#Exchanges with anonymous informants.

[barok-vanzieks]

Is it acceptable to dunk a cookie in wine?

Anonymous,

To pair cookies with wine is much like filling a hallowed chalice with milk; as close to sacrilege as one could possibly get under the circumstance. Still, supposing some utterly confused soul has already committed the appalling deed of pouring milk into such a vessel... I suppose one might as well indulge in the cookies, as well.

Yours in distaste,

Lord Barok van Zieks

[shkika]

Do you think W1 would love the super deep foam pits, or ball pits?

the dashcon baby...

OK but yeah it would. Like quite a bit. Like quite a bit a bit.

Since W1 is two brains and not one, I imagine they'd exhibit a lot more play behavior when left to do their thing and not seeking to feed themselves. Since they can literally entertain each other in that metal box head.

They like having a good time together!! They play and are more curious than your average machine.

[rrversesummerbang]

hello! i just wanted to ask something because i fear it'll come to this, but what if unavoidable circumstances come to place so that someone can't write their work?

if that's the case, no worries! on the sign up sheet + prompt claiming sheet i asked if people would be willing to create more than one piece in the event that something exactly like what you're describing happens. if you need to pull out of the gift exchange, let me know as soon as possible so i can get one of those people to fill in for you!

[assistant-emu-official]

in another universe you get to sing and do theater shows with her!!!

Emu is deep in thought for several long seconds.

Do you think An would get mad at me if I started trying to practice singing and dancing while doing investigations?

[ferociouslycreativemystery]

En såndär bockjävel eller vad fan det heter

↳ sytråd och virknål 0,6 mm + bonus: biblically accurate julbock

Note: I moved this under a read more since donations can no longer be made here. Feel free to make some to a charity of your choice though!

Did you know it used to be the Christmas goat that brought you your presents in Sweden?

To keep the spirit alive, you can officially make a donation in the name of this little crochet goat to support everyone's right to survive their pregnancy! Just go to this link and follow these steps:

Please note that this collection only remains active until 15 Dec 2024! More information about the organisers can be found at the bottom of this post.

On the right hand side/top of the linked page, you can see the current sum of donations. Below that are some options we need to fill out to make a donation of our own.

First we need to disclose whether the donation is being made by a private individual (Privatperson) or a business (Företag). I'm assuming you're a private individual, so leave the first option selected (on the left).

Next we choose the method of payment. "Swish" is a Swedish payment service that won't work for foreigners, and if you're Swedish I'm assuming you already know how it works. Foreigners, please choose the second option to pay by card (Kort).

Now for the fun bit! How much do you want to donate? The standard options are presented in Swedish krona (kr). I have put the rough exchange rates to US dollars for each option below:

50 kr ≈ $4.56 | 100 kr ≈ $9.13 | 300 kr ≈ $27.38

You can convert from your currency to Swedish krona using this tool. Just choose your own currency in the first drop-down menu ("from").

In the final field you have the option to instead enter your own amount, if you want to give less or more or in between any of the previous options. Note that the amount you enter is in Swedish krona, so look up the exchange rates so that you know how much you are giving if you choose this option!!

The final two check boxes are options that relate to the public display of your donation (see the bottom of the page). If you don't check either option, your donation amount will be visible but your name will not be.

Check the first box if you want your name to show up in the public list of donations, leave it unchecked to remain anonymous. Check the second box if you want to hide the amount you've donated, leave it unchecked to show the world your donation amount.

Finally, hit the red button to be taken to the payment page. Fulfil the payment, and be sure to double check the amount you're donating. Note that we use commas instead of dots to separate decimals in Swedish, so 50,00 kr means simply 50 kr.

And that's it! Thank you so much for your donation!! 🥳🐐

Please reblog this post so that more people will hopefully donate, or at least get to enjoy a tiny Gävlebock!

What is this charity thing?

Musikhjälpen is an annual charity event organised by the Swedish public broadcasters. Every year in December, 3 hosts are locked in a glass cage for a week and they broadcast in shifts, nonstop for 144 hours (6 days, 24 hours per day) to create an occasion for charity donations. They are visited by various music artist, celebrities, and talk to people who have special knowledge about the donation theme of the year or who organise initiatives for donations. You can watch clips of previous performances on their youtube channel here.

The event's official donations website also allows the public to set up their own "initiatives", to which donations can be made. This is what I have done! The money goes directly to the event organisers (the public broadcasters' aid agency, Radiohjälpen), who then pool all the money that is collected during the week. After the week is done they will begin portioning it out to trusted charities that are relevant to this year's theme. This year's theme is Alla har rätt att överleva sin graviditet, or in English: Everyone Has a Right to Survive Their Pregnancy.

Learn more about musikhjälpen on English Wikipedia or on Sveriges radio's website (in Swedish).

Or

If you prefer, the goat will be just as happy if you make a donation to a charity of your choice. You'll have to find links to other causes on your own though! 😊

I should probably also mention that I am in no way officially affiliated with Gävlebocken, I just crocheted a little guy and thought it would be nice to spread some constructive spirit among all the calls for arson. 😇

[puckinghischier]

Spotlight

luke hughes x fem!reader

summary - reader prefers to stay out of the spotlight being luke hughes’ girlfriend brings

notes - y’all asked for luke, so luke you’ll get. i wanted to try to get out at least one more fic for you guys before my semester kicks off tomorrow. i don’t know how often i’ll be able to write once things get going, but i’m going to try my best not to completely disappear again. i don’t really like the ending of this, but i hope you enjoy it anyways. happy reading! 🫶🏼

request - “go with me?” “only if you’ll hold my hand” “take my jacket, i don’t want you catching a cold”

[2.3k]

You were someone that absolutely hated the spotlight. You hated the feeling of eyes on you, the knowledge that every move you make is being observed and analyzed.

You flew under the radar all through school, until college. You managed to become valedictorian of your program, earning a highly sought after position with a company based out of New Jersey.

The city has always brought a sense of anonymity to you that you’ve enjoyed. The ability to be a stranger everywhere you go brings a certain comfort to you.

That is, until you met one of the most well-known men in Jersey.

You first met Luke at an event your company was hosting in partnership with the Devils to present them with a hefty donation for a new practice facility. You had tried to get out of going, suit and tie events not being your typical scene, but your boss informed you that you were required to attend.

Even wearing the most plain dress you could find, you caught the attention of none other than the team’s rookie defenseman. You had tried to politely make your exit, but Luke was too intrigued by the pretty stranger in the corner.

The two of you had spent the rest of the night talking, despite the feeling of every eye on you as Luke lead you back to a table. The two of you exchanged numbers at the end of the event, Luke inviting you out to a game. He offered to give you a ticket, but you informed him that your company had rink-side season seats, courtesy of the GM after the donation.

You attended games regularly after that night, blending in the sea of red with Luke’s own Jersey on your back—another perk of the large donation— while also chatting with Luke nearly every day over text, which eventually morphed into phone calls, then facetime calls when he was on the road.

Four months after your initial meeting, Luke decided to make it official and put a label on your relationship.

You had worried about the unwanted attention that came with being a ‘WAG’ as you learned the other significant others on the team were nicknamed, but your feelings for Luke were greater than any discomfort you may experience.

Now, though, looking at the hoard of photographers that are stationed around the rink, your anxiety begins to spike a little.

“Honeybee, I promise it’ll be fine. They probably won’t even focus on us, anyways. They’ll want a few shots of me and Jack with mom and dad, but it’s likely they’ll be too busy on the guys with kids to even notice you’re with me,” Luke reassures you, crouched in front of you while tying your skates.

Today was family skate day for the team, Luke having asked you weeks ago to participate with him.

You agreed, despite your limited ability to skate, thinking it was just going to be the players and their families, no media presence. When you arrived with Luke this morning, however, and you saw the photographers trying to get pictures through the windows of Luke’s BMW, you realized you were wrong.

“I’m just nervous, Luke,” you tell him quietly. “I know if they release pictures of you with a girl during family skate it’s going to be the next big hockey gossip topic, and then it’ll feel like I’m under a microscope.”

Luke’s soft eyes look up at you, sensing the nervousness in your own.

“I know, sweet girl. But I promise, I’ll have Tom talk to the media and tell him to withhold any pictures of us together, if that makes you feel better?” he offers, picking up your now skate clad foot off of his knee and placing it on the padded floor.

You think about the offer, but realize it would still cause unwanted attention on you. You don’t want to be difficult, just invisible.

“No, I don’t want to overcomplicate things. It’s fine. Like you said, I’m sure they’ll mostly focus on everyone else,” you smile down at him, watching his own grin overtake his face.

“Well then, it’s time we finally get you acquainted with the ice. I have a feeling you’ll be seeing a lot of it in your future,” he winks, standing to his full height and holding a hand out to help you off of the bench.

He helps you walk over to the entrance to the rink, steadying you after every wobble. Once you reached the gate, you hesitate, halting your movements.

“C’mon, Honeybee. Go with me?” Luke asks you, already having stepped on the ice.

Thinking about what this means once more, and the huge step it is, no only onto the ice but in your relationship, you hesitate for only a few seconds.

“Only if you hold my hand,” you tell him, your words going deeper than just ice skating.

“Always,” he responds, tugging your hands towards him when you step onto the ice, shakily keeping your balance.

“Well, look at you, Wallflower, out here skating with the big dogs,” Jack calls out, skating up towards you and Luke.

Looking over to give him a short smile, you try to keep a majority of your attention on not falling over as Luke slowly pulls you towards him as he skates backwards.

“Figured it can’t be that hard if you do it all the time,” you tease him back, the two of you becoming close friends over the course of yours and Luke’s relationship.

Jack, as rambunctious and rowdy as he can be, is one of the people who works the hardest to keep you out of the spotlight, other than Luke, of course.

On the rare occasion you decide to tag along for team outings with Luke, Jack will act as your own personal body guard, perfectly hiding you in-between him and Luke anytime there’s a flash of a camera or a squeal of a fan.

“Oh, yeah, make fun of the professional. Let’s see you do this,” Jack makes a big show of skating backwards while swiveling, then executing a very poor jump, but still managing to land upright on his skates.

You roll your eyes at him, only glancing up for a few seconds at a time, trying to keep your eyes on your own feet.

“Alright, Jack, that’s enough showing off. Give the poor girl a break,” you hear Ellen scold her middle child as her and Jim skate over towards the three of you, hand in hand.

“Hey, she started it. I was just trying to defend myself,” he holds his hands up in surrender.

Luke guides you over to one of the short walls, allowing you to hold onto it for support for a second, giving you a break.

“Don’t act like you have to have a reason to show off, it’s just your natural state,” you tease Jack again, earning a laugh from the rest of the group.

“You got me there,” Jack doesn’t argue, shrugging his shoulders in agreement.

“Jack! Luke! Over here!” you hear a voice yell, turning to look at the photographer a few feet away from you, leaning over the wall with his camera pointed in your direction.

You feel the spike of anxiety in your chest, attempting to scoot further down the wall to separate yourself from them, but nearly losing your balance.

Luckily Luke was right there to catch you. “Hey, it’s okay. They’ll just get a few pictures of our family together and then move on,” he assures you once he makes sure you’re steady enough to be left alone.

You watch as Jack and Luke position themselves in just the right way that you’re completely hidden behind them, the added bodies of Ellen and Jim only ensuring your hidden state.

The photographer snaps a few shots of the family before giving a thumbs up, looking down to check the quality of his pictures.

You let out the breath you were holding in, sagging a bit at the relief of avoiding any unwanted attention.

“See, told you there was nothing to worry about,” Luke skates over to you again, leading you away from the wall.

“Luke! How about a shot of you and your lady!” the same photographer yells out, causing your relaxed state to turn rigid in a heartbeat.

“Nah, man. No pictures for her today. Just me and Jack,” Luke replies, skating to stand in front of you, blocking you from the camera pointed at you.

“Oh, c’mon, man. The fans will love it!” the photographer tries again, attempting to move positions to catch a glimpse of you.

“He said, no, man. Go get some shots of Cap or something. She doesn’t want her picture taken,” Jack skates up, standing in front of both you and Luke.

The photographer rolls his eyes, agitated at the loss of a good picture opportunity. “Fine, whatever,” the man huffs, turning and walking towards Nico and his family.

“Thanks, you guys,” you mumble out, embarrassed at the interaction.

“I told you, no pictures if you don’t want them,” Luke turns to face you, taking your hands in his once again, pulling you out further onto the ice.

The rest of the skate goes smoothly, no more unwanted attention from the photographers, just you and Luke and his family skating in small circles and having a good time.

Towards the end of the skate, you start bringing your gloved hands up to rub at your red nose, the chill of the ice finally getting to you.

“You cold, Honeybee?” Luke asks you, knowing how chilled you get, even when wearing layers like you were right now.

“Yeah, it’s a little chilly in here. Not that you’d know,” you tease your boyfriend, gesturing to his full set of pads and jersey he was wearing. Not to mention his tolerance for the cold anyways.

He leads the two of you over towards the benches, leaving you leaned against the wall for a second before returning with something in his hands.

“Here, take my jacket, I don’t want you catching a cold,” he tells you, draping your favorite plaid jacket of his over your shoulders.

You put your arms through the large sleeves, loving how you were now engulfed in the smell of his cologne.

Thanking him, you lean up to give him a small kiss, not caring who was watching, lost in your love for your boyfriend.

“Alright, let’s get you out of these skates and back into your normal shoes before people start filing in for warm ups. I have a game to play and you have to get to your seat so you can watch your hunky boyfriend do his manly job of hitting people and chasing a piece of rubber on ice,” he tells you, causing you to laugh at him, bringing a hand up to ruffle his curls.

After helping you remove your skates, and pouting until you give him a good luck kiss, Luke shoos you away so you can make your way to your usual seat, Jim and Ellen opting to join you at the glass rather than sitting in a box with some of the other player parents.

The boys ended up winning their game, Luke coming straight out of the locker room after the game and picking you up in a celebratory spin, claiming you have to go skating with him before every game now.

You laugh at his superstitious self, grabbing his hand and walking towards the exit of the rink with him to join the rest of the team for celebratory drinks, not wanting to bail on Luke after such a game.

Weeks later, when you see an article containing the pictures from the family skate event, you click on it and scroll through the various snapshots.

You find yourself smiling at all of the family pictures of Luke’s teammates, enjoying how happy the guys are to have their wives and kids with them on the ice.

Scrolling all the way to the end of the article, you find yourself stopping on a couple pictures in particular, the familiar pit of anxiety forming in your stomach.

The last two pictures in the article are pictures of you and Luke. The first was taken when he was zipping up the jacket he gave you, the two of you looking at each other with so much fondness you could feel the love radiating from the picture.

The second is when you were craning your neck to give Luke a small kiss, the picture captured right before your lips touched, both of you smiling at the other with the same fond look in your eyes.

Your immediate reaction should have been a level three meltdown, your picture out there with Luke, officially, in an ESPN article of all places, but you were surprisingly calm. You should have been screaming and angry, having specifically told the photographer no pictures, but you couldn’t find that anger within yourself.

The pictures showcased yours and Luke’s love for each other so well, you wanted copies of them for yourself. Suddenly you didn’t care if people knew your name, or your face. You could care less if you were front and center on every hockey gossip page in existence.

All you cared about was the amount of happiness you saw on Luke’s face in the pictures, and how deeply you felt about him.

So, when Luke called you an hour later, panicked and telling you he was in the process of getting them taken down, you told him it didn’t matter. They didn’t need to be taken down, because you didn’t care if you had to stand naked in the middle of the rink during puck drop at his next game, you just wanted people to know you loved him with every ounce of your being.

Your aversion to attention be damned, seeing these pictures made you want to scream your love for him from the rooftop of the highest building in Jersey. You were still opposed to the idea of unwanted and unnecessary attention, but decided right here that there would be no more hiding. You were going to be there for Luke in any way he wanted or needed you from here on out. And if you happened to be caught in a few pictures on the way? Well, you guess you’ll just have to get them framed.

[enhaflixer]

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

[onionsites]

ONİONSİTES - DRAGON+ (2)

Onion sites, also known as.onion sites, are a unique type of website that can only be accessed through the Tor network. The Tor network, short for The Onion Router, provides a layer of anonymity and encryption for users accessing these sites, making them popular for those seeking privacy and security online. Unlike traditional websites that can be accessed through standard web browsers, onion sites list require special software, such as the Tor browser, to navigate. Individuals can create onion versions of regular websites or develop standalone onion sites for specific purposes. The exclusivity and privacy features of onion sites contribute to their appeal for various users, ranging from privacy advocates to individuals navigating the dark web for specific content.

There are several reasons why individuals choose to use onion sites, with privacy and anonymity being at the forefront. Onion sites offer a level of confidentiality that is not typically found on the surface web, making them attractive to individuals seeking to protect their identity and browsing habits. Moreover, best onion sites can provide access to content that may be restricted or censored in certain regions, allowing users to circumvent such limitations and access information freely. The encrypted nature of the Tor network adds an additional layer of security, reducing the risk of surveillance and tracking by third parties, including governments and internet service providers.

Common types of content found on onion sites range from forums and marketplaces to news outlets and secure communication platforms. While exploring onion sites, individuals may come across forums, chat rooms, file-sharing platforms, and other interactive spaces that facilitate communication and information exchange in a secure environment. The anonymity and encryption offered 2024 onion sites contribute to a unique online experience, enabling users to engage with content and communities that may not be easily accessible through conventional web browsers.

[oc-ology]

How to get past the fear of OC posting

People should create for the sake of creating but people post to engage with the community. However, posting can be intimidating and anxiety-inducing for a lot of people. It’s easy to say “do it scared” but much harder to put into practice. So, I’ve put together a few steps that lead up to doing it scared. These won’t work for everyone and this is meant more as general advice.

Step One: Why are you scared?

The first step is to figure out what about posting is scary for you. Oftentimes, it’s not as simple as “what if my post flops” or “what if people think I’m cringe”. Once you’ve figured out the surface-level reason, dig a little deeper. If your post flops, does that lead to you doubting the worth of what you’re creating? If you’re worried about what people think, is that because you’ve experienced judgement before or are worried your inbox will be flooded with criticism?

Identifying why you’re scared will not only help you understand yourself better (yippee!) but you can also then work on the source of your fears and anxieties at your own pace.

Step Two: Find ways to lessen your fears

One way of working through anxiety online is to find ways to mitigate the specific source of your fear.

Some fears have easier solutions than others. If you’re worried about people criticising your work, you can turn off anonymous asks (as most people are less likely to be haters when there’s a name attached to it) or turn asks off entirely, as well as limiting replies to those who have been following for a week. This way, if someone does want to be an unpleasant individual, it’s a little harder for them to do so.

A lack of engagement is a little harder to remedy. Here, the only real solution is to try and divorce the idea that engagement = worth. Remember why you’re creating an OC. Because it’s fun! It’s an act of creation! Because you want to find a community…? A community or OC friends will never just drop into your lap. You need to seek them out yourself. Look into discord servers, forums, tumblr networks (are they still a thing?), fandom events and exchanges, and most importantly: go out of your way to send asks/questions to others and build friendships with them! If you’ve got social anxiety like me, this is going to be a big challenge. Which leads to the next step…

Step Three: Start small

It doesn’t matter how small your first step is - so long as that step is forwards! If you’re nervous about OC posting, find the smallest thing about them and post it with the expectation of getting no notes. That’s right, I want you to go in and expect it to flop. Anything over one note is an automatic win. This first post isn’t about engagement - it’s about getting over the initial fear of posting. 

It can be tempting to just go right out the gate with elaborate explanations of backstory, lore implications, power levels, everything. But the trick really is to start small. Most people scrolling tumblr aren’t going to read a few thousand words on something they’re not invested in yet. TL;DR is a curse that I’m sure we’ve all fallen victim to. 

Instead, break up information about your OC into small pieces that can be posted one by one and have some kind of visual piece with it. People are usually more drawn to images than text. For example, which of these two things are more visually interesting?

What Perseus keeps in his bag:

Amulet

Tinderbox

A broken blade

50ft of hempen rope

25gp of silver powder

Waterskin

Rations (cheese, bread, sausage)

OR

Obviously this comes down to personal preference but a lot of people would find the illustrated version to be more interesting. You don’t need to be an artist to do this either! You could make a version of that example in photoshop or a similar program. Picrews, moodboards, edits, game screenshots and photography can all be used to add a visual element to your posts.

Step Four: Why am I still scared?

Fear is not easily stamped out. Anxiety is definitely the kind of thing that lingers. These steps aren’t meant to immediately make OC posting not-scary. That’s something that will only come with time as you get used to it. Again: Do it. Do it scared. Gradually, it’ll be less terrifying and in the meantime, you might be able to make a few friends who also want to talk about your blorbo.

[barok-vanzieks]

since mr. naruhodo critiques your outfit all the time, what is one critique of his outfit that you have?

To elucidate criticism to the masses without prompting from the one whom it concerns appears to me a great discourtesy.

However; since the question is now posed, I would be remiss to ignore the inquiry. Therefore, I suggest Mr. Naruhodo could benefit with a different shade of socks.

[writingwithcolor]

Does the way my alien character disguises himself as a POC perpetuate harmful tropes?

Anonymous asks:

"Hi all! I'm a longtime follower, first time asker. There's something about my current story that feels a little sticky, and I haven't been able to find any applicable information on the blog. I'm working on a queer monster romance. The setting is a modern one with supernatural elements. One of the main characters is an alien refugee, and his species has an ability to possess corpses and retain some of the last soul's memories to disguise themselves. It's morbid, but it's supposed to be a story about monsters, and he doesn't do worse beyond that. I've read a lot of posts by Latinx and Jewish people talking about aliens on Earth as a metaphor for immigrants, with the struggle of adapting to a new culture and being separated from the one you were born into, and since my story takes place in Southern California, which has a large population of Mexican immigrants, I thought it made sense to make his ""host body"" Mexican. However, the more I think on it, I'm worried that his ""disguise"" method could be viewed as a violation of a brown body. I'm also concerned that he's just TOO monstrous, and could play into a harmful trope of making POC inhuman. The other main character is white and more visibly monstrous, and there are other POC who aren't monsters, but is it enough? Should my alien disguise himself in another way? I know mods aren't answering questions about Latino culture right now, but I think this is more about harmful tropes against POC in general. Thanks for reading."

I appreciate that your response is about the Mexican community rather than the Jewish community, but still take a look at Mod Shira’s post on Jewish Monster Characters Doing Harm  as well as Monsters in General.

Consider the tension that your monsters create. As those posts suggested,  could you swap out “monster” and replace it with “immigrant,” “Latine,” or "Mexican" and see real-world conflict? If so, then the story could be veering towards a metaphor for race-relations, despite being a romance genre and not an #ownvoices narrative. 

You mentioned that some monsters disguise themselves in white bodies but are “more monstrous.” That’s interesting, but I’m still unclear: does your alien monster merge with its host, or is it just wearing their skin? In the anime Parasyte, the alien Migi and its human host have deep conversations about humanity, culture, and perspective. These are all things Migi doesn’t initially understand. This exchange gives the human host agency while preserving their cultural identity. Will your Latine MC receive that kind of humanization?

If not, and these aliens are simply using a Latine appearance as a disguise, that’s a problem. It effectively erases the Latino experience while using a Latine character’s face, which feels deeply unsettling. It risks reducing Mexican identity to an aesthetic rather than acknowledging its depth of culture, traditions, history, food, music, humor, or language.

Since this is a queer romance, it also raises another issue: if the alien is just impersonating a Latine person, then the Latine love interest is, in reality, falling for someone who isn’t actually Latine. Does the love interest teach the alien about Latino culture? That could work, or fall flat depending on execution.

Ultimately, if there’s no strong narrative reason for this alien to present as Latine, it might be worth reconsidering their ethnicity. Maybe your next story could have a Latine MC without this sort of ambiguity, or you could make the alien merge with a real Latine host, similar to Parasyte. Alternatively, the love interest could be Latine, allowing for meaningful cultural exchange. Personally, I’d pass on a book where a non-Latine entity is running around murdering and romancing in Latine skin. But that’s just me. 

~  Melanie 🌻

since my story takes place in Southern California, which has a large population of Mexican immigrants, I thought it made sense to make his "host body" Mexican.

This just sounds exactly like the aliens disguising themselves as Latin American immigrants in The Men In Black (1997) lol. In MIB, it is an intentional joke/play on the word “alien” that only worked in the 90s. That’s going to be the first thing audiences think of when they read this scenario. 

~ Rina

Rina and Melanie’s Required Reading/Watching Recs:

The Men In Black (Columbia Pictures, 1997) 

The Host (Stephenie Meyer, 2008) 😖

Parasyte (dir. Shimizu Kenichi, Madhouse, 2014)

Our prescription: more research and genre awareness.

[fandoms-x-reader]

MC's Child

Requested Anonymously

Summary: It had been a while since the Seven Demon brothers had seen MC. When you show up in the Devildom, they were so excited to see her again. But - you're not her. You're her daughter. The Seven Demon Brothers x Fem! Reader

The group of seven demons stood around you as they looked at you with adoration and love.

You were still asleep, unable to talk to them. But you looked so peaceful that they could watch you sleep for a hundred years.

They noticed that something seemed a little different about you, but that was to be expected when they hadn’t seen you in a while.

They had missed you much in your time away from the Devildom. How long had it been? A couple of years? Time flew by when you were a demon who had lived as long as any of them had.

They wondered what you were doing back in the Devildom. Your visit was a surprise to them. None of them expected you to show up at the House of Lamentation - let alone unconscious.

They nearly freaked out when they saw you, thinking you were dead. But traveling through a portal to another realm was exhausting for a human.

And what they didn’t know was that this was your first time traveling through a portal so it was even worse for you.

Because you weren’t the amazing human that came to the Devildom as a human exchange student - you were her daughter.

Growing up, you were always told about the adventures of the Devildom, and you were left instructions on how to reach the Devildom if you were ever in trouble.

You were promised that these demons would help you no matter what. So when you found yourself in a sticky situation, after your mother passed away, you did just as you were told.

The brothers didn’t even think about this being a possibility even though the signs were in front of them.

You were the same age as your mother when she came down the Devildom but time had passed so there should have been some aging. 

Not to mention, your hair color and body type were slightly different from hers.

It was different enough that someone on the outside could see that you weren’t the same person.

But close enough that the demon brothers could rationalize you were the same person.

They had missed their human so much, longing for them to come back down the Devildom since they left.

So, when another human landed on their doorstep, looking like the one they loved, it made sense for them to jump to assumptions. To hope that their human came back to them.

But, those dreams were quickly crushed when you finally woke up.

You told them about how much time had passed and how you weren’t the same person they were looking for, but that you were told they would help you.

And after a very long conversation, you were left in silence as they all processed the news in their own ways.

The news came as a shock to Lucifer.

You looked so similar to them. How could you be two different people?

He remained very stoic during your explanation, not wanting to let on how sad he was that you weren’t the person they had been wishing for.

But you weren’t far off.

And even though they missed their human dearly, they had instructed you to come and seek out the seven demon brothers.

That in itself meant the world to Lucifer because it meant they were trusted and loved by your mother just as much as they loved her.

Lucifer wasn’t sure why exactly you had come to the Devildom, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to turn you away.

He would have to inform Lord Diavolo and Barbatos of the situation as soon as possible.

He would have to get their guidance and clearance on the topic.

But he knew they cared about your mother as much as any of the rest of them, so they would have no qualms with letting you stay in the Devildom for a little while.

Lucifer wished he would have had another chance to talk to your mother, to tell her how much she meant to him.

But, now that you were here, he was going to make sure he did this one thing to honor her memory.

He would make sure that you were taken care of no matter what.

Mammon was completely heartbroken when you told him that your mother passed away.

He loved her so much and he had been just waiting for another opportunity to see her again.

How had this much time passed? It didn’t make sense to him.

It felt like the blink of an eye to him and yet it was an entire lifetime.

Mammon had so many questions, but he didn’t know where to begin.

He ended up spending most of his time gambling or locked in his room. That was his way of coping with the information.

After the initial phase passed though, Mammon realized you were sent to them for a reason and he would be damned if he didn’t have a part in it.

The human he once loved may be gone, but she sent you there. 

His tsundere behavior is just as strong towards you when the two of you first met as it was towards her the first time they met.

But, soon enough, you’re going gambling with him and binging his favorite action movies.

You didn’t act anything like your mother, and yet you managed to heal the cracks in his heart from missing her.

Mammon made a promise to himself that even though he couldn’t protect her from her fate, he would make sure he protected you.

He would make sure that his human lived on and thrived through you.

He just hoped that you wouldn’t leave them like your mother did.

Levi went into full shut-in mode after finding out the news.

He didn’t want anyone to see how much he cried for the loss of their human.

He told himself there was something he could have done to save her - if only he had tried harder.

And he promised himself that he would no longer open himself up to others. This was too painful for him to ever experience again.

So, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with you. 

But you didn’t want there to be an awkwardness between you and Levi since you were going to be staying there for a while.

And you were just as good as your mother at chipping away at his walls.

Levi resisted your attempts to talk to him for as long as he could. But it didn’t take long for him to crack.

He didn’t say much when you tried to have a one-on-one conversation with him.

But, when you asked to play a video game with him, it was a whole different level.

As the two of you played and discussed his other interests, Levi felt the last of his walls crumbling down as he fell into an easy conversation.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe he was glad you didn’t let him hole himself up in his room away from you.

He finally had a friend again and he had missed that feeling.

Satan had disappeared into his room to destroy anything and everything nearby when he found out that you were the child of the human he held in his heart and that she was dead.

He had spent all of this time setting aside books he wanted her to read. He stocked up on cat merch to give her as gifts. And he even made a separate pile of books he wanted to read with her.

Satan thought about her every day and spent so much of his time preparing for their next meeting…and it was all for nothing.

Satan was another one who didn’t want anything to do with you at first because you were a constant reminder of her and it made him sad every time.

But he couldn’t help but notice how studious you were and the fact that you always had a spare book in your bag to read.

No matter how hard he tried to stay away, he couldn’t help but continue to observe you.

He picked up on what your favorite genre to read was and when he found you searching for a good book to read, he couldn’t help but put his two cents in.

He was surprised at how easy the conversation with you was and it was only then that he realized how unfair it was to shun you because he missed your mother.

He knew that wasn’t what she would have wanted. She sent you to the demon brothers because she wanted you to be cared for.

Satan wasn’t the best at being sentimental and empathetic, but you were a completely different story.

And he had decided that he would be there for you, no matter what you needed.

Asmo did not hold his tears back at all when he found out that your mother had died.

He was completely shattered by the news. 

He had so much love for her and was waiting for the chance to show her how much they had been missed in the Devildom.

And now, he was never going to get the chance to show her that.

Despite how sad he was, Asmo was the most welcoming among his brothers.

Asmo always had the most friendly and outgoing personality. He made friends with every person he met. And, you were no different.

Asmo took it upon himself to personally show you around the Devildom. He knew that you missed your mother as much as they did, but no one was looking at it from that angle besides him.

He’s a bit in awe at how she passed their beauty down to you. You shone just as radiantly as she did. 

Asmo will one hundred percent spoil you and pamper you the same way he used to do for her.

All in all, he’s the most dramatic with his grieving but also the most welcoming.

You were one of them now, and he was going to make sure everyone treated you as such.

If there was one thing Beel knew better than anything else, it was family.

Family was the most important thing in his life. The one thing that he would lay down his life for.

And your mother was part of their family. He and his brothers loved her so much.

Before, there was a small hole when they thought your mother was just up in the human world.

Now that they found out that your mother was dead, that hole was gaping.

It hurt Beel more than he wanted to admit to lose someone that was loved so much.

It hurt to lose someone who was such a big part of their family.

But at the end of the day, you were their daughter. 

Which meant that whether you liked it or not, you were a part of the Devildom family now. And Beel intended to treat you as such.

It didn’t matter that they didn’t know you very well yet. Beel welcomed you with open arms.

They could get to know you as the time passed and Beel was certain they would all want to.

He was glad that your mother told you about them and that you came to seek them out. 

He would make sure you didn’t regret that decision.

Belphie was as stubborn as ever.

He refused to show his emotions on the outside even though he was dying on the inside.

He didn’t even know what to make of this situation.

His mind felt like a whirlwind as he tried to figure out what to say or at least what question to ask.

He ended up remaining silent as you talked to the others.

And while you were conversing with the others, he couldn’t help but pick up on the similarities and differences between you and your mother.

He was sure that after your mother was gone, he would revert back to his old ways and begin hating humans again.

But here he was, looking at you, and there wasn’t a hint of animosity.

It made him want to laugh a bit - if only he was this way when he first met her.

Belphie had made a terrible impression on your mother and he didn’t want to make the same mistake with you.

He was a bit awkward at first, but once he started opening up, Belphie showed his caring side to you more often than he usually did.

He wanted you to know that he would be there for you if you needed anything because that’s what he would have done if your mother was still alive.

[livingund3ad]

[for the last time || в последний раз]

warnings: depictions of drowning, mentions of murder, suicide and death. read with discretion

» you are here | 02. | 03. | ... |

From the eyes of [ ? ]

Transcript of Gotham Gazette’s Breaking Report - July 26th, 20XX

4:12 AM:

A tip-off was received from an anonymous source regarding unusual activity at Gotham’s Westriver district. Police vehicles and ambulances were spotted converging near the secluded edges of Gotham River—an area notorious for its dense forestry and dark history.

4:45 AM:

Journalists began arriving at the scene, their vehicles halted by police barricades and vigilant security guards. Under the waning moonlight, the air was thick with dread, murmurs building as scattered information trickled down to the press like blood seeping from a fresh wound.

5:03 AM:

The first confirmation: It was a recovery mission. A body had been pulled from the lake.

Witnesses reported seeing Bruce Wayne himself, dripping wet, his clothes clinging to him like the weight of his own name. Beside him, Richard “Dick” Grayson, his adopted son, equally drenched and disheveled, his eyes wide and haunted.

The two had been escorted away from the lake by paramedics, refusing medical attention despite the chill in their bones. The urgency of their movements was eclipsed only by the sheer devastation etched into their faces.

5:18 AM:

Timothy Drake and Damian Wayne emerged from the thick of the woods. Neither of them bore the dampness of the lake but their expressions spoke of something far worse. Something hollow and undone.

Photographs capture Timothy hunched over his phone, his fingers shaking against the screen, his lips moving but producing no sound. Damian, the youngest of the Wayne family, wore a scowl so vicious and desperate. Belongings that appeared not his held tightly in his hands.

5:35 AM:

Paramedics wheeled a gurney draped in white cloth towards the ambulance. Flashes of cameras ignited the darkness, stuttering against the crisp material of the sheet. The body beneath was small. Fragile.

The public’s fixation shifted from the family to the figure hidden beneath the shroud. The rumors were relentless, each theory more grisly than the last. But the truth was far simpler. And perhaps far more tragic.

It was J*** “Doe” Wayne.

A name only whispered in tabloid columns and murmured through charity event speeches. Another ward of Bruce Wayne, adopted into the sprawling empire with little fanfare or spectacle. The papers had only touched upon her existence over the years—a young girl hidden from the public eye, shielded by the iron gates of Wayne Manor and the shadows of Gotham’s elite.

6:00 AM:

Questions splintered through the media like glass. What was she doing at the river in the middle of the night? Was it an accident? Foul play? A desperate attempt to escape the crushing weight of the Wayne legacy?

The officials refused to give statements, urging the press to maintain their distance. No confirmation. No denial. Just the lingering, oppressive silence of unanswered questions.

But the most damning piece of evidence came from the Waynes themselves.

Photographs circulated of Bruce Wayne’s face, pale and slack, eyes unfocused as he sat slumped on the hood of his car. Beside him, Dick Grayson, fists clenched at his sides, tears smudged into his cheeks like war paint.

For a family so used to presenting perfection to the public, their grief was painfully, brutally exposed.

6:45 AM:

The ambulance departed, sirens off. A grim omen. The kind reporters recognize all too well.

Rumors sparked like wildfire—J*** had drowned. But was it her own doing, or had someone pushed her? Had the burden of living under the Wayne name finally cracked her fragile frame, or was there something darker at play?

Theories were exchanged in frantic whispers, reporters scrambling to piece together fragments of truth from the ashes of tragedy.

7:30 AM:

Police issued a statement confirming the body belonged to J*** “Doe” Wayne. Age eighteen. Probable cause of Death—Asphyxiation by Submersion. No further details were provided.

Bruce Wayne and his sons were escorted away from the scene shortly after. Their silence a fortress built of agony and guilt.

Now, in the wake of her death, the public demands answers.

Was it murder? Suicide? An accident? Or something far more sinister lurking beneath Gotham’s glittering surface?

What had exactly happened to J*** “Doe” Wayne?

Authors note: Yes, it's a Yan! Batfam. Whodunnit. Erm there's a likely possibility that this will end up in the unfinished yan! batfam fics archive. I will attempt to write this I promise, cuz like I've been reading some Yan!Batfam fics and I haven't seen one yet that's been finished so why not write one that starts at the ending(?). Lol I'm just a dumbass who's a sucker for angst idk what's happening tbh. Also yes, I will be using she/her pronouns, and the reader darling is going to be called J*** or "Doe" in this cuz I have a reason for that. It's a secret for now. Or maybe you guys already do know from the theme I suck at being subtle.

[assistant-emu-official]

sliiiides a video of nene's starry sky melody alt vocal over to you

Emu is physically vibrating hard enough that if you held a glass against her it might shatter from the frequency the entire time she is watching the video, somehow managing to remain otherwise still and quiet for the entire duration before exploding back into motion.

AKAJDKSHKSHSKAJAJSJAHAKSKSJDLDKKAKSHSKEHSLSJEHEJBESHSJSKEHIWWISHAKKASJKAKASJAKAJKAAK

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HER VOICE IS SO WANDAHOI DOKIDOKI KIRAKIRA SUPER WANDAHOI IT SHOULD BE ILLEGAL TO HAVE A VOICE THAT PRETTY I NEED TO ARREST HER IMMEDIATELY

She suddenly visibly has a realization and leans against a wall to steady herself.

Anon. Anon that is my girblfriebd. Thabt is my girbdkfrb that is thaj pttrey. Abnon I ma goig to cry. Abon I habe to arredt my girfbein fow beign foo pwberty… bcuse sbe is my gfirbebs…

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ エロチックトバー２０２４> MDNI / EXPLICIT CONTENT

THE PRICE OF YOUR FREEDOM 💦 TRAFALGAR LAW X GN! READER ＫINKTOBER DAY 28: SHIBARI

🐙 requested by: Anonymous. Trafalgar Law for day 28 shibari? With gender neutral reader or fem reader it's fine. Can Law be the one who tied up instead the reader? ⚠️ tw: mdni. explicit content. law is tied up. jerking off. exchanging "sex" for freedom. dominant gn! reader. maybe sex slave Law. 🐙 wc: 1,1k // kinktober 24 masterlist // join the taglist

With cords around his wrists, the intruder hangs on a room that lacks light. Humid, even smelly. The walls reminds him of a dungeon, and, in fact, he is not wrong.

“They told me you were trying to sneak into my island, pirate” you spit, opening the doors that blind the intruder with a sudden burst of light coming through.

“Fuck you, bitch” he grunts. A man so handsome, covered in tattoos. His muscles are noticeable, he is lean, and his skin has a caramel tint. Oh, what an interesting prey your subordinates just caught.

“That is not the proper way to refer to me, sweet boy…” you giggle, coming closer to his body. Those tight jeans around long, long legs are delicious to look at. But the protruding hipbones are more. Your index reaches for his stomach; with abs spasming to your touch, he lets you know he is more than sensitive to it… oh, are you getting hard just by my simple touch?

“What are these tattoos, pirate? What do they mean?” you ask, coming even closer to his body. Your index still tracing up and around the curls of black ink, bumping with cords that also garnish his thorax.

He looks to the side, a golden hoop on his ear reflects the warm light of torches outside… he isn’t disclosing any good information.

“Ah… come on! Tell me something! I just wanna get to know you, I don’t really plan on hurting you… plus, I know your name… aren’t you…” you laugh, coming closer to his ear as you get on tippy toes and your palms rest on his chest. “…Trafalgar Law? Cooperate with me, come on… I know you are strong” you continue.

He immediately looks at you; he burns holes into your eyes with a glacial look that could freeze you up. An everlasting frown, sweet dark circles…

“What do you want?” he asks, this time serious and more annoyed than before.

You walk away, just a little, with your index closer to your lips and your eyes wondering the ceiling as you act like you are thinking about something.

“Mhh… I am not exactly sure, cause you know… I was just minding my own business when you appeared on the coast of my island… to be fair, you should be the one telling me…also, you looked pretty beaten up” you smirk, showing him something he hasn’t probably noticed yet; gauze patching up here and there, bruises all over, and dry blood that hasn’t been cleaned up properly yet.

Law knows, exactly, what had happened to him. Thing is, he won’t tell you. However, he is willing to negotiate; he is aware the cords aren’t simply cords and that they are, indeed, made of thousands of thin kairoseki filaments.

“Tell me, what do you want? I am willing to negotiate my freedom” he mutters; Law wants to be out of this situation as fast as possible. You smirk and then bite your lower lip; lust takes over, your body getting warmer, your skin bumpier.

“Well, I think you are delicious… what do you have for me? What is the cost of your freedom, Trafalgar Law?”

“Heh, are you that desperate you need to force men?” he asks -insults- you.

This time you scoff; a big smile that’s closer to a demon’s scares him a little bit. You come closer; you don’t walk, you seem to crawl like a venomous snake… with a swift motion, your hand lands on his hardness. A bulge that’s been getting more and more noticeable the more you spoke.

“Are you sure I am the desperate one? What’s with this, mh? Aren’t you a little bit too hard?” you ask into his ear, biting his earlobe right after.

Law gasps a little; probably he wasn’t ready for that sudden touch… but he wants more…

You pull from a cord that hangs behind him, lifting his whole body over the ground. Just a little, enough for his feet to barely graze the floor with the tip of his boots. The cords properly tied around his body carve into his flesh, causing Law to grimace in pain if any part would touch a bruise.

“Does it hurt, Law-san?” you inquire, sliding your index in between a cord and his skin at his ribs level.

“You want my body? Take it” he huffs, squirming when your hand reaches for his stomach from behind.

You smile; you were never using his body if he wasn’t expressly asking for it… With a bite on his side, and a hand sliding up his chest getting underneath the cords on his pecs, you give him what he had been asking for.

His jeans were easy to take off; those slid down and got tangled around his ankles. Boxer briefs of slightly funny heart patterns, show staining from precum sprouting and his sex, that throbs, awaits for your silky hands…

“You want my hands around your sex, Law-san?” you ask, kissing his neck with soft, butterfly pecks.

“That’s the price of my freedom?” he asks, slightly moving his hips back and forth.

“That’s something that is up to you to decide…” you giggle, sliding your hand into his underwear. Hot to the touch, wet and hard is how it feels… pulsating sex in between your hand, that has a little surprise right at the tip; a cold metallic ring.

As you begin to pump, pleased with the soft whimpering coming out of his mouth, his body moves with your jerking off delight; hanging from the ceiling, trembling, moving and with each move carving those debilitating ropes more and more into his caramel skin… ah, delicious!

Law’s boxer briefs also fall, and he wishes his whole body would also fall… his wrists, become redder and painful, the more he squirms to your touch.

You play with your palm on top of his tip, moving the little piercing, getting his gland more and more aroused. It’s so good to see this strong Yonko willing to fuck your hand, as he pays for his “freedom”.

So close, so close… so close until it bursts with grunts and not so manly whimpers… and you leave him there, dripping cum on the floor and into his pants.

“I’ll be back soon, Law-chan” “Free me, (Name)-ya!” “ah... you know my name? then I am sure you don’t want me to do it, right? A simple orgasm is not the price of your freedom… Trafalgar D. Water Law ~”

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 20: written but never sent

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

Spencer greatly enjoyed handwriting. Electronic devices irritated him to no end, as he felt that typing on them was so impersonal and trivial. Handwriting required careful thought, reflecting desires and passions in the shape of the letters, and capturing feelings in the prose... everything written by hand represented something intimate, at least to him.

That’s why, when he got a pen pal, it was inevitable that he would start developing feelings. He had contacted you as part of a school assignment, as both of you were studying the same Ph.D. in linguistics, and one of the tasks was to analyze how different people express themselves in writing.

All he had was your name and address, the strictly necessary information to send a letter. He was the first to send one, sharing some details about himself, why he was pursuing the degree, the work he did, and how he would apply the knowledge he was acquiring.

He patiently waited for your response, which arrived a week later in a small brown paper envelope with a maroon stamp. Your letter didn’t seem like just a required response to fulfill the assignment. You sounded genuinely interested in what he had shared, and you addressed every point he had mentioned.

What surprised him the most was that at the end, you talked about books he had mentioned and ended with a question:

Have you read The Resilience of Language? It's a great book that could help you a lot. I highly recommend it! Best regards, nice to meet you.

There was a question at the end. The answer was no, Spencer hadn’t read that book. He could have simply stopped there, taking your recommendation and using your letter to complete his assignment. But something inside him wasn’t content to just end the communication there; he thought it would be rude not to offer a reply. So, as soon as he received your letter, he took one of his notebooks to write back.

Spencer used one of his gel pens with a fine tip and deep pigmentation. If someone were observing him, they could say that all these actions reflected a sense of importance: selecting the paper, his best pen, carefully crafting his handwriting—all of this added weight to the act.

He sent the letter, still unsure, but hopeful nonetheless. He was amazed when he arrived at the building and found another letter in his mailbox, with the same characteristics as the previous week.

A year had passed since then.

Every week, without fail, you exchanged letters. By now, he knew you better than he had ever known anyone, as the semi-anonymity provided an extra layer of trust for sharing everything that had happened during your week. You started by exchanging generalities, talking about books, and discussing the Ph.D. classes. Slowly, you began to share less trivial things: how the place where you lived was, your job, elements of your identity.

In recent months, you were writing to each other as if you were close friends.

My migraines have improved, in case you’re wondering, and this week at work has been less demanding than usual. We only handled a fairly light case (if you can even call it that in my line of work), and I had time to analyze some of the works you recommended. How’s everything going with that guy at work?

When Spencer finished, he hesitated about how to sign the letter. At first, he would send you his regards, write some polite expression, or simply wish you a good day. But now, he felt the need to sign off differently.

Affectionately, Spencer.

He didn’t think you would notice, just a gesture of the growing trust between you. He patiently waited for the postman to deliver your reply, and after several days, he eagerly read your words on the paper.

I’m disappointed about the guy. Turns out he’s a jerk, you know? Sometimes I wish I could meet someone who can genuinely love me, without focusing solely on the physical. Maybe it’s bold of me to say that, but I think you understand. I want a connection that comes from appreciating who I am, with someone who shares my interests, someone respectful, intelligent... but I won’t bore you with my romantic nonsense. The point is, I’m not dating anyone at the moment. I’m focusing on our Ph.D., haha. I hope you’re doing well, and I look forward to your reply!

However, he was quite surprised when he read the signature that followed your name.

Yours sincerely…

Had you signed that way in response to the dedication in his letter? Something felt strange within him, and his chest warmed with an unfamiliar feeling.

For a moment, he wondered if there was any possibility that he could meet the expectations of the special person you described, and when he realized he was imagining himself with you in that kind of scenario, he felt embarrassed.

It was ridiculous to think about. You didn’t even know each other, and you lived miles away, you were just friends who had taken a school assignment too far.

Time passed, and the signatures grew more affectionate, more personal… just like the content of the letters. It got to the point where he couldn’t deny it anymore: he was in love.

Though after realizing it, he spent a long time wondering what he should do with that feeling. Weeks passed before he came to a decision.

Spencer was returning from Maine when he decided to finally write to you. He was sitting on the plane, with his notebook in front of him, and his mind as blank as the page.

“What are you struggling to write, Reid?” Emily asked, sitting beside him “You’ve been staring at that notebook for ten minutes without the pen touching the paper.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, trying to downplay it. He didn’t want to talk about it, not with Emily, not with anyone.

A couple of hours later, with a pile of crumpled-up drafts beside him, he finally managed to write something:

I can’t start this letter without first telling you how much I’ve come to value our correspondence. For over a year, our written conversations have become one of the most important constants in my life. Each week, I eagerly await your letters, and every one of them brings me a pause in the middle of my routine: a space of calm where our words connect in ways I never imagined possible. I’ve read and reread your letters so many times that, sometimes, I feel like I know them by heart. Even so, I always discover something new in your words: an idea that eluded me before, an emotion that makes more sense over time, or a reflection that sheds new light on my own experience. Although we’ve never met in person, I feel like I know you better than many people I speak to face-to-face. Is that strange? Maybe it is, but the truth is that there’s something about the depth of our conversations that transcends physical distance. All this time, I’ve tried to rationalize what you mean to me, but there are things that can’t be measured or analyzed logically, no matter how hard I try. What I want to tell you —and what has taken me so long to write—is that I’ve fallen in love with you. At first, I wasn’t sure what this feeling was. I thought it was just admiration or gratitude for the friendship we’ve cultivated, but with each letter, with each shared thought, I realized it was something deeper. I love you, not just for what you share with me, but for who you are. For the way you see the world, with such clarity and empathy. For your insatiable curiosity, for your unique way of finding beauty in the smallest details. I don’t want this confession to make you uncomfortable or push you away. I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same, and I’ll consider myself lucky just to have known you in this way. But I couldn’t go on without being honest with you. I hope that, whatever your response may be, we can remain the same two friends who have shared so much through these pages. With all my love, and praying to be able to be yours, Spencer.

He kept the written words as if they were a treasure, feeling his heart race every time he thought about that secret tucked away in an envelope on his desk. Unfortunately, that letter never saw the light of day, all because of his fear of losing who might have been the best friend he had ever had in his life.