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wisteria-blooms · 4 months ago

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P A R A D I S E // P O T I O N S!

PAIRING: Bill Weasley & You WARNINGS: smut!! so much smut!!, oral (giving, receiving), piv, sex pollen trope, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, creampies, all the makings of a bad porn plot **MINORS DNI** SUMMARY: As per Percy’s recommendation to his mother, you’re tasked to house-sit the Burrow while the family is away for the Quidditch World Cup. You’re Percy's closest friend and much like him, you are more than wary of his mischievous twin brothers, Fred and George. But what if their machinations lead you to something you’ve always dreamt of coming true? (8.0k words)

A/N: Been going through a bit of writer’s block recently, so hopefully a load of debauchery (as big as Bill's) breaks down that wall. I’ve been mad at how my sentences are coming out—they sound so redundant and boring. Also, I’m not great at editing my smut scenes because I get embarrassed reading them, so enjoy at your own risk. ;)

PARADISE POTIONS!

There was an undeniable feeling of late summer that nestled in the morning air, a pleasant marriage of warmth and wind. As you trekked up a tall, grassy hill, you breathed it all in. You were in disbelief that August had snuck up on you so suddenly. That meant only two weeks left of freedom before you were confined to a cubicle in the Ministry of Magic, wasting your life away.

‘It won’t be so bad’, you reminded yourself. After all, Percy Weasley would be there alongside you in the same department. He was your most supportive and reliable friend, contrary to popular opinion. And it’d been him that pitched the idea that you house sit the Burrow while he and his family were away at the Quidditch World Cup. Apparently, he’d told Molly that you were mature, responsible, and ‘very much like him.’ You had to tease him about the compliment he threw in about himself.

Molly would provide you room and board for the next week. Your tasks mainly included upkeep of the garden, feeding the animals, and ensuring the home didn’t seem completely empty as the whole family vacationed. Molly simply hated to keep an empty house.

“Good morning, Perce!” you greeted with a wave when you reached the tip of the hill.

He waved back from the main entrance. Then, he motioned for your luggage.

“How was your journey?”

“Uneventful,” you affirmed. “Though the walk up was great exercise. I feel very much awake now.”

“It’s quite the trek,” he agreed.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the orientation at the Ministry we had last week,” you gushed. “I’m so excited to start work.”

“Me too,” Percy agreed with a nod.

“Mum would like to have you in for a spot of breakfast,” Percy said.

“I’d be delighted.” You heard excellent things about Molly Weasley’s breakfasts.

Percy held the door open for you. The windchimes sounded from above you, signaling your entrance. You brushed past a fluttery overhead curtain. When the material unveiled itself, you came face to face with a long dining table. There were only six occupants: Ginny, Ron, the infamous Harry Potter, Hermione, Charlie, and Bill. You gave a small wave to the younger kids. They nodded wordlessly. You reckoned that in their eyes, any friend of Percy’s must be some masochist deviant.

To the side, Arthur was chatting with who you supposed was Amos Diggory, combing through their plans.

“Good morning, (Y/N) dear,” Molly greeted. You were glad she thought of you just as prim and proper and organized as her third-eldest son.

You took a seat with Percy. He sat where his newspaper and coffee mug laid, right in front of Charlie. With a nervous smile, you sat to his right and…

Your eyes immediately landed on Bill. He was Percy’s eldest brother, and by far the most handsome. You were embarrassed to admit that you’d always fancied him. Not in the soul-crushing-adult-love kind of way, but in a silly schoolgirl way. He was so tall, so subtly muscly from sports. And he was a little more fun than Percy, though you’d never tell him that.

But given that you were so young, there was no viable chance of anything happening. So, you chose to admire him from afar in the two years you overlapped schooling. You were now eighteen like Percy, but you maintained the fact Bill still saw you as a child, nothing else. It was an infatuation that would hurt no one, so you just let it be.

“Good morning, (Y/N).”

You suppressed a smile as he acknowledged you.

“Good morning, Bill.”

“Good morning, (Y/N),” sang Charlie.

You smiled. “Hi, Charlie.” Charlie was quite the handful. You preferred Bill’s calmness than Charlie’s calamity.

“I see it’s you who was tasked with watching our house,” Bill said. “I couldn’t have chosen better myself.”

“Thank you, Bill.” That compliment was going into your pocket for a rainy day.

Bill was still ever so handsome, appearances aging like fine wine, with his soft ginger locks that framed his sharp cheekbones. His blue eyes glinted in the morning sun. You peeked at his chiselled jaw and his—dare you say—kissable lips. His t-shirt barely hid the muscles in his arms. He might’ve been tall and predisposed to being lankier compared to Charlie, but you knew he had his own ways to keep fit.

You were so busy being entranced by Bill that you’d lost track of time and space. All you knew was that it was the best morning ever, sitting in front of him, surrounded by faint windchimes and the chirping birds outside to the window. Breakfast hadn’t even been served and you were already salivating thinking about Bill doing push-ups under the hot Egyptian sun, and that wasn’t even that deep in the gutter where most of your thoughts laid, in fact—

Suddenly, a large explosion reverberated through the house and shook the table. It jolted you and Percy. You yelped and ducked. When you regained your sense of place, you looked up. No one else besides you and Percy were fazed.

“What was that?” you asked Percy, trying to settle your heart.

“Fred! George!” Molly cried, walking over to the stairs with her spatula still in hand. “What have I told you about your experiments?”

“Sorry, mum,” George said, running down the stairs, a smidge of ash on his face. “That’s it for today, I promise.”

“I don’t want to hear this again, ever!” Molly shrieked. Then, she calmed down when she realised she was in front of guests. “Well, if that’s it, then help out a little bit, won’t you? We have to get going in less than an hour.”

“Sure thing,” George said with a smile. He ran over to the table and to the coffee pot. He gave it a jiggle, letting the remaining liquid slosh around. “Anyone need a top up of their coffee?”

“Mum made that pot, you can trust it,” Percy advised.

“Thank you,” you whispered back, and then looked up at George, “I wouldn’t mind a cup.”

George sauntered over and poured you a cup. “Coffee, Bill?” he asked.

“That sounds good,” Bill responded.

“You’ll have to wait another ten minutes then,” George said with a frown. He tapped the empty glass container. “I’ve just run out. If only (Y/N) didn’t drink for two.”

“Quit it,” Percy warned his brother with a low tone.

“I’m sorry,” you said. You were about to offer Bill your cup when Percy held out a hand to stop you.

“Keep it,” Percy countered as she shoved the white mug back to your side. “I wouldn’t trust anything they put out. I’m glad it’s you that took the last of what mum made.”

You kept your voice quiet and giggled. “I hope Bill has an iron stomach, then.”

Percy nodded.

While Percy could be harsh on his siblings, you were grateful for his looking out for you. To be fair, you were also skittish around Fred and George. They weren’t as easy to read as other people. A friendly smile often meant something sinister.

“Would anyone like some liqueur in your morning beverage?” Fred asked, skipping three steps as he ran down the stairs. He reached underneath his coat as if selling contraband. “I have whatever tickles your fancy. In fact, Georgie and I have been working on something we reckon will be extremely profitable.”

Molly shot him a glare. You shook your head politely.

“Don’t feel like you have to respond to his foolishness,” advised Percy. “He doesn’t deserve your time of day.”

“Loosen up, (Y/N),” Fred commanded. “If you hang around Percy all day and refuse any fun, you’ll both die virgins.”

You went beet red immediately. It was a shade that rivalled Percy’s in speed and depth. You prayed that Bill wasn’t paying attention to you.

“That is ENOUGH!” bellowed Molly who whipped around so quickly that she nearly decapitated George with her wooden spoon. She’d reached her boiling point. “I won’t have you ruining our morning with your distasteful conversations, especially with all our guests presents.” She charged over to Fred and handed him a stack of plates. “Go on, make yourself useful and set the table.”

“(Y/N), darling,” Molly said, her sudden change in tone a little frightening. “I’ve cleared out Bill’s old room for you. Since he’s heading back to Egypt right after the World Cup, he’ll share Charlie’s room for the time for the last night. There are fresh sheets and towels and a change of clothes if you need. You are welcome to use the bath right next to the room.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” Fred’s comment about your virginity went through one of Molly’s ears and out the other. Thank Merlin.

“Coffee’s ready, dear brother,” George sang. “How do you take it?”

“Just black,” Bill responded. “Thank you, George.”

You peered at Bill through a sip of coffee. Your heart fluttered again. Summers were really the best. It was the only chance to see him again for a flicker of time, an hour or two, before he travelled halfway across the world again. In this case, in a week. As the meal went on, you stared at him so intently during breakfast that your fork speared your cheek instead of your mouth multiple times.

When breakfast concluded, you assured Molly that you’d take care of the dishes and ushered her to the door.

“I hope you have a nice time,” you said to Ron and his friends. He mumbled a thanks. You smiled at him, happy that you were making some progress with Percy’s younger brother. Your peace was ruined by Fred and George murmuring amongst themselves excitedly. You hoped it was about the World Cup and nothing else.

Arthur was doing a routine headcount when he asked: “Where’s Bill?”

“He said he had some emergency work to finish up for the bank,” Charlie said. “Keep the portkey open for him for another hour, and he’ll be sure to make it by then.”

“If you need anything,” Percy said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You know where to find me.”

You nodded.

After the Weasleys left, you locked the door and headed back into the house. Knowing Bill was upstairs working, you got to tidying the kitchen in the quietest manner you could. You hoped the running water and the occasional clinking of dishes wasn’t bothering him. It would be really embarrassing if he came down to complain about the noise.

After the kitchen was cleaned, you went outside to trim the shrubs, water the plants, and feed the cows. You forced yourself not to peek at the front door to see if Bill had left. He probably had, and it hurt a bit that he’d gone without saying goodbye.

The temperature had risen dramatically since you arrived in the morning, and by the time you were done, you were a sweaty mess. Bill had likely gone which meant you’d have the house to yourself. You caved into the idea of a long bath to wipe the mud and grime off your body. You dashed up to the main washroom Molly offered you and began running the water.

When you were finished with your bath, you wrapped a clean towel around you and proceeded to your room. Maybe you could do some reading and take a nap before deciding on dinner, Your chest tingled when you realised it was Bill’s old room—how lucky were you? The first thing you noticed when you entered was that Bill’s room was clean and sparse. Molly had left a window cracked open to allow for a gentle breeze, and placed your clothes on the bed. You took a couple steps forward and let your towel drop on the floor to reach for your tank top when suddenly…

Your hand met a tuft of hair. Hair that was attached to a pale, sweaty head.

You screamed as you tumbled back, your bare bum hitting the wooden floor. Oh, where the heck was your wand when you needed it? You grabbed a pair of slippers in self-defence.

“Who’s there?” you said in the bravest voice you could muster. “You need to get out of here, now!”

The thing in the bed just groaned weakly. You saw a pale, shaking arm stick out of the covers. Whatever it was, it was at least human, hopefully.

Your hand grappled the top of the desk for your wand. Once you found it, you rose cautiously from the floor with the intent to peel away the covers. You’d dealt with Boggarts; you’d seen your worst nightmares in person. You treaded cautiously because the creature could rise at any moment. But it didn’t, forcing you to get closer.

Your heart almost stopped when your hands grasped the hem of the covers. Your life flashed before your eyes. You needed to survive. You needed to live to work with Percy at the Ministry come September. You needed to live for your family. You needed to live for the off chance Bill Weasley shared the same feelings as you—oh, you were about to die, what was the point of thinking about Bill?

With your wand in an offensive position, you ripped the sheets off.

But there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

What?

It took you a few seconds to process it, but this… thing wasn’t a creature at all. In fact, it was Bill Weasley. Well, an apparition of him of sorts. He looked extremely pale and sickly, his skin the shade of paper. His ginger hair stuck to his face, his sweat binding it like it was wet glue. There was an intense warmth radiating from his skin, and his body jostled slightly as the cold air hit him.

“Bill? You called out in complete disbelief. “Are—are you okay?”

He groaned in response. Slowly, he turned his head towards you. He looked even worse up close, or as worse as Bill Weasley could possibly look. His eyebrows were intensely furrowed, his breathing laboured, and he could barely open those pretty eyes of his—oh, not this again! Bill looked to be on death’s bed and all you were thinking about was how handsome he was.

“I don’t know what happened,” Bill breathed out. His voice was a mere rasp. “I was feeling fine this morning. I can hardly get up now. And I can’t talk,” he coughed as if to prove a point, “above a whisper.”

“Are you running a fever?” you inquired, concern thick in your voice.

“No, I don’t think—,” Bill mustered the strength to open his eyes. He looked startled. “(Y/N)?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“Where…”

You looked at Bill intently.

“Where are your clothes?”

“Huh?”

You looked down. Your mouth went slack. You were barer than the day you were born.

“Shit!” you exclaimed. “I’m sorry, don’t look, don’t look, sorry, sorry!” So caught up in the heat of things, you’d haphazardly abandoned your towel in exchange for your life. You scampered back to retrieve it and tied it back on yourself. When you looked up, Bill was, fortunately, turned away, and only a sliver of his naked back was visible to you.

“Is there anything I can help with?” you asked in a state of panic. ‘Besides giving you a show?’ On the inside, you had to laugh at the thought of a striptease benefiting Bill’s health.

Bill was looking worse for wear with every passing second, and you were just prancing around without clothes. “Your mother keeps potions in the cabinet, doesn’t she? I’ll go find an antipyretic--”

Bill swiped at his forehead with his palm. “I don’t think it’s a fever, well, to the best of my knowledge.”

“Then perhaps some water?” you offered. “Or some soup?”

“(Y/N),” Bill called. Your name rolled off like velvet from his lips. “Come here, please.”

Your eyes widened. Your heart was beating erratically and whether it was out of fear or anticipation, you didn’t know. Still, you complied and began walking over. The floor felt like pricks underneath your feet.

“Could you please take these sheets off?” Bill asked. “I might try to cool down.”

You nodded. “S-sure.” You pinched the hem of the bedsheet with your forefinger and thumb and carefully stripped the sheet off. Every second that passed unveiled a new, delicious sight: Bill’s toned chest, the crevice between his chest and abdominal muscles, the veins running down his forearms, and the shapely twin creases that led straight down to his briefs. A chill of disappointment ran through your body when you realised he was still clothed.

‘Stay focussed’, you pleaded with yourself. You were here to help Bill, not to take advantage of him.

“Is that better?” you asked Bill, but your eyes weren’t on his face. They were instead fixated on the centre of his body and namely, the very present bulge at the apex of his black briefs. His manhood had tented so viciously that it stretched the black fabric until it was translucent. Was that a spot of pink flesh or were you just seeing things? You gulped and tried to reign in your imagination.

Bill breathed out as the cool air kissed his skin. “Marginally.”

“I can bring the fan inside the room,” you suggested so quickly you almost toppled off the bed.

“Wait.” Bill’s hand grabbed your wrist before you could get anywhere. Your skin scorched. “Can you help me with one more thing?”

You were about to explode. “Sure, Bill.”

“Could you help me remove my briefs too?”

Your jaw had, at this point, permanently detached from your face. “What?”

“Just one last thing and my temperature should regulate itself.”

Was stripping really a remedy to Bill’s ailment? Shaking your head, you decided to help him in any way possible before running back to the bathroom to splash cold water on your face to ascertain that you weren’t dreaming. This definitely had to be a dream. Today probably hadn’t even started yet. Any minute now, your alarm would ring and you would wake up so disappointed.

“Alright.”

Slowly, you hooked your fingers underneath the elastic waistband of Bill’s briefs. His blue eyes fluttered close and his face twisted in relief. You suppressed a groan at the sight of Bill like this, pleasured by your every touch.

You’d never admit that Fred was right in his observation this morning, but it was true that you’d never seen a… penis in the flesh. But there was no turning away now as your hands worked to expose every inch of pink flesh hiding underneath Bill’s undergarments. It was deliciously lewd, the way his long cock sprang out from the confines of his boxers and nearly slapping you in the face. A tad closer, and the appendage would’ve swiped your cheek. Just inches in front you pulsed a swelling, oozing pink tip that was connected to a thick shaft that only seemed to grow slightly in girth as you stripped him.

You had nothing but anatomical pictures and the circumference of your wrist to compare him to, but even you knew he was bigger than average. Bill had, truly, the prettiest cock to ever exist. Pale, smooth, pink, but an angrier shade coloured the head. He was thick, but even thicker near the base. Veins painted his manhood like art. You almost had to wonder how he’d feel inside you, splitting your virgin pussy open. It would kill you.

Holy shit. You had to stop thinking, because you were getting yourself wet.

Bill raised his hips up to help you bring the last bit of his briefs down from underneath him. Your hand grazed the back of his thigh. The unintended action elicited a not-so-subtle moan from Bill.

“I’m sorry, I—,” Bill said, pushing himself up on the bed. His neck was flushed crimson and his breathing heavy. You had plummeted into the ocean with the saltwater flooding your ears; you could barely hear. You gulped as a bead of wetness suddenly spurted out of the tip of his cock and threatened to run down the length of it. “I reckon I was cursed or hexed by someone,” he surmised. “It’s not like me to require such things of you, or anyone for that matter.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered. Your hand was turning white with the deathgrip on your towel. “But Bill, did that… help?”

The smartest thing to do was to remove yourself from this conversation and call for help, but you kept pressing the topic. You planted your palms on the mattress and looked on in awe. Bill was well-endowed beyond your wildest dreams. You couldn’t stop admiring him.

Forgetting he was naked, Bill sat up. His cock curled closer to his navel as a result. “What?”

You ripped your eyes away from the bead of precum that’d captivated your attention. “When we touched. It seemed to bring some colour to your face.”

“Come to think of it, I reckon it did, yeah,” Bill responded. He furrowed his brows, his words dying on his lips. There was only one direction this conversation was going to go and you had steered it off the overpass and down the cliff.

You spoke up first. “Have you tried touching…”

“Myself?” Bill finished with a chuckle.

You blushed. “Yes, well,” you countered. “It’s not entirely unreasonable, and—”

“I have.”

You tilted your head. “And?”

Bill attempted to lift his hands, but they gravitated down to the bed. “Well, I’ve… tried,” he admitted sheepishly, “but it’s made it worse.” He chuckled and shook his head at the state he was in. “And now I can’t even manage to move my arm.”

“Oh.” You frowned. “But when I touched you, you felt better?”

Bill blew out some air which tickled the wet hair on his forehead. He gestured to his raging erection. “Can you… would you mind? You’re right, it might help.”

Would you mind?

Of course you wouldn’t.

“I’ve never, erm,” you countered. A blaze of heat rushed to your cheeks. You didn’t want to admit to Bill that Fred was right when he clocked you as a virgin, though it didn’t take a deep understanding of your person to come to that conclusion. You and Percy both looked down on dalliances as prefects back in school, even busting students in the act and sending them to be reprimanded. You reckoned Bill was going to find it uncool but it was better to be truthful. “I’ve never done this with anyone.”

He chuckled. “I figured.”

You wanted to shrivel up and die.

“But it’s absolutely fine,” Bill correctly quickly, knowing he’d offended you slightly. “You don’t need to have done it to know how to do it. I’ll guide you.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He did his best to motion to the base of him with his hands. “Grip me firmly down here.”

You obliged, holding him at the base with your right hand as you clutched your towel in the other. For an usually flaccid body part, Bill was very, very hard and warm. All the blood in his body was concentrated into one area, so it made sense. You were grateful when your thumb still managed to touch the tips of your fingers because, well, he was quite big and you weren’t confident he was going to fit in your hand.

“Move up and down,” Bill instructed in between heavy pants. You nodded. When you started shifting your hand from the base to the head and back, he let out a low groan. His skin felt like velvet in your hands; he felt so good. “Yeah, just like that.” Precum dribbled from Bill and onto from the side of your fingers as you moved faster and covered more ground. Bill’s eyes alternated from open to close in erratic intervals as you began to adjust your speed and the tightness of your fingers around him. When Bill stopped talking, you reckoned you were doing a pretty damn good job.

Bill was powerless underneath you and you relinquished the feeling. But you wanted more.

So, you shifted from the edge of the bed towards the end of it, squeezing yourself in between his long legs. You never took your hands off him in the process so Bill was none the wiser about your mischievous movements. So, it was only when Bill heard the creaking of the bed that he looked up in surprise. By then, it was too late. You had already stopped pumping his shaft and leaned in to inhale the sweet musk instead.

“Can I?” you asked, batting your eyelashes.

Bill inhaled sharply, his cock duking out his brain for once the last shred of modesty. Oh, fuck modesty. “Only if you want to.”

In one swift motion, you leaned in and kissed the red and leaking tip. Clearly, it was you who really wanted to do this. When the soft skin of your lips met the soft skin of his head, Bill let out an audible gasp that was immediately swallowed by a throaty moan. He was not expecting you to be so brazen, so generous in your help. Little did he know you’d do anything for him at this point, his own affliction long forgotten.

“How does that feel?” you asked.

“Amazing,” he rasped.

You licked the precum—salty, a little tingly, you noted—off his slit with the tip of your tongue. He tasted so good. Bill threw his head back. The ridges of his abs crinkled as he tried to hold himself upright with his elbows on the bed. He wanted to see you. You smacked your lips, unable to wait patiently to devour your meal. Then, in a moment of pure deviousness and sheer horniness, you enveloped Bill’s tip around your mouth.

“Shit!”

This was the last thing Bill said before he fell back onto the bed. You took that as a sign of surrender; what you were doing felt too good for him to keep his defences up. He’d long stopped giving you instructions and let you take reign. Emboldened, you licked the slit with your tongue with Bill still nestled in your mouth. You then began to take him in further, as far as you could before he reached a natural stopping point at the back of your throat. Your mouth tensed—he was too big to fit comfortably inside. You sucked in your cheeks, hypothesising that a tighter fit would feel better for Bill. Sure, you were inexperienced, but you weren’t stupid or ignorant on the subject of what was pleasurable.

“Yes, that’s it, (Y/N), just like that.”

You forewent your towel in favour of holding onto Bill’s thighs, placing one hand on the side of each of his legs. Still, you pressed your breasts down on the bed to hide your nipples to preserve what little was left for Bill to still see. Then again, what was the point of dignity when his dick was in your mouth?

Bill’s hands quietly crept along the bedsheets and floated towards your head. From there, his long fingers wove and nestled themselves in your hair so deeply that it wouldn’t be easy for you to untangle yourself. Clever of him. His fingernails glided across your scalp, slowly, tenderly, like a predator circling their prey before the attack. Bill then started guiding your head up and down slowly, his patience clearly wearing thin and needing to take matters into his own hands--literally.

“Feeling okay?” he asked.

You nodded, unable to speak. Bill noted this and chuckled. You gave him a pointed look.

“Hard to look intimidating with my cock in your mouth, love,” he said, tightening his fingers around your hair. You grumbled something unintelligible. The wetness leaking out of your core spoke volumes for you.

Bill’s hands were fully entangled in your hair as he continued to lift you up and down. Slow at first, but he could hardly contain himself after the first minute. The way his big cock pulsed in your mouth, gods… The faster he commanded you to move, the more his visage grew streaked from the tears in your eyes. You tightened your grip on his thighs every time his cock glided across your palate and pushed itself down your throat. You did everything in your power to not gag or choke, but when he did strike particularly deep, you pulled off of him immediately.

“I’m sorry,” Bill quickly said. “Was that too much?”

You shook your head, wiped a wet line of tears from your face, coughed, and responded, “No, I’m fine.”

You crawled back to him and engulfed him without another word.

“Ah,” Bill breathed out. “Fuck, (Y/N). You feel so good.”

You shouldn’t be enjoying being used so much, but you loved it. Loved it especially when Bill held you in place and began thrusting into your mouth instead as a means to conserve effort and increase his speed. You were growing wetter and wetter with every compliment he spoke. You imagined Bill’s big hands gripping your hips, stilling you, as he thrust repeatedly into your pussy. You wanted to be used everywhere.

“Shit,” he growled, lazy eyes hovering on you. Deliciously lazy and so hazy. “I’m close.”

He stopped thrusting, but you hadn’t stopped bobbing your head up and down. You were so far gone in your quest to make Bill come that you’d thrown your own needs aside.

“Hold on, (Y/N),” Bill commanded. “Don’t you want to—ah—!”

You knew he’d reached his climax when his hips ascended and stilled above the bed. A deep moan left his mouth. Bill’s cock twitched heavily with every rope of cum that shot its way into your mouth. He didn’t quit until every crevice of your mouth was sloshing with his seed; he was a never-ending faucet of cum.

After a minute, you finally detached yourself from him, careful to keep the fruits of your labour in your mouth and not on the bed sheets that Bill’s mother had laundered so well. You swallowed all the cum in your mouth. It wasn’t as pleasant as the books and films had made it out to be—it was warm and slightly bitter, but it was Bill’s and heaven knew you’d do anything for him.

Bill threw himself back on the bed, his head meeting the pillow with a soft thud. He was still breathing heavily as he reposed. Though his hair stuck wildly to his cheeks—which were slowly regaining colour—his face expressed newfound calm.

Bill patted the pillow beside him, on the spot in between the wall and his body. “Come here,” he rasped, his eyes still closed.

You obliged and scooted upwards. Bill splayed his arm on the pillow to give you a makeshift headrest. You settled into the nook of his bicep. Through the corner of your eye, you stole little glances at Bill and the rise and fall of his chest. A warm, midday breeze fluttered through the open windows, the red curtains billowing out. Everything was so serene, so tranquil, so…Holy shit, what had you just done?

Just three hours ago, you were wistfully staring at Bill at breakfast, grateful to have seen him at all this year to feed your starving crush on him. Now, you were laying naked in his bed with him after giving him what you hoped was an acceptable blowjob. It was both great and terrible that you wouldn’t see him after today. How would you explain this to anyone if you couldn’t even believe it yourself? You needed to bolt and never see Bill again.

Bill snapped you out of your trance. “(Y/N)?”

“Yes, Bill?”

You turned around to find yourself reflected in his crystal blue eyes.

“Would you like to finish, too?”

“Oh, uhm!” Well, you hadn’t expected him to ask you that. “No, I’m okay.” An utter lie. Your pussy was pleading to be fucked. You sat up, preparing yourself to go. “I should finish up with my chores. You should get going before the portkey closes.”

Bill grasped your wrist again. “I don’t want to go.” He sat up with you and looked you straight in the eye.

He was serious. The intensity of his gaze was so overwhelming that you looked down. You sucked a quiet breath in.

“I want to make you feel good,” he said, placing a hand on your cheek. “Let me, please.”

You choked. Was Bill Weasley begging to go down on you? The resolute look on his face definitely extinguished any fight you had left in you. A fraction of a second after you nodded, Bill turned you over and kissed you. One hand remained on your cheek while the other wrapped itself around your naked waist to pull you closer until your chest was flush against his. If you weren’t focussed on how hard his lips were pressed on yours, you would’ve been more embarrassed about how your pert nipples were pressed against his chest. Bill obviously didn’t mind, in fact, he was trying to pull you in as close as possible, closing the last sliver of space between your bodies.

Bill tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His lips felt like hard silk—a walking contradiction— against you and now you wished to feel them everywhere: on your neck, on your breasts, on your stomach and in between your legs. You reckoned he should kiss heavily in between your legs.

Bill was all lean muscle and long limbs. He couldn’t splay out on the bed as easily as you could. He landed on his knees, then shifted you upwards until your head was resting against the baseboard of the bed. He spread your legs with his hands—so big that they absolutely swallowed you—using his thumb as anchors.

He looked back up at you. His eyes had darkened significantly, like a sudden storm that had broken through a clear day. Whatever drug was flowing through his veins, it was only growing more potent. “You’re so wet.”

You made an attempt to shut your legs. You were cycling through moments of confidence and embarrassment, and his words made you want to curl up and die.

“Don’t,” Bill said. “You turn me on so much. Who knew that behind such an innocent facade was a girl begging to be fucked?”

And just like that, your legs fell open in one buttery smooth motion.

”That’s it, such a good girl for me,” Bill praised. He leaned in and ran his tongue flat over your folds. You squirmed but his iron-clad hold on you prohibited any movement. You tried so very hard to quiet yourself as his tongue painted you in oscillating strokes. You gasped whenever he landed briefly on your clitoris. He hummed, pleased, and let the vibrations rock your body. Your breathing was dangerously unsteady as Bill pulled you closer to him and increased the intensity of his tongue. He unlatched one hand from your thigh and shifted them near your drooling entrance. Gently, he inserted a finger. Before you could jump upwards at the intrusion, he brought his tongue back to your clit to massage away any pain. “So sweet,” he hummed again. Bill kept his finger steady inside you until your squirming stopped.

“You’re so tight,” Bill whispered. He added another finger to your already taut hole. “I can barely fit two fingers in here. How do you suppose you’ll take my cock, hm?”

A rhetorical question. Instead of waiting for an answer, Bill began moving his fingers back and forth. You let out a small whine that you buried into the pillow. “Sh, it’s okay, just relax, darling,” Bill assured. In a matter of moments, Bill had gone from shallow little thrusts to burying his fingers to the hilt. The motion of his fingers curling inside you elicited a load moan from your lips, and your legs parted further in response. It was over when his stupid tongue found its way back to your clit; you nearly screamed. He flicked your sensitive bud over and over, building the pressure in the region. Between that, and Bill’s face buried between your legs and the wet sounds of his fingers inside you, you were just one thrust away from coming undone.

“Bill, Bill—” you tried to stop him, too scared to be thrown over the edge. But Bill showed no sign of stopping. When he sucked on your clit, you knew it was over. He had pushed you off the cliff. “Bill!”

You clamped down on his hand, but Bill hadn’t stopped moving; he was intending to fuck you through it. Waves of pleasure, sweetly punctuated by Bill’s nimble fingers, washed over you until you had no coherent thought left. You laid there for a minute, until your heart rate had finally settled back to normal.

“I’m getting impatient,” Bill chuckled. “Seeing you writhe around like that, coming on all over my hand, Merlin..”

You tightened your lips. “Me too.”

“What was that?” he teased, pretending not to hear.

“I’m getting impatient.”

“For what?”

“You know what for.”

He shot you a cocky grin. “I won’t know until you tell me.”

“Fuck me, Bill,” you almost screamed. “Fuck me, please.” It was killing you. You looked down at Bill’s manhood. He looked even harder and fuller than how you found him, if that were even possible. His cock twitched to stand at full attention when you shuffled back to him. You wanted to feel him, so warm and engorged, inside you, splitting you open with how big he was.

“You’re so needy, (Y/N),” Bill teased. He laid down. “Get on top of me, I want to see you.”

You clambered over immediately. You splayed a leg on each side of him and propped yourself up with your knees. Wordlessly, Bill pulled you in and your body listened. He met your lips for another kiss that showed no signs of being broken. Well, not until he decided to latch onto one of your nipples instead. His lips covered the circumference of your areola and sucked gently.

“Bill,” you whimpered, succumbing once again to his dexterous tongue. He swirled around your sensitive bud, flicking it back and forth, and sending little electric shocks down to your toes. You were getting so, so wet for him.

One of Bill’s hands trailed down to his cock and gave it a couple of strokes before he aimed it towards your core. You moaned every time he pressed against your throbbing clit before moving back to your opening and repeating the motion. You needed to come again, and Bill was intent on bringing you there. He rubbed the head back and forth, concentrating the slick to where he eventually wanted to be. He was showing great restraint; it was taking everything not to just thrust into you.

“You already feel so good,” he praised. “So wet, so tight, love, all for me. I can’t wait to fuck this tight pussy.”

Bill piled on the words and continued to ravish your breasts as a distraction of what was to come. The head of his cock was directly aligned with your opening that was weeping at the thought of him inside you. But the largest thing you’d taken ever were Bill’s fingers; he couldn’t possibly fit without absolutely destroying you. The universe couldn’t have gifted you with a warm-up, could it? Instead, it gifted you the girth of Bill. Still, you remained in place, readying yourself as he began to enter you.

You gasped at the first intrusion. You clenched Bill’s forearms in retaliation, your mouth parting in shock. You wanted him badly, but your anatomy wasn’t letting your desires take the front seat.

Bill placed a hand on your back. Stiff. “You’re tense,” he noted, kissing up on your neck. “Just relax. It’ll feel good, I promise.” You nodded, trusting him.

“Hngh—!” was all you let out when he pushed deeper. Your breathing fell out of sync as you tried to calm yourself. Maybe this was it, and all of him was already inside of it.

“That’s just my head inside you, love,” Bill stated, as if reading your mind.

You paled. “How are you so big?”

Bill chuckled in agreement before swallowing you in a kiss. His tongue found its way into your mouth, and you could taste the pure need radiating off him. He gave little shallow thrusts, trying to ease himself into you. Though it still burned heavily, a ring of pain, as he stretched you out, Bill’s pace was making it much more tolerable and frankly, more erotic.

When he was halfway in, Bill’s eyes fell shut in utter bliss. His hands gripped your ass cheeks, pulling them apart, as if it would help you sink further down on him.

“You take me so well,” he said as he continued impaling your poor little pussy. He never stopped littering you with kisses, whether it was on your lips, cheeks, neck, or breasts. He suckled your tits again when he rammed the thickest part of him inside you in one thrust.

You stifled a cry into the crook of his neck and tightened your arms around him. “Bill!”

“Give it a minute, (Y/N),” he assured, but his voice sounded garbled, so far away. “I promise, it’s going to feel so good.”

When he felt you relax a little, Bill began to increase the length of his thrusts, breaking into your pussy a little more each time. You fell onto him, the pleasure beginning to overwrite the pain.

Bill moaned as he sped up the slightest. “You’re so tight, (Y/N), tighter than I could’ve ever imagined.” His words only added fuel to the fire. “I can’t believe it’s me that gets to break into your pussy.”

“Then break me, Bill,” you pleaded. “Please. Harder.”

He chuckled. “You don’t have to ask twice.”

Bill looped his arms around you to hold you in place. From there, he began to drive himself into you faster, harder, just like a hole to be used for his pleasure, just like you had asked.

“Oh!”

You could hardly keep your eyes open as he assaulted your body. He tested different depths and angles, watching your facial expressions for the perfect one. His long, deep strokes were landing on the perfect place - a place that had you seeing stars. So pleasurable but just millimetres away from being too much, too painful. There was so much of him inside you. Your legs stiffened, almost cramping, as the heat increased in pitches in your core. Your hands went wild, trying to find a place to stabilise your body. They found refuge on the top of the headboard. In one particularly hard thrust, he sheathed himself completely inside you, the widest part of him spearing you open.

That was the precise moment you came undone, screaming. White obfuscated your vision as you lost control of your body. You convulsed on him, your pussy contracting around his cock like a vice. Bill continued to fuck you through your orgasm, bottoming out in you repeatedly, letting you ride out the pleasure for as long as humanely possible. You fell onto him like a rag doll, limp, worn out from your second orgasm. Bill could only smile at a job well done. He withdrew himself from you and flipped you over. He nestled his manhood back between your legs. You watched with excitement as his cock, covered in your cream, sprang to his navel. You felt so hollow without him inside you, and you were about to beg for him again, but he moved quickly. He leaned towards you, placing the head of his cock to your opening once again. But instead of delving into you like you had hoped, he rubbed himself against you, occasionally pushing into you the slightest.

Confused, you raised your hips up, trying to align yourself perfectly with his cock and push him back in. But your attempts were futile.

“Don’t do that,” you chastised when you realised he was doing this on purpose.

“Do what?” Bill asked innocently.

“Tease me like this.”

He smirked. “Who said I was teasing you?”

Just as you were about to retort, Bill drove himself into you when you were least expecting it, burying himself entirely into you. Your body shivered in pleasure, legs straightening and stiffening. You screamed when he quickened his pace, pounding into you with deep, full thrusts. His hands gripped your bouncing breasts, keeping them in place and occasionally pinching your nipples. Bill pushed himself to the hilt, then almost withdrew completely, before filling you up again as hard as he could. At certain points, he would hit a bundle of nerves that caused your toes to curl. At some point, you couldn’t tell the difference between pain and pleasure—it all felt so overwhelmingly good.

The lewd sound of his balls hitting your skin was heaven to your ears. In this moment, you wanted nothing more than to be filled with his seed.

“Come inside me,” you near screamed.

Your little request was enough to break Bill out of his trance. “What?”

“Come inside me,” you repeated.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

With no reason to ask you to clarify again, Bill obliged. He gave a couple more thrusts, so powerful it forced your body to slide up over the bedsheets and your head to almost slam into the headboard. Then, he let out a loud, choked grunt, his eyes screwing shut. You could feel his cock twitch heavily inside you as he deposited his seed, filling your pussy. He hovered over you, exhausted, draining every last bit of him inside you. Both of you shared the same laboured respiration. You reached up and pushed back the ginger hair that was strewn across his forehead.

Bill began to soften inside you, but refused to pull out just yet. If you stayed here like this any longer, there was no doubt you’d meld together into one.

With a heavy almost regretful breath, Bill reluctantly removed himself out of you. You felt his cum trickling rapidly out of you and onto the bed sheets. You sat up to look. There was so much. it was smeared all over your sex, all over your inner thighs, and all over the sheets. There was no doubt there was more deep inside you.

You looked up at Bill. Much to your disappointment, he looked to be back to his usual, happy self. Your services were no longer required. And much to your disappointment, he was looking around for his briefs. Well, it wasn’t like you could stay in paradise forever.

“Thank you, (Y/N),” he said.

“Of course,” you responded.

Bill gave you a small peck on the lips which made you smile. Then, it all went downhill from there, as he returned not more than a second later for another kiss. This time, deeper, thick with more lust. The next kiss, he had you pinned you on the bed by the arms. Unexpectedly, you felt him harden against you once more. His cock was back its previous stiffness and trying to find its way back to your cunt.

He paused. “I’m not sure what’s gotten into me,” Bill admitted sheepishly.

“You mean you’re not usually like this?” you questioned with a smile. You didn’t mind it, not one bit.

He contemplated it. “It has been a while, but it’s highly unlikely for me to go twice, let alone three times a day.”

“Really?” You cocked your head. “Is that not—”

Before you could speak, Bill plunged himself into you once more. Your mouth went slack. It was quite an effective way to shut you up. Most of his spend was still either deep inside you or running down your inner thighs, but he was intent on pumping you full of him even more.

You had no complaints. Instead, you succumbed to the wet sloshes of his thrusts and messy kisses once again.

…..

In a tent one long Portkey away from the Burrow, a very different conversation was taking place.

“How do you reckon our Paradise Potions did?”

“Considering that Bill hasn’t joined us, I’d say pretty well.”

END!

Part 2

#bill weasley smut #bill weasley x you #bill weasley x y/n #bill weasley x reader #smut #bill weasley imagine #why am i so horny!!#sex pollen #kinktober

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hugsandnoregrets · 4 months ago

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one of the cringier forms of virtue signalling on tumblr to me is people acting willfully obtuse and pretending that they don't know what a metaphor or basic storytelling devices are (while half their blog posts are humblebragging/complaining about being a 'gifted child') so they can dunk specifically on taylor swift.

like i'll never get over the reaction to the 'sexy baby' line, where she is referencing both a joke in a popular sitcom, and the 'born sexy yesterday' trope that tumblr frothed over the mouth about how succinct and astute of an analysis it was - but then pretended to take it as literally as possible to call a famous woman 'creepy' and 'weird' when she's relating it to her experiences of feeling tall/huge/taking up too much space/being a villain/monster on the hill vs. the expectation of a small childlike innocent young woman who makes herself act like a tiny weak baby for male validation.

and then they pretended the asylum she was referencing was... her childhood home? and not the music industry she was in since she was 15? the one that slut-shamed her, body-shamed her, stalked her, threatened her, created parasocial relationships with her, and expects everything out of her - but no, everyone played willfully dumb so they could call her privileged for thinking her upper class childhood home was an 'asylum' even when it clearly wasn't the intent.

acting like "the man" is talking about every man on earth and not herself but a man. a rich, white, talented, able bodied man. y'know, like leonardo dicaprio, who she directly references. but no no, she's saying her life would be easier even if she was the most oppressed man on earth. yep. ignore every lyric in the song to tell yourself that.

and finally the horribly cringe way they react to her storytelling songs. simultaneously whining that she only sings about her love life, then screaming about how she 'never cleaned up a house so why is she referencing that in her song!!!!' when she's clearly telling a story. like.

does it feel good? to pretend you haven't gone further than 4th grade reading classes so that you can dunk on someone you don't like?

#rant #personal #taylor swift

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billysjoel · 5 months ago

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TROPES + DUMBWAITER RIDE x

Ready Or Not (2019) Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom (2018) The Haunting of Hill House (2018) Zathura: A Space Adventure (2005)

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stary-darlin · 10 months ago

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LOVE DUEL

— boxer!ellie williams x reader

TROPE: strangers to lovers

SUMMARY: when work calls and you have nothing to do than follow your boss's rules, going to the WWE match that had a boxer you never saw before, same in her chillness when she fights and when she flirts with you infront of camera — basically fearing no one, and that what attracted you to her. Not knowing that she already had you in her wishlist of the life.

OTHER: mentions of misogyny, and just two horny mfs daydreamin' about each other :3

Ellie walked in with her coach behind her, with nothing more than the screams and chanting of her name echoing around the boxing match, her fans all around waving to her and trying to get her attention as if she was a goddess in front of them. And she loved every bit of it.

Her smirk wide from both sides of her face as she looked up at the audience, waving to them all, loving how all of their eyes were on her. She was not an attention seeker but she was an attention eater if you may say, the only difference between them both is that attention seekers are desperate for attention but Ellie? she receives it everywhere she goes, she doesn't have to work for it, the world itself was the one who needed her attention. I mean, come on, she's hot, she's smart, and she has the power of 100 men by herself. Of course, she didn't want anything after that, right? wrong. She wanted—she needed you. he interviewer who looked like a deer in the headlights with all the flashes going around the room, and she loved that about you. she loved how you looked like you were a masterpiece in an old man's house, his ass too old to even look at you for a second; overall just in the wrong place, and she would love to make herself your right place.

She took a seat on the bench infront of the boxing ring, taking her bottle from her coach and taking a sip, everyone's eyes were on her while her eyes were on you as you talked to the camera infront of you with that fake smile on that you thought you perfected but not to ellie though, she knew you. She knew you were holding your annoyance inside of you and smiling, acting happy as if you weren't scared of the men yelling by her side and chanting Ellie's opponent's name, thinking that ellie would lose because she is a women while the most gorgeous women is next to them, trying to hear through the ear-headset as you nodded. very misogynistic of them.

She smirked and waved to — you — the camera, winking as you kept the smile on, speaking about the information of ellie that you memorized from the day you got the papers sent to your desk. your hand gripping the microphone and the other brushing your hair through your fingers when the camera turned to the hallway as ellie's opponent came out, the man buffer than any man you ever saw in your whole life — which was full of skinny tired employees — gazing back at ellie, seeing that she already was looking at you with that same face-eating smirk of hers, not giving a flying fuck about the 10x sized man that was supposed to be her opponent.

All the cameras were on the opponent and ellie to catch their reactions to each other but Ellie was very much not there, waving and giggling like a little girl when she knew she catched your attention. walking to you, your team noticed it and used it to their advantage, pointing the camera at her and you before you started interviewing her.

"the infamous death-doer is here all of a sudden, i see." you spoke with a light tone, raising your brows as she smirked and tilted her head to the side, not even glancing at the camera.

"the infamous death-doer and ladies-attracter, y'know." she winked before laughing, her confidence over the hills. you giggled — a genuine giggle that ellie took as a compliment to herself — looking at her with those sweet-looking eyes that she would do anything to keep them in her direction.

"ladies-attracter, huh? why that nickname?" you crossed your arm, being comfortable for once since the whole time you were here. Ellie's fans screaming as they heard the nickname that ellie gave herself all of a sudden.

Ellie watched you smile with those lips of yours, oh how desperate she was for those lips of yours. "i mean aren't i one?" she raised a brow, looking up at her audience and back to you; half of the audience were girls, screaming from the top of their longs for her. you looked at her audience and chuckled, "guess it's your trait isn't it?" Ellie nodded proudly.

"well is being not scared from buff men one of your traits?" you asked, bringing the microphone to her. "you could say that, i just don't see what is so fearful about them. you only get the idea of scary because they take much space unlike what we usually see in a normal day, besides if it wasn't for their muscles and buffy arms they would be like any other man, useless, that's why they get that figure of theirs, to obtain dominance cause they don't have it without all that." she spoke confidently as she looked at the opponent and back to the camera for a second before shrugging her arms and looking back at you. "so that's your answer, darlin'"

"oh, that–" you stuttered as you looked at her with widened eyes, her words leaving you stunned. you let out a giggle, "i cannot give my opinion but you very much spoke my mind." you nodded. Ellie smiling as she heard your reply and seeing your reaction before seeing her coach waving to her to get ready. "well i will have to go, love. here," she took your hand and wrote on her number on it with the pen that you had in your cards, her handwriting cursive and rough with sharp edges like her routine in boxing that you watched last night to get to know her. Ellie turned your hand and kissed your knuckles before looking at your for the last time and walking to her coach.

You sat down as you watched the match begin, Ellie sitting in her corner of the boxing ring, manspreading with her eyes keeping an eye contact with her opponent, a smirk forms on the corner of her lips as she sees her opponent growl — trying to act scary, I guess — But it didn't work on her. She got up as soon as she saw the host standing infront of her, starting the match.

The size and height difference between the man and Ellie was very obvious, everyone doubted that she would lose except you. You believed she could do it if she had that real confidence and speed to hit her opponent at the right time. You were no expert in this but Ellie sure did, you watched four matches of hers since her debut and you saw that nothing changed. Same confidence, the same smirk, and the same hate for men. Maybe that was the thing that drove her to be who she is now; as professional as other boxers who said that no women could outstand them since they were stronger and took much longer to be who they were but Ellie pushed all that behind her it's nothing. You loved it, loved how she is who you want to be, who you desire to be with; and you wanted to know more about her.

Ellie raised her chin to the man, her expression calm, mocking him while he looked at her with an angry expression looking like a Buffalo getting ready to punch someone's ass, and no it wasn't her ass, it was his own.

Ellie let out a chuckle after the man tried to punch her straight in the face, which she dodged easily like it was a fly. Ellie took two steps back and he followed her by as if he was her little pup. Ellie quickly moved to the side, pulling his leg and making him fall so easily. The man let out a roar — yeah, maybe he was indeed a furry... — quickly getting himself up, throwing himself at her to pin her on the floor. Ellie noticed and moved away in a second as he fell on the floor like a cartoon character, she quickly sat on his back and twisted his arm behind his back with her other arm around his neck. Such an easy act that can make a bull weak in a second.

Everyone gasped at her sudden dominance over the guy who was supposed to win but didn't. The host quickly ran to the boxing ring and started counting down, Ellie keeping the man on the ground with all of the strength she had, her opponent unable to move his face slowly turning red as the host finally counted to zero. Ellie's audience stood up and screamed, chanting her name. Ellie stood up and jumped off the boxing ring like it was another Tuesday.

Every reporter watched her with their jaw on the ground. "That was– unbelievable! One round, just a couple of minutes, and the man is down!" You spoke as you looked at the camera. "For the first time, in boxing history, something like this happened before!"

Ellie's name echoed through the roof of the room, her bodyguards standing around her to portect her from the crowd that was running towards her. The spotlight was all on her, leaving the man with the failure of his own. She walked out through the hallway to her backstage, the guards closing the doors of the hallway to not let anyone get it, leaving you and the team to record the scene before it calms down.

You looked at your palm that had her number and wrote it down in your card, putting it in your bag so you could call her when you get home.

This seems like it will be a long journey, but hopefully it will be worth it.

Requests are open!! <3

#MARI'S WORKS ꒰͡ ི ༏ ྀ͡꒱⭑๋܂#this will be a series cause i'm picturing this to be slow bec they still have their way in building their relationship :3 #MAN HATER ELLIE WORLD DOMINATION!!!#ellie williams fluff #ellie williams #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams series #ellie williams smut #the last of us #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams headcanons #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader

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dae-chwiita · 1 month ago

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Wrecked and found

Pairing : reader x ranchowner!Hongjoong

Summary : One morning, you pick a bag, your car keys and take the road, wanting to get far from the life you've built, needing to get away from your breakup as you can. You come back to reality the moment your car crashes on the side of an unknown road in the middle of nowhere. Thankfully, a cowboy was on a walk right where you are.

Warnings : mention of breakup, being unsatisfied with life, slow burn but also quick time wise? Pure romance and kinda long lol mb

A/N : so the cliche country trope BUT, I really wanted to do it and nobody could have stopped me. Also spent a lot of the fic describing things, really wanting to put an ambiance so if you want solely romance not the best place, especially since its a slow burn oopsi but the romance is good and sweet !NOT PROOFREAD!

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You didn’t expect your car to break down in the middle of nowhere. Not when you’d been pushing it as hard as you had, the old rental grumbling with every mile. The car wasn’t built for this kind of journey, and truthfully, neither were you. But that didn’t stop you from throwing everything you had—what little of it there was left—into the backseat and leaving the city behind with your whole life still there. It had been an impulse decision, fueled by heartbreak and the suffocating walls of your empty apartment. The breakup wasn’t fresh, but the sting of it hadn’t dulled. You’d spent weeks pacing the same cramped space, surrounded by the detritus of a relationship you didn’t know how to pack away. You’d been desperate to escape, to outrun the memories that clung to you like smoke.

So, one morning, you did.

There was no plan. You’d tossed a duffel bag together with a few essentials—clothes, toiletries, a water bottle, and an old dusty road atlas you found buried in a drawer. You didn’t even pack food, there wasn’t time to think, not with the buzzing anxiety driving you forward. You left your phone charger behind, too, though you wouldn’t realize that until hours later when your battery died somewhere on the open road...You’d driven west, or at least you thought it was west, the sun was your only guide as you fled the city limits and plunged into the countryside. At first, it felt exhilarating—freedom in its rawest form. The highway stretched endlessly before you, flanked by rolling hills and wide, open fields. It was the kind of scenery you’d only ever seen in movies, and for a while, it was enough to distract you from the gnawing ache in your chest. But as the miles piled up, so did the doubts; you hadn’t thought this through. You had no destination, no safety net, the money in your wallet wouldn’t last long and you didn’t even know where you’d sleep tonight. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you’d figure it out as you went, but as the hours dragged on and the car sputtered ominously beneath you, the weight of your choices pressed down hard. By the time the engine gave out, you’d been driving for what felt like an eternity. The road you were on wasn’t even marked on the atlas, a desolate stretch of cracked pavement cutting through an ocean of dry grass. The sun was a merciless glare overhead, beating down on the hood as you rolled to a stop, the noise of the car breaking almost mocking you. Smoke billowed from the engine, and you cursed under your breath, slamming the steering wheel. You popped the hood, but the sight beneath it offered no answers—just a mess of metal and wires that meant nothing to you.

Great. Just great.

You glanced around, hoping for some sign of civilization, but there was nothing. No houses, no gas stations, not even a distant power line, just the endless expanse of golden fields and the occasional tumbleweed bouncing lazily across the road. The realization hit you all at once: you were stranded. Alone, with no phone, no charger, and no idea where you were. The panic crept in slowly as you came out of your frenzy, tightening your chest and making your hands tremble as you leaned against the now useless car. What now? You didn’t have a backup plan, you didn’t even have a place to go back to ! You’d left everything behind in your frantic need to escape, and now you were paying the price. Every serial killers cases start like this; with a stranded lost young woman in the middle a desolated road. It wasn’t just the breakup that had driven you to this point, it was everything—the job you hated, the friendships that felt hollow, the sense that you were stuck in a life that wasn’t yours. Leaving had felt like the only option, a way to reclaim some control of your own life. But now, standing on the side of the road with the sun beating down on you, all you felt was foolish for leaving your comfort. You didn’t cry, though, you wanted to—you could feel the tears threatening, burning behind your eyes—but you forced them back. Crying wouldn’t help. You had to figure something out.

That’s when you saw him.

He rode up on a chestnut colored horse, the kind of sight you’d expect to see in a movie rather than real life. His dark brown cowboy hat was tilted low, shielding his eyes from yours, but you could feel his gaze on you as he approached. The fringed leather jacket and worn boots covered with dried mud were straight out of a western, yet there was something effortlessly modern about him. He reined his horse to a stop a few feet away, dust kicking up around him, and you swore the sun flared brighter just to frame him perfectly.

“You lost?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

You blinked, trying to process the sheer magnetism of the man in front of you. “Uh, more like broken down.” You gestured to your smoking car with a weak, tired laugh.

His eyes flicked to the vehicle, then back to you. He lifted his nose a little, finally showing you his dark eyes. They were sharp, assessing, but not unkind.

“You’re lucky I came by." He said, titling his head to the side. "Not many folks out here this time of day.”

You tried not to stare as he dismounted with a practiced ease, his boots crunching against the gravel. He was smaller in stature than you expected, given how tall the horse made him look, but he carried himself with an air of authority that made him seem larger than moutains. His hair, a deep dark brown, peeked out from beneath his hat, and his sun-kissed skin glowed in the harsh light.

“I’m Hongjoong,” he said, offering a gloved hand. “I own the ranch just a mile up the road. Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”

You smiled, relaxing your shoulders. "Thank you, really."

---

You didn’t expect to end up at his ranch, but Hongjoong had insisted your car wouldn’t make it anywhere until morning so it came naturally to offer you to stay at his ranch until then. His property was sprawling, acres upon acres of open land dotted with grazing cattle, a barn that looked as old as time and a modest but charming farmhouse perched on a hill. The air smelled of hay and sun-warmed earth, and the sound of horses and cows nickering greeted you as he led you past the stables. He explained, in his calm and deliberate way, that he’d call the local mechanic in town first thing tomorrow. For now, you were his guest. You felt out of place among the rugged charm of the ranch, your then white city-worn sneakers kicking up dust as you trailed behind him. But Hongjoong? He moved like he belonged here, like he was part of the land itself. He guided you across every corner of his land, and you were struck by how expansive it truly was. What you thought might take an hour stretched into the better part of the afternoon, but you didn’t mind. With every turn, Hongjoong revealed something new: a crystal-clear creek winding its way through a cluster of trees, the wildflowers that painted the meadows in vibrant swathes, and the rolling hills that seemed to stretch endlessly into the horizon. You followed him without question, each new sight leaving you in quiet awe. There was a serenity here that you’d never felt before, it felt almost surreal, as if your car breaking down had been less an accident and more a deliberate push into some kind of hidden paradise. That feeling lingered even as the sun began its slow descent, casting the ranch in warm golden light. When Hongjoong finally led you back to the house, you felt a pang of reluctance, as though you weren’t quite ready to leave the perfection of the outdoors behind. Inside, he insisted you sit at the modest dining table while he prepared dinner. The smell of sizzling meat and fresh vegetables soon filled the air, making your stomach growl in anticipation. You sat at the table, chin resting on your hand as you watched him move around the kitchen. His movements were fluid and precise, like he belonged in this space as much as he did out on the ranch. The way his fingers worked deftly to chop vegetables, the soft hum of concentration in his throat, the quiet clink of utensils against the pan—it all felt oddly intimate. The golden light from the setting sun streamed through the window, catching the sharp line of his jaw and the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, his forearms, now visible since he took his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves, flexing with every movement. He looked almost unreal, like he’d stepped out of a dream, and yet here he was, cooking for you with such easy kindness as if he knew you for months. Your chest tightened at the thought; how could someone so effortlessly handsome, so gentle and kind, be real?

When he set the plate before you, the first bite was enough to make you pause. The flavors were rich and vibrant, the kind of freshness you’d only ever heard about but never tasted.

“This is amazing!” you murmured between bites, your voice thick with genuine appreciation.

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched you eat.

“Glad you like it.” he said simply, his tone carrying just a hint of pride.

You didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered on you—how he seemed amused and charmed by the soft sighs of satisfaction that escaped you as you worked through the meal. For you, everything about the moment felt perfect, from the taste and smell of the food to the warmth of his quiet company. When dinner was done, he led you to the room you’d be staying in for the night. The cozy space was simple but welcoming, with soft lamplight illuminating the carefully made bed. Your bag was already there, placed neatly by the door.

“You’ll be comfortable here.” Hongjoong said, his voice low but warm. "It's been long since someone slept in here tho, might be dusty."

"It's ok, really." You nodded, offering him a small smile. “Thank you. For everything.”

He dipped his head slightly in response, hiding his face with the front of his hat, before stepping back, his presence leaving a quiet stillness in the room. As soon as you lay on the bed, a deep, contented sigh escaped your lips. Your eyelids grew heavy almost immediately, and before you could even process the day, exhaustion took hold. You drifted off to sleep, the last thing on your mind being the image of the man who had turned what should have been a disaster into something extraordinary.

---

You woke up to the sound of birdsong and the faint, rhythmic clinking of metal tools outside the guest room window. The bed beneath you was firm but comfortable, a far cry from the lumpy motel mattress you’d imagined you’d end up on when you’d left the city. The room was simple, with whitewashed walls and wooden furniture that seemed lovingly handcrafted. The window framed a picturesque view of the ranch, with golden fields stretching as far as the eye could see. You got up as you rubbed your eyesn walking towards the window to investigate what was making such a noise. You spotted Hongjoong by the barn, his figure silhouetted against the morning sun as he hoisted a bale of hay with an ease that made you wonder just how strong he really was. You didn’t feel right about staying here and doing nothing, he’d already done more than enough, taking in a complete stranger without hesitation. The least you could do was help. You quickly took the change of clothes neatly put on the desk, getting out of yesterday's clothes before heading out of the room. When you made your way to the barn, the fresh air of nature caressing you as gently as the sun while he glanced up, his sharp eyes softening slightly when they landed on you.

“Mornin'.” he said, wiping a gloved hand across his brow. His voice was rough from sleep, but it held a warmth that made your stomach flutter.

“Morning!” you replied, fidgeting with the hem of your borrowed button up shirt—one of his, which hung loose on your frame.

Hongjoong cleared his throat softly.

“I talked to the mechanic in town,” he said, his voice steady but careful, as if gauging your reaction. “Your car will be ready in a few days.”

You nodded slowly, the words settling over you like a weight. A few days. That was all the time you had left here.

“Thank you.” you murmured, your voice quieter than you intended.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, his eyes unreadable under the shadow of his hat. “Don’t mention it.”

You sighed, looking around before looking at him again, closing an eye to shield it from the rising sun.

“Need any help?” You asked, smiling warmly.

"Help?" Hongjoong arched a brow, clearly skeptical. "With what?"

You gestured to the bales of hay stacked neatly behind him.

“Anything. I feel bad just sitting around while you’re doing all the work.”

His lips quirked into a lopsided smile, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You don’t have to do anything. You’re a guest.”

“Then let me earn my stay.” you insisted, crossing your arms. “I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

"“Alrigh", city girl." He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Let’s see what you’ve got."

You regretted your bravado almost immediately.

Hongjoong handed you a pitchfork and showed you how to spread fresh hay in the stalls. It seemed simple enough, but after the third stall, your arms were already aching. Sweat trickled down your back, and your sneakers—already caked in dust from yesterday—slipped on the uneven barn floor. Hongjoong didn’t say much, but you caught him watching you out of the corner of your eye, his expression unreadable.

“Am I doing this right?” you asked, pausing to wipe your forehead, anxious about his staring.

He stepped closer, his boots crunching against the hay. Without a word, he took the pitchfork from your hands, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment.

“Like this.” he said, demonstrating the proper technique. His movements were fluid, precise.

Then, to your surprise, he stepped behind you, guiding your hands back to the pitchfork. His chest was close enough that you could feel the faint heat radiating off him, his voice right at your ear.

“Keep your grip firm,” he murmured, his warm calloused hands adjusting yours gently.

Your breath hitched, the proximity sending your thoughts into a whirlwind. You could barely focus on his instructions, the closeness of him sparking something unfamiliar in your chest—a nervous flutter mixed with a warmth you hadn’t felt in ages.

“See?” he said, his tone soft as his hands lingered just a moment longer before stepping back. “Not so hard, right?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, your voice lost somewhere in the haze of nerves and something undeniably new. It took a few tries, and a lot of calming your heart, but you eventually found a rhythm.

“Not bad...” he said, leaning against the stall door. “For a beginner.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Thanks, I think.”

By midday, you were exhausted but strangely satisfied. Hongjoong had taken over the heavier tasks, like lifting the hay bales, but he let you help with feeding the horses and mucking out the stalls.

“You didn’t have to do all this.” he said as the two of you sat on the porch steps, sipping glasses of cold water he’d brought out.

“I wanted to!” you replied, staring out at the fields. “It feels good to actually… do something.”

He glanced at you, his expression softening. “You did good today.”

The compliment warmed you more than the sun ever could.

---

The second day began much the same as the first, but this time, you were ready.

You joined Hongjoong outside with the same button up he landed you the day before just as he was saddling up one of the horses, a sleek orange like mare he introduced as Grami. She was a beautiful creature, her coat shimmering in the early morning light.

“You’re up early.” he remarked, adjusting the saddle.

“I figured I’d save you the trouble of convincing me to help again.” you teased, earning a small chuckle from him.

“Fair enough. Think you’re ready to meet the rest of the ranch?”

You blinked. “There’s more?”

"A lot more." He nodded, leading Grami out of the stable. "The cattle are grazing out in the north pasture. Thought I’d check on them today. You’re welcome to tag along."

“On foot?” you asked, eyeing the distance he gestured toward.

"On horseback." he corrected, giving you a knowing look. "We’ll take Grami."

You blinked. “Both of us? On the same horse?”

He shrugged, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Unless you want to walk.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the playful glint in his gaze made it impossible to argue.

“Fine.” you muttered, trying to ignore the way your heart thudded at the thought of being so close to him.

Hongjoong swung up into the saddle first, moving with a practiced ease that made you momentarily envious.

“Come on city girl.” he said, reaching a gloved hand down to you.

You hesitated for only a second before placing your hand in his. His grip was firm and steady, effortlessly pulling you up behind him.

“Hold on.” he said, glancing over his shoulder at you.

You swallowed hard and wrapped your arms around his suprisingly tiny waist, your fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt. You felt the warmth of his back pressed against you as you tried to focus on anything else—the soft sway of Grami’s movement beneath you, the sound of the horse’s hooves on the dirt path, the gentle rustling of the wind in the grass, the faint sound of water flowing far away. The ride to the north pasture felt like it stretched on forever, but you didn’t mind. Hongjoong’s presence was steady and grounding, even as your thoughts kept drifting to the closeness of him and his comforting warmth.

“You alright back there?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence.

“Yeah!” you said quickly, hoping he couldn’t hear the slight tremor in your voice as you got out of your daze.

Grami carried you both through a sunlit meadow, the scent of wildflowers hanging heavy in the air. The moment felt oddly intimate, and for a brief second, you let yourself relax against him, your cheek almost brushing his shoulder. When you reached the pasture, Hongjoong dismounted first and turned to help you down. His hands found your waist as he guided you to the ground, the touch brief but enough to leave your skin tingling.

“Thanks...” you murmured, avoiding his gaze as you smoothed your shirt.

The rest of the day unfolded much like the first, with Hongjoong showing you how to check the fences and tend to the cattle. He was patient as always, his quiet explanations punctuated by moments of comfortable silence.

---

By the time you returned to the farmhouse, the sun was dipping low in the sky, painting the horizon in fiery shades of orange and pink. As you sat down to dinner, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him across the table, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the kitchen light. There was something about him—his quiet confidence, his kindness, the way he carried the weight of the ranch without complaint—that made it hard to look away. You felt a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the food or the cozy farmhouse and as you lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly where you were meant to be.

This place, this man… it was starting to feel like something you didn’t want to leave behind.

---

The days passed in a blur.

One day turned into two, then three, as the mechanic faced delay after delay. You couldn’t be upset, though, not when Hongjoong was… well, Hongjoong. He was kind but guarded, the kind of man who said more with his actions than his words, he’d hand you a glass of fresh juice after a particularly hot afternoon without a word, or fix the loose porch step you slipped on two times. He’d taken to showing you around the ranch in the mornings. It started small: a walk to the stables, a brief introduction to the horses but over time, he seemed to open up. He’d tell you about the ranch’s history, about how it had been in his family for generations.

“Most people don’t want this kind of life anymore.” he said one evening, leaning against the fence as the sun dipped below the horizon. “It’s not glamorous. It’s hard work, and it can get lonely.”

You watched him as he spoke, his profile illuminated by the golden light. There was a wistfulness in his voice that made your chest ache.

“I don’t think it’s lonely.” you said softly.

He turned to you, brows furrowing slightly. “No?”

"You’ve got the land, the animals…" You shrugged, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. "It feels peaceful. I would say it's a good kind of lonely."

Hongjoong didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at you in that moment made your heart stutter.

You weren’t sure when the shift happened.

Maybe it was the way his hand brushed yours when he handed you a tool while fixing the barn door. Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered just a little too long when you laughed. Or maybe it was the fourth night when you’d joined him on the porch after dinner, the stars stretching endlessly above you as he played a soft tune on his guitar while you hummed to the unfamiliar tune as he stared at you, like he so often did. He’d asked you about your life, your dreams, your fears. And you’d told him everything, surprising even yourself with how easy it was to talk to him. From moving to the city for your ex, leaving your family and close friends behind to the breakup and you deciding to leave everything again but, this time, for yourself.

“You’ve got a brave heart.” he said quietly, his fingers stilling on the strings.

"Brave?" You laughed, the sound tinged with disbelief. "I’ve been running away from my problems for months."

He shook his head, his gaze intense. "You’re here, aren’t you? Sometimes that’s the bravest thing you can do—just show up somewhere unknown."

It was slow, this thing between you.

A stolen glance here, a fleeting touch there. The way he’d smile when he caught you watching him, or the way his voice softened when he said your name. You found yourself lingering in his orbit, drawn to him in a way that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. And Hongjoong? He seemed to feel it too but he held back more than you did, always keeping a careful distance, like he was afraid of what might happen if he let himself fall, watching you from afar seemed enough for him. The night it all came to an end, the fifth one, was one you’d never forget.

---

A storm had rolled in, sudden and fierce, forcing you and Hongjoong to rush through the downpour to secure the horses. Now, trapped in the barn, the rain hammered against the roof in relentless waves. You huddled together in the corner, both drenched to the bone, your breath mingling in the chill air. A new button-up shirt he'd lent you clung to your skin, his scent faint but unmistakable on the fabric, a cruel reminder of just how close he felt yet how far away he always seemed. He’d been nothing but kind—steadfast, patient, even protective—but there was a wall around him, one you couldn’t seem to scale no matter how much you tried. Every time you thought you might be breaking through, he’d pull away, his quiet reserve leaving you aching with questions you didn’t dare ask. You turned your head slightly, catching the profile of his face as he nervously watched the storm, his jaw was set, his brows furrowed in thought, and you couldn’t stop the longing that twisted in your chest. Why did he have to be so careful with you, so distant? The words escaped before you could stop them.

“Why do you do this?”

Your voice was barely audible over the storm, but he turned to you, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.

“Do what?”

“Push people away.” you said, your heart pounding as you catch your breath. “I can see it, Hongjoong. You’re afraid of letting me get close.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might brush you off. But then he sighed, running a hand through his damp hair.

“It’s not that simple.” he said quietly. “This life… it’s not easy. I’ve lost people before, I don’t want to go through that again.”

"But what if you don’t have to lose them?" You reached for his hand without thinking, the warmth of it surprising you. "What if they stay?"

He looked at your joined hands, then back at you, and you saw something shift in his eyes, now so visible without his hat in the way.

"I don’t want to lose you." he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Since you've been here, everything feel perfect, like the missing piece, and I don't want to get used to it only to loose it."

Your breath caught, and for a moment, the storm outside was nothing but a distant hum.

“You won’t.” you said, your voice steady despite the chaos in your chest.

His lips parted, but no answer came right away. The seconds stretched, his silence only making your chest tighten more.

“I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep-” he said finally, his voice thick with something unspoken.

“You won’t.”

For a moment, the words hung in the air between you, raw and fragile. You bit your lip, steadying your breath as you searched for the courage to say what you’d been holding in for days, your head spinning with how quick everything was going.

"For the first time in a long time, I feel like my life is… right. Like it means something." You took a shaky breath, holding his hand tighter. "Maybe it’s just the change—everything so different and new—but I don’t care if it’s an illusion. I want to try, and I want it to be with you. But only if you’re willing to try too."

Hongjoong’s gaze softened, the storm outside and the noise of the horses seeming to fade. Slowly, he leaned forward, his eyes fixed on yours as his wet hair fell in front of his face.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” you breathed, the word tumbling out before he could even finish the question. “Please. Finally.”

His lips were on yours before the last syllable left your mouth. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, as though he was still convincing himself you were real. But when your hands slid up to his drenched shoulders, pulling him closer, something shifted. His fingers tangled in your damp hair, his other hand finding the curve of your waist as the kiss deepened, the warmth of him chasing away the cold that clung to your skin. The warmth of his hands seeped through the damp fabric of the shirt, anchoring you to the moment. His touch wasn’t hurried; it was deliberate, like he was savoring every second, every sensation. Your fingers curled into the material of his shirt, clinging to him as if letting go might shatter the fragile, electric connection between you. His lips moved against yours, gentle yet insistent, and you felt every ounce of his hesitation melt away. The storm outside was relentless, but it only seemed to heighten the intensity inside the barn, the roar of the rain a distant hum compared to the wild beat of your heart. When he pulled back for air, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven on your cold skin. He looked at you, his eyes searching, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and something far deeper.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me...” he murmured, his voice low, almost hoarse.

You let out a breathless laugh, your hands still gripping his shirt. “Pretty sure I have an idea.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating between you, and for a moment, the tension broke, replaced by something lighter, softer. But his hands didn’t leave your waist, and you didn’t step away.

“I meant what I said.” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm. “I want to try, Hongjoong. Whatever this is, I want it.”

He nodded slowly, his thumb brushing against your side in an almost absent-minded motion, as if he couldn’t stop touching you.

“So do I.” he admitted, the words coming out like a confession.

Your chest swelled at the vulnerability in his tone, the weight of his walls finally crumbling in front of you. You smiled, leaning in to press another kiss to the corner of his mouth, the simple act filled with a quiet certainty that this—whatever it was—was worth the risk.

“Good to hear, cowboy.” you said softly, your lips brushing his. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

"You really aren't since your car isn't working."

You both laughed slightly, leaning against each other. And with that, he kissed you again, this time deeper, his hands pulling you closer

The kiss deepened, desperate now, as if both of you were clinging to the moment, afraid it might slip away. His hands roamed, pulling you against him, as if he couldn’t get enough of the feel of you, his touch frantic, hungry. His lips were insistent, pushing against yours with a wild urgency that made your pulse race, each movement of his mouth eager and desperate. His grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into the small of your back as he pulled you even closer, his body flush against yours. You could feel the heat of him, the way his chest rose and fell erratically as his breath mingled with yours, soft groans of need escaping him. Your hands found their way to his hair, tangling in the wet strands, pulling him closer, if that was even possible. The intensity of the kiss matched the ferocity of the storm outside, the rain hammering against the barn roof as though it too was desperate to kill the fire between you. You felt his lips move down to your neck, kissing, nibbling, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. The sensation made your back arch instinctively, a shiver running through you from feeling him so close, so urgent. But then, just as quickly as it had started, you felt him stiffen against you, his hands halting their movements, making you sigh in frustration. He pulled away abruptly, his breath ragged, his eyes wide with something that looked almost like panic while his lips where red and full, making it hard to not kiss them again.

“Hey.” Hongjoong said, his voice rough, but with a tone of concern.

“Mmmh?” You hummed, staring at his lips while biting your own.

“We should go back inside.” He pulled back slightly, his hands on your arms now, steadying you. “Before you catch your death out here.”

For a moment, you just looked at him, breathless and confused, the remnants of the kiss still lingering on your lips. He seemed to have pulled away not because of you, but because of something else—something in him that was fighting with the intensity of his emotions. You nodded slowly, feeling a mix of disappointment and warmth at his words, unsure whether it was the cold or the abrupt end to the kiss that left you feeling so undone. He gently took your hand, guiding you back toward the farmhouse as he ran, the storm still raging above, but for the first time since your breakup, the world didn’t feel so chaotic. Not with him by your side. You entered the house giggling as he quickly wrapped a blanket around your wet body while you looked at him in awe. He snickered before kissing you again, as gently as he could. The rain drummed on the roof above you, but you didn’t hear it. All that mattered was the way he tasted, the way his body pressed against yours, the way his kiss made you feel like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

Thank God your car broke down.

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #x reader #hongjoong x reader #cowboy ateez #cowboy x reader

166 notes · View notes

enhaflixer · 9 days ago

Text

sjy - Chasing Ghosts

a Criminal!Jake x Detective!Reader sexy crime thriller!

🔹 SYNOPSIS: You spent years chasing Specter, the most elusive criminal the force has ever encountered. But every near miss, every failed case, every lead that went cold—it was never just bad luck. It was orchestrated. Because the real traitor wasn’t the man you were hunting. It was the one standing right beside you.

🔹 WC: ~14.7K (full-length fic, completed)

🔹 TAGS: crime thriller, enemies to lovers, morally gray!Jake, found family, betrayal & redemption, slow burn to inferno, high stakes, forced proximity, heavy angst with a soft landing, house on the hill trope, HEA, High stakes

🔹 WARNINGS: violence, corruption, deception, heavy themes of betrayal & loss, morally ambiguous decisions, explicit language, slow descent into trust issues hell, eventual comfort but only after suffering, guns, sexual content MDNI, f! receiving, sexual intercourse, soft dom jake, really so sexy ngllll

The city never truly sleeps.

It thrums beneath flickering streetlights, alleyways breathing shadows, skyscrapers standing like silent witnesses to the corruption embedded in its veins. You’ve lived in this world long enough to know the rules: the rich get richer, the poor get forgotten, and crime is both a disease and a cure.

You lean forward, elbows resting on the scuffed wooden desk, eyes scanning the wall of evidence in front of you. Newspaper clippings, grainy surveillance images, red string connecting seemingly unrelated heists, yet all pointing to one singular entity.

A legend. A phantom. A criminal mastermind who never gets caught.

Your jaw tightens as you reread the headline from last week’s front page:

"SPECTER STRIKES AGAIN: $25 MILLION STOLEN FROM CARMICHAEL ESTATES—NO TRACE LEFT BEHIND."

"He’s mocking us," Jungwon mutters, arms crossed as he studies the board from his seat beside you. "Leaving those calling cards like he wants us to know he’s always ahead."

Your eyes drift to the small, laminated playing card pinned to the center of the board.

Checkmate.

Left at every crime scene. A silent taunt, a message that he’s playing a game you can’t win.

"Yeah," you say quietly, fingers grazing the edge of the card. "And I’m getting tired of losing."

A scoff sounds from across the room. "That makes two of us."

Lieutenant Heeseung stands by the window, arms folded, his sharp gaze flicking between you and the board. He’s been after Specter longer than anyone—long enough to have a personal vendetta, long enough that you’ve seen the sleepless nights weigh down on him.

He sighs, rubbing his temples. "We need a win. Something—anything—before the higher-ups start pulling us off this case."

You exchange a look with Jungwon.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not after how deep you’ve sunk into this. Not after five years of chasing a ghost.

And yet, you can feel it—the patience of the department wearing thin. Because how do you justify throwing manpower at an enemy you can’t even see?

"Maybe we finally have something," Jungwon says, flipping open a folder. "Our informant came through—Specter’s next target. The Reinsworth. The biggest auction of the year. Billions in assets, a room full of the richest people in the city, and enough security to make Fort Knox jealous."

Your pulse quickens.

"He’s going after them?"

Jungwon nods. "Anonymous tip. No confirmed details, but if he sticks to pattern, he’ll move that night."

Heeseung exhales. "Then we move first."

You clench your fists.

If Specter is going to be there, then so will you.

And this time, you won’t let him slip away.

20/11/2024 3:21 PM – The Precinct

The conference room is suffocating.

Not because of the size—no, the space is big enough, with its sleek steel table and sterile white walls. It’s the weight in the air, the kind that settles on your shoulders like chains, the kind that reminds you just how much is at stake.

The walls are lined with case files, printed blueprints, and surveillance shots pinned against corkboards. At the center of it all?

Specter.

His name—bold and in capital letters—sits atop the massive evidence board at the front of the room, surrounded by the aftermath of his work. Red lines connect his crimes, threads forming a chaotic web of high-stakes thefts, shattered security protocols, and corporate greed laid bare.

Another heist. Another Checkmate.

And yet?

No face. No trace. No identity.

But that changes tonight.

You fold your arms, standing near the edge of the table as Heeseung leans forward, placing both hands on the polished surface. His sharp eyes scan the room, locking onto each person present.

“Alright,” he says, voice cutting through the silence. “Let’s get one thing straight: this is our best chance yet to catch Specter. We’ve been chasing this bastard for five years, and every damn time, he’s managed to stay ahead. But this time? He’s walking into our trap.”

Heeseung nods toward Sunghoon, who steps forward and clicks a button on the remote in his hand. The screen behind them flickers to life, displaying a 3D-rendered blueprint of the Reinsworth Estate.

“The Reinsworth Gala is scheduled for Friday night, starting at 7:00 PM sharp,” Sunghoon begins, his voice steady and authoritative. “It’s an exclusive, high-profile auction—art pieces, rare jewels, black-market artifacts, the whole deal. The who’s who of the city will be in attendance. That includes politicians, corporate CEOs, and a handful of powerful individuals who have a lot of dirty money to spend.”

He pauses, letting that sink in.

“And it’s exactly the kind of event Specter likes to hit.”

You inhale sharply, your gaze locked on the blueprint.

It makes sense.

The kind of money in this auction isn’t just rich—it’s tainted. Crooked deals, offshore accounts, hush-hush transactions happening in plain sight, masked as “charity donations.”

And Specter?

He doesn’t just steal from the rich.

He exposes them.

Jungwon clicks his pen absentmindedly, studying the layout. “What’s our security coverage?”

Sunghoon presses another button, and red markers appear over key entry points.

“The estate has seven points of entry,” he explains. “Two main doors, three side exits, a rooftop access, and a private underground tunnel that only the estate owner and his personal guards know about.”

Heeseung’s gaze sharpens. “That tunnel—how do we know Specter isn’t using it?”

You nod in agreement. “It’s exactly the kind of thing he’d find a way into.”

Sunghoon clicks again. A live-feed pops up—a grainy, black-and-white video showing a dimly lit corridor beneath the estate.

“We’ve already got a covert team monitoring the underground passage,” he confirms. “If he tries using it, we’ll know.”

You press your lips together. “What about the security staff inside the gala?”

“About twenty armed guards,” Sunghoon replies. “All ex-military, highly trained. There’s also an internal security system—facial recognition scanners, metal detectors at the main entrances, and motion sensors in the vault rooms where the most expensive items are stored.”

Jungwon raises a brow. “And Specter’s still going to pull this off?”

Heeseung exhales sharply. “He always does.”

That’s the terrifying part.

It doesn’t matter how much security you throw in his way. He doesn’t just bypass it—he plays with it. He wants you to think you’re in control, that you have him cornered—only for him to slip away at the last second.

And leave you humiliated.

Not this time.

“This is how it’s going to go,” Heeseung continues, straightening. “We’ll be inside. Undercover.”

Sunghoon clicks again. The blueprint zooms in, red markers shifting into detailed placement zones.

“We’ve divided the team into key positions,” he explains. “Each of us will be in a different area, covering different points of interest.”

ASSIGNMENTS:

🟥 YOU: The ballroom & auction floor. You’ll be blending in with the guests, keeping an eye on potential suspects and looking for Specter’s entry point.

🟦 JUNGWON: Security room. He’ll have access to all internal cameras, monitoring movements and looking for anomalies.

🟩 SUNGHOON: Entrance and exit surveillance. He’ll be tracking arrivals and departures, making sure Specter doesn’t slip out undetected.

🟨 HEESEUNG: Rooftop surveillance & field coordination. He’ll oversee the entire operation from an elevated position, maintaining real-time communication between all units.

“Once Specter makes his move,” Heeseung says, voice like iron, “we cut off all exits. He will have nowhere to go.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of conviction.

But deep down?

You know it’s never that easy.

You lean back against the table, arms crossed. “And what’s our game plan if we actually get him in our sights?”

Silence.

Because none of you have ever gotten that close.

Specter doesn’t get caught.

Heeseung rubs his jaw. “We do not engage alone. If anyone spots him, you alert the team and wait for backup. We move together, we take him down, and we don’t let him—”

A sudden ping interrupts him.

Your phone screen flashes with a new message.

You blink, puzzled.

Unknown Number:See you Friday. 😉

Your pulse stops.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, breath catching in your throat.

He knows.

Specter knows.

And he’s already waiting.

21/11/2024 6:47 PM – En Route to the Reinsworth Estate

The air in the car is thick with unspoken tension, the kind that wraps around your chest like a coiled wire, pressing down with every breath. Outside, the city hums in its usual Friday night rhythm—flashing billboards, the distant wail of a siren, the blur of pedestrians moving through their lives without a care for what’s about to unfold.

Inside the car, the atmosphere is suffocating.

Sunghoon grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white from the pressure, his jaw set in the kind of rigid line that tells you he’s already running through every worst-case scenario in his head. You know he’s trying to temper his expectations, preparing himself for another failure, another night where Specter slips through your fingers and leaves behind nothing but his signature playing card—a mockery of the very system you swore to uphold.

You sit in the backseat, the weight of your firearm strapped to your thigh grounding you, but it does nothing to settle the anxious rhythm of your thoughts. Across from you, Jungwon scrolls through his tablet, reviewing the blueprints of the Reinsworth Estate for what must be the tenth time tonight. He’s meticulous, careful in his calculations, but even he seems restless, his fingers tightening around the edge of the device every so often.

For weeks now, Specter has been untouchable. Every lead has led to a dead end, every attempt to corner him has only resulted in another public embarrassment for the force. The media has begun to paint him as some kind of folk hero, the vigilante thief exposing the corruption that runs through the veins of the elite while making a mockery of law enforcement.

But you know better.

Specter isn’t a hero. He’s a criminal—one who thrives in the spaces between right and wrong, dancing just out of reach with an arrogance that sets your blood on fire.

This mission is your best chance at taking him down, and yet, something about tonight feels... off.

Sunghoon exhales through his nose, breaking the silence. "We can’t afford to lose him again," he says, his voice low but firm. "Not tonight."

His words settle like a weight in the pit of your stomach.

You don’t need to be reminded.

Everyone in this car knows what’s at stake. Another failure means another headline ridiculing the force, another step closer to higher-ups pulling you off the case.

For you, it’s even more than that.

This case is your life.

Without it, without the chase, without this relentless hunt for something greater, what are you?

The answer is one you don’t want to face.

You shift your gaze back to the blurred skyline outside the window, ignoring the ache in your chest, ignoring the part of yourself that wonders if there will ever be a moment where you’re not chasing ghosts.

Your phone buzzes in your lap. A text.

Unknown Number:Hope you brought your best dress. It’d be a shame if no one noticed you. 😉

Your fingers tighten around the device.

Specter.

The bastard is already watching.

21/11/2024 7:15 PM – Inside the Reinsworth Gala

The first thing you notice is the opulence.

Everything about the Reinsworth Estate is designed to exude power—high ceilings adorned with gold leaf trim, crystal chandeliers dripping from the rafters, marble floors polished to a shine so pristine that it reflects the guests who glide across it. The air smells of aged whiskey, expensive perfume, and the kind of unapologetic wealth that makes your skin itch.

You step carefully, keeping your posture poised as you weave through the crowd. The black dress you wear is sleek, professional yet elegant enough to blend in with the socialites sipping from delicate champagne flutes. The concealed weapon strapped to your thigh is a familiar weight, a silent reminder of why you’re here.

Your earpiece crackles as Sunghoon’s voice filters through. "Position check."

Jungwon responds first. "Security room. All feeds are clear so far."

Sunghoon is next. "Covering entrances and exits. No unusual movement yet."

You take a slow breath before replying. "Ballroom. Watching for anomalies."

The mission is simple: Wait. Watch. Observe.

If Specter is here, he’ll make his move soon.

You move toward the bar, casually scanning the room as you take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Your eyes flicker over the guests—politicians, CEOs, black-market dealers—the usual lineup of people who profit off the suffering of others. These are the people Specter targets.

And yet, for all your careful observation, you don’t expect to see him.

Not Specter.

Not your target.

Someone else.

At first, it’s unintentional—just a brief flicker of movement in the corner of your vision. But something about the way he stands, the way his body moves with the kind of ease that suggests he belongs here without trying, pulls your attention.

Dark hair slightly tousled, as if he ran a hand through it carelessly. A tailored black suit that fits too well to be rented, the top button of his shirt undone, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone. He leans against the bar, one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey, his expression unreadable.

He’s striking.

And he’s the first person in months who has made you look twice.

Your stomach tightens, the realization settling in a second too late.

This is a distraction.

You don’t get to have distractions.

You’re about to turn away when he looks up—eyes meeting yours in a way that feels deliberate.

His lips quirk up at the corners, slow, easy, like he’s amused by the fact that you’ve been watching him.

You should walk away.

You should refocus on the mission.

But instead, you move toward him.

21/11/2024 7:22 PM – The Bar

You slide into the empty space beside him, setting your glass on the polished counter. The bartender approaches, but before you can place an order, the man beside you speaks.

“She’ll have another.”

His voice is smooth, warm, effortlessly confident. He doesn’t even glance at you, instead sliding a bill across the counter with practiced ease.

You raise a brow, finally taking him in up close. His features are unfairly sharp, the kind of attractiveness that doesn’t seem real—high cheekbones, dark lashes that frame his deep-set eyes, lips curved in a smirk that looks both relaxed and knowing.

"You didn’t have to do that," you say, tilting your head slightly.

His smirk widens. "I know."

There’s something infuriatingly easy about the way he says it. Like he’s used to getting away with things. Like he’s used to being liked.

Your lips press together as you study him. He doesn’t seem nervous, doesn’t fidget the way people do when they have something to hide. If anything, he looks... bored.

A man dragged to a gala he didn’t want to attend.

And for some reason, that makes you want to talk to him.

"So," you say, lifting your newly refilled glass. "Are you always this generous to strangers, or am I just lucky tonight?"

He chuckles, finally turning to meet your gaze fully.

"You could say I have a soft spot for people who look like they’d rather be anywhere else," he muses, sipping his whiskey.

Your breath catches for half a second.

Because he’s not wrong.

And you don’t realize—

This is the first lie between you.

And the beginning of your downfall.

21/11/2024 9:15 PM – The Ballroom

The night drags on in a slow, meticulous rhythm, each minute stretching into the next as you weave through the ballroom, scanning the faces of the elite. Champagne flows endlessly, expensive fabric sways under the chandelier’s golden glow, and money changes hands under the guise of civility. It’s a performance—one you’ve seen play out time and time again, the rich finding new ways to remind each other just how powerful they are.

You, however, are looking for something else.

You’ve spent the last hour subtly circling the room, keeping track of exits, watching for anything out of place. But there’s nothing. No indication that Specter has made his move. No sudden disappearances, no disruption in the security feeds. If he’s here, he’s waiting.

And the waiting is starting to unravel you.

"Anything?" Sunghoon’s voice crackles through your earpiece.

You press your fingers against the device discreetly, eyes still moving over the crowd. "Negative. Ballroom is normal."

Jungwon chimes in from the security room. "No breaches in the system yet. If Specter is moving, he’s being damn careful."

Sunghoon exhales sharply. "We cannot afford another loss tonight."

You can hear the frustration in his voice, the tension woven into every syllable. He doesn’t need to say what you’re all thinking—if Specter escapes again, if this night ends like all the others, it might be your last chance to bring him down.

A bead of sweat trails down the back of your neck, the pressure tightening around your ribs like a vice. You swallow, rolling your shoulders to shake off the weight pressing against you.

That’s when you see him.

At first, it’s nothing. A casual glance, a flicker of movement. But something about him catches your eye—something unassuming yet magnetic, something that makes it impossible to look away.

Jake.

He’s standing near the bar, one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey, the other tucked loosely in his pocket. The dim lighting catches against the faint golden tint of his skin, his suit perfectly fitted to his frame, his posture relaxed yet controlled. He’s not doing anything special—just existing in that effortless, confident way that makes him stand out without trying.

And for the first time in years, you let yourself be distracted.

It’s reckless. You know that. You should be focused on the job, not on some guy you met an hour ago.

But something about him pulls at you.

Something about him feels different.

And so, against your better judgment, you let your legs carry you toward him.

21/11/2024 10:22 PM – The Private Lounge

You don’t remember how the conversation started.

One minute, you were talking in the ballroom, your words light, teasing, your mind telling you to keep it surface-level—keep it meaningless. And yet, before you knew it, you were here, tucked away in a private lounge on the second floor, away from the prying eyes of the gala.

Jake is leaning against the arm of the couch, his whiskey glass now abandoned on the table beside him. The dim lighting casts soft shadows across his features, highlighting the sharp curve of his jaw, the slight tilt of his smirk.

"You really don’t belong here," he murmurs, voice low, smooth.

You raise a brow. "And why’s that?"

He lets his gaze trail over you, slow and deliberate, like he’s reading between the lines of your existence.

"You’re too stiff," he muses. "Too guarded. People at events like this—they move like they own the room. You move like you’re trying to control it."

Your breath catches for half a second.

He’s not wrong.

It’s something you’ve never said out loud, something you’ve never let yourself acknowledge—the way you always stand on the outskirts, never truly letting yourself blend in. Because you’re not one of them. You’re not a guest, not someone who can just drink and laugh and enjoy the night.

You’re always working.

You’re always watching.

Jake tilts his head slightly. "You know, it’s okay to let go once in a while."

The words hit deeper than they should.

Let go.

It’s been so long since you’ve let yourself feel anything other than exhaustion, than the weight of responsibility pressing against your ribs.

Jake doesn’t look away. He watches you like he already knows what you’re thinking, like he’s waiting.

And the worst part?

You let him win.

His hand brushes against yours, tentative at first, as if waiting for you to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, your fingers shift, your breath catches, and the space between you collapses.

His lips meet yours in a slow, controlled movement, the kind that leaves no room for uncertainty. His fingers press into your waist, pulling you closer, the warmth of his body against yours sending a sharp thrill down your spine.

You gasp softly against his mouth when his hands slide lower, gripping at the fabric of your dress. He doesn’t rush—he’s measured, calculated, taking his time with you like he’s savoring every second.

Your back meets the plush couch, your hands threading into his hair as his lips trail lower, pressing against your jaw, then your throat.

It feels too real, too good—like for the first time in years, you’re not just existing, not just moving through the motions.

You’re alive.

And because of that—

You miss it.

You miss everything.

21/11/2024 10:41 PM – Security Breach

Jungwon’s voice is the first thing that rips through the haze.

"Shit—what the hell?"

Your earpiece crackles, the distortion breaking through the moment like a gunshot. You barely register Jake pulling away slightly, brows furrowed as he studies your expression.

In the surveillance van outside, Heeseung is already moving. "What’s happening?"

Jungwon curses. "Security feeds just cut out—this wasn’t an external hack, it was internal."

Sunghoon’s voice is sharp. "That means someone’s inside."

You push yourself upright, your mind snapping back into focus. Your heart is still pounding, but now it’s for a different reason. You grab the earpiece, voice urgent. "What do you need?"

Jungwon is typing furiously. "We still have motion sensors in the west corridor—someone just breached the main vault."

Sunghoon is already moving through the ballroom. "I see him. Black suit, short dark hair, five-eight, heading for the exit."

Heeseung barks an order. "Don’t let him out."

Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate. He runs.

21/11/2024 10:45 PM

The suspect never makes it past the emergency stairwell.

Sunghoon catches up to him just as he reaches for the door handle, his body moving on pure instinct as he yanks the man back, shoving him against the cold marble wall. The force of it knocks the breath from his lungs, a choked sound escaping as his hands instinctively rise in surrender.

"Freeze!" Sunghoon barks, his gun leveled. "On the ground! Now!"

The entire ballroom stills, guests gasping as they step back, clearing a wide space around them. The security guards stationed throughout the estate move in, forming a barrier between the suspect and the exits.

The man lifts his chin, looking irritated rather than fearful, his black suit slightly disheveled from the struggle. Jongseong.

Sunghoon's breath catches as he fully registers his face, recognition setting in like a sharp blade to the ribs.

Jongseong. A known associate of underground networks, a name that has surfaced more than once in relation to Specter’s operations—but never directly linked. A runner, not a mastermind.

Heeseung arrives at Sunghoon’s side in seconds, gun also raised, his expression unreadable. "Where's the money?"

Jongseong exhales through his nose, then lets out a low chuckle. "No idea what you’re talking about."

His voice is calm. Too calm.

That’s the first sign that something is wrong.

"Pat him down," Heeseung orders.

A security officer steps forward, roughly searching Jongseong’s suit for any concealed items. No weapons. No stolen artifacts. No hidden communication devices.

Nothing.

Your stomach twists. This isn’t right.

Where’s the evidence? Where’s the vault key? The schematics? Anything that proves he’s the one who breached security?

And then—

Jongseong smirks.

It’s barely there, just a flicker of amusement before it vanishes beneath a practiced mask of indifference.

But you see it.

And that’s the second sign.

Something is very, very wrong.

"Take him in," Heeseung commands. "We’ll question him at the precinct."

As Jongseong is forced to his knees, his wrists bound with cuffs, he barely resists. He doesn't fight, doesn't argue.

Because he doesn’t need to.

Because this is exactly what he wanted.

By the time you step outside, the night air is thick with tension. The once-luxurious gala has descended into controlled chaos, guests still murmuring as they’re escorted to waiting cars, security scrambling to regain control of the estate.

The suspect is in custody.

The heist is over.

And yet—something feels unfinished.

Your head is still spinning, the adrenaline from earlier colliding with the lingering haze of Jake’s hands on your body, the warmth of his lips still ghosting against your skin.

You shouldn’t be thinking about him right now.

Not when you should be celebrating a win.

Not when you should be focused on why this doesn’t feel like a victory at all.

Sunghoon stops beside you, running a hand down his face. "Tell me I’m not the only one who thinks this was too easy."

You swallow hard, gripping your arms against the sudden chill in the air.

"No," you murmur. "You’re not the only one."

Because deep down, you know.

This was too perfect.

Too clean.

Too easy.

And Specter?

Specter never makes it easy.

21/11/2024 11:30 PM – Private Lounge, Reinsworth Estate

You don’t expect to find Jake waiting for you again.

Yet, when you return to the second-floor lounge, needing a moment to breathe, he’s still there—composed, collected, untouched by the storm that just unfolded.

He leans against the plush couch, one leg stretched out lazily, a fresh glass of whiskey in hand. He glances up when he sees you, a slow smirk tugging at his lips.

"Back so soon?" he muses, tilting his head.

You let out a breath, shaking your head as you step inside. "I needed to get away from the chaos for a second."

Jake hums, watching you with an unreadable expression. "So, what’s the verdict? Did you get your guy?"

You hesitate for just a moment too long.

Then, you nod. "Yeah. We got him."

Jake smiles, lifting his glass in a lazy toast. "Then that means you won, right?"

You should feel like you’ve won.

But you don’t.

You feel like you’re missing something.

Like you’re being played.

And when Jake stands, moving toward you with that same slow, easy confidence, you suddenly find yourself forgetting—just for a moment—why you should even be thinking about anything else at all.

"You’re still tense," he murmurs, his voice softer now, lower, like he’s reading between the lines of everything you aren’t saying. "Still thinking too much."

You open your mouth to argue, to tell him you’re fine, that you’re always fine.

But then his fingers brush against yours, a fleeting touch that makes your pulse stutter.

"Let me help with that," he whispers.

And before you can stop yourself—before you can think about what you’re doing—you let him.

22/11/2024 12:30 AM – Jake’s Apartment

His apartment is dimly lit, quiet except for the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. It smells like whiskey and something undeniably him, something warm and sharp and dangerous in a way that doesn’t set off alarms—only curiosity.

You don’t remember how you got here.

One minute, you were at the gala, your head spinning with questions you couldn’t answer. The next, Jake was leading you inside, his hands steady on your waist, his lips a breath away from ruining you completely.

The first kiss is slow.

A quiet test. A question you don’t answer with words but with the way your hands tangle into his hair, the way your body presses against his, desperate for something you can’t name.

His fingers skim the zipper of your dress, trailing down your spine, his touch sending a slow fire licking down your skin. He moves deliberately—never rushing, never demanding—just taking his time, like he’s savoring every second of breaking you apart.

You let yourself fall.

Because Specter is gone.

Because the hunt is over.

Because for the first time in years, you let yourself want something that isn’t a case file, a mission, a ghost you can never catch.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, his voice low and seductive. "I want to show you how much I've been wanting this."

You sank into the plush sofa, your heart racing as Jake knelt before you, his hands gently caressing your thighs. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your knee, slowly inching their way up your leg. You let out a soft moan, unable to contain the pleasure that was building within. His touch was like a flame igniting your desire, melting away the constraints of your undercover role.

"You're exquisite," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "I want to taste every inch of you."

With that, Jake began a slow, sensual exploration of your body. His lips trailed kisses along your inner thighs, his hands gently massaging your hips, driving you wild with anticipation. You arched your back, offering yourself to him, eager for the pleasure he promised. His tongue teased the sensitive skin just above your knee, sending waves of delight through your body.

As his lips finally reached your core, you gasped, overwhelmed by the sensation. Jake's tongue was skilled, flicking and lapping at your clit, sending shivers of pleasure through your entire being. He teased and tormented you, building the tension until you were writhing with need. His fingers joined the dance, slipping inside you, finding the spots that made you cry out in ecstasy.

"Oh, Jake," you panted, your hands gripping the sofa cushions. "I can't take much more..."

But Jake was relentless, determined to bring you to the brink of ecstasy. He sucked on your clit, his fingers working in perfect rhythm, driving you higher and higher until you exploded in a mind-shattering orgasm. Your body trembled as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, leaving you breathless and utterly satisfied.

As you lay there, basking in the aftermath of your release, Jake's gentle hands caressed your face, wiping away the traces of your passion. He smiled, his eyes filled with a mixture of satisfaction and adoration.

"Baby that was incredible," he whispered. "But we're not done yet. I want to give you even more pleasure."

You smiled back, feeling a connection with Jake that went beyond the physical. In that moment, you both understood that this encounter was about more than just sex. It was a shared escape from the pressures of your respective lives, a stolen moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

As the night deepened, Jake led you to the bedroom, where he continued to worship your body with his touch. He explored every inch of your skin, his hands and lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You returned the favor, running your hands over his muscular frame, reveling in the feel of his hard body against yours.

The passion between you escalated, and soon you found yourself straddling Jake, guiding his throbbing cock into your wetness. You rode him with abandon, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. The sensation of being filled by him was exquisite, and you couldn't help but let out a string of moans and cries as you neared the edge once more.

Just as you were about to climax, Jake flipped you onto your back, his eyes blazing with desire. He thrust into you with a primal urgency, his body demanding release. You matched his intensity, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you. Together, you soared towards a shared climax, your bodies becoming one in a frenzy of pleasure.

As your orgasms subsided, you lay entangled in each other's arms, panting and sweaty. The night had been a whirlwind of passion and desire, a much-needed respite from the weight of your undercover mission. Jake's gentle touch and insatiable hunger had taken you to new heights of ecstasy, leaving you craving more.

"I never expected this," you whispered, tracing your fingers along his chest. "But I'm glad I found you." Jake smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "This is just the beginning.”

22/11/2024 7:00 AM – The Precinct

Morning light spills through the windows, casting sharp lines across the stacks of files on your desk. The precinct is already buzzing—officers moving in and out, reports being filed, the usual chaos after a major arrest.

And yet, something feels off.

You step inside the holding area, your stomach twisting. Jongseong sits in the same spot you left him last night—calm, unbothered, waiting.

Jungwon is the first to speak, handing you a fresh report. His voice is flat, controlled. "We have a problem."

You skim the document, your fingers tightening around the pages.

No forensic evidence. No DNA. No stolen assets found in Jongseong’s possession.

Your heart pounds.

Sunghoon’s voice is grim beside you. "We might have arrested the wrong man."

Heeseung steps forward, his expression dark. "If we don’t find anything, we’ll have to release him within twenty-four hours."

Your stomach drops.

Because if Jongseong isn’t Specter—

Then Specter is still out there.

Still watching.

And you were too distracted to notice.

22/11/2024 7:30 AM – The Precinct

The precinct is suffocating in the way only a place filled with exhausted, overworked officers and the lingering smell of bad coffee can be. The overhead fluorescent lights flicker slightly, buzzing faintly above your desk as you sit, staring at the case file spread open before you.

You’ve spent the past hour combing through the case reports, reading and rereading the timeline of Jongseong’s arrest. Everything lines up—too well, too perfectly. The location, the security breach, the direction of the escape route—it was all exactly what you expected.

But Specter has never been predictable before.

So why now?

The doubt gnaws at you, sharp and insistent, but you shove it down. You need to focus.

A sharp sound pulls you from your thoughts—the scrape of a chair being dragged against the floor. You glance up to find Sunghoon sitting across from you, arms crossed over his chest, his entire body wound tight with barely contained anger.

He looks like he hasn’t slept.

There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and his jaw is locked in a way that makes his frustration painfully obvious. His knuckles are white where they press against his biceps, tension coiling through his entire frame like he’s physically restraining himself from exploding.

You don’t have to ask him what’s wrong.

You already know.

Sunghoon has always been the most ruthless of all of you when it comes to Specter. His hatred for the man isn’t just professional—it’s personal, woven into his very being, laced into every clipped word he speaks about the case.

And right now, that hatred is radiating off of him like heat from an open flame.

"He’s laughing at us," he says finally, his voice low and strained.

You blink, setting your pen down. "Jongseong?"

Sunghoon lets out a harsh, humorless scoff. "No," he spits. "Specter."

The name alone seems to poison the air between you.

"He’s out there right now, watching us scramble, watching us pat ourselves on the back like we finally got him." He shakes his head, his upper lip curling slightly in disgust. "He set this whole thing up, and we fell for it like idiots."

His anger is palpable, simmering beneath the surface like a storm barely held at bay. You’ve seen Sunghoon mad before—you’ve seen him frustrated, seen him snap at officers who weren’t taking the case seriously.

But this?

This is different.

He’s not just angry.

He’s seething.

"You don’t know that," you say carefully, trying to sound more sure than you feel. "Jongseong fits the profile. He was at the scene, moving toward an escape vehicle. We caught him in the act."

Sunghoon lets out a breath through his nose, his hands gripping his arms even tighter. He looks like he’s one wrong word away from completely losing it.

"Jongseong is a distraction," he grits out. "That’s all he is. And do you know what makes me fucking sick?"

His eyes snap up to meet yours, dark and furious.

"We let it happen. Again."

The weight of his words crashes into you like a sledgehammer.

You don’t respond, because what is there to say?

Sunghoon isn’t wrong.

And that’s what makes it worse.

His jaw tightens, and he leans forward slightly, his voice dropping lower, quieter—but no less filled with rage.

"I hate him," he says, the words filled with so much venom you almost flinch. "I hate that every single time we think we have him, he’s already ten steps ahead. I hate that he makes us look like fucking amateurs. I hate that the media paints him like some goddamn folk hero while we’re stuck looking like corrupt bureaucrats."

His fingers dig into his biceps so hard you think he might bruise himself, but he doesn’t seem to care.

"But most of all," he continues, his voice even quieter now, almost a whisper, "I hate that no matter how hard I try, no matter how many hours I put into this case, no matter how much I want to see him behind bars—I can’t fucking touch him."

For a moment, the room feels unbearably silent.

The weight of his words presses down on you, squeezing the air from your lungs.

Because you understand.

Because you feel it too.

The helplessness. The frustration. The overwhelming, all-consuming obsession with someone who refuses to be caught.

You sit in that silence for a long moment, neither of you moving, neither of you speaking.

And then, finally—

Sunghoon exhales sharply, shaking his head. "I need to get out of here."

Without another word, he pushes back from the desk and strides toward the door, his hands still clenched into fists.

And you?

You’re left sitting there, wondering if you just saw a crack in the foundation of everything you thought you knew about him.

Because Sunghoon doesn’t just hate Specter.

He despises him with every fiber of his being

22/11/2024 9:15 AM – Jake’s Apartment

The contrast between Sunghoon’s suffocating rage and Jake’s quiet, effortless warmth is jarring.

You shouldn’t be here again.

You should be at the precinct, knee-deep in case files, trying to untangle the mess that Specter has left behind. But instead, you’re standing in Jake’s kitchen, his shirt draped over your shoulders, a cup of coffee cradled between your hands.

It feels too easy.

Too normal.

Too good.

Jake leans against the counter across from you, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes. His hair is still slightly tousled from sleep, his suit jacket discarded somewhere in the other room. He looks so completely unbothered by everything—by the world, by the chaos you left behind at the station—that for a moment, you let yourself believe he really is just Jake.

Just a man.

Not a suspect. Not a ghost. Not a thief who has spent years evading you.

Just someone who makes you feel like yourself again.

"You’re thinking too much," he muses, sipping his coffee.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

"It is when you do it like this," he counters, setting his cup down and stepping closer. "Like you’re trying to convince yourself that you shouldn’t be here."

Your fingers tighten around the mug.

Because he’s right.

And you hate that he sees you so clearly.

Jake tilts his head slightly, watching you. "Stay," he says softly.

A single word.

No pressure. No demand. Just an invitation.

And for the first time in years, you don’t fight it.

You let yourself fall.

02/12/2024 9:30 AM – Jake’s Apartment

The apartment is bathed in the kind of morning light that makes everything feel too perfect, golden rays slipping through half-drawn blinds, casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets tangled around your legs. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, mingling with something distinctly him—a mix of cedarwood and whatever expensive cologne he wears without trying too hard.

Jake stands at the stove, his sleeves pushed up, one hand casually flipping pancakes in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

You watch him from where you’re curled on his couch, sipping the coffee he made for you, wondering how the hell you got here—wrapped up in a man who feels like both an escape and a mistake waiting to happen.

He turns, catching you staring, and smirks.

“You look dangerously comfortable,” he muses, setting down the spatula. “Should I be worried?”

You huff, rolling your eyes as you set your coffee down. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s just a good couch.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “So it’s the couch and not the charming man making you breakfast?”

You pretend to think for a moment, lips pursed. “Mm. Jury’s still out.”

Jake clutches his chest dramatically. “That hurts, detective.”

You roll your eyes again, but there’s a warmth in your chest that you can’t ignore. It’s been so long since you’ve laughed like this, since you’ve let yourself exist in a space that wasn’t suffocating under the weight of your job.

And Jake?

Jake makes it too easy.

He slides onto the couch beside you, two plates in hand, setting one on your lap. The pancakes are stacked high, drizzled with syrup, looking almost criminally perfect.

You raise a brow. “Okay, is there anything you’re bad at?”

Jake hums, tilting his head in fake thought. “I can’t dance.”

You snort, cutting into your pancakes. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m serious,” he insists, gesturing dramatically. “It’s embarrassing. If you ever make me dance, I’ll trip over my own feet and probably take you down with me.”

You laugh, the sound coming too easily, your walls lowering too quickly—but right now, you don’t care.

For the first time in years, you feel like a person first, a detective second.

02/12/2024 12:00 PM – The Precinct

If Jungwon notices the shift in your mood when you walk into the precinct, he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he gives you one long, knowing glance before simply shaking his head and shuffling his files into a neater stack.

You sit down at your desk, flipping through your own paperwork, waiting for the inevitable.

It doesn’t take long.

“You seem happy,” Jungwon finally says, tapping his pen against the table rhythmically. “Which is weird. Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you happy before.”

You roll your eyes. “Not this again.”

“What?” he asks innocently. “I’m just making an observation.”

You sigh, setting your file down. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Jungwon leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “Alright. You’ve been different lately. Less stressed. Less... I don’t know. Broody?”

“Broody?” you repeat, unimpressed.

“You know what I mean.”

You sigh again, rubbing a hand over your face. “I’m not broody.”

Jungwon just looks at you.

You groan. “Fine. I just—I don’t know. I met someone, I guess.”

Jungwon’s eyebrows shoot up, his entire demeanor shifting. “Oh?”

You immediately regret saying anything. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” he says, but he’s already grinning. “It’s just—you? In a relationship? I genuinely didn’t think it was possible.”

You glare. “I hate you.”

Jungwon snickers, leaning forward. “Okay, tell me about him. What’s his name? What does he do? Is he an accountant? He feels like an accountant.”

You exhale sharply. “His name is Jake.”

Jungwon blinks. Then blinks again. “Wait. Jake? As in Jake Jake?”

You pause. “...What does that mean?”

Jungwon shakes his head in disbelief. “You mean the guy from the gala? The one who’s stupidly hot?”

Heat creeps up your neck. “Why do you know he’s hot?”

“Because I have eyes,” Jungwon says, exasperated. “And so does half the precinct. The guy looks like he walked out of a cologne commercial.”

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “I regret everything.”

Jungwon laughs, slapping his hand against the desk. “No, no, I’m thrilled. This is hilarious.”

You peek at him between your fingers. “Why?”

“Because you’re you. And you’ve somehow landed yourself a hot, normal guy, and now I have to watch you try to function like a normal person in a relationship.” He grins. “This is my favorite thing that’s ever happened.”

Despite yourself, you laugh.

It’s easy with Jungwon. He’s been your partner for years, and out of everyone in the precinct, he’s the only one who knows how to keep you grounded.

And maybe...

Maybe a small part of you needed someone to tell you that it’s okay to be happy.

Even if it’s temporary.

Even if you don’t deserve it.

26/12/2024 7:45 PM – Jake’s Apartment

Falling in love with Jake is like slipping into a dream you don’t want to wake up from.

It happens slowly, piece by piece, until one day you realize he’s settled into your life like he’s always belonged there.

At first, it was the late-night conversations, stretched out across his couch, where he’d listen to you vent about your job while nursing a glass of whiskey, nodding along like he understood the weight of it. Then, it was waking up next to him, sunlight slipping through the curtains, watching the way his lashes fluttered against his cheek before he stirred, smiling lazily as if seeing you first thing in the morning was the best part of his day.

Now?

Now, it’s this—him standing in his kitchen, barefoot, sleeves rolled up, making pasta like it’s second nature, humming along to a song playing softly in the background.

It’s so damn normal that it terrifies you.

"You know," Jake muses, glancing at you over his shoulder, "for someone who spends their life chasing criminals, you seem way too impressed by my ability to make pasta."

You scoff from where you’re perched on a stool by the counter, sipping the glass of wine he poured for you. "I wouldn’t say impressed. More... mildly surprised you haven’t set the kitchen on fire yet."

Jake clutches his chest dramatically. "Wow. No faith in me at all?"

"I mean," you say, smirking, "you work in HR, not a kitchen. I think my skepticism is warranted."

Jake rolls his eyes, but there’s amusement dancing in his gaze. "I’ll have you know HR requires people skills, which I’m excellent at."

You hum, tilting your head. "So you just charm your way through workplace disputes?"

"Basically." He grins. "It’s a lot of, ‘Hey, let’s all be adults and not fight over stolen office mugs.’"

You laugh, the sound coming too easily, your walls lowering too quickly.

"You’re good at this," you admit before you can stop yourself.

Jake raises a brow. "Cooking?"

"No." You hesitate, swirling the wine in your glass. "This. Making things feel... normal."

His smirk softens into something gentler, something that makes your stomach flip. He sets down the spoon he was using, stepping closer, sliding his hands onto the counter on either side of you, caging you in.

"You deserve normal," he murmurs, his voice quieter now, more serious. "You deserve good things, you know that, right?"

You don’t respond.

Because you don’t know that.

Not when your entire life has been about chasing something just out of reach.

Not when every time you think you’re getting close to something real, it slips through your fingers like it was never there to begin with.

27/12/2024 10:30 AM – The Precinct

The sense of peace from the night before disappears the second you step into the precinct.

It’s in the air—the tension, the unspoken weight pressing down on everyone. Conversations are hushed, glances are exchanged, and something is off.

Jungwon looks up from his desk when you approach, his expression more serious than usual. He doesn’t say anything at first, just motions for you to come closer.

"What’s going on?" you ask, setting your coffee down.

Jungwon exhales, rubbing his temple before flipping open a file.

“There’s talk of a mole.”

Your stomach drops.

You grip the edge of your desk. "What?"

Jungwon nods grimly. “It’s coming from higher up. Too many failures. Too many slip-ups. Someone’s been feeding Specter information.”

A cold weight settles in your chest.

A mole. Someone inside the department.

Your mind races. Who?

"Who are they suspecting?" you ask carefully.

Jungwon shrugs, but his expression darkens. “Right now? No one specific. But it’s only a matter of time before they start pointing fingers.”

29/12/2024 11:45 PM - Uptown

It happens fast.

One minute, you’re outside a high-rise in the wealthiest part of the city, waiting for Specter to make his move.

The intel was solid. Too solid. The security patterns, the movement of stolen assets, the whispers from informants—everything lined up.

And yet—

The heist never happens.

You stand there, breath misting in the cold night air, fingers curled around your radio, listening to the silence.

No breach. No alarms. Nothing.

Then—

Jungwon’s voice crackles through the earpiece, quiet, urgent.

“He’s not coming.”

Your pulse spikes. “What?”

“Specter’s not here,” Jungwon says. “There’s nothing happening. This was a dead lead.”

Your blood chills.

How? How?

This was your best shot. The kind of lead you don’t get twice. And yet, you were waiting for nothing. The truth sinks into your stomach like a stone.

Specter knew. Somehow, he knew.

And you were left standing there, like a fool, chasing shadows.

30/12/2024 2:00 AM – Jake’s Apartment

You don’t remember the drive.

You don’t remember knocking on his door.

All you know is that the second it opens, Jake pulls you inside, holds you tight, and doesn’t let go.

You’re shaking—frustration, exhaustion, helplessness all swirling in your chest like a storm. You bury your face against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him, letting the warmth of his body ground you.

Jake presses a slow kiss to the top of your head. “Rough night?”

You let out a breathy laugh, but it’s hollow.

"You have no idea."

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask questions. He just leads you to the couch, pulling you onto his lap like it’s second nature, letting you curl against him. His fingers skim your back in slow, comforting patterns, his lips pressing fleeting kisses against your temple, your cheek, your jaw.

You tilt your head, letting him kiss you properly this time, letting yourself melt into him, letting him pull you under completely. Because right now, Jake is the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

He’s the reason you’re falling in the first place.

31/12/2024 11:45 PM – Jake’s Apartment

New Year’s Eve in the city was a spectacle—fireworks poised to explode over the skyline, laughter and music pouring from every open window, the streets alive with the kind of energy that only came when people believed they were on the precipice of something new, something better.

But none of that mattered to you right now.

Because instead of being out there, in the chaos, you were here.

Here, in Jake’s apartment, curled up beside him on the couch, a half-empty bottle of champagne on the coffee table, and the faint hum of a jazz record playing in the background. The world outside didn’t exist in this moment. There was only the glow of the string lights he had lazily draped across his bookshelves, the warmth of his body against yours, and the quiet rightness of it all.

“Okay, so tell me,” Jake mused, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your thigh as he leaned back against the cushions. “Are you the type of person who actually makes New Year’s resolutions, or do you just wing it?”

You smirked, shifting so you could face him better. “I don’t think I’ve ever had the luxury of just ‘winging it.’”

Jake’s lips quirked at that, his eyes soft as he studied you. “Of course you haven’t.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “You probably have a ten-year plan, don’t you?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I did once.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Yeah?”

You hesitated for a moment before sighing, tilting your head back against the couch. “It was the typical checklist, you know? Make detective, take down the bad guys, climb the ranks—maybe even make lieutenant one day.”

Jake hummed, resting his chin on his hand. “And now?”

You let out a breath, watching the golden bubbles swirl in your champagne glass. “Now? I don’t know.”

The admission surprised even you. When was the last time you didn’t have an answer?

Jake shifted closer, his warmth seeping into your skin. “That’s not a bad thing.”

You met his gaze, something tight wrapping around your ribs. “Isn’t it?”

He shook his head, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think sometimes, life surprises you. You spend so long chasing one thing, thinking it’s the only thing that matters, and then out of nowhere—you realize you want something else.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache.

Because he was right.

What you wanted now—what you had never allowed yourself to want before—was him.

The clock struck midnight, and somewhere outside, fireworks erupted, lighting up the city.

But you barely heard them.

Because Jake was kissing you.

His hands cradled your face, his lips slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every second of this moment, of you. Your fingers curled into his shirt, anchoring yourself against him, against the dizzying warmth threatening to consume you whole.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Happy New Year,” he murmured.

You smiled, eyes fluttering open. “Happy New Year Baby.”

There was a softness in his gaze when he pulled you back against his chest, your legs tangled together on the couch. A comfortable silence stretched between you before he spoke again, voice quieter this time.

“Do you ever think about it?”

You glanced up. “Think about what?”

Jake hesitated for half a second before exhaling. “The future. What it’d look like... if we did this. If we kept doing this.”

Your heart skipped.

If we kept doing this.

The words settled in your chest, weaving into the fabric of something dangerous, something real.

A part of you wanted to be cautious. To remind him that it was too soon, that you had only known each other for a few months, that relationships—real ones—needed time to be built.

But then another part of you—the part that had spent years alone, the part that had never imagined wanting something beyond the chase—wanted to believe in this.

In him.

So you let yourself speak the words before fear could stop you.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I think about it.”

Jake’s lips twitched into a smile. “And?”

You swallowed, shifting against him. “It’s crazy.”

He huffed a laugh. “Insane.”

You exhaled. “But it feels... right.”

Jake’s arm tightened around you. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It really does.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“I’d want a house,” Jake mused. “One of those quiet ones, up on a hill. A big porch. A stupidly expensive coffee machine in the kitchen.”

You snorted. “Of course you would.”

Jake smirked. “Hey, I have priorities.”

You shook your head fondly. “And kids?”

Jake blinked, then tilted his head in mock thought. “I don’t know. How much chaos are we talking?”

You hummed, pretending to consider. “Two, maybe three? Enough to keep you on your toes.”

Jake grinned. “I like those odds.”

Your breath hitched.

Because it was crazy to be talking like this.

But it didn’t feel crazy.

It felt like standing in the sun after a lifetime in the rain.

15/01/2025 11:45 PM – Curator’s Galleria Downtown

The air inside Sunoo’s gallery hums with energy, a strange blend of sophistication and tension. The city’s wealthiest patrons sip champagne, swirling golden liquid in delicate crystal flutes, murmuring about the price of art like it’s something more than a status symbol.

But you’re not looking at the art.

You’re scanning the room, waiting for the moment everything falls apart.

Specter is here. He has to be.

Sunghoon stands beside you, dressed in an expensive black suit that helps him blend into the crowd. But even in the dim glow of chandelier light, you can see the way his shoulders are tense, the way his jaw is locked. He’s waiting too.

Jungwon’s voice crackles in your earpiece. “Security is clean so far. No unusual movement.”

That only makes your stomach tighten further.

If Specter is here, he’s already inside.

And he’s waiting to make his move.

You take a slow sip of champagne, scanning the guests with careful precision. The art world is one of Specter’s favorite playgrounds—not just because of the wealth, but because it’s built on illusion. People come here flaunting riches they didn’t earn, bidding on pieces they barely understand.

And if you’ve learned anything about him, it’s that he loves stealing from people who don’t deserve what they have.

A slight movement at the far end of the gallery catches your eye. A man—tall, broad shoulders, dressed in black, his face tilted away from the light.

Your heart stutters.

Jake.

The realization hits you like a punch to the ribs. He’s here. Right in front of you.

You can’t move. Not yet.

Not when you know he’s watching you too.

He turns his head slightly, just enough for your eyes to meet across the crowded room. And in that moment, it’s as if time stops.

Jake doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t smile.

But his gaze is steady, dark, pulling you in like gravity itself.

Daring you.

And just as you step forward, ready to push through the crowd—

The lights flicker.

For half a second, the room is cast in darkness.

And then—

The alarms blare.

Your earpiece erupts with chaos.

“Security breach—third floor, west wing! Unauthorized access to the vault!”

He’s already moving.

Jake turns on his heel, slipping through a side exit before you can even blink.

You chase after him.

15/01/2025 11:50 PM – The Gallery’s Private Wing

The marble floors are cold beneath your heels as you sprint through the hallway, gun drawn, heart hammering in your chest.

Somewhere ahead, Jake moves with the ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times before.

You should call for backup. You know that.

But this is personal.

You round the corner, just in time to see him disappear into the vault room.

This time, you don’t hesitate.

You shove the door open, gun raised—

And Jake is standing there, waiting for you.

Not running. Not moving.

Just waiting.

The vault is already cracked open behind him, the security systems completely dismantled. But he’s not grabbing anything. Not moving toward the stolen art.

He’s just watching you, lips curling into the faintest hint of a smirk.

“You’re getting faster, detective,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Almost had me.”

Your hands tighten around the gun. “Hands where I can see them.”

Jake doesn’t comply.

Instead, he takes a slow, deliberate step toward you, his eyes locked on yours.

“I don’t think you’ll shoot me,” he says, voice too soft, too knowing.

Your finger twitches on the trigger. “Try me.”

He takes another step.

Too close now.

You should shoot. You should.

But his eyes hold you still.

And then, just as he’s a breath away—

He leans in.

“Not tonight, sweetheart.”

And before you can even react—

The window behind him shatters.

A smoke grenade explodes at your feet, filling the room with thick, choking gray.

You cough, stumbling back, but by the time you push forward—

He’s already gone.

16/01/2025 12:15 AM – The Aftermath

The gallery is chaos.

Security is swarming the scene, officers questioning stunned guests, the once-elegant evening now reduced to frantic whispers and flashing red lights.

You stand near the vault entrance, hands on your hips, trying to catch your breath.

Jake was right there.

You had him.

And you let him go.

Sunghoon stalks up beside you, his expression dark.

“What the hell happened?” His voice is sharp, accusing.

You exhale, jaw tightening. “He was here. I had him.”

Sunghoon’s eyes narrow. “And?”

You hesitate. Just for a second.

And that’s all it takes.

His gaze sharpens, something unreadable flashing across his face.

Like he knows.

Like he knows everything.

And when he speaks again, his voice is lower, almost careful.

“We need to talk.”

16/01/2025 12:30 AM – The Private Office

The walls feel like they’re closing in.

The overhead light flickers faintly, casting jagged shadows along the edges of the small security office. The space is suffocating, the air too still, too thick with something unspoken.

Your pulse is still hammering in your ears, an uneven rhythm that refuses to settle. Your grip tightens around the edges of the desk as you force yourself to breathe, in—out, in—out, but it doesn’t help.

Because Jake was there.

Because you had him.

And because you let him slip away.

The weight of it crashes over you like a wave, cold and unrelenting. You don’t even realize you’re shaking until you see the way your fingers tremble against the smooth wood of the desk.

Behind you, Sunghoon stands too still. His posture is relaxed—too relaxed. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his face is carefully unreadable.

But his silence is a warning.

And that’s what finally makes you turn to face him.

"You said we needed to talk," you say, voice strained, barely steady.

Sunghoon’s jaw tightens. He watches you for a moment, like he’s debating something, like he’s about to tell you something you won’t like.

Then he sighs.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “We do.”

Something in his tone makes the hairs on your arms rise.

Your instincts scream at you to prepare for impact.

You fold your arms, trying to keep yourself together. "Then talk."

Sunghoon exhales sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face.

"I know you think you almost had him tonight," he starts, voice measured, careful. "But you need to see the bigger picture here."

Your fingers dig into your arms. "The bigger picture?" Your voice is sharp, barely concealing the frustration bubbling beneath your skin. "I saw him with my own eyes, Sunghoon. I had him in my sights. I know what I saw."

His gaze flickers. Just for a second.

And then, he shifts.

His stance changes—less defensive, more calculating.

"You saw what he wanted you to see," he says finally. "Jake has always been one step ahead. That was never going to change tonight."

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach turn.

But before you can respond, he keeps going.

"And that’s the problem," he mutters. "He always knows when we’re coming. Always." His eyes darken. "You don’t think that’s strange?"

Your pulse falters.

"Of course it’s strange," you snap. "That’s why we’re hunting him."

Sunghoon shakes his head, stepping closer, lowering his voice.

"No, it’s more than that," he says. "It’s not just that he’s good—it’s that he knows things he shouldn’t."

Your chest tightens.

"What are you saying?"

Sunghoon holds your gaze, steady and unwavering.

"I’m saying there’s a mole."

A sharp chill skates down your spine.

You swallow, mind racing. No. No, that doesn’t make sense.

"We already thought that," you argue. "We looked into it."

"We looked in the wrong places," Sunghoon counters. "We thought it had to be someone feeding him details from the top. Someone high up. But what if it’s not?"

Your blood runs cold.

"What if it’s someone closer?"

The room feels too small.

Your breath catches.

Sunghoon doesn’t blink.

"What if it’s Jungwon?"

Your head snaps up.

"What?" The word barely leaves your lips.

Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate. "Think about it. Every single time we’ve made a move, Specter has always been a step ahead. He doesn’t just know our missions—he knows our weaknesses. Our blind spots. He knows you."

A lump forms in your throat.

"He would know that anyway," you say, forcing yourself to stay rational. "We’ve been after him for years."

Sunghoon shakes his head. "Not like this. This is different. This is intimate."

The word sends a violent shudder through you.

Because you know he’s talking about Jake. About the way he looks at you. About the way you almost caught him tonight, only to hesitate when he got too close.

But that’s not why you lost him.

You know that.

Sunghoon watches you carefully. "We need to think logically here. Who’s the one person who’s had access to every failed lead? Who’s been working alongside us, tracking our moves? Who’s had time to slip Specter information without ever getting caught?"

Your breath comes faster, uneven. Because you know who he’s leading you to.

"Jungwon," he says.

The name feels like a gunshot.

And your first instinct is to reject it.

"No," you whisper, shaking your head. "Jungwon wouldn’t—he’s not like that. He’s—he’s one of us."

Sunghoon tilts his head. "Is he?"

The question lodges itself into your chest.

Jungwon, who has stood beside you for years. Jungwon, who has had your back through every chase, every failure.Jungwon, who believed in you when no one else did.

The doubt creeps in like poison. Because what if Sunghoon is right? What if all this time, the real mole was the person standing closest to you? You press a hand to your forehead, head spinning.

"Just think about it," Sunghoon murmurs. "We can’t afford to ignore the possibility."

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your chest is tight, your mind is unraveling. Nothing makes sense anymore.

Nothing feels real.

16/01/2025 1:10 AM – The Rooftop, Somewhere in the City

The wind is vicious this high up, howling between the buildings, biting against your skin as if trying to cut through the rage boiling underneath. You barely feel the cold.

You’re still burning—anger, betrayal, exhaustion all coiling together inside you, twisting and tightening until you feel like you might explode.

The city stretches out beneath you, a glittering sprawl of everything you thought you knew. The streets below are alive, moving, breathing—but you feel separate from it all.

Like you’re somewhere else entirely.

Like you’re on the edge of a different world.

And then—

A quiet sound behind you.

The scrape of a boot against the rooftop floor.

Your muscles go rigid, fingers twitching toward your gun, but you don’t turn around immediately. You don’t need to.

Because you already know who it is.

Jake.

His presence is unmistakable, a force that seems to push against the air itself, something you can feel even without seeing him.

And God, it suffocates you.

You force yourself to breathe, even as your pulse pounds against your ribs, even as your thoughts spiral and spin, crashing over each other in a mess of fury and confusion.

"Took you long enough," you say, voice sharp, cutting through the space between you.

There’s a pause—just long enough for you to picture his expression, the slow tilt of his head, the way his eyes will be watching, waiting.

Then—

"You were expecting me?"

His voice is smooth, controlled, but there’s something beneath it—something frayed, something tense.

You finally turn to face him.

And the sight of him makes something in your chest twist painfully.

Jake is standing near the rooftop entrance, dressed in black, suit unbuttoned, tie loosened, the faintest hint of sweat at his collarbone. Like he’s been running.

Like he’s been chasing something, too.

And maybe—maybe that’s you.

Your fingers tighten at your sides, your nails digging into your palm.

"I knew you’d come," you say, voice lower now. More dangerous.

Jake exhales slowly. "And yet, you’re still here."

You don’t answer immediately.

Because you don’t have one.

Because you don’t know why you’re still standing here, waiting for him.

"You ran," you say instead, accusing. "Again. Like you always do."

Jake flinches. Just slightly. Just enough.

"I had to." His voice is steady, but there’s a rough edge to it, something raw scraping against the surface. "You weren’t ready for the truth."

You take a slow step forward, barely aware of the way your body is coiled tight, like a wire ready to snap.

"And what truth is that, Jake?"

His jaw tightens.

"You know," he says, gaze never leaving yours. "You’ve always known."

Your breath catches.

And that’s when you lose it.

"Don’t do that," you snap, stepping closer, your voice trembling with something dangerous. "Don’t stand there and act like this was inevitable. Like you didn’t have a fucking choice."

Jake’s eyes darken.

"You think I had a choice?" His voice is lower now, sharper, strained.

You scoff, the sound bitter, painful. "Of course you did."

Jake exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "You still don’t get it, do you?"

Your hands clench into fists. "Then make me get it, Jake."

He steps closer, too close, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that you can see the storm raging in his eyes.

"You want the truth?" he murmurs, voice low and rough. "The truth is, I never wanted to lie to you."

You laugh, sharp and broken.

"Then why did you?"

Jake’s breath shudders.

"Because if I didn’t, I would’ve had to watch you destroy yourself chasing something that was never going to be real."

The words hit like a bullet.

You inhale sharply, vision blurring at the edges.

"You let me," you whisper. "You let me chase you. You let me believe—"

Your voice catches, cracks, and suddenly it’s too much.

Your body moves before you can stop it, hands slamming against his chest, shoving him back.

Jake doesn’t resist.

But he doesn’t step away either.

"You let me think I was winning," you continue, breath shaking. "You let me think I was getting closer. And the whole time, it was just a game to you."

Jake clenches his jaw.

"It was never a game."

You shake your head. "Then what the hell was it?"

He exhales sharply.

"A mistake," he says, soft and broken.

Jake swallows hard, gaze locked onto yours. "Because the second I met you, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop."

The confession cuts deep.

Because you believe him.

And you hate that you believe him.

Jake steps forward, voice lower, rougher, desperate.

"Run away with me."

Your breath catches.

"What?"

His jaw tightens, his fingers twitch at his sides. "You don’t have to stay. You don’t have to let them take you down for something you never did. Come with me."

Your stomach drops.

Jake sees the hesitation flicker across your face.

"Please," he murmurs. "You don’t have to forgive me. You don’t even have to trust me. But you can’t stay here."

And for a second—

Just one second—

You almost consider it.

And then—

The door to the rooftop slams open.

Jungwon’s voice is breathless, shaking.

"You need to see this."

Your head snaps up, your entire body going rigid. And when Jungwon steps forward, he tosses a thick folder onto the floor between you and Jake.

It lands with a heavy thud. And across the top, a single name.

PARK SUNGHOON.

Your heart stops. Jungwon’s breathing is ragged, his gaze flickering between the two of you.

"You were chasing the wrong person," he says, voice strained.

You swallow hard, but your throat is dry, tight, too tight.

Your fingers shake as you slowly, carefully crouch down, flipping open the folder.

And then—

The world collapses.

Jake is silent as you stare at the pages in front of you.

You don’t hear anything.

Not the city. Not the wind.

Not even the sound of your own heart breaking.

Sunghoon was the mole.

Sunghoon was the reason you lost every chase.

Sunghoon was the reason Jake always escaped.

It wasn’t Jungwon.

It was never Jungwon.

It was the person you trusted most.

And when you finally look up, your voice is barely a whisper.

"Where is he?"

Jake exhales slowly.

And then—

"Gone."

16/01/2025 1:35 AM

The wind cut through the rooftop like a blade, sharp and unforgiving against your skin. It howled between the buildings, drowning out the city noise below, but it wasn’t loud enough to silence the thoughts screaming inside your head.

The folder was still open in your hands, but the words blurred, letters bleeding into one another. The truth was too heavy to just exist on paper. It weighed on your chest, pressed against your ribs, and squeezed the breath from your lungs.

You tried to blink, tried to make sense of the files, the documents, the photos that confirmed everything you didn’t want to believe. But no matter how hard you stared, the reality didn’t change.

Sunghoon was the mole.

Sunghoon was the reason you had lost every chase, the reason every lead had gone cold, the reason Specter—Jake—had always slipped away at the last second.

Your partner. Your best friend.

Your traitor.

The air felt thinner, like you weren’t breathing right, like the world had tilted sideways. Somewhere behind you, Jungwon was speaking, voice quiet but firm, his words measured as he pointed to different reports in the file. He was piecing it together out loud, trying to form something logical, something tangible, but you couldn’t process any of it.

Because standing across from you, watching you with an unreadable expression, was Jake.

Jake, who had known the truth all along.

Jake, who hadn’t said a single goddamn word.

Your grip tightened around the folder until the edges of the paper crumpled beneath your fingers.

"You knew," you finally said, and though your voice wasn’t raised, it cut through the space between you like a gunshot.

Jake didn’t flinch. His posture remained loose, relaxed in that way that always made you want to hit him, but there was something else there—something almost too still, too controlled, like he was bracing for impact.

"Yeah," he said, voice even.

And that was it.

That was all it took for something inside you to snap.

"You knew." This time, your voice rose, the words scraping against your throat as you threw the folder down onto the rooftop floor, sending pages scattering between you. "You knew this whole time, and you let me—you let me chase you like a fucking idiot while my own best friend was working for you?"

Jake exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back like he was shaking off the weight of your anger. "It wasn’t that simple."

"Wasn’t that simple?" Your laugh came out harsh, sharp, like shattered glass. "You let me turn on the wrong people! You let me think Jungwon—Jesus Christ, Jake, I almost had him arrested!"

Jake’s jaw clenched. "I didn’t let you do anything."

"Like hell you didn’t!" You stepped closer, shoving him hard against the chest. He barely moved, but it wasn’t about that. It was about hurting him the way he had hurt you, about making him feel even a fraction of the betrayal clawing at your insides.

Jake took it.

He didn’t step away, didn’t try to stop you. He just looked at you, eyes dark, unreadable, waiting for you to finish breaking yourself against him.

"You let me think I was getting closer," you whispered, voice shaking. "You let me think I was catching up to you, that I had a chance—"

Your breath caught, and suddenly, you hated yourself.

Hated that you had ever believed in the chase, hated that you had ever let yourself fall for him.

"You played me," you said, quieter now. "You played me the whole time."

Jake shook his head, voice rough. "I never wanted to play you."

"Then what the hell was it?"

He hesitated, just for a second. And then—

"A mistake," he murmured, something raw in his voice. "Because the second I met you, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop."

Your pulse stuttered.

"I should’ve stayed away," Jake continued, jaw tight, voice lower now, rougher. "I should’ve let you be. But I didn’t. And that’s on me."

"Sunghoon and I grew up together," Jake continues, almost like he’s talking about someone else. "We were kids. We didn’t have a choice but to run. He made it into the system first, cleaned up his past, made himself useful. I followed later, but by then, we’d already figured it out—how to survive."

Your voice is barely a whisper. “You lied about everything.”

Jake’s expression doesn’t change. But for the first time, you think you see something flicker in his eyes—regret.

“Not everything,” he says.

And that’s what breaks you the most.

Because even now, even after this, there’s a part of you that wants to believe him.

He took a step forward.

You stepped back.

"I lied about a lot of things," he admitted. "But not about you."

The wind between you howled.

You wanted to believe him. That was the worst part.

You wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.

But then he said something that made your stomach drop.

"You need to leave."

Your head snapped up. "What?"

Jake exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "They’re turning against you next. You’re the easiest target now. Sunghoon’s gone, and the force needs someone to blame."

Jungwon, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. "What are you talking about?"

Jake looked at him then, like he was deciding whether to explain, whether it was even worth it. And then—

"Heeseung," Jake said simply. "He’s running everything. The entire system is built around him."

Jungwon’s expression froze. "That’s—no. That’s not—"

Jake laughed, but there was nothing amused about it. "You still think the force is clean?" He shook his head. "He’s been pulling the strings since day one. Every case you thought you were leading, every step you thought you were taking forward—he let you."

You swallowed hard. "And you know this how?"

Jake gave you a pointed look. "Because I made sure I did."

Your pulse roared in your ears.

"You think you’re going to be safe after this?" Jake asked, stepping closer. "They’re going to frame you for everything, Baby. You’ve been working this case for too long, and now that it’s unraveling, they need a loose end to tie up. That’s you."

Your breath came faster, uneven, frantic.

No. No, that couldn’t be true.

But it made sense.

The second Sunghoon disappeared, they needed someone else. Someone already involved, someone already in too deep.

You.

Jake turned to Jungwon then, voice sharp. "Both of you need to run."

Jungwon’s brows furrowed. "I can’t just—"

"You can," Jake snapped. "And you will."

You couldn’t breathe.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This wasn’t how the story was supposed to end.

Jake looked at you, gaze steady. "I don’t care if you never forgive me," he murmured. "But I can’t let you die for this."

You hated him.

You hated that you were considering it.

"You can run with me," Jake said. "Or you can run without me." His voice softened. "But you have to run."

The rooftop felt like it was tilting beneath your feet.

Jungwon was still frozen beside you, his mind trying to process what this meant for him, for the force, for everything.

And you?

You had to decide.

The wind had died down, leaving only a heavy silence between the three of you. The world outside this rooftop continued on, cars moving through the streets below, lights flickering in windows of high-rise buildings, people going about their lives as if nothing had changed.

But up here?

Everything had.

Jake stood in front of you, shoulders tense, gaze steady despite the storm raging behind his eyes. Jungwon had gone still beside you, fingers flexing at his sides as he processed the weight of what had just been laid out.

And you?

You weren’t sure you were breathing anymore.

Because everything Jake had said made too much sense.

The force wasn’t looking for justice. The moment Sunghoon had vanished, they had needed someone else to take the fall, someone already deep enough in the case that it wouldn’t seem suspicious.

They needed a scapegoat.

They needed you.

Your hands were cold. You curled them into fists to stop them from shaking, but the feeling settled deep, twisting in your stomach like a sickness you couldn’t shake.

Jungwon cleared his throat, voice hoarse. "If Heeseung really is behind this, if he’s the one controlling everything—" He swallowed, shaking his head. "We can’t just run. We have to—"

Jake cut him off, voice sharp. "No."

Jungwon blinked.

"You don’t get it, do you?" Jake exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair. "You think you can fight this. You think you can take this system down from the inside. But you won’t. You’ll be dead before you even get close."

Jungwon’s jaw clenched, but he stayed silent.

You turned to Jake, voice low. "And what do you suggest?"

Jake’s eyes softened just slightly, but there was something else there, too.

Something like pleading.

"You know what I’m suggesting," he murmured.

The weight of his words settled between you.

You knew.

There was no fight left to win.

No justice left to seek.

The only thing left was to leave.

Jake took a slow step forward, gaze never wavering. "I told you before, I don’t care if you hate me. But I’m not letting you die for something you had no control over."

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the finality of this moment press down on you.

He was asking you to choose.

Not just between running and staying.

But between your past and your future.

Between what you had believed in and what you were finally starting to see as the truth.

Jake extended his hand.

Five Years Later – Somewhere in Italy

The afternoon sun stretched lazily across the rolling hills, casting golden hues over the vineyards and stone-paved roads. The world here moved slower, untouched by the chaos of the life you had left behind. From the balcony of your home, the scent of citrus and sea salt drifted through the warm breeze, carrying the quiet hum of the nearby town.

This place had become your sanctuary. A world away from everything you once knew.

The house was small, nothing extravagant—two stories, white stucco walls, terracotta roof tiles that had been worn down by the Mediterranean sun. The shutters were always left open, allowing the crisp air to weave its way inside, and in the early mornings, the golden light would pour through the bedroom window, painting the sheets in soft amber.

Standing at the edge of the balcony, you ran your fingers along the cool stone railing, gaze fixed on the horizon where the ocean stretched endlessly. It had been years, but sometimes, it still felt like a dream. That at any moment, you would wake up back in that city, back in the cold alleys and smoky rooftops, back in the endless chase that had consumed you for so long.

But then you would hear him—the steady sound of footsteps behind you, the quiet exhale as he stepped closer. And just like that, the past no longer mattered.

Jake leaned against the balcony beside you, the soft fabric of his shirt brushing against your arm. He had yet to fully wake up, the faint creases from sleep still lingering in his skin, his dark hair tousled in a way that was almost careless. There was no urgency in his movements anymore, no tension coiled beneath the surface, no need to always be one step ahead. He was different now.

Or maybe, he was simply allowed to be.

"You’re up early," he murmured, voice still rough from sleep, as he cast a glance toward you.

You inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly before answering. "Couldn’t sleep."

Jake tilted his head slightly, studying your expression. He didn’t ask why, didn’t press for an answer. He already knew. There were nights when the past still found you, lingering in the spaces between dreams, seeping into the quiet moments where memories felt sharper. It wasn’t regret that kept you awake—it was the echoes of what once was.

"Thinking about the past again?" he asked, though his tone was gentle, not accusatory.

You glanced at him before turning back to the view. "Not as much as I used to."

It was the truth.

The past no longer had its claws in you. It existed, like an old scar—faint, but still there, a reminder of everything that had led you here. There was a time when you thought you would never escape it, when you thought you were trapped in an endless cycle of chasing and being chased.

But now?

Now you had chosen a different life.

Jake followed your gaze, eyes drifting over the vineyards below. "It's different, isn't it?" he said, voice quieter this time. "Not having to run."

You turned your head slightly, taking him in. There was something almost strange about seeing him like this—completely at ease. His shoulders no longer carried the weight of expectation, of deception, of a world built on calculated risks. The sharp edges were still there, but they had softened, replaced by something steadier. Something real.

"Do you miss it?" you asked, watching him carefully.

Jake was silent for a moment, considering your words. Then, he shook his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "No," he admitted. "I really don’t."

Neither did you.

The sound of laughter echoed from inside the house, faint but familiar. Jungwon’s voice carried through the open window, followed by Jongseong’s exasperated groan—probably another one of their endless debates over who made the best coffee. It was mundane, simple, ordinary. But after years of living on the edge of survival, it was everything.

Jake turned toward you then, leaning slightly closer. "Do you ever wonder?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Wonder what?"

"If things had gone differently. If we had stayed." His gaze was steady, but there was something thoughtful in the way he studied you, like he was searching for an answer before you even gave it. "Do you think we would have made it out alive?"

You exhaled slowly, thinking back to that night on the rooftop, to the weight of your choice, to the moment you finally let go of the life you had sworn to uphold. The truth was, you didn’t know. Maybe you would have survived. Maybe you wouldn’t have. But either way, it wouldn’t have been this.

And that was what mattered.

"No," you said finally, turning to meet his gaze. "I don’t think we would have."

Jake held your stare for a long moment before nodding, as if he had expected that answer.

Then, he reached for your hand, fingers brushing over yours before lacing them together. His thumb traced absent circles against your skin, grounding, familiar.

"Do you regret it?" he asked, voice softer now.

You didn’t hesitate.

"Not even for a second."

Jake’s lips curved into a smile, warm and real, the kind that had nothing to do with deception or carefully crafted personas. It was the kind of smile you had only seen in stolen moments, in whispered confessions between tangled sheets, in the quiet spaces of a life not meant to last.

But here?

Here, it was forever.

Jake lifted your joined hands, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles before murmuring against your skin, "Me neither."

The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting golden streaks across the fields below. The wind carried the scent of sun-warmed fruit through the air, blending with the quiet hum of the town in the distance.

You looked back at the house—the place you had built from nothing, the place that had no ghosts, no past chasing after you. It wasn’t just a hiding place.

It was home.

And finally—after years of running, of chasing something you could never quite catch—you were free.

fin.

Taglist: @manuosorioh @dazzlingjaeyun @jkslvsnella @vernorica123 @lillotus17 @wonnienyang @firstclassjaylee @belle643 @ijustwannareadstuff20 @heelovesmeknot @heeseunggotrizz @jaeyunsbimbo @immelissaaa @somuchdard @naurwayyyyy

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theetherealbloom · 10 months ago

Text

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM

Chapter One: I Know He's Crazy, But He's The One I Want

Summary: After harboring a crush on your dad's charming best friend, Joel Miller, you graduate college only to be confused by something he supposedly said to you, but then he and his daughter Sarah, reluctantly move away due to his work. Six months later, Joel returns to town, and you're desperate to confirm if his words were real. Both you and your dad eagerly await his arrival but for entirely different reasons. As feelings intensify, you realize that falling for him might not be temporary after all.

Paring: Dbf!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, AGE-GAP Romance, Reader is Early twenties and Joel is in his late 30s to early 40s, Secret Romance, Sneaking around, FLUFF, SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, Heavy Make Out Session, Kissing, Barely any plot, Relationship, Swearing, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Flattery, Awkward, Virgin reader, inexperienced reader, slightly Self Deprecating, Suggestive Content,

Word Count: 7.2k

A/N: Happy “The Tortured Poets Department” release! I couldn’t help but shriek with joy when I heard But Daddy I Love Him. Literally, dad best friend Joel Miller coded. I would like to thank @wheresarizona for dealing with my spam in her messages from me as I was yapping about the new album and gushing over her writing; she’s literally one of the best writers ever. That is a fact and I will die on that hill.

This fic is heavily inspired by all of the dad's best friend books and dbf!Joel Miller fics I have read over the years. It is with great honor (and a lot of fucking fear) to present to you this Frankenstein of all of my fav tropes!

Heads up, I’m actually dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: But Daddy I Love Him by Taylor Swift

→ Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

As you walk past the neighboring house, you observe the real estate agent meticulously placing the 'SOLD' banner onto the weathered for sale sign. A strange sense of satisfaction washes over you, knowing that someone has finally purchased the property.

Entering your home, you release a sigh of relief as the familiar comfort washes over you. With a casual toss, your keys and bag find their place on the hallway table. The urge to call out to your dad bubbles up, but it freezes in your throat when you're met with an unexpected sound drifting from his home office.

Your heart quickens as you peek inside, only to find your dad's best friend, Joel Miller, lounging on the plush brown lazy boy. His deep, resonant voice fills the room, sending shivers down your spine even before you lay eyes on him.

Clutching the doorframe for support, you fight to steady your nerves. With trembling fingers, you manage to force a smile onto your lips, though it feels strained. "Hey, Dad. Hey… Joel," you manage to squeak, the mere sound of his name stirring a flurry of emotions within you.

The room feels stiflingly quiet as you wait for a response, the weight of Joel's gaze almost tangible. You swallow hard, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as his intense eyes meet yours. His attention feels almost palpable, his gaze lingering on you in a way that sends a rush of warmth through your body. With a low, almost imperceptible grunt of acknowledgment, Joel's gaze finally breaks away, leaving you breathless in his wake.

You try to avert your gaze out of sheer habit, but it's futile, like trying not to be drawn to the most captivating, exquisite sight in existence.

God, it's as if he's been carved from pure perfection, each time you lay eyes on him.

That same intense, brooding look he wore the day of your college graduation, late last year, still grips you. And it seems Joel's gaze has the same effect on your dad, eliciting a familiar reaction. With a quick double-take, your dad shoots a glance at his best friend before swiveling in his seat.

"Hey there, sweetheart, just catching up with Joel. He dropped by for a surprise visit," your dad starts, but he halts mid-sentence, noticing your undeniable reaction. Concern etches his features as he addresses you. "Honey?" he prompts, his voice laced with worry, as you struggle to find your voice for the umpteenth time in mere seconds.

Joel's gaze narrows, his jaw clenching as his intense scrutiny roams over you, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

As you cling to the doorframe, you can't help but notice the subtle movement of Joel's prominent Adam's apple, betraying his own unease.

Breaking the tension, your dad's nervous chuckle pierces the silence, attributing my apparent moodiness to your usual banter. He turns back to Joel, commenting on his friend's expression.

"What's going on with you two?" he quips, his tone shifting from light-hearted to serious in an instant. "Feels like there's some dirty secret between you," your dad adds, the jest evaporating from his voice. Yet, Joel remains unfazed by your dad's observation, his gaze still locked onto you as a faint smile curves his lips.

His lips curl into a smirk, accentuating the charming dimple that appears in his slightly scruffy beard whenever he smiles—a sight that never fails to tug at your heartstrings.

But as your dad's suspicion lingers in the air, Joel's demeanor shifts, yet you still struggle to connect the dots regarding why he's been giving you that look since graduation.

That day was meant to mark a pivotal moment in your life, celebrating the culmination of years of hard work in college. Yet, Joel's presence, the way he gazed at you, and the unexpected intensity of his hug during the congratulations... It's forever etched in your memory for reasons beyond the academic achievement.

And at the center of it all is one word: Joel.

He's a towering figure, a mix of solid muscle and the comforting softness of his belly. In the moment, you brushed off his tight embrace after receiving your diploma as merely the enthusiasm of the occasion.

But as you felt his whole body pressing right into yours during that hug, you knew it wasn’t your regular type of embrace.

“I’m so proud of you, darlin’,” he whispered in your ear. And though you didn’t catch his next words as clearly, you're certain he said something else that day. “…You feel so fuckin’ good….”

At least, that's what you've been convincing yourself he said. You recall gazing up into those big brown eyes, the same intense look he's giving you now, and wondering the same thing. How could an older, dangerously attractive man like Joel be even remotely interested in someone like you? Apart from being your dad’s best friend, he's more than twice your age and lives on the other side of the country with his daughter, Sarah.

You can almost picture the scandalized gasps of the single older women and ex-wives in your town, clutching their pearls and whispering, "What a mess," if you and Joel ever got together; if he was even remotely interested in you like that.

But you've replayed that scene in your mind every day since, and no matter how hard you try, there's just no denying your secret crush on him.

It all started long before college, your feelings for Joel simmering beneath the surface. Back then, you couldn't quite grasp what it was you felt for him. All you knew was that it felt right, and that feeling remains unchanged. Despite the nerves and shyness that being around him brings, there's another undeniable effect he has on you.

Like the overwhelming desire to sink back and beg him to indulge in things that his best friend's daughter probably shouldn't be fantasizing about. It's been a while since you last saw Joel, but he still exudes the same charm and looks even more handsome and fit than before, thanks to his job in construction as a contractor.

And when you receive that same look from him today, when your dad even jokes about his suspicions, you know Joel remembers that day too. The intensity in his eyes mirrors the moment he pulled you close, a memory etched as your most cherished moment so far.

"Well, I reckon’ my presence here might come as a bit of a surprise," Joel rasps, his gaze locked with yours as he emits a low chuckle for your dad's benefit. Unnoticed by your dad, Joel shoots you a sly wink, and you watch as your dad's tension melts away. He's relieved to know he wasn't imagining things, and undoubtedly thrilled once he hears Joel's news. "I'm moving here, right next door with Sarah. Tommy should be dropping her off here tomorrow," he announces with enthusiasm, but you feel the pit of your stomach drop.

Joel... here? For good? Oh, fuck.

Your dad erupts into loud whoops, raising both hands in the air. "It's about time, buddy! I knew you were keeping something from me," he adds, turning to you once again. "You were aware of this?" he asks, furrowing his brow with a hint of confusion.

"You knew Joel and Sarah were coming to town, didn’t you?" Dad repeats, finally grinning like a child at the news. Smiling like a dad who's pushed aside any notion of his best friend showing interest in his only daughter. And you catch a sly grin on Joel’s face as he comes to your rescue. "Oh, I mentioned I might pay a visit. Buttercup here wasn't aware of the specifics or that Sarah and I would be relocatin’ back here," he explains to your dad.

But when Joel smoothly fibs to your dad, insinuating that you were aware of his impending move back to town, even though it caught you completely off guard, he seals an instant and secret pact between the two of you with a single glance. His deep brown eyes wink at you, sending a thrilling shiver down your spine. You realize you're in deeper trouble than you initially thought. And strangely enough, it's the kind of trouble you welcome with open arms.

In that fleeting moment, a silent understanding passes between you and Joel. With just a wink from him, your chest flutters with excitement, and a wave of anticipation rushes through you, leaving you feeling unexpectedly aroused at the prospect of having him nearby all the time. You're fully committed now, Joel's lie to his best friend serving as a shield for both of you, deflecting attention away from the undeniable tension between you.

"Sarah called last week," you fabricate, deciding to play along with Joel's deception. "As we were chatting, Joel mentioned something about visiting. It must've slipped my mind to mention it to you," you explain to your dad, hoping he'll buy into the white lie. Joel's low growl of contentment as he leans back, causing the leather chair to creak, reassures you that he approves of your little ruse.

Your dad's elation at the news of his best friend's return to their quaint little town is palpable, enough to overshadow any scolding he might have had for your omission about Sarah and Joel's supposed call.

But the truth remains: Sarah never called, and Joel's mysterious behavior is raising more questions than answers.

A surprise visit is one thing, but the intensity of Joel's gaze? The way he makes you feel? It's enough to give your long-standing crush on him a serious run for its money.

"But damn, Sarah will be here tomorrow?" your dad groans before chuckling. "A bit more notice would've been nice, but hell, it'll be good to see you, buddy."

"Listen, I've got something I can't postpone tomorrow. Maybe my daughter here could accompany you to pick up Sarah from the airport?" your dad suggests, turning his attention towards you.

Somewhere behind you, a strange sound escapes—it's you, emitting a sort of mewling noise that you know Joel catches, his smile widening in response.

"Sounds perfect," he agrees before you even have a chance to process it.

"Sweetie?" your dad asks, his tone sheepish now that he's volunteered you without asking if you were available.

You can only watch as the room seems to spin around you, nodding in agreement. "Yeah... sure, I don't have any tutoring sessions tomorrow."

"Perfect!" your dad sighs with relief, promising Joel they'll catch up later. "But I really need to get back to the shop. Are you alright here with her to help you settle into your new house with whatever you brought? The rest of your stuff hasn't arrived yet."

"Yeah, we'll be just fine," Joel assures in his trademark baritone, locking eyes with you.

You were so fixated on Joel's presence that you hadn't noticed the bags by the side of the home office.

"Sweetie? You sure you're okay to help? You look kind of..." your dad starts, but you take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself before replying, "Yeah, I'll be fine. We'll be fine. I can help."

"Alright then," your dad grabs his car keys, ready to leave the home office. He gives you both a final glance, kissing the top of your head. "I'll be back for dinner. Have fun, you two!"

You and Joel remain frozen in place, him on one side of the room and you by the doorway, both listening to your dad's fading footsteps and the rumble of his truck as he drives away.

You’re so fucked.

It's been six long months since you last saw each other, and for Joel, it's felt like an eternity. The day of your graduation marked the first time he laid eyes on you in over three years, and it was as if he was seeing you for the very first time.

You've grown into a remarkable adult, and Joel couldn't help but feel the overwhelming need to be there, not only for his buddy, your dad, but also for his sweet Buttercup. Witnessing his little girl all grown up and ready to embark on her journey into the world with her diploma was a moment he'll never forget. He'd never seen his best friend prouder, yet his gaze lingered on you for entirely different reasons.

Reasons and desires that had never crossed Joel's mind until that day. He couldn't resist pulling you close, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against his.

What was he thinking? Surely, everyone could see the effect you had on him.

But Joel wasn't thinking, he was acting on instinct. He was claiming what he knew belonged to him. Telling you he was proud of you was one thing, but he's still unsure if you heard what else he said about how good you felt in his arms.

Yet, he doesn't regret it. Because it was true then, and it remains true now. He just wishes he knew if you felt the same way. If you felt it in the same way he did. But how could you possibly feel the same way about him as he has about you these past six months?

Joel couldn't deny that there were many reasons why the relationship between you was complicated. For one, there was the age difference - you were more than half his age. Apart from having the kind of body he could grip, suck and fuck for a lifetime, additionally, you were his best friend's daughter, a bond that ran deep and could not be ignored.

That day, Joel took a risk, blurring the lines and potentially jeopardizing not just his friendship with your dad, but also the bond he shared with you by being so affectionate.

Surprisingly, you didn't seem to mind his gestures, and Joel was convinced that your dad hadn't even noticed. Despite the undeniable attraction he felt towards you, a feeling that lingered and intensified with every thought of you, Joel couldn't shake the worry that his actions might have caused a rift.

As days turned into weeks without any word from your dad, Joel's mind raced with doubts. He couldn't help but question if you had confided in your father about his behavior. Perhaps your dad had sensed Joel's infatuation with you, leading to a silence that spoke volumes.

Intrusive thoughts plagued Joel, wondering if you had been uncomfortable with his displays of affection. The fear that you might have someone else in your life to hold onto gnawed at him, leaving him restless and anxious about the potential consequences of his actions.

Joel and your dad used to share conversations daily, a bond that time and life's demands have gradually weakened, particularly with Sarah still navigating middle school. They both acknowledge the need to reconnect more often, yet something always seems to intervene.

But Joel's decision to visit your father in person wasn't impulsive; it was a deliberate choice, driven by a desire to stay for good this time.

No more fleeting visits. This time, it's permanent.

And it's all because of you.

Since your graduation day, you've occupied Joel's thoughts relentlessly. It's more than just an obsession; you're the sole focus of his mind, consuming his every waking moment.

You are the only thing he can fucking think about.

Joel would never dare voice his thoughts to your dad, not just because of his feelings, but also because your father had a history of using his fists to settle matters. If he even suspected a fraction of what Joel's mind was consumed with regarding his daughter... Well, Joel would never be allowed in your home, with your dad likely ensuring Joel carried a permanent reminder of his displeasure.

Despite his reluctance to keep secrets from his lifelong friend, Joel's motivation to act stems from a burning need that is beyond his mere desire to reunite with you.

He doesn't just want to see you again; he craves it with a fervor that borders on desperation. And the only way to satisfy this yearning is to summon the courage to ask for more.

Reconnecting with your dad was pleasant, but the sight of you, standing in the doorway of the home office, unleashes a torrent of emotions within Joel. It's as though he's been trapped in a deep freeze for the past six months, and your mere presence ignites a firestorm within him.

Every curve of your silhouette, every strand of hair framing your face, fuels Joel's desire until it simmers beyond control, all for you.

As you watched him, his gaze never wavered from your presence, taking in the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. He was grateful for the chair that supported him, as he felt the insanely hard erection you gave him.

Your natural grace and beauty had left him breathless, and he struggled to maintain his composure.

All from just being yourself. All without you even trying to do anything.

You really are just fucking perfect in every way.

You're now an adult, poised to embrace all the challenges and pleasures that adulthood entails. The mere thought sends a shiver of anticipation coursing through you once more, evoking memories of his touch on that unforgettable graduation day.

The intoxicating blend of his woodsy cologne, the creak of his well-worn leather jacket, and the soft fabric of his grey tee shirt against your skin linger in your mind, igniting a longing for more.

The sensation that floods Joel as he lays eyes on you in person after so long defies description.

It takes all his willpower to resist the impulse to stride over and scoop you up, succumbing to the overwhelming desire to claim you as his own and to drag you into your bedroom. But he restrains himself, clinging to the last shreds of his resolve, waiting for any sign from you that you're ready for his embrace.

When your gaze meets his, he witnesses the hitch in your breath, and he can't help but murmur, "Come here, sweetheart." Your response is like a magnetic pull, drawing you into his strong, steadfast arms. As you melt into his embrace, he's struck by the sense of finally being home. You are his home now.

Joel inhales the sweet fragrance of your hair, longing to whisper countless sentiments into your perfect little ear nestled so close to his mouth.

But all he can muster, without risking scaring you away, is a simple declaration in his southern drawl, "I missed you, my little buttercup."

You bury your face into his checkered flannel, your words muffled against his shirt as you confess, "I missed you too, Joel."

Your body instinctively gravitates towards his, fueled by both necessity and reflex. The memory of his last embrace has haunted your thoughts for the past six months, and as his massive, comforting arms envelop you once more, it feels as though you're picking up right where you left off. He feels even better than you remembered, and the mingling scents of his cologne and freshly laundered clothes stir a desire within you to cling to him forever.

Reluctantly, he releases you from the hug, clearing his throat as you take a small step back, managing to squeak out, “Do you want a cup of coffee before you get settled in your new house? You look kinda tired.”

“Sure,” Joel nods, and you sense him hovering behind you as you descend the staircase and enter the kitchen. You can feel his eyes tracing your movements from behind.

You busy yourself preparing the coffee as Joel sets his things down, knowing it'll provide the perfect opportunity to sit down and have a proper conversation.

As Joel takes a seat at the table, his gaze remains fixed on your curves as you move around the kitchen. In that moment, he realizes there's no way he can stay in this house for more than an hour, without confessing his feelings to you.

“You got a boyfriend?”

The sudden question nearly causes you to spill hot water all over your hand, and you freeze, feeling a slight tremble coursing through you.

“Well?” Joel's deep voice sends shivers down your spine, as if you're caught in the midst of the most exhilarating earthquake imaginable. Your mouth hangs open, unsure of how to respond.

“Boyfriend or not?” he repeats, his tone commanding. “Not,” you answer instantly, not minding the question one bit, especially when you see its effect on Joel.

“Good. Perfect,” he rumbles in a low tone.

Turning back to the kitchen counter, the clinking of ceramic cups fills the room, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as the heat spreads throughout your body and to the tips of your ears.

“Cream and sugar?” you ask, turning your head just long enough to inquire.

The sight of your body shifting under your clothes already ignites fantasies in Joel's mind, imagining all the ways he could pleasure you, even right there on your dad's kitchen floor if you desired.

“Joel?” you prompt, breaking him out of his daydream.

“Uh… Sure. Cream and sugar,” he echoes, noticing your continued blush and slight trembling as you prepare the cups. As you approach him with the coffee, the sudden sound of your dad's voice startles you, causing you to drop one cup, which shatters on the floor.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" he asks, concern etched on his face as he rushes to the sink to run cold water over the affected area.

"I'm fine, Dad. Really," you reply, trying to hide your embarrassment.

"I thought you were gone," you add, unable to keep the annoyance out of your voice.

"I just forgot something. I came back to get it," your father explains, his eyes darting nervously between you and Joel.

Your father's gaze is fixed on Joel, his eyes narrowing as he takes in Joel's obvious concern for you. Anyone could see the way Joel feels about you, and your father's disapproval is palpable.

But you're not a child anymore, and you're tired of your father's disapproval. "Dad, I'm fine. You just startled me, that's all. Why do you always have to sneak up on me like that?" you ask, trying to keep the anger out of your voice.

Joel opens his mouth to speak, but the words don't come. He sighs and shakes his head, gathering the pieces of the broken cup and tossing them in the trash on his way out. The sound of his car speeding away speaks volumes.

"Maybe I should go," Joel suggests, but you wave off his concern.

"Don't worry about my dad. He's been weird ever since I graduated from college," you say, dismissing his concerns.

But Joel knows that your father's suspicions go back further than just this morning. He moves to help you clean up the mess on the floor, ignoring the broken glass and coffee spill. Gently, he takes your hand in his, wincing at the stinging and burn.

"Let's get this under some cold water," he says, leading you to the sink. You lean back against him as he guides your hand under the icy flow, your body yielding to his touch.

"Feel better?" he asks, his voice low and soothing. You nod, leaning into him as the cold water soothes your burn.

Joel's heart races as he holds you, feeling your warmth against him. He knows that your father doesn't approve of him, but he can't help how he feels. He's fallen for you, hard, and he's not going to let your father's disapproval get in the way.

"It feels better now," you whisper, your breath sending shivers down Joel's spine. He moves closer to you, feeling the pressure of your back against his aching cock.

"I can't help but notice how your body is responding to mine," Joel says, his voice low and husky.

"Should we start over?" he asks, leaning down so his mouth is close to your ear.

"You mean with the coffee?" you ask, playing coy. But your body is telling a different story.

"I mean starting over without your dad around," Joel clarifies, moving his hand to stroke the back of your neck.

You turn to face him, looking up into his deep brown eyes. "Just stay," you say, biting your lip.

Joel nods, his hands resting on your hips. "I'm not going anywhere, darlin'," he promises. "I'll be right next door, whenever you need me."

You stand there, close enough to kiss, but Joel holds back. He wants to savor this moment, to make it last.

"I meant what I said that day you graduated," Joel whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. "You feel so fucking good."

His words send a jolt of electricity through your body. You feel his arousal pressing against your back, and he grips your hips, pulling you closer.

You plead with Joel to stay, not just because of how the morning has unfolded but because deep down, you need him by your side.

The words you long to say to Joel linger on the tip of your tongue, but the rush of emotions leaves you speechless. Your heart races as you grapple with the intensity of your feelings, unsure of how to express them.

As you run your hand under the cold water, trying to steady your nerves, you suggest preparing the spare room as a distraction. Anything to divert your thoughts and feelings that are swirling inside you.

The tension between you and Joel crackles in the air, the unspoken desire palpable. His longing mirrors your own, creating a charged atmosphere that leaves you both on edge.

"Is your hand goin' to be okay?" Joel's voice is laced with concern as he looks at you, and you nod in response.

"It's just a minor burn from the coffee," you murmur, trying to focus on the task.

"Shall I make us more coffee?" Joel offers, already cleaning up the mess on the floor. But your attention is drawn to the undeniable presence pressing against your back, sending a rush of sensations through you.

Your heart races as you realize the extent of Joel's desire, his arousal evident in every inch of his being.

"I'm not tired," Joel says, his voice low and intimate as he picks up the broken pieces of the mug.

"And I meant what I said earlier," he adds, his tone dropping to a husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

The intensity of the moment overwhelms you, making it hard to focus on anything else. You should feel embarrassed, and remind him of boundaries, but the magnetic pull between you is undeniable.

"What did you mean?" you ask, a hint of defiance in your voice, craving his words like a drug.

His lips curl into a knowing smile as he repeats his earlier statement, his gaze lingering on you suggestively.

"You feel so good," Joel says, his words sending a surge of heat through you, your cheeks flushing with desire.

"Is that why you came back?" you inquire, emboldened by the charged atmosphere between you.

"What do you think?" Joel replies, closing the distance between you, the space crackling with unspoken promises and desires.

You feel trapped, torn between your desires and the weight of your past.

Your hands tremble as you press them against Joel's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. You slide your fingers down, curling around a button on his flannel shirt.

"My dad, for Sarah," you croak, your voice barely above a whisper. Joel takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling beneath your touch.

"I didn't come back to town just to see your dad," he says, his voice low and steady. "But I don't want to make you uncomfortable either."

He pauses, taking another deep breath before he continues. "What I mean is, what I'm tryin’ to ask you, is could you have feelings for an older man? A man like me, maybe?"

His eyes bore into yours, a half-smile playing at the corners of his lips. You know what he's asking, and your heart races at the thought of giving in to your desires.

"I want to hear it from your lips," he says, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine.

You take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. "I like you a lot, Joel," you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel pauses, his eyes never leaving yours. "But?" he prompts, giving you an out if you need it.

You look up at Joel, your eyes pleading with him to make the decision for you. But there's no hesitation in his gaze. He leans in, pressing his warm lips against your hand, and you feel a jolt of electricity shoot through your body.

"Does it feel like this?" he asks, his voice low and husky. You nod, unable to find the words to describe the heat that's building inside you.

"Do you really want me, darlin'?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. You moan, unable to contain your desire any longer.

"Yes," you gasp, your voice barely audible. "Yes, I want you."

Joel growls, a low, primal sound that sends shivers down your spine. He presses your hand against his stiff erection, and you can feel the heat and hardness of him through his jeans.

You trace the outline of his cock with your fingers, forgetting all about the burn on your hand, the hot coffee, and even your dad and his house. All that matters is the feel of Joel's body against yours, the heat and hardness of him that you've longed for since graduation day.

"Then come here," he growls, leaning down further and taking your face in his palm. You shudder one last breath of uncertainty before the warmth of his mouth over yours means neither of you will ever have to ask that question again.

Joel's lips are soft and tender, but his kiss is urgent and demanding. You feel yourself melting into him, your body responding to his touch with a hunger you've never felt before.

His hands roam your body, exploring every curve and contour, as if he's been waiting for this moment for years. You respond in kind, your hands tugging at his flannel shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

The heat between you builds, until you're both panting and gasping for breath. Joel's hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that make you dizzy with desire.

Joel can't help himself as he lifts you up and sets you down on the kitchen counter, your legs wrapped around him as he devours your mouth with his own. His hands roam your body, feeling the curves and contours of your figure as if for the first time.

You respond eagerly, your hands tangled in his hair as you deepen the kiss. Joel's touch sends waves of pleasure through your body, and you can feel yourself growing wet with desire.

Joel's hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that make you gasp with pleasure. You arch your back, pressing yourself against him as you feel his hardness against your thigh.

He makes you purr and moan, fulfilling every fantasy you've ever had. Your hands move down to his throbbing cock, gripping and squeezing him through his denim, but you both know this is just the beginning.

Joel has already crossed the line he set for himself, unable to resist the pull between you. He wants more than just a physical connection; he wants all of you, your heart, your soul, your everything.

He envisions a future with you, a life where you're by his side, where you're free to be yourself, to indulge in every desire and dream. He wants to give you a home, a place where you can be truly happy, where the two of you can explore each other endlessly.

As you catch your breath, Joel eases his hold on you, sensing the need for a moment of clarity. Your smile and the flush in your cheeks speak volumes, reassuring him that you're on the same page.

"Holy shit," you exclaim, breathless and exhilarated. Your hands rest on his chest, feeling the strength and warmth of him beneath your touch.

Joel exhales slowly, realizing he may have moved too quickly for you. "Too much, darlin'?" he asks with a chuckle, relieved when you giggle and nod in agreement.

But he sees the worry in your eyes, the need for understanding and space. You grip his flannel, pulling him close for a quick kiss, your words a mix of desire and uncertainty.

"I want this... I want you, Joel. I do," you confess, your voice filled with longing and hesitation.

"Just... not right now, not like this," you trail off, and Joel finishes your sentence, understanding the need for time and space to process everything.

He lifts you off the counter, noting how light you feel in his arms. He watches you pace the kitchen, a mix of emotions playing across your face. He settles on a stool, giving you the space you need to sort through your thoughts.

"I didn't think you were leading me on, and I didn't mean to be so forward," Joel says, his voice gentle and reassuring. "Take your time, process everythin’ darlin’.”

Joel's phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he knows it's your father. He takes a deep breath and answers the call, trying to sound casual. You've stopped pacing but still look dazed, as if you're trying to process what just happened between us.

"Hey, man," Joel greets, hearing your father's voice from his car, still on his way to the office.

"Joel, I'm sorry for how I acted earlier. I guess I'm the one who needs a nap, but I can't afford the time right now," he says, sounding sincere.

Your father has always been honest and upfront, and Joel feels a mix of pride and guilt as he listens to his apology. He knows that your dad will be upset once he finds out about the two of you, but until then, Joel thinks it's best to keep your secret a little longer.

"You don't have to apologize, buddy," Joel says, trying to reassure him. "When do you finish work today?" he asks, already thinking about the time they have left alone together.

More time to take things slow? Joel isn't sure. He wants to savor every moment with you, but he also can't wait to explore every inch of your body.

As your father continues to talk, Joel watches you, his mind filled with thoughts of the two of you together. He knows that things will get complicated soon, but for now, he's happy to be in your presence, to feel your warmth and energy.

"Yeah, I'll see you then," Joel says, ending the call and turning to you. "Are you okay?" he asks, taking a step closer to you.

You nod, still looking dazed, and Joel wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. He knows that the two of you have a lot to talk about, but for now, he's content to hold you, to feel your heart beating against his chest.

The future may be uncertain, but Joel knows one thing for sure - he's never felt this way about anyone before, and he's not about to let you go.

As Joel holds you close, your head resting on his chest, you finally voice the question that's been lingering between you.

"I guess we can't do this sort of thing around my Dad, huh?" you ask, your voice soft against his skin.

Joel strokes your hair gently, his heart full of emotions he never thought he'd feel again. He marvels at how easily and perfectly this moment has unfolded, how right it feels to have you in his arms.

"We probably shouldn't, not yet," Joel replies, his voice tinged with longing. He feels you nod in agreement, and he knows that keeping this secret will be a challenge.

Joel had left town to escape the past, to build a new future for himself and his daughter Sarah. But now, as he returns to the place where it all began, he realizes that his future is intertwined with yours.

He sees a future with you, a life filled with love and possibility. He dreams of a family with you, of building something lasting and meaningful together.

As he holds you in his arms, feeling the warmth of your body against his, Joel knows that this is just the beginning.

As you and Joel waste no time getting settled in the new house, the air crackles with anticipation. Joel turns the key in the door, and as you step inside, the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of desire.

Without a word, you set down his bag, and Joel takes your hand, pulling you close. He lifts you effortlessly, spinning you around in a dizzying whirl of passion and need.

The lock clicks shut, sealing you both in a world of raw desire and longing. The house feels like a sanctuary, a place where only you and Joel exist, at least for the next hour or so.

"Aren't you gonna show me around first? I had no idea the inside was so nice," you giggle, your head spinning from the intensity of his touch and the day's events.

"I thought you might like to show me around... your sweet fuckin’ body," Joel rasps in your ear before claiming your lips in a fierce, possessive kiss. Each touch, each kiss, ignites a fire within you, driving you to the edge of reason.

"You tell me if it gets too much, alright darlin'?" Joel murmurs between kisses, his strong arms wrapped around you. You nod eagerly, your body craving his touch, his presence.

With your legs wrapped around his waist, you gravitate towards the nearest soft surface, a luxurious leather sofa in the living room. Joel stops in front of it, but you're consumed by the need for him, the hunger for his touch.

You try to nod, talk, and kiss him all at once, but the overwhelming desire he stirs in you leaves you breathless and unable to form coherent words. "Yeah... fuck... yes, I will," you pant, your body arching into his touch as he explores every inch of you.

Joel lowers you onto the couch, his eyes fixed on you with a hunger that matches your own. He drops to his knees in front of you, parting your legs with a firm grip, his gaze locked on your body with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

“I’m gonna eat your little pussy, make you come until you beg me to stop,” he says in a firm tone.

His hands move with purpose, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you. You gasp and groan as he explores every inch of you, his fingers and tongue setting your body ablaze with pleasure.

As he delves deeper, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony, you feel a wave of pleasure building within you, each touch pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

You writhe and moan under his touch, your body responding to his every move with a hunger that matches his own. The room fills with the sounds of your pleasure, the air thick with desire and need.

His elbows prop your knees wide, and half-reclined on the worn leather, you can't help but feel a thrill at the sensations coursing through your body.

The scent of old leather and his cologne mingles with the musk of your arousal, creating a heady mix that only heightens your desire. You're ready for Joel, and you know it won't take long for him to bring you to the edge.

With a rough yank, he tears your panties aside, the sound of fabric rending adding to your arousal. You never knew you could feel this horny, and every moment with Joel only intensifies your desire.

He takes a moment to admire your slick folds, his thick fingers gently parting your lips. You grip his silver-flecked curls tighter as he moves down to taste you, your body trembling with anticipation.

Your moans fill the room, mingling with Joel's deep groans of pleasure. His tongue finds its mark, and you can't help but cry out, your body writhing under his touch.

Joel's mouth covers you completely, his tongue replacing his fingers as he explores every inch of your sex. You're on the brink of climax, your body trembling with need.

"Be patient, darlin'," Joel whispers hoarsely, his voice filled with desire. He grips your thighs, pushing them wider apart until his massive head is pressed between them.

You shift your grip to his broad shoulders, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

"Joel... Joel," you moan, trying to tell him how close you are, how much you want him. But all that comes out are animalistic sounds of pleasure.

Joel's body quakes with silent laughter, his voice deep and reassuring as he promises you can come all night. You trace the outline of his jaw, your body trembling with need as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

If heaven exists, you're sure you've found it in Joel's arms.

AN: I'm such a fool to think that this would be a one-shot... ya'll this is now a mini-series. Don't worry... this will be a two to three-chapter kinda series. 🤍

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader series #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader tlou #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro pascal character fanfic

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gghostwriter · 5 months ago

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fluff request

Spencer reid x bee holding hands and skipping around. Pls and Thanks!

Love ur work!

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader Trope: Established Relationship; Fluff! Just fluff! wc: 1k A/N: Bear, so sorry it took a while but here is your request and its just pure loving fluff of Spencer falling deeper in love! Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗 Main masterlist

In the Ether. // Spencer Reid

It was a rarity for Spencer Reid to fly out of Virginia outside of work and for any other state than Las Vegas to visit his mother. It was even a rarer sight for him to be surrounded by green pastures until all the eyes could see and fading white picket fences that keep farm animals—cows, goats, and horses—safe from one another. He was a city boy through and through, after all.

But here he was, experiencing the tranquility of living in a countryside with just the sounds of air rustling the trees and the harmonizing voices of all living animals found in the farm. It was how you grew up and you wanted him to meet your family while experiencing your quiet childhood in a small town, even just for a short weekend.

“Well, what do you think?” You asked as you sat beside him on the rickety swing bench your father built on the front porch when you were ten years old.

He smiled, grasping your hand into his before bringing it up to his lips for a kiss. “It’s beautiful and peaceful. I could see why you love it here.”

“When I was a teenager, not so much—” you laughed at his incredulous expression. “—there’s really not much to do in a countryside town where everyone knows everyone, i promise—”

“So you dreamed of moving to a big city,” he added on.

You nodded, watching the farm dogs herd a couple of sheep strays back to the flock. “Yup, so I applied to college in a big city and ended up missing the vast space and quiet after a few years. How cliché of me, don’t you think?”’

“No, not really. It made sense for you to miss what you once had,” his voice soft and soothing like a gentle, cooling breeze in an arid desert. He had a way of guiding your thoughts back to the light—a lighthouse that pierces through the grey fog guiding you boat back to shore. It was one of the qualities that made you grateful that he chose you the same way you’d choose him again and again if needed be.

You stood up, shaking any melancholy. “Grab your book, Spence, let’s go visit my favorite tree up the hill.”

Laughing, he guided you inside to the guest room you both will occupy and proceeded to pull out an obscure Quantum Mechanics copy from his satchel.

You shook your head, only Spencer would decide to bring an academic book as a form of light reading.

With your chosen book on hand and a picnic blanket on the other, you shouted out loud your destination for anyone to hear around the house and proceeded to pull your boyfriend of one year outside the back door with a bounce in your step.

The excitement that seemed to vibrate out of you was so contagious that Spencer found himself skipping at your same beat. Hands together swinging between your bodies, he had never felt any more weightless and unfettered by the grim reality his cases had to offer.

Halfway through, you could spot the colossal Sycamore tree that you called your own. It had been nicknamed as yours by the family ever since you fell asleep under it at a tender age of four. It had been your own space, your own solace when you wanted to be alone. It was such an extension of you that you wanted to share its existence to the one you hoped to share the rest of your life with.

You squeezed his hand, signaling him to a stop.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

A mischievous twinkle in your eyes clued him in before any word was even uttered.

“Race you!” You bolted, the loose skirt of your cotton dress sticking to your legs as you picked up speed.

Both your laughters echoing in the air, mixing with the chatter of the nearby ducks, as if you and him were still kids, free from responsibility and unabashed with glee—like everything was simple in life.

With a smile threatening to split his cheeks from happiness, he loved seeing you run across the vibrant green field, sneakers leaving imprints on the moist soil, and tendrils of your long hair trailing behind you. Everything about the moment was precious. Everything about you was ethereal. A forest nymph that had bewitched him body and soul. A woodland sprite coloring his barren wasteland of life in a multitude of colors he can never hope to name. A beloved that he wishes to cherish until the end of time.

You turned around with a smile on your face, having reached the destination first and as if the skies needed him to fall any deeper for you, a soft warm sunlight streamed through the leaves, giving you a golden halo like you were some kind of goddess here on Earth, meant just for him.

Spencer went with instinct, untethered and uncaring for anyone to see. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, twirling you around with your giggles as the music before bringing you back down to Earth and leaning in to give you a slow, soft kiss. A motion so loving that had you melting in his arms, hands clutching his button down, afraid for the moment to end.

He leaned back a sliver. Far enough for breeze to pass between your lips but close enough for your noses to still be touching.

Eyes staring into yours, warm and golden like the morning sun breaking from the horizon, he uttered the truth of his devotion.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid request #criminal minds fanfiction

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winedarkthoughts · 5 months ago

Text

house of addams (7)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 7.3k

— 🍄 summary: you’re invited for a night at the Addams house.

— ☕ content warnings: mentions of (mutual) stalking and taking photos without consent, smoking, weapons + firearms

— 🕸️ a/n: ok listen, i am a sucker for tropes.

previous chapter ← series m.list → next chapter

chpt. 7: the dinner party

october 30, 2004

The gates of the Addams house greet you with open iron rails, swinging open, just like before, without any kind of assistance. It only makes you hesitate for a moment, because you figure you're in for more of a shock once you get inside.

The Addams house looms tall and intimidating from atop the hill. The sun has nearly completed its descent past the treetops into the darkening wilderness, and the windows of the house are aglow with warm light. It makes it look more like a place fit for habitation.

The image of all of them cozied up at the dinner table, ready to share a meal together like a little family, pops into your mind. But it is very quickly shooed away, because it hurts a little to think of happy families.

A few old lamposts illuminate your way up the path. When you get a little closer, you can see shadows moving through the dirty glass windows.

Even in the darkness, you can see the overgrown weeds and crumbling stone that makes up the exterior of the house, and it makes you even more curious to see what it looks like inside.

Standing on the front landing, you check your watch. Five fifty-five p.m. The invitation said six sharp, so you figure it won't hurt to arrive a few minutes early.

The iron knocker is in the image of a black cat's head, with a mouse dangling by its tail as the handle. You grasp the mouse and rap it against the door three times.

A few moments pass before the old wood is creaking open.

You're half expecting the door to open by itself like the gate, but no. Jungkook stands there, dressed in a dark pinstripe suit with his hair in slick curls. The warm lamplight crawls across his face, but his strange paleness still startles you a little.

"Good evening," he greets you, opening the door wider to beckon you inside.

You're glad you're dressed adequately. The formal dress code was a little intimidating. You opted for slacks, a white button-up, tie, leather vest (even with a silver pocket watch chain for extra flare), and an oversized suit jacket. All with the leather coat you purchased at the bookshop thrown overtop to combat the cold.

Wearing a dress isn't ideal in any situation other than for looks, especially when you're carrying items that are meant to remain concealed, so you opted for a more practical outfit.

You're expecting the inside of the house to be just as decrepit as the outside, but this isn't the case. The long, elegant hallway is lined with framed oil paintings and sconces holding lit candles, flickering in the slight draft, an air that feels a little ghostly.

You follow Jungkook into a large foyer with polished floors and a tall domed ceiling overhead. A grand staircase that branches in two directions leads up to the balconied second floor.

You can't help stopping for a moment to admire the grandeur of the place. Every curve, every corner, is embellished with carved wood or shining brass accents. It isn't even dusty, let alone decrepit.

"Come," Jungkook says softly. "He's waiting for you in the lounge."

He leads you through more labyrinthine hallways, all aglow with candlelight, gesturing you through an oak door.

The room inside is dimly lit with soft lamps, a fully-stocked bar tucked into one corner, the remaining walls lined with full bookshelves. There's plenty of seating options, from plush-looking armchairs to curving sofas.

"I'll see where he's gone off to. Wait here, please," Jungkook blurts out, sounding nervous, and closes the door without waiting for a reply.

You take the opportunity to look around a bit.

Lush ferns decorate almost every potential empty space, probably thanks to Yoongi. There's a table in the center of the circle of seating options, crowded with appetizers. Oysters on the half shell, perfectly pink shrimp and cocktail sauce, chunks of fresh salmon with lemon wedges, all resting on giant slabs of ice.

You walk over to the ledge of the bar, examining all the fancy bottles and crystal decanters. Some of them have little tags hanging from their glass necks, labelling them. Blackberry vodka, silver rum, 0.3% cyanide, hemlock syrup.

It's just as you're ducking your head under to examine the hidden shelves behind the bar counter when a light voice interjects,

"Nosy little thing, aren't you?"

You turn to find the head of the house himself standing there in the doorway, though you didn't hear it open or him enter.

You've never seen him this close before. And what a vision he is. Dressed in all black, skin showing through the deep cut V in his shirt, hair slicked back, and a grin that's just as slick to match.

"Yes," you quip back, unapologetic. "I've made a career out of it."

His smile only widens, as if to say I'm well aware.

"Drink?"

"Please," you reply.

His smile, which is much brighter and lighthearted than you anticipated, remains as he crosses the room and stands behind the bar.

"Any preference?" he asks.

"Whatever you recommend," you answer, plopping down on the velvet green Chesterfield sofa, digging in your bag for your notes. At this point, it's less of a bag and more of a giant mess of papers and folders and photographs held together by a few pieces of straining fabric.

Hoseok plucks a perfect sphere of ice out of a silver dish, dropping it into a martini shaker. He grabs the decanter of blackberry vodka, and a few other bottles and mixers.

"Very thorough, aren't you?" he asks as he pours shots and drizzles into the shaker.

"That's right," you respond, spreading out the near-endless stream of documents according to the map in your head.

You can hear the clack of the shaker, the sound of its contents being poured. A moment later, a martini glass filled with near pitch-dark liquid, garnished with a blackberry, is placed by your side.

"Thank you," you say, grabbing the glass and taking a sip. There's the hint of flavored vodka, a berry tartness, and some other taste that you can't quite name.

Hoseok sinks down in the chair across from you with a matching glass in his hand, crossing one slim leg over the other.

"So," he begins, and you don't have to look at him to feel his eyes scanning you up and down. "You're the one she settled on to sort out this mess."

You pause your obsessive shuffling.

"She?"

In the middle of taking a sip from his drink, he looks at you like he's a little confused.

"The mayor? She is the one who hired you, isn't she?" he asks.

"Yes," you admit. "What of it?"

A slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"I admire your suspicion, ______," Hoseok says, and hearing your name from his mouth is strangely thrilling. "But you must trust me when I say that me and my family have done nothing to cause the deaths and disappearances, at least to our knowledge."

"Then you better start telling me what you know," you reply sharply, fixing him with a strict gaze, and he doesn't break it.

"That is why you invited me here, isn't it?" you ask. "To tell me what you know?"

Hoseok considers it for a moment.

"Of sorts, yes," he replies, cryptidly.

You suppress the slight annoyance that wants to creep into your expression, focusing back on your documents. Spreading out a map littered with red circles and connecting lines, you point to one of the marked indicators.

"This is the Addams House, correct?" you ask, instinctively using your interrogation voice without realizing it.

It makes Hoseok chuckle internally.

"Correct," he replies cooly.

"And these," you point to several of the red circles. "Are the last known locations of the five missing persons. Remarkably close, hmm?"

"Come now, ______," Hoseok says in a playfully chiding voice. "Location may be suggestive, but it isn't incriminating."

"I never said it was," you bite back. "I'm merely suggesting that this house, as well as the surrounding area, displays some very strange qualities. And I can't leave any stone unturned."

Hoseok nods, almost appreciatively.

“I’d expect nothing less,” he says, smiling that same radiant smile.

“You’ve done your job well, haven’t you?” he inquires, setting his glass down and rising from his seat, beginning to circle around the couch.

“I should hope so,” you reply a little hesitantly.

He passes by the bar and picks up the discarded martini shaker, fiddling with it, the ice inside clanking.

“How far-reaching are your investigative powers, I wonder?” he says.

He’s at your right-hand side, and suddenly he tosses the shaker halfway across the room in a perfect arc. It lands in the small sink at the bar counter with a loud clang.

Your head whips toward the sound, focus ripped away from the sea of papers.

When you look back at him, he’s adjusting his jacket lapels, sauntering back over to his seat.

“Far enough to get the job done, I suppose," you reply, trying to uphold a neutral yet strict tone of voice.

"Hmm," Hoseok says, raising a brow. "Far enough to constitute stalking?"

The back of your neck prickles.

"What makes you say that?" you ask, though both of you know well enough that you're playing dumb.

"Ever heard the expression "walls have ears?" Well, trees have eyes, and they've told me all about you."

He's back in his seat, but you still feel like he's circling around you. Not many people make you nervous, let alone intimidate you, but Hoseok is apparently one of the exceptions.

"You should know that I am very protective over my family," he says, the tone of his voice dipping a little deeper. "Naturally, I keep an eye on them."

With that, he reaches into his inside jacket and pulls out several files. Flipping open to specific pages, he throws them down on the coffee table between the two of you with a papery slap!

Staring up at you are several photos, and it takes you a second to recognize them as ones from your own camera.

Jimin, walking to class, his hand frozen in time while brushing through his hair. Taehyung, hands in his coat pockets, meandering through town on his way to the police station. Jin, leaning against the garden wall, cradling a coffee cup in his hands.

It takes you another few seconds to realize that the file is from the pile of folders you brought with you. He must've slipped it from you when he tossed the shaker into the sink, a diversion to make you turn your head.

A crooked grin, slick voice, and sticky fingers apparently.

"I admire the dedication even more than the suspicion," Hoseok says, reaching into his jacket again, but this time he pulls out a silver cigarette case.

He holds it towards you with a questioning tilt of his head, offering you one, but you shake your head. He takes one out, puts it to his lips and lights it with the flick of a lighter.

It doesn't smell like tobacco though, more like cloves and pennyroyal buds.

"Technically," you begin. "Stalking includes inducing fear in the victim; intimidation, threats, and the like."

The subtext is clear: good luck taking me to court for this.

A smile breaks out on his face.

"No harm done," he says. "They were quite flattered, actually."

You don't really know what to do with that statement. It must show on your face, because Hoseok smirks with an exhale of fragrant smoke.

"Don't worry about it, detective," he says, sounding amused. "We're all sinners here. What's a little felony charge here and there?"

You watch the ghosts of smoke twist from the end of the cigarette between his slim fingers. Something about the way the smoke moves is unusual, like it doesn't quite obey the laws of physics that normal smoke would.

"In fact," he says, reaching into his other jacket pocket. "I must admit that I'm a little guilty myself."

He takes out another folder, opens it, and lets it fall on the table. It's a mass of photos, and they're all of you. Sitting in the cafe through the window, walking through town, collecting samples at in the woods.

Now you know where that I'm being watched feeling was coming from. If you were normal, you might've been creeped out by it. But this isn't the first time you've been trailed and you doubt it will be the last.

"I'm curious, though," he starts. "What exactly made them worthy of stalking in the first place?"

You look down at the spread of appetizers like you're contemplating reaching for one. You're not going to mention how you've been trying to distract yourself from what you saw at the lake, or the fact that you find all the inhabitants of the Addams House to be a little too compelling.

"I knew that all of them were cagey if not outright lying about living here, and given this place's reputation, I found it necessary to dig deeper," you answer in a leveled voice.

"And you figured that this place might be connected to the disturbances?" Hoseok replies, though it doesn't sound like a question.

You set him with a firm gaze.

"I never ignore patterns."

He stares right back.

"Words? Yes. Actions? Sometimes. But never patterns."

He's really staring at you, like he's trying to find the answer to some unspoken question in his head. The look in his eyes is somewhere between inquisitive and impressed, maybe even—

"I think you have darker thoughts than you realize, detective," he says. The smoke tendrils from his last drag hang, mesmerizing, between the two of you.

"If you truly want to know what's strange about this place, I can show you."

He's leaning forward slightly in his chair, and but before you even have time to think about what that means, the loud clang of a bell is sounding through the air.

"Ah," Hoseok says, taking one last puff from his cigarette before stubbing it out in the crystal ashtray on the coffee table. "That's Jin calling us to dinner."

He rises to a stand and straightens his jacket lapels.

"Once you're done with your cocktail, we'll head into the dining room."

You haphazardly gather your notes, down the rest of your drink, and follow him out of the room.

He leads you through the ornate hallways, quickly darkening with the setting of the sun. The sound of clinking dishes and pleasant chatter grows steadily louder.

When you emerge into what you presume is the kitchen, you're almost struck speechless.

It's a humongous, grand, high-ceilinged room, and nearly everything is in shades of green and gold. The dark marble floors are flecked with gold veins, the dark wood cupboards and drawers are fixed with gold handles, even the smell in the air has a rich, golden warmth to it.

The countertops are a deep jade quartz, and the floor to ceiling stained glass windows are in patterns of emerald and amber. More plants decorate the space, though these are taller and more lush.

The huge stove is crowded with copper pots and pans, all sizzling and bubbling and hissing with their savory aroma.

There's someone standing over the stove, wearing a crisp white button-up and black apron, a small saucepan in one hand, swirling sauce on a plate in fancy shapes. There's a whole line of plates before him, making him look like a master chef plating up a dish for a hoard of diners.

"Oh, hello _______," the man says cheerfully when he notices you, and you realize that it's Jin (though you guessed as much from his ridiculously broad shoulders).

The next second he's squirting something into a different pan, sending up a surge of sweet-smelling flames, though he doesn't even turn his head from you.

"Hello," you manage to greet him, captivated by how he expertly juggles everything. There's sauteing vegetables, sizzling meats, a bubbling broth, not to mention something that you can't see in the oven.

The sound of shattering glass sounds from the next room.

Hoseok suppresses an eye roll.

"Please excuse me, detective," he says, sounding like a slightly annoyed parent. "If you wouldn't mind lingering in the kitchen while I sort this out. Jin so likes the company."

Jin flicks a spurt of hot oil over one shoulder, missing Hoseok by an inch, but he only bursts into laughter while sliding out of the room.

Jin doesn't seem to mind as you curiously look around the gigantic room, he just continues his work in comfortable silence.

That's a common theme with Jin. He's charismatic and perfectly capable of carrying a conversation, but he appears to enjoy your company despite how quiet and reserved you are. He merely glances your way every few moments, like he's reassuring himself that you're still there.

You like how he doesn't push you for conversation. It seems like he enjoys observing you just as much as you enjoy observing your surroundings (though you do enjoy observing him when he's not looking).

"Very impressive," you can't help but say as you watch him out of the corner of your eye.

"Thank you," he replies happily, and then adds playfully, "Feel free to mention that at the table."

Your eyes scan over the variety of coffee contraptions, no doubt because of Jin the cafe owner. Then you reach the refrigerator, black with gold handles, but instead of plastic magnets there are little antique picture frames with photos of all if the house's inhabitants. Because of course even the fridge has to align with the aesthetic.

"Looking for something?" Jin quips, clearly amused.

It's then that you wonder what exactly you'd find inside the fridge. Jin knows you've been watching him. Does he know what you suspect he is?

"What would I possibly be looking for?" you reply nonchalantly.

Jin lets out a chuckle that would dissolve even the thickest tension.

"If you're looking for blood bags and raw meat, you won't find them here."

He says it so jokingly, that you start to think maybe you were wrong about him. Maybe is he just some normal man with normal tendencies, the only reason for his nocturnal lifestyle attributed to him owning a 24 hour coffee shop.

Maybe you don't have to imagine him standing among a rack of blood bags at the local hospital, stealing them for his own benefit while leaving others without the vital resource.

Because if that's the case, then you have no reason to suspect he has anything to do with the deaths and disappearances. Maybe you could even—

"I don't keep them in that fridge," he says.

Your amused expression drops.

The timer on the oven beeps.

"Almost ready. If you wouldn't mind moving into the dining room and taking your seat," Jin says, focusing back on plating each dish.

You take the hint, leaving him in his element.

Another grand room, but with much higher ceilings, almost like a dark cathedral. There are the same stained glass windows and marble floors, and a massive crystal chandelier lit by tapering candles hangs overhead, though you have no idea how anyone could get so high up in order to light them.

Though the thing that demands the most attention is the long table in the center of the room. More dripping candles, some more like piles of wax with a lit wick, and bouquets of dried flowers serve as centerpieces. A black lace tablecloth, glinting silverware, dishes with images of crows and insects.

You don't even notice the people standing around the table until a small projectile is hurtling past you. Head whipping around, you see Jimin standing there with a slingshot held up to his face, and that face painted with a smirk.

From the way he's looking at you, it's not outrageous to assume that he was aiming at you. That is, until you hear a crash from behind you.

"Hey! Don't hit my azaleas!"

You immediately recognize the voice as Yoongi's, but your eyes are locked on Jimin. This is the first time you've seen him without a mask.

Uncovered by a hat, his silver hair falls across his forehead, and his eyes, unobscured by sunglasses, shine a strange blue-gray.

Something about his face is dangerous, it makes you want to see how close you can get before that danger becomes a real threat.

"You missed," you say, even though the smirk on his face is not one that belongs to someone who's missed their shot.

He just smiles on, and his teeth are sharp. Unnaturally sharp, as if every tooth beyond the front two have been filed down to fine points.

"If I wanted to hit you, I would've hit you," Jimin replies.

Hoseok approaches the two of you, ready to unleash another lethal roll of his eyes. He holds out his hand, and Jimin gives up the slingshot with a little huff.

"We have a no weapons at the table policy," Hoseok explains as Jimin pushes past him. You move to follow, but Hoseok stops you too.

"I'm afraid we also have a no recording devices at the table policy," he says with a knowing look.

You stare at him in slight disbelief, but he appears to be serious.

You want them to trust you, if only for the sake of the investigation. If they know something, you can't seem like a threat.

So you start to empty your pockets.

There's the microcassette recorder in your coat pocket, the digital recorder in your pants pocket, the flash drive recorder in your other pants pocket, the pen recorder in your inner jacket pocket.

You make a show of straightening your clothes before trying to slide past him, but he blocks you again with a raise of an eyebrow.

How the fuck...? Ugh, fine. You suppose you can actually be trustworthy instead of just pretending to be.

You take out the spare digital recorder in your left jacket pocket, the mini microphone in your shirt pocket, the flashlight with the secret button clipped to your belt. And the fake lapel pin. And the video camera in your bag. And the smaller backup camera in the hidden pocket inside your bag.

When you look up, you see that everyone in the room has stopped to watch you, all with expressions of slight shock.

Remembering one last thing, you hold up a finger, fishing out the micro nine pistol from the holster at the back of your waistband, setting it down at the top of the pile of contraband. As well as the extra magazine.

There’s a moment of stunned silence, and you think that maybe you shouldn’t have revealed the fact that you usually bring your gun to unfamiliar situations. But then you hear Jimin chuckle.

“Well,” he says from across the room with nothing but amusement in his tone. “It’s definitely a party now.”

Now that everyone is properly de-weaponed and de-deviced, everyone moves to take a seat, with Hoseok at one head of the table and Yoongi at the other in a tall peacock chair.

Your place is between Jimin and Taehyung, with Jungkook and Namjoon sitting across the table.

You should’ve guessed that Namjoon would be here, live here. As a P.I., you’re kicking yourself that you didn’t guess as much earlier.

Jin is still in the kitchen, dishes clanking. And what you perceive as awkward silence hangs in the air. To them, it simply feels like impatience being soothed.

You wait, wait for one of them to acknowledge the situation. Why have you been invited here?

“Did you enjoy the appetizers, _____?” Jimin asks.

You sneak a glance at him. He’s dressed in a silk shirt that billows around his form, his pale hair now pushed back from his forehead, transforming his face from relatively innocent to dangerously attractive. He watches you eagerly, waiting for your reply. He caught all of the seafood himself, after all.

You just nod in response, but Jimin flashes you a pleased smile all the same.

“We weren’t allowed to have any, of course,” Taehyung remarks, giving Hoseok a pointed look.

“Guests eat first, Taehyung, you know that,” he replies swiftly, but from the little grin on both their faces, it’s clear they’re only teasing.

You wonder how often they have guests in a place like this.

Another silence falls, you sneaking glances at everyone around the table. Except when you dare glance at Hoseok, he’s already looking. He must sense your discomfort, because then he’s saying, “My apologies, detective. We haven’t had proper introductions yet.”

He starts with the person to his left.

“This is Taehyung, our resident coroner. He runs the morgue downstairs.”

This is the first time you’ve made eye contact with Taehyung since you arrived in the house, and he doesn’t seem like the same man you met in the morgue. This man is at ease in his own home, a man who isn’t bound by professional constraints. He’s looking at you now less like a private investigator and more like a stranger that he doesn’t want to remain a stranger.

You’re not sure which you prefer.

“This is Jimin, he’s currently studying chemistry and marine biology at the university.”

Jimin meets your gaze when you glance at him, cocking his head back slightly and flashing a hint of those sharp teeth again.

“Yoongi, our genius little green thumb. He’s the one who keeps the place nice and lush,” Hoseok gushes, and Yoongi gives a little wave and straight-lipped smile, blushing only slightly.

“Namjoon, our favorite bookworm. And brilliant scholar! About to publish his third book.” Namjoon nods his head towards you with a small smile.

“And this is Jungkook, the youngest problem in the bunch,” Hoseok says, gesturing towards the young man in the pinstripe suit. Jungkook acknowledges you still somewhat nervously.

“Forgotten someone?” A voice calls.

Jin saunters into the room, having abandoned his apron for a lace jacket with sewn-on fabric flowers. He takes the empty seat to Hoseok’s right, straightening his hair. But it doesn’t like he’s been slaving in the kitchen this whole time at all. Not one stain on his clothes, not one dew drop of sweat.

“Could never forget you, darling,” Hoseok replies. “And this is Jin, our lovely chef who keeps us all so well fed.”

Jin gives a tiny little bow in your direction, along with one of his charming smiles.

There’s another pause, as if they’re waiting for you to say something. All you can think of is that they already know you, there’s no need for you to introduce yourself. So you say the first adjacent thing to come to your head:

“Glad to have met all of you.”

And you barely notice it, already looking down at your empty plate, but they simultaneously stifle the flutter in their gut.

“Alright,” Jin announces, clapping his hands together. “Let’s eat!”

Everyone but you, in near perfect synchronicity, grabs the silver cloche set before each of their table settings, and places it over their plate. Jimin gestures for you to do the same, so you obey.

When you remove it again, after everyone else does the same, the former empty plate is suddenly full. A thick and creamy soup, speckled with spices, steaming in a bread bowl crusted with garlic and herbs.

And of course no one bats an eye at the casual error in the law of physics, too busy passing around a bowl of greens to garnish and a bottle of red wine to fill their glasses. You don’t object when Taehyung holds the bottle over your own glass with a questioning raise of his eyebrow.

And by God, is it delicious. The cream base of the soup melts perfectly with hints of herbs and the peppery bite of truffle shavings. And of course, the best part is being able to break off a bit of flavored bread and dip it into the pot of gold before you.

“This is delicious,” you can’t help but blurt out, saying it like an aggressively objective fact.

“Thank you,” Jin replies, smiling wide like a child that was just complimented on their most recent art project. Except you can’t display a bowl of soup on the fridge, but you would if you could.

“Yoongi helped me forage the mushrooms,” Jin adds.

Mushrooms? Now that you think of it, the soup does have a distinct earthy taste.

“Do you forage often?” you ask, looking at Yoongi.

“Not as often as I’d like,” he replies.

“Why is that?” you ask, and a small smile tugs at Yoongi’s mouth. There’s a shared chuckle from around the table.

“What?” you blurt out, almost certain that they are making fun of you or know something that you don’t, probably both.

“You’re doing your interrogator voice,” Jimin says, but it doesn’t sound malicious, more like…endeared?

A look around the table, and everyone’s face matches the tone of his voice. He says it as if the two of you have known each other for years, as if you’re friends. It puts a strange, almost sickly feeling in your stomach. You set down your spoon.

Soon the air is filled with pleasant dinner-time chatter. They keep trying to bring you into the conversation, like you’re somehow one of them. But you’re here to get a job done.

It becomes exceedingly more difficult to concentrate solely on the case when the main course comes out. Again, due only to the covering and uncovering of your plates with the silver cloches, the remains of your soup disappearing.

A choice cut steak, generously seasoned, drizzled with a red wine sauce, a heap of garlic and herb mashed potatoes, and more mushrooms grilled to tenderness. You’re not normally fond of mushrooms, but these are surprisingly flavorful in a way you wouldn’t expect from a vegetable, let alone a fungus.

“They’re Pepperwood caps,” Jin says, as if reading your thoughts. “Yoongi grows them on the grounds.”

In all your research, you’ve never heard of Pepperwood caps.

“Hoseok isn’t eating them,” you say pointedly. “Neither is Jungkook,” you continue. There are no Pepperwood caps on either of their plates. Instead, a small pile of white capped mushrooms with brown spots.

“To my knowledge, those are Deadly Dapperlings, yes?”

They all look at each other.

“You don’t miss anything, do you detective?” Hoseok says with a little grin.

Your research on fungi has made you a novice at recognizing the lethal ones.

“Jungkook and I find that the poisonous ones have a particularly robust flavor,” Hoseok continues.

You watch him as he says it, waiting for him to elaborate, but he never does. So you return your attention to your perfectly cooked steak.

“I imagine you’re curious about what precisely the fuck we all are,” Jin interjects the silence, and your fork stops halfway to your mouth.

“Really all that needs to be said is that whatever you’ve already deduced is probably true.” He has his hands clasped together, his shirtsleeve riding up to expose the crescent-shaped bite mark on the inside of his wrist. He smiles when he notices you staring.

“Don’t worry,” he says, sounding amused. “I can be trusted around exposed neck flesh.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“So there’ll be no biting over the course of the evening?” you quip, only half joking.

Jin maintains his level gaze.

“Only if you want it desperately,” he replies.

You mold your face into a hard mask of indifference before you say something stupid.

“I must admit,” Taehyung begins. “I'm a little older than I look."

You stare at him like you’re trying to read a book. It’s true, he doesn’t look a day over thirty.

Jimin clears his throat.

"I'm not exactly...from here," he says, and when you look at him you swear you see something shift underneath his shirt.

The man in the peacock chair shifts.

"I'm a little more tuned into nature than most people," Yoongi adds. It’s only then that you notice that the dried flowers in their vases are leaning towards him like he’s the sun.

Jungkook is fidgeting in his chair, avoiding your gaze. But you can gather as much from the pallor of his skin and the deep-set dark circles under his eyes, both of which become clearer and easier to see the more times you look at him.

He has a ghostly air about him, like a whisper in the wind.

You look at Namjoon, and he smiles with a shrug.

"I just run a bookshop," he says.

A shared laugh sounds around the table. Namjoon rolls his eyes.

"Okay, maybe I've made a few blood pacts, but I'm a folklorist for Christ's sake!"

You genuinely can’t tell if he’s joking, but you suppose it doesn’t matter. Though, judging by what you’ve seen tonight, he’s probably telling nothing but the truth.

Finally, you turn to Hoseok.

“I’m…not all there,” he says, and you wait patiently for more.

He scratches the back of his head, looking like he’s trying to find the right words.

“You can see me sitting here, but it’s only half of me. You can touch me and hear my voice, but it’s not actually me. I need to be…contained.”

Now you’re staring at him in confusion.

“You ever read The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?” Namjoon asks.

Before you can answer, another loud clang of the bell is sounding. Everyone else merely looks at the clock, but you flinch violently at the skull-rattling volume of the noise.

Jin wipes the corner of his mouth with his cloth napkin and pushes his chair back. Everyone else does the same, covering their now empty plates with the silver cloches.

Hoseok rises to a stand.

“Would you like to join us for coffee and cocktails in the library? Dessert should be ready shortly,” Hoseok says, though it doesn’t sound much like question when he heads down the hallway without waiting for an answer. And apparently it didn’t sound like a question to anyone else either, because Jimin and Taehyung are soon pulling you up from your chair and leading you out of the room, with Jimin even wrapping one arm around yours as Taehyung presses himself to your side.

The library is a dark room, no less grand than the rest of the house, with the same candlelit chandelier and sconces. Floor to ceiling bookshelves wrap themselves around the entirety of the room, complete with a wooden ladder on a sliding rail. There’s a roaring fire in the fireplace, and plenty of leather chairs and couches gathered around it.

Jimin lets you go when the door is shut securely behind you.

“Who wants a drink?” Jin asks, heading over to the bar cart in the corner, but you’re more drawn to the tea set on the low table by the fireplace. It’s all black and gold, with little images of ravens on the cups and saucers.

You pour yourself a cup with cream and sugar, taking a languid sip and relishing in its perfect richness.

Jin distributes the drinks as he prepares them without having to ask anyone what they want. A glass of white wine for Taehyung, something sparkling and slightly radioactive looking for Jimin, that same blackberry concoction for Hoseok, hot toddies for Namjoon and Jungkook, and a glass of some citrusy cordial for Yoongi. When you get a closer look at his glass you notice that Jin even took the time to carve a little jack-o-lantern face into half a tangerine as a garnish.

Jin makes himself the dirtiest martini you've ever seen, with only half the glass with liquid in it, the top half being a copious pile of olives.

“So, detective,” Hoseok says, leaning against one of the bookshelves. “How can we be of service?”

Your eyebrows raise.

“You want to help?” you ask, still incredulous. Because to be honest, you’re not quite sure what the purpose of this evening is supposed to be. To intimidate you? Confuse you? Judging by the fact that you stalked them because they fell under your radar of suspicion. You figured that if they were going to offer to help they could’ve done it with an email.

“Of course,” Taehyung says from his seat on one of the couches. “The last thing I want is more bodies on my autopsy table due to deaths that could’ve been avoided.”

“And something is harming the wildlife,” Yoongi adds.

You set down your cup and saucer, digging in your bag to start spreading papers all around you.

“What’s the deal with the mayor?” you ask.

“She's...unpopular with the general population," Namjoon offers. "A little too different."

"She won the election, didn't she?" you counter.

"By the skin of her teeth," Jimin replies. "Minority vote kicked in at the last second. And a lot of people aren't happy about it."

"Different, huh?" you say. The implication is clear.

"Or at least, her ancestors were, and I think her daughter is too. Tends to run in the family, stuff like that," Taehyung adds.

"She looks out for those like us," Yoongi says. "When she can, that is. It's gotten a little harder these days."

"Why is that?" you ask.

Yoongi shrugs.

"That's just how it goes. Some times are harder than others."

"Is that why the mayor wanted everything off the record? Why there's hardly been any media coverage?" you ask.

"That's what I'm guessing," Yoongi replies.

"She's paying me out of pocket," you inform them.

"That doesn't surprise me much," Namjoon adds. "She's always been too generous for her own good. I imagine she cares more about this strange case than most of her colleagues."

"So she knows about all of your…proclivities? That’s why she sent me your way?” you ask.

“I’d be surprised if she didn’t,” Yoongi replies. “Normal people tend to think we’re weirdos, but those who are like us know when they’re looking in a mirror.”

"What about the paper?" you ask.

Their expressions cloud with confusion.

“Uh, what about it?”

Ah, have you finally breached the topic of something they want to hide?

“Several people have claimed to have negative experiences with the press, but the main publishers have barely commented on any of the cases.”

“Oh, you mean the Periscope Press,” Taehyung supplies.

Hmm, maybe they don’t have anything to hide after all. But that doesn’t mean you trust them yet.

“It’s an underground newspaper, independently published, geared towards folks like us. Though it’s mostly full of garbage these days, we don’t have a subscription,” Taehyung explains.

“We can get you copies of the last few editions, though,” Jungkook adds, startling you a little since you haven’t heard him speak much tonight. He suddenly looks down at his shoes like he just realized the fact too.

“If you want,” he says, this time in nearly a whisper.

“That would be great, thank you,” you reply graciously, though he continues to avoid your gaze.

“So, detective,” Hoseok begins, and with the drink his voice is a touch more gravelly. “What’s your next move?”

They’re all looking at you now, curious and waiting.

You look down at your notes and fight the urge to clench your fist, because to honest, you’re not sure.

“I’m sure our little sleuth has a plan,” Jimin quips from his place sprawled out across one of the couches.

“I’d like to get access to Bradley’s reports and records, and wear down Mrs. Bradley if at all possible,” you begin, forming a list in your head. “I’d like to continue fieldwork around the woods and the lake, maybe see if anyone at the university can do some tests on those unusual mushrooms. I’ll be continuing my rounds around town to see if any civilians have anything to offer. Hopefully I can get some more information on the ones still missing.”

“And the lake?” Jimin asks.

You don’t want to talk about the lake. Thinking about it puts a sinking feeling in your gut, the stench of hot poisoned salt water filling your nose.

You don’t want to talk about what you saw. In your line of work, simply seeing isn’t enough. All that matters is hard evidence. So that’s what you’re gonna get.

Downing the dregs of your coffee cup, you start to gather up your notes.

“You’re leaving?” Jimin says, sounding wounded. “Before dessert?”

“I’m afraid there’s some things I wanted to get done tonight,” you say, ready to retreat back into your hole and dive back into the distraction of your work, where there aren’t several pairs of sultry dark eyes watching your every move.

“I suppose it is getting late,” Hoseok says. Though he doesn’t mention that many of them either don’t need to sleep or simply prefer to be active into the darkest hours of the morning.

“Let us send you home with some goodies, hm?” Hoseok nods to his housemates.

Jin cuts you slice of blue velvet cake, packing it up in a little bento box container.

You object at first, saying you don’t want to take a container as nice as this one, but Jin just retorts with a wink, saying that you’ll just have to come back sometime to return it.

Yoongi takes some cuttings from one of the dining room table centerpieces, adding some clippings from plants around the house as fillers, and wraps the bouquet in brown paper tied neatly with a bow. He hands it to you with a shy expression.

Namjoon gifts you a small stack of books, bound together by a leather strap, with The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde at the top of the pile. He gives you a smile when you notice.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Jungkook says when they lead you through the dark halls to the front door, which you didn’t expect.

He carries your gifts as the two of you travers first the cobblestone path and then the small hill down to where you parked your car.

“Sorry we’re so strange. And vague. I imagine it’s frustrating,” he says suddenly.

The walk up to this point has been completely silent, so the sound of his voice startles you just a bit.

“Yes, you’re all very weird,” you say, and Jungkook’s face sinks.

“If any of you ever change I’ll be very disappointed,” you finish, and that puts a full smile on his face, full enough that you can see the bunny-like jut of his front teeth.

A few moments of silence, the wind singing a low song.

“You’re very cynical, you know,” he says.

That makes you look at him, but his face is that same neutral expression, dark eyes wide like a young doe’s. He says it like a simple observation, not with the judgmental you’re used to hearing.

“Am I?” you reply, unable to choke back the little sarcastic bite to your tone.

He nods.

“You think no one could ever believe you just for the sake of believing you. You think you need to prove yourself.”

You stare at him, long and hard enough to miss the fact that the two of you have reached your car.

He opens the door for you, and you’re glad that you’re heading to the safety of your home because all these kind gestures are starting to make you feel weird.

After you start the engine, Jungkook leans down to look at you through the open window.

“Try not to worry about the case so much,” he says softly. “Trust your instincts, you’ll figure it out.”

There’s a moment of silence where you stare at him some more, wondering how a man who’s been so quiet and shy for the duration of the evening can shock you dumb with just a handful of words.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you manage after a while. “And thank the others for a lovely meal.”

He nods and smiles, backing up to let you drive off down the hill.

Back at home, you make a fresh pot of coffee and tuck into that slice of cake while you draft an email to the mayor detailing your most recent findings.

Then you look through all the books you have on mushrooms, even go to the internet, but you find absolutely nothing on Pepperwood caps. To the rest of the world, they don’t exist.

You fall asleep with The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde lying open in your hand.

~~~

a/n: thanks for your patience! :)

#bts ot7 #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bts series #bts x fem!reader #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts mystery #bts angst #bts poly au

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