than you expected.

He'd mention things he noticed—"You haven't eaten today," or "That new character you summoned… she's a little like you." He remembered details. Made observations that didn't seem important until they nestled under your skin hours later.

One evening, as twilight painted the Agency in amber light, Dazai sat beside you on the rooftop. Your notebook was open in your lap, ink smudging the corner of your palm.

You glanced over, feeling the weight of his presence settle like a soft exhale beside you.

"I wrote something today," you murmured.

He didn't move, but his gaze shifted to you.

You flipped to a page—not new, not recent. One that had been revisited many times. Your fingers grazed the margin where a line was underlined and circled, again and again.

"Through our eyes, we share our wounds. Yet still, the weight of your pain never decreases."

Dazai looked at you.

Really looked.

And for once, you didn't look away.

"I don't ask you to share it," you said. "I just want you to know… you don't have to carry all of it alone."

His voice, when it came, was so quiet you almost missed it.

"I don't know how not to."

You nodded, returning your gaze to the page.

"Then let us keep walking with you," you said. "Even if we can't take the weight, we can still be there."

A silence stretched between you. This time, not tense or uncertain—just full. Like something had finally shifted into place.

You didn't touch. You didn't confess.

But you stayed.

Your characters noticed, of course. They always did. They became gentler around him, even the rowdy ones. They still teased—especially Rika and Yori—but the flukes grew softer. Familiar.

They orbited him like he was part of their story now, not just a passing name in the margins.

And then one morning, as Dazai walked into the office with his usual disinterested slouch, the twins ambushed him at the doorway. They stood in front of him, not letting him pass if he didn't want to accidentally sent them back in their books when touching them.

He raised a brow. "Am I being arrested?"

"You're stalling," Rika said, eyes narrowed.

Yori nodded solemnly. "We've been patient."

Dazai sighed. "For what?"

Rika tilted her head. "For you to admit it."

"Admit what?"

Yori grinned. "That you're part of this family."

Dazai went still.

Not sarcastic. Not smiling.

Just still.

You entered the hallway a moment later, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and your notebook in the other. You paused when you saw them—but didn't interrupt.

The twins looked back at you, then up at him again.

"You can pretend all you want," Rika muttered.

"But you're not just 'some guy' anymore," Yori finished.

Dazai's gaze flicked from them… to you.

You didn't say a word. Just offered the faintest smile. Open. Steady.

He didn't answer.

But he didn't deny it either.

And that, for now, was enough.

Masterlist

[sabrinajenre96]

Title: A Better Goodbye

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Fem!Reader (Y/N Voight)

Warnings: Angst, betrayal, cheating, emotional hurt, mild language, comfort, father-daughter bonding

Word Count: ~2.6k

Summary: Y/N Voight has a choice to make. A job offer. A betrayal. A goodbye. But most importantly—she remembers who the hell she is.

Part 2:

---

The job offer came in a sealed envelope three weeks ago.

She hadn't opened it in front of anyone except her father, Hank Voight. He didn’t say much—just nodded once and handed her a glass of bourbon. Only her old team at Quantico and her dad knew the BAU wanted her back.

She didn’t tell Jay. Partly because she hadn’t decided. Mostly because… things didn’t feel like them lately.

Late nights. Missed dinners. Unanswered texts. The faint scent of someone else’s perfume on Jay’s coat once, but she brushed it off. Gave him the benefit of the doubt. They were both detectives. Long hours came with the job.

But tonight?

Tonight shattered the last of her excuses.

She was walking her retired K9, Ranger—her loyal Belgian Malinois—through the quiet streets of Chicago. The night air was cool, sharp enough to sting when she took a breath. Ranger tugged a little on the leash, pulling her toward a familiar alley near District 21. That’s when she saw it.

Jay’s truck. Parked crooked. Engine idling.

Inside, Jay Halstead and Hailey Upton.

Laughing. Kissing.

Like it was theirs to share.

Y/N didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She didn’t even flinch. She just stared, heart slamming against her ribs like a cage, while Ranger let out a low growl.

“Come on, boy,” she muttered, voice hollow. “We’ve got packing to do.”

---

She didn’t take everything—just the essentials. A suitcase full of her clothes, her badge, her worn duffle. Ranger’s toys and food bowls. The folder from Quantico.

Jay stumbled through the door just past midnight, smelling like bourbon and guilt.

She was waiting.

Arms crossed. Bag zipped. Ranger sitting loyally at her heel, ears back, alert.

Jay blinked. “Y/N? What’s going on?”

She smiled. Cold. Empty. The kind of smile Hank Voight used right before he made someone regret breathing.

“You tell me, Jay. You and Hailey looked pretty cozy tonight.”

He froze.

“Don’t lie,” she added, voice rising. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

Jay took a step forward. “Y/N, it’s not what you think—”

“No? Because I think I saw my boyfriend of three years cheating on me with my co-worker in the front seat of his truck. You going to tell me it was a friendly kiss? Just a little squad bonding?”

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

“I gave you everything. My heart. My trust. I even defended you to my dad when he said you’d never be strong enough to hold onto me.”

Jay flinched. “Y/N, I—”

“No. I’m done,” she snapped, voice cracking for the first time. “I don’t want your excuses. I don’t want your guilt. I want out.”

She stepped past him, her keys jangling in her hand.

“You and Hailey can have each other. Lie, cheat, and be happy. Or whatever version of happy you two deserve. But don’t look for me.”

“Y/N—please.”

She turned one last time, tears burning her eyes, rage and heartbreak battling for dominance.

“Have a good life, Jay.”

And then she walked out.

---

Hank Voight wasn’t a man who wore emotion easily. But when his daughter showed up on his porch at one in the morning, Ranger’s leash in one hand, her duffel in the other, his heart sank.

“Baby girl,” he breathed, stepping out onto the porch. “What happened?”

She dropped everything and fell into his arms, sobbing against his chest like she hadn’t done since she was twelve.

Ranger whined softly, circling their legs before settling beside them.

Hank wrapped her up tightly. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

---

Inside, she sat on his worn couch, a glass of water in one hand. She looked like a ghost of herself. Not broken—but tired of holding her pieces together.

“I saw him,” she said quietly. “Jay. With Hailey. Kissing. Laughing. Like I didn’t exist.”

Voight’s jaw locked.

She glanced down. “Is it me, Dad? Am I just… unlovable? I give people everything and they throw it away like it’s nothing.”

“Don’t you ever say that,” he growled, eyes blazing. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You love hard. You give everything you’ve got. That’s not weakness—that’s strength. Jay… he’s the one who couldn’t handle you. That’s his failure. Not yours.”

She sniffled, wiping her cheeks. “Why does it keep happening?”

Hank sighed and reached over, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Because you’re too damn good for people who don’t know what to do with that kind of loyalty. But that’s not a reason to stop being who you are.”

He stood, walked to the kitchen, and came back with a familiar envelope.

“Take the offer.”

She blinked. “What?”

“The BAU wants you back. Take it.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to go.”

He crouched in front of her, eyes locked on hers.

“I want better for you. And this? This place? It’s not better right now. After everything with Antonio, this unit’s fragile as hell. And as much as I want to light Jay and Hailey up for what they did to you… I can’t lose another cop.”

Y/N’s lip trembled. “So you’re saying I should leave to keep the peace?”

“I’m saying you’re too good to waste yourself cleaning up someone else’s mess,” he said firmly. “Go to Quantico. Start over. You’ll have a team who already knows your worth. And I’ll always be here.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “You sound like you rehearsed that.”

Hank cracked a rare smile. “I had a few speeches prepared, depending on how you showed up.”

Just then, Ranger trotted over and nudged Hank’s leg with his snoot, letting out a huff before placing his head in Voight’s lap.

Y/N grinned. “He wants treats. He knows you keep the good stuff.”

Hank chuckled, scratching behind Ranger’s ears. “Damn dog’s smarter than half the unit.”

Ranger let out a satisfied woof as Hank got up to retrieve the hidden stash.

Y/N leaned back into the couch, watching her dad with a bittersweet ache in her chest. She had lost something tonight. Something deep. But she hadn’t lost herself.

And tomorrow, she would get up. She would drive to Quantico. She would rebuild.

Not because Jay broke her.

But because she deserved more than what he gave.

And this time—she would never settle for less again.

---

End.

[rina-teatia]

Food and porn (18+)

Gallagher is a humble London bartender with a rich martial arts background. Boothill is a master criminal and scoundrel. They can't seem to have anything in common... except kinks.

these are not my arts, but my friend's with whom we had rp by this story! you can subscribe to his social networks (a friend has agreed to publish the art)

X: https://x.com/ahhswan

DA: https://www.deviantart.com/drasterod

tg: https://t.me/drisnyastanOD

Pairing: Boothill x Gallagher

Tags: Human Boothill, Dom Boothill, Weight Gain, Food Kink, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Food Sex, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Fat Fetish, Fat all

Words: 2,619

The sky over London was habitually covered with clouds. It was evening, about seven o'clock, but the bad weather had made it dark outside. The first tentative drops hit the cobblestones of the streets before the downpour hit the roofs.

Gallagher grimaced at the spectacle through the small window of his bar. He lit a cigar and muttered something like an old man's `huuuuʼ though he wasn't old enough for that yet. A downpour is a shitty thing. Usually even the most avid drinkers in the rain prefer to drink at home rather than drag themselves to a bar. In short, there was nothing economically advantageous about this situation.

His leg, wounded in an old battle, had started whimpering a couple hours ago, heralding rain, and still didn't want to settle down. Gallagher smoked and read the papers. Scotland Yard was reporting again on a mysterious burglar who had already robbed several pawnshops and jewelry stores. The message was terribly familiar, moreover, Gallagher even knew the criminal personally, but he was in no hurry to write letters to the police. After all, the robber was...

“What a weather, partner!” A large figure wrapped in a red, worn poncho walked into the bar. A wide black hat was pulled over his eyes, and half his face was hidden by a red handkerchief. The man's mud-splattered boots shuffled across the floor, sticking out of chaps that were equally muddy near the end of his pants. The man tossed his long black-and-white hair back and grinned, pulling off his handkerchief. “You weren't expecting me?”

“God, why aren't you home?” Gallagher sighed heavily, setting aside the newspaper and slowly standing up.

“The rain washes away the odors! No bloodhound can smell me. By the way, this is for you.” The man chuckled and put into Gallagher's hands a handmade gold watch on a chain with a cover inlaid with small stones. The man grimaced as he looked at the gift. “Pour me a bourbon, dear.”

“Boothill, you're insufferable. Lock the door, damn it.” Gallagher stood behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of bourbon with a heavy sigh. Boothill removed his hat and poncho, spreading them out on a nearby stool, and adjusted his vest, which was tight against his round belly.

Well, they were notorious old lovers who never seemed to be able to be together. Gallagher had worked for Scotland Yard as a detective in the past, before the leg injury that had forced him into early retirement, he'd been a top-notch bloodhound. Now the old dog was working in a bar and trying to forget his past glorious life.

Boothill, on the other hand, was a hardened criminal. He had come from the New World to good old England for a new life, but his language was sharper than his nine-millimeter ammunition, and no one was in a hurry to hire a foreigner with a nasty American accent. He could have written a book called `Why Men Killʼ but it would have had all the pages written in the short and succinct `MASSACREʼ in big letters.

Gallagher happened to own Boothill's secret when he almost turned him in to the constables. The old policeman still had his powder in the bottle, and perhaps if it hadn't been for Boothill's eloquence, he'd be hanging from the gallows right now....

“Your bourbon, as usual, is the worst stuff I've ever tasted.” Boothill smiled and squinted one green eye that was visible from beneath his bangs.

“Why do you drink it?”

“Hell if I know... I could drink diesel or kerosene if I wanted to.” He wiped his mouth with his hand and grinned through his shark teeth, glaring at Gallagher. “We really haven't seen each other in a long time. You've gotten even fatter, I see.”

Boothill reached across the bar and playfully poked the bartender in the belly. Gallagher rolled his eyes.

“I could say the same about you, Mr. Robber. At this rate, you won't fit through any bank window or sewer manhole.”

Boothill chuckled, slapping himself on the thigh. He grabbed the bottle of bourbon and tipped more liquid into his glass before greedily chugging it down.

“Son of a bitch! You're damn right I am! How about a bet?!” The cowboy held out his hand for Gallagher to shake. “You win, I become your pet kitty and never rob anyone again, just like you always wanted. And if I win – you'll like it too. But that's later. Agreed?!”

“What's it gonna take?” Gallagher put his hand to his cheek. He wasn't in a hurry to agree to shady deals.

“Shoot that deer in the eye.” Boothill drew his heavy American revolver and twirled it playfully in the air. “Don't you think so, Mr. Sherlock Holmes? Have you forgotten how to hold a gun yet?”

Gallagher followed his gaze. It was about the trophy deer head on the far wall of the bar. The room was elongated in length, and the end of the room extended quite far from the bar. Gallagher calculated the distance and the target. Not an easy task, of course... But he had a better chance than Boothill, sober as he was. He was on his third glass of bourbon. The idea of making him stay home was very appealing. Normally, Boothill lived with him on a raiding basis, like an ancient Viking - looted and gone on his way. In their case, though, he fucked and ate all the food. That's why he'd been blown up to the size of a medium-sized boar. Gallagher offered to move in with him a long time ago, but Boothill apparently liked living in a basement with rats and fighting in a dump with raccoons for half a hot dog.

“All right. Go ahead and shoot.” Gallagher snorted and turned his eyes to Boothill. He burped and shoved the revolver into his lover's hand.

“Ladies first!”

It was foolish to argue with him, so, rolling his eyes, Gallagher accepted the weapon. The revolver was indeed heavy, with a carved wooden handle and a graceful, thin barrel. Gallagher remembered how constables were taught to shoot. You take aim, point the muzzle straight at the point - the eye of a deer, freeze, hold your breath, pull the trigger without jerking your hand, and!..

There was a loud pop of gunfire in the bar. When the small cloud of smoke and powder cleared, Gallagher looked at his target. The bullet had entered the deer's forehead.

He missed.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Boothill laughed when he saw the result of the shooting. “Is that what they taught you at Scotland Yard?! No wonder I'm still alive! Those sons of bitches are total assholes!” He resolutely took his revolver and slid in next to Gallagher. “Out of my way, senior citizen. Daddy's in the building. I'll show you how to handle my gun.”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Gallagher grimaced and crossed his arms over his chest. While Boothill took aim, he picked up his glass and took a sip. Boothill was right-it was nasty. At that moment a shot rang out. Gallagher shuddered with surprise: he was sure the tipsy Boothill would take fifteen minutes to aim. The bullet stuck out proudly in place of the deer's eye.

“Ha! Well, snatch?” Boothill shoved Gallagher in the side, chuckling happily. “You lost me a wish!”

“What?! How did you do that?!” Gallagher even stepped closer, not believing his eyes. How does Boothill do that?! Sick bastard.

“You can't beat talent.” The cowboy smirked smugly, took the unfinished glass of bourbon from him and ʼclinkʼ with his revolver.

“What do you want?” Gallagher sourly returned to the bar and propped his arms on his chest, leaning against it. He watched Boothill grimly. He glared at him. Gallagher stood up so well that his thick chest was literally poking out of his shirt, forming a lush cleavage. Boothill yanked at his half-unfastened tie and grinned.

“I want those fat tits first. Them, and also to feed you to your heart's content.” He rose from his seat and licked his lips. He pulled his tie back on, tightening it around the stranger's neck in a tight loop. Gallagher gritted his teeth, but made no attempt to resist. His cheeks, overgrown with dark stubble, trembled in a blush. Boothill swung easily over the bar and got right up to the man. One of the cowboy's palms slapped him hard across his stomach, pushing his shirt up cheekily. Boothill gagged him with a wet kiss, wrapping his tie around his hand and nearly strangling Gallagher with it.

“You asshole. Wandering around, and now you think I'm going to give it to you like an obedient whore?” The bartender breathed heavily, his hands loosening the pressure of his tie a little.

“'Come on, sweetheart. You're not a whore, you're my dear partner. You didn't like the watch? You know, you got off easy on that bet! I can already feel how hungry you are for... everything.” Boothill kissed him again and gave him a little distance. “Come on, be a good girl, sit tight, I'll be quick. I hope your pantries are stocked with snacks as usual?” He laughed and opened one of the doors to the staff room. This wasn't the first time Boothill had been here, so he felt right at home. “Wow! Damn you're a hoarding old bear!”

Gallagher slumped weakly in his chair as he watched Boothill rummage through the pantry and rattle dishes. The bar did indeed offer not only booze, but quite a few appetizers as well. Gallagher was never in a hurry to cook during his shift, so he kept his own convenience foods in the freezers; mostly meat, but some freezable meals as well. It was easy enough to heat them up on the fire or throw them in hot oil, and then serve them immediately to guests. The quality didn't suffer much, though, so for the unsophisticated average person, it was fine. People came to the bar to drink, not to eat, so no one turned up their noses.

Boothill had gutted the stock almost completely. To be honest, Gallagher was afraid to go in there, because the pantry and the adjoining kitchen were rattling, hissing and clinking with metal and plates. Gallagher was well aware that he was about to be thoroughly fed. It was another unusual aspect of their relationship. The bartender lowered his gaze to his stomach, resting softly on his lap and pulling up the buttons of his vest. In his youth, he'd been a slender and muscularly handsome constable, the rare sort of man. But after his injury and retirement... Well, he'd let himself relax, sought solace in food and drink, hence the slight fullness. And he never thought anyone would like it. What's more; he'd like it on someone else, too. However, Boothill always knew how to surprise him. In fighting, shooting, appetite, sex; the cowboy's possibilities were endless.

“Waiting?” Boothill returned to the bar, purring something under his breath and carrying a cart full of greasy appetizers. His only visible eye gleamed predatorily, as did his sharp teeth. Gallagher's stomach rumbled-not from hunger, but rather from excitement.

“Who's going to pay for all this?” Gallagher asked sourly.

“You. Or me. We'll figure it out later.” Boothill shrugged nonchalantly, sitting down on the bartender's lap. His palms gently squeezed his tiits before pushing the fragrant-smelling cart closer. “Come on, get on it. I bet you've missed this since the last time we met.”

Gallagher knew what that meant; he was being offered to eat until he burst. Boothill had some pretty perverted fetishes, and it seemed Gallagher did too, because he obediently took a bite of the hot, spicy steak. There was much more in the cart: roast beef, reheated pork pies, apple pies, lots of fried sausages in a thin film that burst in the mouth, spilling hot juice into it; fish and chips, sandwiches and some of today's puddings. Under Buthill's watchful eye, all this splendor began to be slowly eaten.

“If you end up getting caught, I'll personally go and report you for violence.” Gallagher exhaled heavily, finishing one of the pies. He was already feeling quite full! It had only taken a few meals to reach the line that separated satisfying hunger and excessive satiety. But that was the line Boothill wasn't interested in. He was pushing Gallagher further, to the line of "horrible gluttony."

“If that's what you wanted, Mr. Detective, I wouldn't be here a long time ago. What's to stop you from dialing Inspector Argenti right now and telling him all about me?” Boothill gently poured some beer into his mouth to wash it down. Gallagher exhaled, feeling his belly gradually rounding into a full sphere.

“Idiot…” Gallagher wiped his lips. He was beginning to breathe heavier. Boothill, sitting on his lap, unbuttoned first the man's vest and then his shirt. Gallagher realized wistfully that he would not button it again today.

“Is your tummy bothering you?” Butkhill grinned playfully, wrapping both hands around the man's heavy belly and kissing it slowly a few times. He leaned down to Gallagher's ear and whispered with an almost manic tenderness: “Keep it up, and I'll show you how good I am with your shaft, too.”

“I hate you…” Gallagher grumbled as deft hands fed him another sandwich. He felt stuffed almost to the brim, but Boothill wasn't done with him yet, forcing him to eat without interruption.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

The belt of his pants was starting to dig painfully into his lower abdomen, and his pants creaked threateningly. It wasn't just Gallagher's growing girth, but also his growing erection. His belly was big enough to put a little weight on the rising bump with his weight, and when Gallagher moved a little, rubbing himself and it caused a whole flurry of sensation. God, he's getting so fat...!

Boothill, as always, was the epitome of attentiveness. His deft hands undid the belt and fly of his pants before they could burst. Gallagher seriously feared this might happen, for his belly was as round and taut as a ball, and it protruded proudly forward and wide, offset by his broad love handles. Boothill was frankly enjoying his lover's helpless position, stroking him, caressing every crease and beginning to rub his aroused cock as well. Gallagher was breathing heavily; the pressure inside his belly was almost unbearable, so much so that it converted itself into arousal. He wanted to cum excruciatingly badly. Boothill was slowing him down, torturing him, squeezing all his juices, squeezing out the presperm drop by drop. The cowboy himself was squirming impatiently on Gallagher's lap, from which he was slightly displaced by his impressive belly.

“Ha... Shit... Ha-ah!” Gallagher gave a low shriek, collapsing back in his chair as Boothill's hand became damp with whitish liquid. He grinned.

“You should see your face when you cum... I'd paint a picture like that and hang it in my room above the frame.” He stood up slowly, giving Gallagher one last pat on the belly. “'I've got to go, sweetheart. You know, the constables are already out hunting for my head. Don't get bored in here.”

He climbed back over the bar, put on his poncho and hat. The red handkerchief returned to the bottom of his face. Boothill walked over to Gallagher one last time to smack the bartender, completely exhausted from gluttony and orgasm, on the cheek.

“I'll come by again tonight. Don't forget to leave the window open!” With those words he disappeared into the night, as he always did, leaving Gallagher alone with the consequences of their games.

haha im sorry guys english isnt my native language btw i hope u enjoed it!

[abbielauren2024]

My Separated AU Prologue—Ten Years Ago

Leo let out a flurry of angry chirps, stomping his feet as he stormed through the streets of the Hidden City. It wasn’t fair that Raph had been chosen over him to be Draxum’s heir. He remembered his older brother trying to reason with him as he flew out the door but he had refused to listen, and Draxum’s unbothered acceptance of him running away only fueled his irritation. He just wanted to be somebody, was that so hard to achieve? He always knew he was the least favorite of the two, but still it hurt to see Raph get chosen over him officially.

The little slider kicked a rock along the road, letting out steam through resentful clicks. Maybe… maybe if he was out long enough then Draxum would come looking for him. Maybe he would be forced to show that he cared, even if just a little bit. No way he’d let his precious little Raphael out to look, so Leo was on his own tonight.

A discontent rumble emitted from his stomach and Leo growled at his hunger. No way was he going to go back to the Nexus just because of a little stomachache. Nope! Neon Leon was not a quitter. He was going to be just fine…

Suddenly a heavenly scent wafted past his nostrils and the young slider inhaled it greedily. Oh sweet goodness… that was pizza! Where… there! Leo’s heterochromic eyes fixated on a brick restaurant, warm light radiating from the windows and a cozy scene inside. Leo hesitated, but another growl from his impatient stomach complied him to go in.

Golden warmth washed over Leo the second he opened the doors and he couldn’t help but let out a little churr of pleasure. Goodness, this was so much better then the grimy Hidden City streets. He ambled inside, eyes darting around at all the different booths. What was he supposed to do? He had heard of places like this but had never actually been outside of the Hotel and Battle Nexus. Lucky Raph would be able to go to Draxum’s lab now, but not Leo.

His gaze landed on a table with two hulking figures, a bear and a wolf. They were discussing something in hushed tones, but the wolf seemed to be trying to convince the bear of something. Leo wandered closer, eyes widening and tail letting out a little flick of admiration at the sheer size of the yokai. Not to mention how freaking cool these guys looked! Their eyes were in an even stare, not showing any intimidation or anxiety. The bear had a gold chain around his neck that glinted light every time he moved and an old black jacket that looked worn. The wolf had a crimson tailcoat that was tattered in a couple places, and he slapped a couple dice down on the table.

”I’m tellin’ ya,” he said smoothly. “These babies will always land ya a winning roll.”

”I see.” The bear took the smooth object in his hand and held it up for inspection. “You sure this is tainted? I can’t feel anythin’ wrong with it.”

”That’s the beauty of them.” The wolf smirked. “No stinkin’ stickler will be able to tell that they’re… special.”

”He’s lying.” Leo spoke up simply, and both yokai turned to stare at him with surprise. Leo took a few bold steps closer even though he could barely see over the top of the table. “The wolf. He’s lying. There’s nothing special about those dice.”

”Shut up kid.” The wolf growled, but Leo detected the panicked glint in his eyes. “This is an adult conversation.”

”No no, this kid might be on to something.” The bear leaned back in his booth. “You trying to josh me again, Haus?”

”No! These are tainted, I swear. They’ll make ya more then it’ll take to pay for ‘em, let me tell you.” The wolf slipped back into his cool tone.

”Why not hear the lad out?” The bear leaned down. “What makes ya think he’s foolin’ me, kid?” he murmured, eyes betraying amused curiosity.

”His tail and ears keep twitching.” Leo shrugged. “Not to mention all his muscles are taut and his breathing is carefully relaxed, not naturally relaxed.”

The wolf shot him a glare and the bear whistled. “Not bad kid, not bad.”

The wolf yokai’s eyes widened. “You’re not seriously gonna listen to a little punk like this, are ya?”

”Oh get over yerself. I knew you was lyin’.” The bear rolled his eyes. “You think someone like me can’t feel a difference in dice? But the fact that this kid can too…”

The wolf spluttered. “They’re just well-designed…”

”Oh save the crap, Haus. I was gonna see where ya was getting these scams from but yer lucky this kid is more interestin’ than your ugly snout.” The bear glanced over at the wolf. “You’ve got ten seconds to get outta here before I tell the gang. Ten… nine…”

The wolf shot the bold slider another death-look before snatching his dice and standing up. He straightened his coat stiffly and ducked out the door. The bear sighed.

”Lookie there, forgot that now I’m gonna have to pay for his beer.” The bear glanced back Leo. “How’d ya learn to spot lies like that?”

Leo tilted his head. “I thought it was obvious.”

The bear let out a guffawing laugh. “Obvious? Nah kid, that wolf was a top-notch swindler. I’m used to him but you… how old are you?”

Leo puffed out his chest. “I’m six years old.”

The bear snorted. “Aw, you’re just a baby.”

”Hey! Didn’t you hear me?” Leo’s expression furrowed in defiance as he held up his hands, fingers splayed wide. “Six!”

”Ooh, a feisty baby though.” The bear smirked. “Don’t worry little guy, it’s impressive. Where did you even come from?”

Leo crossed his arms haughtily. “I’m not telling you. You’re a stranger.”

The bear chortled. “Oh geez aren’t you just adorable. Y’know this is a dangerous time of night. What’s a little tortoise like you doin’ out with the big dogs?”

”I’m a turtle.” Leo corrected. “And I can do whatever I want.” He crossed his arms and pouted out his lip as if daring the bear to object. The bear raised his hands in surrender.

”Sure you can kid, sure you can.” He gestured to the seat where the wolf had sat. “But please sit down! Where’re my manners? Call me Jasper. What should I call you?”

”Leo.” Leo quipped, having to stand up on the seat and lean over the table to shake Jasper’s hand.

”Leo. Nice name, kid.” The bear nodded, and Leo tried not to wince at the firm handshake. “And nice manners. Ya know how to shake a man’s hand. Yer pa must be a posh one.”

Leo winced at the reminder of Draxum and Raph being chosen over him. He shook his head and lifted his chin. “Dad’s just got a stick up his butt. And Raphie’s bein’ a puppy after him.”

The bear exploded in laughter. “Where on earth didja hear that from, kid? You’re a mouthy one, aren’t ya? Six years old, I’ll be darned.” He leaned in. “But ya got a little rebellious streak. I like that. Here, have a drink if ya want.” He slid over the wolf’s abandoned mug and Leo glanced doubtfully at the frothy brown liquid inside.

”What’s this stuff?” Leo sniffed it experimentally and his face wrinkled at the smell.

”Just a good, strong gentleman’s beer. Since Haus ain’t drinkin’ his, ya might as well.” The bear shrugged.

Leo hesitated. The stuff stank terribly but he didn’t want to seem weak. he wrapped his hands around the mug and began to lift it up.

”Por amor a... what are you doing, Señor?” Snapped a low voice with a thick accent, and Leo barely had time to register anything before the mug was ripped out of his hands and slammed back on the table. The surprised slider looked up to see a furious skeleton man breathing heavily and glaring at Jasper. “What do you think you are doing? This is very clearly a minor!”

Jasper shrugged. “Easy, Hueso. Just thought I’d offer it since it’s gonna go to waste.”

The bone man muttered a few foreign curses. “That is alcohol! This is a child. Do you have no sense of propriety?”

Jasper raised his hands in surrender. “Easy Bone Man. It’s just a sip.”

”Not in my restaurant!” Hueso snipped, gesturing towards the door. “And that was the last straw. Out. Find somewhere else to take your shenanigans.”

”Come on Hueso…”

”You should be lucky I don’t call the police for offering alcohol to a minor.” Hueso’s gaze was fire. “Out. Now. No need to pay. Just get out of my establishment.”

Jasper raised his hands in surrender. “Geez, fine. I’ll take my leave.” He picked up his fedora from next to him and placed it down on his head, looking down at Leo. “You’ll see me around, kid. Hope we cross paths again.”

”Out!” Hueso growled, and Jasper finally walked out, taking his sweet time and shamelessly eyeing the customers who were counting money for the bill. Once he was gone the skeleton sighed in relief and looked down at Leo. “Little pepino, what are you doing with that man? Where are your parents?”

Leo crossed his arms. “I’m fine.”

Hueso sighed and knelt down so he could look up at the young slider. “I do not mean you any harm, Pepino. I am only concerned for your safety.” Leo’s stomach let out a loud rumble and Hueso sighed. “And for your well-being. I will get you some food.”

”I don’t have money.” Leo snipped, and Hueso shook his head.

”No need to pay. I will cover it.” He looked Leo in the eyes. “But you should learn to not be so rude to people who are only trying to help you.”

Leo stubbornly looked away and the skeleton straightened, calling out to some zebra yokai to bring over a no-show pizza order. The waiter did and Hueso turned back to Leo. “Do you like Hawaiian?”

At this point Leo couldn’t care less as long as it was food. He gratefully took the pizza box in both hands, inhaling the delicious scent greedily. Hueso’s face softened. “Where are your parents, Pepino? Do they feed you okay? What are you doing out so late?”

Leo gave the skeleton a pout. “You’re a stranger.”

Hueso sighed. “At least you have some sense then. But I want to make sure you get home safe. You do have a home to go back to, si?”

Leo nodded, opening the pizza box and taking a slice. The box was too big and tried to slide off his lap but Hueso kneeled down again and held it steady. Leo flushed slightly with embarrassment but still sunk his teeth into the food, letting out a churr of pleasure. He quickly devoured the slice and reached for another. Hueso watched him with slight concern. “You are so thin… have you eaten today, Pepino?”

Leo shrugged. “Yeah, a little.”

”A little?” Hueso prompted. “It is late into the night. What have you eaten?”

”Well Dad was kinda busy today and so was Mama, but Raphie made me a peanut butter sandwich.” Leo’s brow furrowed. “He didn’t eat any though. He can’t have peanut butter. Maybe I should save some of this for him.” Leo still felt mad at his brother, but now guilt was mixing in with it. Raph always was trying to take care of him, and besides it wasn’t his fault that Draxum liked him better. And he must be hungry. Hueso and the zebra waiter shared a look.

”You only had one sandwich? And is… is Raphie your brother?” Hueso asked tentatively and Leo nodded.

”Yeah. He’s my big brother. He’s big an’ strong like this.” Leo tried flexing his tiny arms but only succeeded in almost dropping the pizza box if Hueso hadn’t been holding it. Hueso hesitated.

”And your dad and mama?” he asked. “They were too busy to feed you?”

Leo shrugged. “They’re busy a lot. Raphie feeds me most of the time if he can find something in the fridge.”

”Then does he eat?”

Leo hesitated. “Sometimes. But he always makes me eat first.”

Hueso nodded solemnly. “Pepino, that is not healthy. You need to eat three meals a day. Especially at this age.”

Leo’s eyes widened. “Three whole meals? That’s a lot!” The slider had meant it in innocent admiration, but Hueso still cringed.

”Well, it is what you should be eating. You and your brother both.” His eyes searched Leo’s face. “Would… would you like to bring your brother here sometime? I will feed you both free of charge.”

”Nah, Raphie’s gonna be busy with Dad now.” Leo looked down with a frown. “He’s gonna get extra training and attention and stuff.”

”I see.” Hueso hesitated. “Do you… do you need help?”

”What?”

”Pepino, you need to eat more. It doesn’t sound like your parents are feeding you.” Hueso sighed at Leo’s blank look. “Just… just feel free to come by my restaurant any time. I assure you I will not mind, and you will get fed here.”

Leo smiled slightly. “Really? More pizza?”

Hueso nodded with a fond, bittersweet look. “Yes, Pepino. You will have all the pizza you want. Come back whenever.”

Leo’s tail started wagging as he hopped down from the booth, hugging the pizza box to his chest. “Thank you, sir!”

”Ah, there’s those manners.” Hueso straightened. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Pepino. I hope you will take me up on my offer, and you should be getting home. It is very late.”

”Okay, I will.” Leo looked down at the pizza. “Raphie’s probably worried about me. And he’ll like this pizza.”

”Of course. Pepino. Take care.” Hueso backed up slightly to give Leo space, but his expression betrayed that he was reluctant to let him go. Leo waved and practically skipped out the door, feeling much better now that he had something to eat. But once he was out the door he heard someone clear their throat and turned to see Jasper leaning against the alley wall next to the restaurant.

”Hey Jasper!” Leo chirped, and the bear smiled and kicked off the wall, walking towards the little turtle.

”Hey yourself.” Jasper placed a gentle hand on Leo’s shoulder. “Y’know, I was just wondering if you’d like to meet some of my buddies? I could introduce ya, and maybe you could help me in some… games we all play together. In these games it’s mostly trying to figure out if people are lyin’ or not, and I think you’d be great at that.”

”Oh, I was just headed home…” Leo said slowly, and Jasper nodded.

”Completely understandable, kid. Tell ya what: meet me here tomorrow night, same time and I’ll take ya to my buddies and we can all play some card games together. How does that sound?” Jasper suggested, and Leo nodded enthusiastically.

”Sure. I’ll be here. Bye!” Leo grinned in excitement and balanced the pizza box briefly on a raised knee to wave at the bear, who waved back and watched the young slider disappear into the night with a faint smirk on his lips.

——————————————

Whelp, hope you enjoyed that! The inspiration suddenly leapt for this so I decided to start writing out chapters even if I don’t publish the work yet on AO3. I can’t get enough of protective uncle Hueso content, so of course I loved writing that part lol. And honestly I love the idea of Raph taking care of Leo since I doubt Draxum is a very involved parent and Big Mama isn’t their main caretaker even though she does act like a mother figure.

I hope you enjoyed! ^^

[gingerfan24]

A Word

His attention was split tonight. A dangerous state of mind considering the circumstances but he simply couldn’t help himself.

At the moment Heinrix was primarily listening in on the Saurback’s conversation. They were one of the families of Dargonus most known for their vocal opposition to the Rogue Traders rule but tonight, for the moment, they seemed to be discussing fairly mundane politics. Toriana Gaprak was immersed in conversation with Macharius Saurback, the patriarch of that noble house. With the humiliation of Cubis Delphim’s treachery on Kiava Gamma, the Gapraks were almost certainly seeking allies wherever they could.

And yet, without fail, he once again found himself turning his attention to the woman of the hour herself, Anastasia Von Valancius, newly minted Rogue Trader and a sanctioned psyker much like himself. At the moment she was directly across the ballroom from him, engrossed in conversation with her fellow Rogue Traders Calligos Winterscale and Incendia Chorda.

Tonight she wore a blue dress in the shade and color of her dynasty, while patterned sequins and delicate gold chains decorated the circumference of her waist. Around her head, crowned like a halo was a stylized version of a psy-augmetic often worn by Primaris psykers. It rose from behind her half-shaved head like a golden sunrise.

Not for the first time Heinrix found himself wishing he could dance with her. To hold her close to himself and drink in her scent, to feel her black hair through his fingers as he leads her across the floor and to feel her heartbeat against him. He has seen this woman charge head-first into battle against some of the worst horrors this galaxy had to offer and hold her own and yet……the thought of what could potentially happen tonight made his blood run cold.

Calcazar was making his move.

His master had reassured him that this was merely a demonstration, a show of force to remind the new Rogue Trader of her role in the grand scheme of things and Heinrix had little reason to doubt this but…..he knew Xavier well enough to know what things could potentially turn into. And he knew Ana well enough that a warning in advance was….advisable to say the least.

But what to say?

To tell the full truth was obviously so out of the question as to be inconceivable. The Lord Inquisitor wished to surprise her in her quarters after festivities had concluded, a common tactic that left the target more vulnerable to the questioning that would follow.

He couldn’t not let her know that something was going to happen this evening but as he was pondering this thought further he heard her laugh, a sound that made his heart flutter in his chest and a certain heat rise to his cheeks, and then he saw her bid her guests farewell before she turned in his direction and began to walk towards him, glass of fine amesec in hand and a rosy flush to her cheeks. He watched her regard him with a curious expression and a slight head-tilt and felt the familiar gaze of someone who seemed to be able to pierce the very soul with their questioning gaze.

���Interesting conversation?” She asked him light-heartedly as she approached him far too close for propriety. The scent of her perfume and her close proximity made it hard for him to breathe and think.

Throne help him.

By sheer force of will he managed to retain a relatively inscrutable appearance. “It’s been very illuminating. Given me plenty of food for thought.”

Something in his expression must’ve given him away however. Or perhaps, being the telepath she was, she detected it in traces of his thoughts and emotions. Her expression grew more inquiring.

“Is something the matter? You look tense. Well, more than usual.”

Heinrix found himself fidgeting nervously. “I….I need to tell you something but I can’t divulge it here. Meet me in your quarters and I will say what I can.”

Her expression grew more serious in spite of the intoxication. “Very well then Heinrix, lead the way.”

[elejah-verse]

elejah_au

*

Divination

[cyborg-franky]

Something for @corpusprion for guessing the movie the other night! Pleas enjoy <3

GN Reader X Marco SFW Ace Lives Au Word count: 682

The events of Marineford had been intense. Bodies and hearts ached. Pain drenched every inch of your wary body and a relief tinged with sadness filled you. You sighed and looked at Marco who sat on your shared bed looking exhausted. You’d never seen him look so tired, never seen the tell tail signs of his age. He looked every bit the image of a forty-something man who’d spent his entire life working hard, working his fingers to the bone. His phoenix power all but drained from healing others, it could barely spare a spark of flame to heal the cut on his forehead.

He let out a shaky sigh, wincing as he felt the simple act rattle his bones. “Not used to being so beat up huh?” You called, a medpack in your arms as you kicked the door to the room closed. You saw the lazy smirk on his face as he chuckled. “Do I detect a hint of gloating yoi?” he asked and you shrugged as you set the kit down on the bedside table.

“Maybe,” 

The fight had been intense, everyone had battled their hardest, and shed more than their fair share of sweat, blood and tears to save Ace and Pops, a feat they almost had failed to achieve. There had still been casualties, injuries that would show for years both in scars and in memories. You tried not to think about those you’d lost. Trying to remind yourself Ace was safe.

You masked the worry about your partner with jokes and a plastered-on smile, during the war you knew he was going to be fine, he was so strong and confident. Too smart to let anyone get the upper hand on him, though the seastone handcuffs had your pulse in your throat for a moment. 

No, you were more concerned about the bruised and bloody man sitting on your bed now. His cuts refused to close as he was out of energy. Spent on others, that was just typical of him. Putting his crew before himself.

It was your turn to help him.

You sat next to him on the bed and gently cupped his face, looking at those tired half-lidded eyes and seeing the wrinkles where he frowned, where he smiled, where he laughed with all his heart. He was still the most handsome man you’d ever seen. You could see whisps of greying hair in his eyebrows and the scruff at his chin. “Feeling rough?” you asked as he held your hand to his face, turning enough to kiss your fingers. “Mmm,” 

Marco hated the the flashes of mortality that ebbed through him when he was this depleted of his phoenix given vitality. He just leaned into your touches, desperate for your comforting warmth and words as he tried not to feel sorry for himself, to let you know how he was aching and hurting. You leaned forward and kissed his nose, just above where a cut crossed the bridge.

“I got you, don’t worry.”

In a comfortable silence you washed his skin, taking away the crusted blood and the dirt of the battlefield. He only grimaced once or twice at the disinfectant you used on his scrapes and cuts before you dressed them with bandages and bandaids. 

You sat back and looked at Marco. You’d never seen him so banged up and in such a state. You smiled weakly, feeling as sorry for him as he looked for himself. “Want me to get us something to eat?” you asked, but he shook his head, brushing off any wrappers and leftover bandages from the bed, strong arms pulling you against him before he flopped back on the bed. You blinked, a little confused, but soon heard him take in your scent. You felt his nose nuzzle into your neck as he kept you close.

He just needed this.

And that was fine by you.

You held one another until sleep came for your tired and worn bodies. The comfort and safety of one another's arms whisking you both into a much-needed and well-deserved slumber.

[luffyvace]

RANPO X LAZY MALE READER!!

Enjoy lovely readers! for these are the headcanons that won the poll!!♡

ranpo with a lazy male reader..an interesting topic

definitely. Especially since ranpo himself, is lazy

you two (dazai making it a trio) are the ultimate lazy duo

you guys never get work done outside your skills

maybe not even then

unless it serious y’all basically eat snacks all day and well…lazy around :)

Ranpo will only share some of his snacks with you

partly because your his lazy buddy and partly because your his boyfriend

even if you get your own if he runs out or sees one of his favorite snacks he’ll steal some of yours

To which you often move away from him to get him to stop

also don’t bother storing your snacks in your locker he’ll figure out the lock combo and eat them

bonus points if you break in his locker and steal his

at this point it’s a ‘would be romantic if you weren’t stealing it from each other’ war of buying each other snacks

also meaning you buy all his favorites and store it in your locker, knowing he’s gonna steal it, and he does the same for you

fukuzawa and yosano are used to you two’s antics of not wanting to do anything but kunikida just can’t take it

he thinks he might even go insane

actually this time

atsushi wouldn’t mind as much if your work load didn’t get dumped off on him

or if he didn’t have to clean up after you and ranpo’s snack mess

..

okay maybe atsushi is a little annoyed..

On the bright side you get lots of cuddles with ranpo

he’s the little spoon

likes to rest his head on your chest

wants to hear your heartbeat so he can fall asleep

your only complaint is that he gets snack and chocolate stains all over your shirt

even worse since your too lazy to do laundry

Oh well

if you wanna be the little spoon ranpo will whine and complain

“awhhhhh but m/nnnnnnn I’m so comfyyyyy”

you both keep persisting until you fall asleep

that cycle repeats every time you cuddle

even if he were to say yes you’d be too lazy to move

you’d likely end up just falling back asleep

ranpo would still get his way as the little spoon in the end

if you two live together oh boy you either call someone to do everything for you (kunikida)

or wait until said kunikida comes over,

turns on mom mode,

and scolds you while cleaning up + making dinner

it’s constant battles between who will do what

about literally anything too

”noooooo ranpo you do the laundryyyyy”

”but m/nnnnnnn I’m the worlds greatest detectiveeee, don’t you think I deserve spoiling??”

”you do but I’m too lazyyyy 😞”

”wowwwww so that’s how you feel about your boyfriend?? Your great detective??”

you: rolls over goes to sleep

”m/nnnnnn!! Get uppp! I did the laundry last timeeeeee!”

you, muttering before dozing off to sleep: “liarrr…”

ranpo pouts, flips over and goes to sleep as well

the laundry never got done 😋

honestly….how do I write these headcanons?!

you two are so lazy..! Nothing gets done!!

your dates are all in doors

there’s no cleaning

barely cooking

what do I say?!

I already covered physical affection too 🤦‍♀️

🧍‍♀️

stop being so lazy this is putting strife on me too!!

now I see how kunikida and atsushi feels..

what are we gonna do with you two..🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

Wellllll…ranpo likely gives lazy kisses

theyre a bit long and not much effort is put into them, but love sure is

same with you!!

you two often give each other slow and gentle kisses while lazying around in bed<3

so cute!!💗

if you could ever get ranpo to cook somehow it may not taste good considering he doesn’t cook a whole lot..

your the same, except you get to choose whether your good or not

..laundry?

you rewear your same favorite clothes and ranpo pretty much does too

ranpo has worn your clothes before, claiming its his when you clearly remember buying it

you figured out it was yours but he was too lazy to take it off

“Awhhhh but m/nnnnn it took so much energy to get it onnnn”

”what?! I was planning on wearing that today!!”

”awhhh can’t you wear it tomorrow and I wear it today?!”

”only if you promise to wash it!”

”awhhhhhh!! 😞—

but I’m so lazy m/nnn”

he sits on the edge of the bed pouting

to which you take the opportunity to yank off the clothes he stole from you

”HEYY!! It took forever to get this on!! Don’t take it off!”

”it’s not yours! And if you don’t wanna wash it, you can’t wear it!”

”okay! okay! I’ll wash it! I’ll wash it!”

”good!” you: walks off to the car ”wait m/nn!! Come back! help me put it back on!!”

just for the record when you got back home it didn’t get washed

it got disregarded on the floor for a cuddles and kisses date on your bed

(yes your dates take place in your bed)

it takes forever for you two to arrive at work

your late more often than not

especially when debates about who has to drive happens

which is where kunikida steps in…again

he scolds you both for being too lazy to even move your hands and feet to get to a job which is very important because it brings in money that feeds you and..blah blah blah blah blah….

(you don’t even remember the rest you tuned out)

I honestly couldn’t choose as to whose more lazy between you two so I’ll let you do it

but in the case that your lazy and can still get some things done,

your really just burnt out not lazy yet it gets labeled as that

your tired from working and doing daily activities

especially if you have a cramped schedule like kunikida

well, maybe not like kunikida, just really packed

(No one can out-schedule that man I know it)

either way you likely do more cooking and a little bit more cleaning than ranpo

If your muscles are sore ranpo will give you a massage but your both laying down-

LOL

he might hire a professional chiropractor for a big event like your anniversary

also I feel ranpo’s love language would be quality time and physical touch

quality time because he just genuinely likes being around his boyfriend

it’s free and he feels good spending time with the one he loves?? Why not??

physical touch because it’s simply a easy and effective way for him to display his love to you

he probably leans more towards kisses in private

hand holding is his go two in public (mostly when he’s not eating snacks at the moment because he needs his hands to stuff his face—and so do you)

hugs/cuddles can go either way :)

Ngl the ada members find it cute when they see you two all snuggled up on the couch after eating a bunch of snacks

even if you two get on their nerve a bit, they can’t deny it’s truly adorable♡

thank you all so much for voting on my poll once again!!

I appreciate you all and deeply hope you enjoyed these headcanons!!!

[rawmeknockout]

Demon reader domming Gabriel or V1? Pick your fancy

Love your work btw! <3

//having to use it/its pronouns over and over again is so hard it really reads kind of stilted but i did my best//

It's worn from battle, metal components grinding and whining with the effort to keep moving. This is not a common type of exhaustion, not something it truly 'feels', but every part of it's mechanical frame is telling it that it needs to resist moving or fighting. V1 can only suppose it's what a human would have felt when they were tired, but it wouldn't know for sure. Humans are long gone and it doesn't process things the way one would. There is only it's processor that tells it, loudly and clearly, that it must rest and recharge, not an ambiguous feeling to be parsed out.

It would be easier to rest if you weren't hovering over it, your hard exterior cracking with your movements. You move based on instinct, natural impulse, rather than any real thought. At least it's what V1 can only assess from your actions. You came after it relentlessly, uncaring of the bullets hitting you or your fellow demons, until the machine was unable to continue fighting. Your hard exterior is nearly unscathed, sturdy despite the bullets you've taken at such close range. Even now, you stand, a shuddering, shambling shadow in the depths of hell, over it's prone form. Your 'feet' on either side of it's torso. The itch of 'frustration' lingers in V1's processor, wanting to push beyond the limitations of it's frame. If this is how it must end, though, then so be it.

But you drop down to your knee joints, letting your entire weight collapse upon it's already weakened frame. V1's system makes a strained noise at the sudden pressure, metal armor buckling and grinding together with a shrill clanging. You seem to be processing your next move, taking time to assess the robot's state. Even now it's unable to fully detect just how much you can assess, your mental capacity indecipherable to it. Some demons seem to be conscious, fully aware, but often it's just for a moment. Whether they are more beast or man is indistinguishable to V1.

Until you start undulating on top of it.

Your jerking, inelegant movements are unmistakable after you repeat them a few times in quick succession. V1 makes no move to push you off, cannot move to push you off. It's still fully analyzing just what it's seeing. By the time it makes clear just what your intention is, there is a charge building beneath it's armor, building beneath where your own primitive plating meets it's metal. The pressure of your body upon it's frame, although a strain on overworked joints, is… nice. Grounding. Firm. A reprieve from the constant movement and struggle. V1 doesn't rise to meet you, nor move to aid your objective, but it relishes the tingle of electricity zipping from within it's pelvic girdle to the surrounding systems.

You make guttural, keening noises, mournful and near hysterical. They ring about the area like a mother's cry. V1 remembers something, only briefly, but it's gone in a second; lost amidst the scattering of data it has picked up. So many moments lost. Perhaps this, too, will join them. V1's own systems whir and rumble, pleasantly to it's own audio sensors, in a cacophony with you. It's digits flex and grapple your thighs where they spread around it's waist, single-mindedly focused on the increasingly powerful lance of charge through it's system. There's a snap of a cable, overstressed and sensitive; an arc of electricity follows, leaping from V1's pelvic panel to shock you, drawing out another wailing cry as you bear down upon it.

There's the burst of static and fragmented color across V1's optical input as the charge reaches a peak, scrambling even it's ability to hear for a moment. Long enough for you to finish riding out whatever you had been seeking. It has to reset, HUD filled with data reports. You are gone by the time it is able to clear it's vision.

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Headcanon - Lillith's Generals

A specific and partially formed story idea I would love to flesh out one day. I've put bits and pieces in other headcanons and stories.

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

Okay fucked up idea but, Lillith had a number of generals. They were overlords, because her fight was for the sinners, and therefore having Sovereigns at the helm of the battlefront was the key to rallying Hell.

Heaven couldn't tell one sinner from another, most of the time, so when she cloaked them in careful battle garb that concealed defining features, it was enough to shield their full identities.

In order to keep them safe when her fight failed, she bound them all in deals where she was the Guarrantor, BUT did not make the deal herself.

She uses the last of her abilities to heal them to the best of her abilities post-battle, they're all damaged in ways that can at least be hidden under attire or hair. A permanent mark of their unending loyalty to her. Each wound, each scarrified patch of skin causes pain to the Queen.

A mark upon her own soul.

She has different pairs make deals with one another that bind the memories of their involvement, erasing that they ever knew her. It should hold up to heavenly scrutiny as it didn’t have more than the faintest taint of her magic… which, to be fair, a lot of deals did. Hers or Lucifers. It was in the undercurrent of which of the rulers a new sinner's powers drew from as they fell to form.

Plausible deniability.

The deals also bind some of the additional abilities she granted them. A nuisance, but... one cannot have any angels asking questions... and they would evade detection covertly.

The generals would have worn something that masked their identities, to avoid heaven marking them early. So that the collars are not of her own making, and between overlords, was a mutual binding. Carmilla, Rosie, Vox, Alastor. Four horsemen, if you would. She thought herself quite amusing with that one.

The true damage is to the relationships between them all, the friendships, the inside jokes… it was all gone. It left a vague… hole where the memory of the others should be and, naturally, their minds invented complex narratives to fill the void.

Carmilla respects Rosie, but feels a lingering sense of unease that she interprets as seeing her as a threat.

Alastor vs Vox was obvious.

Alastor recalls Rosie fondly because they were recruited as friends, prior to the raid.

Vox and Carmilla are cordial, but can’t recall much.

Vox always has a healthy fear of Rosie and her fearsome honeytrap approach to friendship.

Alastor would never be rude to a non-Susan woman, and shows Carmilla the due respect but there is something that feels wrong. It's why he's most rankled by her dismissal of his disappearance.

None of them recall. And it is cruel.

Others fill the spaces, of course.

Vox has the vees, Alastor has the hotel, Rosie her cannibals, Carmilla has her daughters and Zestial.

----

4 horsemen - conquest/war/famine/death

Conquest - Vox, Media Overlord always fighting for more

War - Carmilla, obviously, she is the Weapons Overlord

Famine - Alastor, he hungers for power and chaos, depriving others of freedom they long for. The never ending ache of being a cannibal.

Death - Rosie, Cannibal Overlord who brings death wherever she treds.

-------

The carefully laid protections come crashing down when Alastor is injured fighting Adam, and Lucifer immediately recognises the lingering trace of Lillith on the other when Charlie begs him to heal her pet. (His words, not Charlies, she's still mad he said that).

Attacking because he assumed the other was lying about not knowing anything, because it was Right There on his skin and the radio fucker has a habit of just straight up being a dick when he felt he had the upper hand.

Husk tries to intervene, saying he’s never seen Alastor go near Lillith… but it takes Charlie to make him stop. Niffty seconds from stabbing lucifer mercilessly with her blade.

Still practically bisected and primarily non-resistant out of confusion, Lucifer had basically thrown the guy around and hurled hellfire at him. Something that should have burned the sinner to ashes… but melted away with a tinge of lilac smoke. Infuriating. Lucifer went back to his bare hands and slammed the antlered head into the floor again and again. 

Inside he was roiling with anger and self-disgust. Alastor had no chance to defend himself in this state and yet he couldn’t stop himself. Charlie was the one to pull him off, crying as she went to Alastor immediately, noting the main injury with mounting horror. “I didn’t know ot was that bad… he didn’t say… I thought it was a glancing blow...”

And that switches Lucifer’s  brain on again.

“Fuck, I-... fuck. Okay I can fix this. Let me just heal it, and… and I can ask him why the hell I can sense lilith’s magic twined about him. I shouldn’t have-... Char I’m sorry, I just went crazy and-...”

“I’m  not the one you owe an apology to, Dad. He couldn’t fight back like this and you still attacked him!” She was clearly livid. “You WILL heal him, and I will be here the whole time to ensure nothing else happens. I don’t CARE if he was wearing Mum’s perfume and her favourite dress just to taunt you, this was NOT okay. There’s probably a really weird but not bad reason, okay?”

Lucifer does heal him, but when he aims for the head wound, his fingers accidentally brush the collar… and that triggers it to life. An odd green tapering to blue. “What the fuck?” there’s a hint of Lillith here too. What had he missed?

“Keep going so we can ask him, please.”

And that’s when the last piece of the puzzle come into play, with the collar active, a very faint lilac sigil can be seen flaring underneath the sinner’s death mark. Pulsing and whirling, circular but too familiar.

“Fuck… I think… well, I mean, I think he doesn’t know. Your mother only used that sort of thing to bind strong secrets away… but why?”

Al can’t recall much at all. Lucifer pushes to shatter the sigil, but when it causes Vox to arrive in a messy ball of furious confused need to fight a threat he doesn't even recognise, the King pulls back. Vox automatically attacks the king, and has to be restrained… it's a failsafe for angels. And well, guess what his little majesty is?

He has to snap both seals together.

And then they recall Everything… 

Rosie and Carmilla are next. The things they should not recall are back with teeth.

The horror. The sudden explanation of injuries, the SCARS they could never account for… the drunken escapades, the training and rebellion. The reason Lillith left (deal with heaven to come to them, to stay in a pocket dimension where she would not incite more riots).

Recalling breaks the chains as well, etc.

Lilith felt her seals break, and comes back for her generals… surprised to find them in the company of her husband and child-no-longer Charlie. Little fucked up reunion.

Heaven Not Pleased. 

It also targets those who helped in the uprising who lived. 

Lute dispatched to kill them with her squadrons. Battles, etc.

“Why?” Lucifer asks.

“I could not stand suffering any longer, and those who shared my ideals were with me…”

“Even the red prick?”

“Especially Alastor… why, I’m not surprised that even with his memory gone he gravitated to Charlie’s little hotel. And Rosie provided soldiers for the battle while Carmilla armed them all. Vox… would have helped if the influence on him wasn’t so strong…” 

Etc.

[seventeenlovesthree]

Sora Takenouchi's clothing style - a meta analysis

Initially, it looked like Sora would come out as the clear winner of the fashion analysis poll - and for a good reason, as Sora's clothing style is quite a subject to discuss when it comes to her character, development and the role(s and maybe even identity) she takes on through the course of the series. She may only have finished second after Yamato, but now concludes the first quartet after him, Taichi and Koushirou. So let's dive into it:

Adventure (+ Our War Game), age 11/12:

Sora'a initial look in Adventure may best be described with the term "iconic" - because aside from Taichi and Mimi, she may actually have one of the most memorable "adventurous" pieces of clothing among the original eight. Functioning as a contrast to Mimi's feminine red dress and pink hat, Sora prefers practical blue jeans, a yellow top with short sleeves and her trademark blue hat. The colourful ensemble is completed by red gloves, dark sneakers - with the latter most likely influenced by her playing football alongside Taichi in their school's football club. The only "more typically feminine" element - which isn't fully portrayed here - is the little pink belt with a bag she wears on her waist. Last but not least there is, of course, the signature short red hair - which, at this point, is still mostly hidden under her hat. While there are debates to this day as to whether it's a beanie or a helmet (thanks to episode 11 of the anime), we can already detect a few elements that will turn out to be reoccurring themes for her, one way or another:

Sora is our resident tomboy with a caring attitude: she can be assumed to like being practical, she is "a pants kinda girl" who prefers football over flower arrangement, but never (!) looks down on her more feminine presenting companions - and may or may not hide a lot of trauma and insecurities behind a mask. And maybe even her clothes...?

Fasting forward to Our War Game, things may become a bit clearer; her main role in the movie is to provide background conflict with Taichi while staying away from the battles because of it. However, OWG already re-uses a few elements we have seen on her before, especially in terms of colours. With Taichi, Yamato and Koushirou, estimating their favourite worn colours is a little bit easier. However, I would argue that Sora has a very strong fondness for (light) blue and yellow. She's still sticking to her blue jeans, the blue hat has been replaced with a yellow beanie, the colour of her previous shirt.

But what was the conflict about? Taichi chose to gift her a sunflower hairclip for her birthday - just to get yelled at for that by her, asking him whether "her hat doest suit" her after all. Granted, we only know his side of the story, but we can clearly see her being bitter about the whole situation and waiting for him to apologize.

Why is a little piece of jewelry riling her up so much, you may ask?

Considering how Sora's mother used to want her to quit football and behave like the daughter of a flower arrangement school owner (= iemoto) should, one could assume that she's already going through some kind of identity crisis at the age of only 12. Being confronted just by the mere possibility that her best friend may want her to be/look more feminine (just like her mother), even though her gender representation had NEVER played a role between them... May have frightened her to the core. They had always been friends, football comrades and Digital World companions. Not only that, she had already been confused about whether or not her nurturing attitude had been real or just a facade, so this may have been the icing on top - as we can tell by the fact that she keeps fumbling with her hat (and the hairclip too) through the course of the movie, displaying a great sense of insecurity. On the other hand, we can also tell that she is willing to move towards others if she's met with kindness and understanding. So once Taichi's apology reaches through to her, she ends up putting on the hairclip instead of the hat and apologizes as well. A significant change for the rest of the series...?

Come to think of it, we know that she has already reconciled with her mother to at least some degree by the end of Adventure - so could that be the reason why she already dares to wear a pink sweater at this point...? We may have to wait and see...

02 (+ Diablomon Strikes Back), age 14/15:

02 is what I would like to call "Sora's experimental phase" - and I'm not just saying that because we never see her wear her previously beloved pants through the course of the entire series plus movies, not even once.

Upon her journey of reconciling with her mother step by step, she often stays away from fighting alongside the others; either because she's busy learning (and struggling with) flower arrangement or attending tennis camp. By the start of the series, we learn that she has actually switched from football to tennis to get closer to her mother, wearing a very short skirt - and she absolutely isn't afraid to run around with it comfortably in the deserts of the Digital World, so we can tell her adventurous spirit has not (completely) vanished. And despite everything, she still tries to jump into action when possible - which will also turn out to be a theme for her: Trying to find a balance between real life obligations and the fighting, making her own choices about it. But we'll get to that.

... At this point, it all appears to be quite a strong contrast to Adventure!Sora, as she fully commits to more feminine clothes and hobbies. However: Whether it's about choosing to wear the (more Mimi-centric) colours red and pink, to generally wear skirts or about whom she wants to date - she goes for it, seems confident about it (even if she may need a nudge here and there) and still makes way to put on a hat and the colours blue and yellow again occasionally. If you squint, you may even be able to tell that, by winter season, she not only has fully embraced the blues (coat) and yellows (sweater) back into her life, while mixing it with the adopted pink (scarf and skirt) - but that her hair seems to have grown a tiny bit longer as well. Long enough to keep the fringe out of her eyes and into a side fringe (with the perfect length to be held by a hairclip). She's a teenager, it's all very experimental (to the point of wearing silly matching shirts with Taichi that refer to circles and triangles for whatever meta reason).

Since it is never outright stated, the viewer can roll the dice on whether the pants and the hat (age 11) were an act of rebellion and the skirts (age 14/15) an act of hyper-adaptation (towards a heteronormative, more "typically feminine" gender representation). But in my opinion, both interpretations are somewhat valid considering her age. Growing up is a process - and we'll learn that her style isn't set in stone at all yet.

Tri, age 17:

17-year-old Sora, despite appearing to be more torn and insecure about her path and future than before, seems to at least have grown MUCH MORE confident in her clothing style. Yes, she seems rather distressed in front of her closet (!) when it comes to picking a suitable outfit for a concert AND a football match at the same time - but who WOULDN'T be confused when being "put on the spot" like that?!

Sora's entire arc is about (struggling to) making choices - and Tri!Sora still tries to avoid doing so for the most part, hiding behind her caring nature and big sister/mom persona for the sake of Meiko, Mimi and basically everyone else. It's a comfortable mask for as long as it works, giving her a sense of security and familiarity. It's her own sense of "conformity" (and less that of rebellion) so to speak. For example - just like in 02 - she wears her school uniform prim and proper without any individual cues (unlike Taichi and Yamato and more like Koushirou). And thus, you really have to squint this time to spot her own preferences, interests and likes, because they're usually not spelled out to the viewer.

It's about the fact that she may only rarely return to wearing hats, but that her closet also doesn't exclusively consist of skirts anymore. It's about her wearing different kinds of jeans and pants of various lengths, there are tops, shirts and sweaters with silly prints, lots of layers, even a jumpsuit, shorts, miniskirts, boots, sandals and sneakers... And thus, it really feels like she has found her own definition of femininity at this point. She leaves the frills and dresses to Mimi, Meiko and Hikari - and still seems to be confident in giving her own sense of femininity a try. It's cute and comfortable - not exactly sporty, but still practical, functional, and adds a variety of colours to her already present blues and yellows, as well as the reds and pinks.

Then of course, there is her hobby that hides in plain sight and that hasn't presented itself to us previously...

Your girl, previous tomboy skirt tester, resident mom friend who used to be all into sports - is actually also into sewing and, judging by how much variety her own wardrobe offers, possibly into fashion as well. (Which, in my opinion, should have made her bond with Koushirou over his own fashion-related problems, but I digress.)

Granted, we know she also knows how to make the perfect bento box and has been practicing more "feminine things" (like flower arrangement and tennis) before, but this one is still new... And it shows that, not only DOES she have various interests - even if they all lean more into the "feminine side of things" -, but that her "experimental phase" may have led her in a direction she could turn into a career one day. Her own career. Offering the balance she has always strived for - one which, despite the variation in her wardrobe, she still hasn't achieved yet. (Which is why clashing with the version of Piyomon that lost her memory almost lets her collapse emotionally, challenging the purpose of her entire identity.)

Last but not least, we need to talk about her hair - while it hasn't exactly gotten longer (except for the fringe that grew back), it definitely has become fuller and bushier... And even provides enough length for a braid. After the events of Tri, we see her actually cutting it much shorter - it's not exactly a pixie-cut yet, but according to very common anime tropes, we know that hair changes after crucial events stand for a change in path and attitude...

Kizuna, age 22:

... And for Sora, this may mean to finally make up her mind, "deciding on something and someone" like she always dreaded. Wanting to be seen as "Sora Takenouchi" - not as a Chosen Child or the daughter of an iemoto. In her early 20s, she is still (or once again) at a point of indecisiveness and despair - and thus, as beautiful as she is, there is a "plainness" in her style that cannot be overlooked:

"Hiding" behind the kimono while practicing flower arrangement - blue and yellow, familiar and warm, but also restraining her true self by doing something she isn't fully happy with. Just like the braid she uses to tie her hair back - it's still very short, yet the fringe has grown out once again, signifying her being torn about which direction she should take. Her casual outfit symbolizes this as well, as she wears a pure white shirt - and a pair of sky blue pants, wide enough to pass as a long skirt. But, who would have guessed it, you really need to squint to see it.

When she chooses to stay away from the fighting, she has already lost her way - and already has to witness her bond with Piyomon crumble. She had to make this choice for herself, just like she had to choose to not be the first to apologize when Taichi gifted her the hairclip back then. It may not be a comfortable choice, but at this point, it is her own. Her white shirt is an empty canvas and the flower arrangement she finishes, representing all of her friends, is the tint of colour she needs in her life. She is a genuinely caring person after all - which can’t be erased by the sheer idea of her believing to act out of obligation or because she was chosen. But she also needs to let them in at her own pace.

Epilogue, approximately age 39:

Epilogue!Sora has, for obvious reasons, adapted her style from late 02: The hair remains short but, in combination with the grown-out fringe, offers sophisticated styling opportunities - close to how her mother used to wear her own. The yellows (almost olive) and blues (almost grey) have returned - and, fittingly enough, resulted in a green kimono, one she wears while showing off her career: Being a designer of traditional Japanese fashion with a modern touch - with flowers at the forefront of it all, as she could never fully abandon them and instead integrated them into another part of her life.

Some final thoughts:

Just a little while ago, I had talked about how Sora's arc may or may not have been influenced by the concept of gender dysphoria, unable to distinguish herself from her mother and the expectations that are constantly being thrown at her - whether it's about being the daughter of an iemoto, a Chosen Child, a girl(friend) or a woman in general. One may argue that we don't actually hear or see these expectations being thrown at her post Adventure, since we could clearly see that her mother was willing to move towards her as well... And Yamato and Jyou even tell her that, while it's true that they were chosen, SHE still has the right to choose to do what she could by herself. So what exactly happened?

As previously and through the course of several meta posts explained, it is difficult to really pinpoint Sora's motivations, as she keeps them to herself most of the time. She doesn't have the best self-awareness and seems to put a lot of pressure on herself - even though nobody else seems to hold her up to these high standards. (Her mother may still do so due to family traditions, but as mentioned, we don't actively see it post Adventure and can only make assumptions.)

In Tri, Taichi tells her that she's always in other people's business and that nobody knows what's going on inside of her. In To Sora, Mimi - her contrast in design and attitude as well as one of the most supportive flowers in Sora's life - tells her that she should spread her wings freely... Indicating that she's still restraining herself, putting all these labels and characteristics onto herself, regardless of whether they (still) fit her or not (which can be indirectly applied to her gender representation and maybe even to her sexual orientation as well). And that is why we may have to wait until Adventure Beyond to see how things will resolve for her.

I for one cannot wait to see her new design. Because, unlike the three boys I had previously analyzed, her fashion (and hobby) themes may have repeating elements as well, but are pretty inconsistent and thus basically also stand for her inner turmoil. This is not just about whether she should wear pants or skirts, hats or hairclips, whether she should cut her hair super short or let it grow out into perfect braiding length... There appears to be a tendency to put her in a box, both in canon (mostly self-imposed) and fanon, where she has to pick one side and one side only, no matter what it's about: tomboy or feminine, football or tennis, flower arrangement or fashion design, pants or skirt, to fight or not to fight, Taichi or Yamato...

Personally, as much as I have my issues with Tri and To Sora and even though they haven't solved any of her problems for good - I believe they still gave us a hint of how Sora's trauma (her fallout with her mother up until her dark cave moment) may have manifested. That's why I call 02 the "experimental phase", because she may have adapted to her mother a little too much without giving her own preferences a voice. Pleasing her to get closer to her - just like "big sister/mom friend Sora" in Tri caters to everybody's needs but her own - and eventually snaps.

By the winter period of 02, she seemed a little more grounded (indicated by how well she mixed all her favourite colours) and Tri tried to imply how she got interested in designing in the first place (indicated by how much variation her wardrobe had). But we could also observe that she hadn't gotten better at communicating her own desires and needs, that the pent-up anger she had displayed since OWG was still present... Culminating in Kizuna, where her bond to Piyomon was on the verge of breaking, showing her being unsure of who she even was in the first place. So we're currently in the soul-searching phase, as she pulled herself back from everyone...

I long for the day she decides to let her friends back into her life. For the day she and Piyomon will reunite. And maybe, just maybe, we will see her in a style that shows: "Yes, this is my own choice. But I don't have to choose one thing only over all the others. No labeling, no externally assigned identities anymore. There is a flower on this kimono I made, I'm wearing blue football sneakers with a yellow sunflower on top - because I found my own balance between all the different things that make me me."