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aureatelys · 2 months ago

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lunch break

pairing: jesse/fem!reader genre: smut smut smut w.c.: 5.5k a/n: the first scene of 2x03 had me blacking out and then i wrote this in two days. this is my first time writing for jesse, pls be gentle and i hope you enjoy because i had so much fun writing this <3 ty for my dear lover for enabling me. you can also imagine either show or game jesse for this!

summary: You've been distracted by your boyfriend all morning. Jesse knows you better than you expected.

c.w.: 18+ MDNI, porn no plot, post 2x02 but joel lives (!), established relationship, jesse is sexy and reader is horny for his arms, oral sex (f receiving), brief fingering, unprotected p in v sex (lets pretend birth control exists ok), fluff, no y/n

read below or on ao3 here <3

You’re starting to wonder if you’ve gone insane.

Jackson has been somber for the past several months—mourning all the losses after the walls were breached and focusing on rebuilding. The makeshift hospital was still as busy as ever, and every time word spread that another person had succumbed to their injuries, the weight that seemed to blanket over the town grew heavier, quieter.

Luckily, you hadn’t lost anybody you were particularly close with. Even then, you’re not sure if you would even have the time to mourn them with how hard the council was pushing any and all able-bodied people to help in the rebuild. Your body was sore and hands were covered in blisters as you helped carry logs of wood to the main street.

So, you’re not exactly sure why you’re about to start drooling, heart thudding in your chest and pulsing between your legs, as you watch Jesse lift a sledgehammer to pound a wooden pillar into the ground.

You stop in your tracks, arms aching despite the small bundle of wood you’re carrying, as you stare, absolutely transfixed.

Jesse always ran warm, warmer than you, so despite the chill in the spring air, he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt that showcased his broad shoulders and thick arms. You watch as his muscles bulge with every lift of the sledgehammer, the prominent veins running along his forearms drawing your attention. The buttons of his shirt were undone, providing you a delicious peak of his chest, as if he was teasing you.

Sweat was already starting to form along his hairline, causing a few strands to start sticking to his skin. His pants were tight, unfairly hugging his hips, his thick thighs straining through the fabric. If you strain your ears hard enough, now able to discern the low cadence of his voice through a crowd, you could detect the quiet grunts with every lift of the sledgehammer.

You blame the fact that you both have been too busy with the repairs and Jesse being added to the council for the way molten heat begins to pool at your core, fingers twitching with the rampant desire to get your hands on him.

The only time you’ve been able to spend with Jesse lately was when he would crawl into your bed late at night, usually when you were already asleep. Sometimes you were able to wake up before he had to leave and would only have time to press your face into his chest, inhaling and memorizing his clean scent. Other times he’d already be gone, leaving a short and concise note but with a crooked little heart next to his name.

So you’re a little sexually frustrated, okay?

“You alright?”

You startle out of your thoughts, tearing your gaze away from your boyfriend continuing to grunt extremely inappropriately, to Tommy sitting on the sidelines while he waited for his turn.

He’s watching you with a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips despite the weariness physically weighing on his shoulders.

Tommy’s nice, always has been, and seemed to be around you more lately after he found out you and Jesse were a thing. You’re not exactly sure why, but you had found yourself spending more time with him and Maria, Ellie, and even Joel. You were starting to feel like you had an actual group of people that cared about you.

His question seems to have caught Jesse’s attention. He stops working, resting the sledgehammer onto the ground and leaning against it, raising an eyebrow at you.

Jesse’s protective, always has been, but even moreso in the past several weeks. He says it’s because he knows you and how you’re a little reckless, impulsive, but you know that’s not entirely true.

You feel heat crawl up your neck at being caught ogling, and you don’t even bother to tiptoe around Tommy like you know other people have been doing after Joel’s near-death experience when you mutter a “shut up” and stalk away.

You hear Tommy laugh. The sound makes you smile, your shoulders loosening up because he’s been so stressed lately with the rebuild and worrying about Joel still in the hospital.

You ignore the weight of Jesse’s gaze digging into your back.

You’re unfortunately tasked with clearing out some additional rubble from a nearby building, which means your entire morning is spent with Jesse’s grunting and groaning within earshot as he worked only several feet away.

It’s a cruel form of torture, and you almost drop at least 2 pieces of concrete on your feet because you were too enraptured by the way you could see his muscles shift underneath his shirt.

By the time your group breaks for lunch, you’re shifting uncomfortably due to the wetness gathering in your panties and brushing against your thighs. The ache in your shoulders and hips pales in comparison to the ache in your core as Jesse sidles up next to you silently.

“Ready?” he asks, slightly out of breath and brushing his hair away from his forehead with his wrist. He’s so hot, it’s really unfair.

It was Jesse’s suggestion to take a lunch together whenever you could if he wasn’t busy. Your heart had thumped an erratic and concerning pace when he brought it up, his voice low and tinged with an endearing sort of bashfulness.

It had taken you awhile but you’ve come to find out that Jesse was more affectionate in private than in public. He liked to spend time with you, enjoyed being in your presence and sitting in silence. He didn’t have much dating experience besides Dina, who often took the reins in their relationship, so him making an effort to make time for you despite his busy schedule was new to the both of you.

“Yep,” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice the rasp in your voice, and steps in time with him as you head to your house only a couple blocks away.

Jesse has only been able to join you for lunch a handful of times, often having to give you a regretful smile before being pulled away for an emergency council meeting or to help another person on the other side of town. You didn’t mind, you knew he was busy, knew that this was what to be expected after he had told you that night that he was talking to Maria about being added to the council.

You admired him and his tenacity for wanting to help the people of Jackson. He was undoubtedly the most responsible person in your age group and it only made sense that he got added since he was friendly, even had a golden boy reputation.

You knew that he couldn’t talk about what happened during their meetings, even to you, and you honestly didn’t have much to talk about besides the fact that your neighbor’s dog slept on your porch last night.

So you two walked in comfortable silence, his bare arm brushing against your sleeve every few paces. Even through your multiple layers, the warmth of him still bled through the sweaters and was doing nothing to quell the building heat underneath your skin. The smell of him and his sweat, mixing with the smoky burning of wood nearby, was starting to make you feel faint.

By the time you two make it to your house, you were one second away from falling to your knees and scrambling to unbuckle his belt to tug his pants down and take him in your mouth.

It’s when the front door closes behind you when Jesse asks “You okay?”

You’re toeing off your boots and tugging off your jacket to throw over the rusty coatrack by the door before making your way to the kitchen, already preoccupied by trying to remember what sandwich ingredients you could scrounge together. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just seemed distracted today.”

You have no idea. “I’m just tired today.”

Jesse hums, and you think you’re off the hook and can focus on rushing to make a sandwich because Tommy does not give you guys enough time for lunch, when he’s suddenly pressing up against you, his large hands resting on your hips and mouth inches from your ear as he mutters “So that’s why you kept staring at me today? Because you were distracted?”

You huff out a laugh, setting down your butter knife, because you’re honestly not surprised. Jesse was possibly the most perceptive person you knew, of course he would notice that you were ogling him all morning. You knew at this point, there was no harm in hiding anymore.

You lean back into his chest, sturdy and warm, as he noses at the nape of your neck. “And what if I was?”

“Just making sure.” And then he’s spinning you around until the edge of the counter digs into the small of your back and pressing his mouth to yours.

He’s gentle, always gentle, his hands skimming up your sides reverently, as if worried you were about to disappear into thin air. His lips are unbearably soft, maybe a little chapped, as you kiss him back and part your lips with a sigh. He tastes like the stale coffee from this morning and it’s the best thing you’ve had all day.

You loop your arms around his broad shoulders, tugging him closer until the hard line of his body was pressed up against yours. You card your fingers through the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck, humming at the sensation of being trapped by his body, and experimentally tug.

Jesse lets out a low groan, muffled against your mouth, and then his large hands slide down to your ass to squeeze once before suddenly lifting you up.

You squeal against his lips, causing him to smile, and your legs instinctually come to wrap around his waist despite already being seated on the counter. The coldness seeping through your jeans shocks you and provides a delicious contrast with Jesse’s heated body against yours.

When you separate from each other, you’re panting into each other’s open mouths. Jesse leans his forehead against yours, hands on your thighs, and from this proximity, you’re mesmerized by the fan of his eyelashes against his cheekbones as he catches his breath and the way his hair tickled your face.

When he opens his eyes to peer into yours, your breath gets stuck in your throat along with something else you can’t name at his hungry gaze, eyes dark and pupils wide.

Jesse has always been able to say so much with just his eyes; a sharp warning that Maria was on her way to give you a stern talking to, warm fondness when you were telling him about what you bartered for today at the market, or primal desire whenever you stripped and crawled into bed with him.

“Are you okay with skipping lunch today?” he asks, voice a low timbre that sends a shiver running down your spine. His hands, rough with the day’s work, knead your thighs through your jeans, and the silent strength in his thick fingers and the flex of the muscles in his biceps has you licking your lips. You could feel the heat of his cock, hard and confined in his jeans, against your inner thigh.

“Are you going to eat something else?”

Jesse rolls his eyes, an exasperated smile tugging at his lips that he tries to hide. It has you beaming. He squeezes your inner thighs a bit harder, as if in a warning. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you love me,” you say, before you could think better of it.

It’s slight, but you can tell he pauses by the way his breath catches and his hands falter. A rush of panic rises up your throat and you say, as nonchalantly as you could, “As long as you sneak me something from the food hall later?”

You hope he can’t tell that you’re holding your breath, nearly praying that he doesn’t point out your slip up.

His eyes soften, causing a sudden weakness in your chest, before he’s reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Deal.”

You give him a shaky smile. You know he sees right through you.

But it doesn’t matter, because he’s leaning in to kiss you again, harder, rougher, as if he can’t find the words he wants to say and lets his desire for you to do the talking for him.

You melt into him, you always do, and when you press your palm against his chest to feel the steady rhythm of his heart, you’ve never felt so safe in your entire life.

“I guess we better hurry up then,” he whispers, giving you a slight smirk, before his hands expertly unbuttons your jeans, tugs down the zipper, and then helps you tug them down all the way off your legs.

You nod rapidly, causing him to chuckle breathily. You reach out for him to grab at his arms, pulling him in to kiss you again.

He obliges, because he always does when you peer up at him with glazed over eyes, as if he’s already fucked you.

You hum against his mouth, the ache in your pussy starting to become unbearable. You’re barely aware of his hands running down your bare thighs, causing goosebumps to rise, before he’s lifting your legs up by the knees to prop your feet up on the counter.

The new position has you spread open and exposed, dimly aware of the way you could feel your panties sticking to your pussy. You’re expecting him to rub his thick fingers alongside your seam through the fabric, coaxing a breathy whimper from your lips, before tugging it aside to thrust a finger inside of your soaking entrance.

You don’t expect him to pull away. You definitely don’t expect him to fall to his knees, face achingly close to your center, while his hands squeeze at the flesh of your thighs before prying them apart.

“Oh,” you exhale, eyes wide, as your hands scramble to the dull edge of the counter as your mind reels at the heady image of Jesse, sweet and courteous, on his knees. His face inches from your pussy.

“Fuck, baby, you’re already so wet,” he whispers, as if in awe. His right hand comes to trace the edge of your panties, a plain baby blue color, while he stares unblinkingly at the definite wet spot at the center.

“I was just kidding, you don’t actually have to—”

“I want to,” he says, and when he looks up at you, your chest aches at the tender affection clear on his face. “Is that okay?”

And it’s not like he hasn’t gone down on you before. In fact, it seems like he tries to eat you out any chance he got, which you were definitely not complaining about. You still shivered when you thought about the first time he ate you out, the first time you ever came from another man’s mouth on you, and how your thighs trembled as you squeezed around his head. You swear you had thought you died and gone to heaven.

Now, however…

“We’ve just had a long morning; you know I sweat a lot…” you trail off. It sounds weak, even to your own ears.

Another exasperated sigh, though this time Jesse doesn’t even bother hiding the fond smile. “You know I don’t care about that.”

But he waits. He stays on his knees, thumbs tracing comforting and distracting circles against your inner thighs, and he just waits. For your permission.

You don’t think your heart can swell any further before it’s bound to burst. “Okay.”

Jesse’s smile grows, making him look utterly sweet and boyish, before leaning in to press an open-mouthed kiss on your inner thigh, and then another, and then another.

“Don’t worry,” he mumbles, as his kisses begin moving inwards to your aching cunt.

You exhale unsteadily, thighs already starting to shake from holding this position and the sensation of his mouth on you. The scratch of his slightly chapped lips, the damp kisses he leaves that cool as soon as he moves to the next inch of skin, and his hands that have moved to your thighs and taking some of your weight, has you nearly begging for him to hurry up.

As if he can read your mind, he pauses, his mouth hovering over the crotch of your panties that have undoubtedly melded to your pussy.

“Besides,” Jesse whispers, and the barest brush of his lips against the fabric has you shivering. You resist the urge to card your fingers through his hair to tug his face closer. “I have to take care of my girl, right?”

And then he’s pressing his open mouth to your cunt, deliberately nowhere close to your clit, but the action still wretches a gasp out of you. His mouth and his breath are hot as he takes his time, as if warming you up despite the fact that you two do not have enough time for this.

But he just looks so pretty, you think as you glance down at him. His eyes were shut, savoring you, brow relaxed as if he wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world besides between your thighs.

“Jesse..” you sigh, slightly frustrated, as you thread your fingers through his hair to push out of his face. Your hips jolt forward, impatient.

He opens his eyes at that and the heat in his expression has you wanting to scoot forward on the counter until your ass was hanging off, if only to get closer to him. He cocks his eyebrow at you and mutters something suspiciously like you’re lucky that I like you so much.

Before you could question him, he’s parting his lips and then laving his tongue over you, flat and over your clit through the fabric of your panties.

You let out a soft moan, your hand on his hair tightening. The action causes Jesse to groan, muffled between your thighs, and then he’s diving in fully, pressing sloppy wet kisses against your core.

It’s heavenly, especially after not being touched for several weeks, but it’s still not enough as your hips shift forward to chase the feeling of his warm mouth.

His hands on your thighs tighten, another warning, before he’s finally dipping his thumb into the crotch of your panties to pull it aside and exposing your soaking cunt to him.

You don’t even have time to gasp at the rush of cool air against your warm skin before his mouth is on you again, tongue parting your puffy folds as he licks a stripe up your seam.

A shaky moan falls from your lips, sheer ecstasy at finally being touched without some stupid fabric in the way dripping into your veins and making you drop your head back. Your thighs begin to shake from where you still have your feet propped up on the counter, spreading you open further.

Jesse has always taken his time with you, steady and focused and knowing exactly what to do to have you unraveling in his mouth. He gathers the wetness increasingly dripping from your entrance, tasting you and groaning, spurring him on even further to press his face harder against your cunt. His strong nose prods at your clit and it has you choking on a gasp as heat begins to curl up your spine.

He traces along your folds with a firm tongue, the lewd noises from his mouth on you filling your ears, before circling deliberately around your clit.

Your mouth drops open, eyes rolling back, and you blame the fact that it’s been way too long since you’ve had his mouth on you for the way your orgasm rapidly approaches.

“Fuck, Jesse,” you gasp, head lolling over your shoulder as you stare, glassy-eyed, as he meets your gaze from where he’s kneeling in your fucking kitchen with his mouth on your pussy. “I’m—"

He closes his eyes and presses his face further against your core, tongue flicking your clit back and forth at a relentless pace, while one of his hands leaves your thighs to pull your folds apart and circle at your entrance. He immediately pushes it in, easily despite how thick his fingers were due to how slick you were, and the pressure has you letting out a high-pitched whine.

Your thighs were absolutely aching, feet starting to slip from the sweat forming all over your body and getting onto the counter, so you finally let your legs fall forward to place your thighs on his wide shoulders.

Jesse takes it in stride, as he does most things, and begins to suck earnestly at your clit while his finger thrusts into you, working and stretching you open so you were ready for his cock.

The thought of him fucking you, bending you over in the open air of the kitchen, has you squeezing your thighs around Jesse’s head and coming hard into his mouth. You writhe on the counter, hips bucking, but his firm grip on your thigh keeps you steady as he works you through it, tongue gentler as he runs it flat against your clit.

He doesn’t let up, that asshole, when your thighs start twitching around his head from the overstimulation. You let out a strangled noise, brain feeling foggy, as you tug at his hair to pull him up and away from your spent pussy.

When he’s face to face with you, the sight of your slick covering the entire bottom half of his face has you clenching around his finger where he still has it slowly fucking in and out of you. His eyes are tender, if not a little wild, and there’s an unbearably sexy smirk on his swollen lips, his tongue coming out to swipe around his mouth. As if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You’re surging forward, capturing his lips with yours, and the taste of yourself on his tongue has you moaning into his mouth, wrapping your thighs around his hips to pull him closer against you.

He eagerly reciprocates, tongue swiping in your mouth while he ruts against your inner thigh. You could feel the heat of his cock and how hard he was through his jeans, and you’re sure if you looked down, you’d be able to spot where his precum has bled through the fabric.

He begins to trail kisses alongside your jawline until he’s nipping at the spot underneath your ear that has your knees weak. Your own slick on his face, smearing against your cheeks, has your face heating up. “Ready to take my cock, baby?”

“God, yes.” And you’re just about to drop down off the counter so you could bend over and wag your bare ass in his face, before he stops you with a firm hand on your thigh.

Before you could ask him, he’s tugging you forward until your ass was hanging off the counter and begins unbuckling his belt. His eyes find yours, ablaze with hunger, as he rasps in a low voice, “I want to see you.”

Your heart thuds painfully in your chest. You don’t know what to say, what you could say, so you don’t say anything at all and instead lift the hem of your shirt and off, tossing it haphazardly to the floor.

Jesse groans at that, eyes immediately drawn to your breasts and the way your nipples instantly pebble in the cold air. He mutters an expletive before dropping his head to wrap his plush lips around one, as if he couldn’t help himself.

You let out a soft sigh, arousal already starting to flare up so soon after you came in his mouth, and you bring your arms to wrap around his shoulders, your knees to wrap around his waist. He’s so fucking broad, strong, unbearably handsome, yet his warm mouth on you is gentle as he swirls his tongue around your nipple.

He releases your swollen bud with a lewd pop, sitting up straighter so he could lean his forehead against yours as he shoves his jeans and briefs down until they bunch up around his thighs. His cock springs free, slapping against his black shirt and leaving a trail of sticky precum. Your mouth waters when he wraps a hand around the base of his cock, head flushed a pretty pink that was begging to be tasted.

He swipes the head between your folds, smearing his precum around and mixing with your slick that was steadily leaking out of you, before notching at your entrance and glancing up at you. You give him a slight nod, barely a tilt of your chin, and then he’s pushing into you slowly.

The stretch is immediate, his finger thick but not thick enough, and it’s bordering on too much despite how needy you felt, nearly aching for his cock. Your hands grip his shoulders, his muscles tensing a small comfort as he strains not to immediately fuck into you.

“Fuck,” Jesse groans, once he’s buried all the way inside of you. “Been thinking about this pussy all day.”

You let out a pathetic whine, hoping he would get the message you were trying to convey that you were running out of time but also he needed to hurry up and fuck you already.

“I know, I know,” he mutters, tone nearly condescending enough that had you clenching around him. He huffs a laugh at that, a hand coming to rest at the small of your back where the counter was digging into you and hikes your legs up higher on his hips.

The new angle has his cock pushing in deeper, and the low, drawn-out groan that you emit takes you by surprise.

“There she is,” he coos. He draws his hips back, carefully, and then he’s fucking back into you hard, punching a gasp out of your chest.

He finally starts a steady pace, one that has your body nearly going limp in his arms and your eyes rolling back in your head. The flesh of his skin slapping against yours and the lewd noises of your soaked cunt swallowing his cock with each thrust fills your ears, broken with Jesse’s heavy grunts.

You’re not even aware of the depraved sounds you were making—breathy whines and strangled noises each time he plunges into you, filling you up over and over again.

“Fuck, your pussy feels so,” he grinds into you, barely swiveling his hips yet causing you to gasp wetly as your hand comes down to claw at his chest. “Fucking good.”

He shuffles closer to you, his hips flush against the back of your thighs, and you thank God that you conveniently moved into an old house with low counters as he hovers over you, broad and solid.

Jesse’s hair continuously falls into his eyes, causing him to swipe at it several times in annoyance. When you follow his gaze, you notice with a thrill that he’s staring at where your bodies meet, and you don’t blame him.

The sight of his cock, shiny with your slick, as he continued to pump into you, your walls clenching and unclenching with every thrust, was heady. Filthy, even. It has your skin growing hot, pressure tightly building again despite feeling like you didn’t have the brain capacity to come again.

The hem of his shirt flutters in your eyeline and Jesse swiftly tugs at it until the fabric is bunched around underneath his armpits, exposing his abs and the way they flexed every time his hips snapped against you.

You lick your lips as your hand drops from where you were clutching at the fabric of his shirt to skim along his abs, sensing the way his muscles shifted and tightened.

God, was he sexy. Broad chest, strong arms, and a thick cock that he knew how to use that had you nearly drooling every time he walked by? You’re not sure how you got so fucking lucky.

“Always take my cock so good, baby,” he grunts, eyes meeting yours before dropping down to the way your tits were bouncing with each thrust. His free hand comes to grope at one of your breasts, squeezing and thumbing at your nipple, and drinking in the way you arch your back into his touch as best as you could with his other hand still protecting your back.

“Jesse, fuck—” you gasp as he picks up a desperate pace. You could tell he was close, most likely been on the brink as soon as he pushed himself inside of you and felt your walls clench around him, but he was holding back. Waiting for you.

His hand drops from your breast to snake in between your legs, causing your breath to get caught in your chest. The steady amount of slick dripping from you made his thumb glide easily in between your folds before circling precisely around your clit.

It’s nearly instantaneous the way your body locks up, thighs tightening from where they’re still hitched around his hips and your hand stilling where you were lightly tracing the contours of his stomach. Your mouth falls open, eyes glassy as you meet Jesse’s.

He curses and then he’s maneuvering you closer, grabbing a hold of your thighs and pushing them back until your knees were pressed into your chest. If possible, his cock slides in deeper, the weight of him as he hovers you becoming heavier. It’s all so fucking good, you’re nearly dizzy from how fast that familiar tightness begins to coil in the pit of your stomach.

“I always take care of my girl, don’t I, baby?” he pants into your open mouth, face merely inches away from yours. He’s relentless, fucking you and splitting you open over and over, you have no choice but to take it.

“Yes, yes—” you gasp, mind going foggy. Your arms come up to wrap around the back of your knees, hand grasping weakly at his forearm. You were so fucking close.

“That’s it, come on,” he whispers raggedly. The low timbre of his voice, smooth and breathless, and the intensity of his gaze melts into you. “That’s my pretty girl.”

Something cold and sharp was digging into your lower back, and when you blink down, you notice that Jesse’s jeans were still bunched around his thighs. The sight of him still in his clothes while you were completely bare and exposed on your kitchen counter had squeezing your eyes shut, fire burning underneath your skin.

You cry out as your orgasm finally hits you with a particular hard brush of his thumb against your clit. You feel yourself clench around him, causing him to bite out a curse, as your hips stutter against his and your thighs tremble.

That’s all that Jesse needs as his thrusts falter, turning more erratic before he’s burying his face into your neck, jerking forward and coming into you with a low, broken groan. His cock twitches inside of you, making you let out a whimper as you can feel his hot come fill you up and threaten to drip out of your aching pussy.

Both of you lay there for a moment, catching your breaths, before Jesse tilts his head to brush his lips against your jawline. Your hair flutters with every exhale. “Are you okay?”

You nod, still feeling dazed, as your throat swallows from how dry it was. “Never better.”

“Good.” He snakes his arms around you so you’re sitting up alongside him when he leans back, placing you gently until you were sitting with your bare ass on the counter.

When he steps back, hissing as his softening cock slides out of you, you let out a soft moan at the sudden emptiness. He quickly leans over you to grab a fresh dishrag, tenderly cleaning you up before tossing the rag to the side.

When you blink up at him, there’s a slight flush to his neck, sweat gathering at his hairline. He shakes out his hand that was placed behind you, shielding you from the sharp edge of the countertop, and you feel a surge of affection when you notice the red lines adorning the top of his hand.

You take his hand in yours to rub at, the roughness of his skin contrasting against yours. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Jesse leans in, nosing at your hairline before pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

You flush at the words, feeling a sudden spark of arousal between your thighs.

Jesse feels the way you attempt to clench your thighs together, still on either side of his hips, and he laughs softly. He steps back to get dressed, easily, since he literally only needed to pull up his pants, however you stay rooted to the spot, taking the opportunity to admire him.

When he notices you’re making no move to get dressed, he rolls his eyes fondly. He stretches a hand out to you, helping you jump down from the countertop but also because he knew how weak in the legs you get after he fucks your brains out. And he’s right, as you nearly plant face first onto the floor when your knees buckle as soon as you step down.

Of course he catches you with a hand around your waist, his thick fingers warm against your skin. He tugs you in close, nearly tucking you into his chest, and the fabric of his clothes against your bare skin causes you to shiver. He starts to rub his hand up and down your side, naturally assuming you were cold.

Handsome, strong, protective, and affectionate. You’re going to keep him forever.

“Come on you, I still have to get you something from the mess hall.”

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enhaflixer · 4 months ago

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sjy - Chasing Ghosts

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

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

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

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

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

The city never truly sleeps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Checkmate.

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

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

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

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

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

You exchange a look with Jungwon.

They wouldn’t dare.

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

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

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

Your pulse quickens.

"He’s going after them?"

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

Heeseung exhales. "Then we move first."

You clench your fists.

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

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

20/11/2024 3:21 PM – The Precinct

The conference room is suffocating.

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

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

Specter.

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

Another heist. Another Checkmate.

And yet?

No face. No trace. No identity.

But that changes tonight.

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

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

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

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

He pauses, letting that sink in.

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

You inhale sharply, your gaze locked on the blueprint.

It makes sense.

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

And Specter?

He doesn’t just steal from the rich.

He exposes them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung exhales sharply. “He always does.”

That’s the terrifying part.

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

And leave you humiliated.

Not this time.

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

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

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

ASSIGNMENTS:

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

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

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

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

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

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

But deep down?

You know it’s never that easy.

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

Silence.

Because none of you have ever gotten that close.

Specter doesn’t get caught.

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

A sudden ping interrupts him.

Your phone screen flashes with a new message.

You blink, puzzled.

Unknown Number:See you Friday. 😉

Your pulse stops.

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

He knows.

Specter knows.

And he’s already waiting.

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

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

Inside the car, the atmosphere is suffocating.

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

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

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

But you know better.

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

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

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

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

You don’t need to be reminded.

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

For you, it’s even more than that.

This case is your life.

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

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

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

Your phone buzzes in your lap. A text.

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

Your fingers tighten around the device.

Specter.

The bastard is already watching.

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

The first thing you notice is the opulence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The mission is simple: Wait. Watch. Observe.

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

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

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

Not Specter.

Not your target.

Someone else.

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

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

He’s striking.

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

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

This is a distraction.

You don’t get to have distractions.

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

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

You should walk away.

You should refocus on the mission.

But instead, you move toward him.

21/11/2024 7:22 PM – The Bar

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

“She’ll have another.”

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

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

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

His smirk widens. "I know."

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles, finally turning to meet your gaze fully.

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

Your breath catches for half a second.

Because he’s not wrong.

And you don’t realize—

This is the first lie between you.

And the beginning of your downfall.

21/11/2024 9:15 PM – The Ballroom

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

You, however, are looking for something else.

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

And the waiting is starting to unravel you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s when you see him.

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

Jake.

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

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

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

But something about him pulls at you.

Something about him feels different.

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

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

You don’t remember how the conversation started.

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

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

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

You raise a brow. "And why’s that?"

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

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

Your breath catches for half a second.

He’s not wrong.

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

You’re always working.

You’re always watching.

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

The words hit deeper than they should.

Let go.

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

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

And the worst part?

You let him win.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re alive.

And because of that—

You miss it.

You miss everything.

21/11/2024 10:41 PM – Security Breach

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

"Shit—what the hell?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate. He runs.

21/11/2024 10:45 PM

The suspect never makes it past the emergency stairwell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice is calm. Too calm.

That’s the first sign that something is wrong.

"Pat him down," Heeseung orders.

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

Nothing.

Your stomach twists. This isn’t right.

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

And then—

Jongseong smirks.

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

But you see it.

And that’s the second sign.

Something is very, very wrong.

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

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

Because he doesn’t need to.

Because this is exactly what he wanted.

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

The suspect is in custody.

The heist is over.

And yet—something feels unfinished.

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

You shouldn’t be thinking about him right now.

Not when you should be celebrating a win.

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

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

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

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

Because deep down, you know.

This was too perfect.

Too clean.

Too easy.

And Specter?

Specter never makes it easy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hesitate for just a moment too long.

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

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

You should feel like you’ve won.

But you don’t.

You feel like you’re missing something.

Like you’re being played.

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

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

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

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

"Let me help with that," he whispers.

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

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

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

You don’t remember how you got here.

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

The first kiss is slow.

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

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

You let yourself fall.

Because Specter is gone.

Because the hunt is over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

22/11/2024 7:00 AM – The Precinct

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

And yet, something feels off.

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

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

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

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

Your heart pounds.

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

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

Your stomach drops.

Because if Jongseong isn’t Specter—

Then Specter is still out there.

Still watching.

And you were too distracted to notice.

22/11/2024 7:30 AM – The Precinct

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

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

But Specter has never been predictable before.

So why now?

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

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

He looks like he hasn’t slept.

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

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

You already know.

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

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

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

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

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

The name alone seems to poison the air between you.

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

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

But this?

This is different.

He’s not just angry.

He’s seething.

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

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

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

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

"We let it happen. Again."

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

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

Sunghoon isn’t wrong.

And that’s what makes it worse.

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

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

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

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

For a moment, the room feels unbearably silent.

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

Because you understand.

Because you feel it too.

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

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

And then, finally—

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

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

And you?

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

Because Sunghoon doesn’t just hate Specter.

He despises him with every fiber of his being

22/11/2024 9:15 AM – Jake’s Apartment

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

You shouldn’t be here again.

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

It feels too easy.

Too normal.

Too good.

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

Just a man.

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

Just someone who makes you feel like yourself again.

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

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

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

Your fingers tighten around the mug.

Because he’s right.

And you hate that he sees you so clearly.

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

A single word.

No pressure. No demand. Just an invitation.

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

You let yourself fall.

02/12/2024 9:30 AM – Jake’s Apartment

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

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

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

He turns, catching you staring, and smirks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Jake?

Jake makes it too easy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

02/12/2024 12:00 PM – The Precinct

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

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

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

It doesn’t take long.

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

You roll your eyes. “Not this again.”

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

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

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

“Broody?” you repeat, unimpressed.

“You know what I mean.”

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

Jungwon just looks at you.

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

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

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

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

You glare. “I hate you.”

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

You exhale sharply. “His name is Jake.”

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

You pause. “...What does that mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite yourself, you laugh.

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

And maybe...

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

Even if it’s temporary.

Even if you don’t deserve it.

26/12/2024 7:45 PM – Jake’s Apartment

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

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

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

Now?

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

It’s so damn normal that it terrifies you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake raises a brow. "Cooking?"

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

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

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

You don’t respond.

Because you don’t know that.

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

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

27/12/2024 10:30 AM – The Precinct

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s talk of a mole.”

Your stomach drops.

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

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

A cold weight settles in your chest.

A mole. Someone inside the department.

Your mind races. Who?

"Who are they suspecting?" you ask carefully.

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

29/12/2024 11:45 PM - Uptown

It happens fast.

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

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

And yet—

The heist never happens.

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

No breach. No alarms. Nothing.

Then—

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

“He’s not coming.”

Your pulse spikes. “What?”

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

Your blood chills.

How? How?

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

Specter knew. Somehow, he knew.

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

30/12/2024 2:00 AM – Jake’s Apartment

You don’t remember the drive.

You don’t remember knocking on his door.

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

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

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

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

"You have no idea."

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

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

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

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

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

But none of that mattered to you right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because he was right.

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

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

But you barely heard them.

Because Jake was kissing you.

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

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

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

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

“Do you ever think about it?”

You glanced up. “Think about what?”

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

Your heart skipped.

If we kept doing this.

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

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

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

In him.

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

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

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

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

He huffed a laugh. “Insane.”

You exhaled. “But it feels... right.”

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

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—

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

You snorted. “Of course you would.”

Jake smirked. “Hey, I have priorities.”

You shook your head fondly. “And kids?”

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

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

Jake grinned. “I like those odds.”

Your breath hitched.

Because it was crazy to be talking like this.

But it didn’t feel crazy.

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

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

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

But you’re not looking at the art.

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

Specter is here. He has to be.

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

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

That only makes your stomach tighten further.

If Specter is here, he’s already inside.

And he’s waiting to make his move.

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

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

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

Your heart stutters.

Jake.

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

You can’t move. Not yet.

Not when you know he’s watching you too.

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

Jake doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t smile.

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

Daring you.

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

The lights flicker.

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

And then—

The alarms blare.

Your earpiece erupts with chaos.

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

He’s already moving.

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

You chase after him.

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

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

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

You should call for backup. You know that.

But this is personal.

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

This time, you don’t hesitate.

You shove the door open, gun raised—

And Jake is standing there, waiting for you.

Not running. Not moving.

Just waiting.

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

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

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

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

Jake doesn’t comply.

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

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

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

He takes another step.

Too close now.

You should shoot. You should.

But his eyes hold you still.

And then, just as he’s a breath away—

He leans in.

“Not tonight, sweetheart.”

And before you can even react—

The window behind him shatters.

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

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

He’s already gone.

16/01/2025 12:15 AM – The Aftermath

The gallery is chaos.

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

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

Jake was right there.

You had him.

And you let him go.

Sunghoon stalks up beside you, his expression dark.

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

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

Sunghoon’s eyes narrow. “And?”

You hesitate. Just for a second.

And that’s all it takes.

His gaze sharpens, something unreadable flashing across his face.

Like he knows.

Like he knows everything.

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

“We need to talk.”

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

The walls feel like they’re closing in.

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

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

Because Jake was there.

Because you had him.

And because you let him slip away.

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

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

But his silence is a warning.

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

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

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

Then he sighs.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “We do.”

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

Your instincts scream at you to prepare for impact.

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

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

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

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

His gaze flickers. Just for a second.

And then, he shifts.

His stance changes—less defensive, more calculating.

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

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

But before you can respond, he keeps going.

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

Your pulse falters.

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

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

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

Your chest tightens.

"What are you saying?"

Sunghoon holds your gaze, steady and unwavering.

"I’m saying there’s a mole."

A sharp chill skates down your spine.

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

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

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

Your blood runs cold.

"What if it’s someone closer?"

The room feels too small.

Your breath catches.

Sunghoon doesn’t blink.

"What if it’s Jungwon?"

Your head snaps up.

"What?" The word barely leaves your lips.

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

A lump forms in your throat.

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

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

The word sends a violent shudder through you.

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

But that’s not why you lost him.

You know that.

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

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

"Jungwon," he says.

The name feels like a gunshot.

And your first instinct is to reject it.

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

Sunghoon tilts his head. "Is he?"

The question lodges itself into your chest.

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

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

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

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

Nothing feels real.

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

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

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

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

Like you’re somewhere else entirely.

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

And then—

A quiet sound behind you.

The scrape of a boot against the rooftop floor.

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

Because you already know who it is.

Jake.

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

And God, it suffocates you.

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

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

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

Then—

"You were expecting me?"

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

You finally turn to face him.

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

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

Like he’s been chasing something, too.

And maybe—maybe that’s you.

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

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

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

You don’t answer immediately.

Because you don’t have one.

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

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

Jake flinches. Just slightly. Just enough.

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

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

"And what truth is that, Jake?"

His jaw tightens.

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

Your breath catches.

And that’s when you lose it.

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

Jake’s eyes darken.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh, sharp and broken.

"Then why did you?"

Jake’s breath shudders.

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

The words hit like a bullet.

You inhale sharply, vision blurring at the edges.

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

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

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

Jake doesn’t resist.

But he doesn’t step away either.

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

Jake clenches his jaw.

"It was never a game."

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

He exhales sharply.

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

Jake swallows hard, gaze locked onto yours. "Because the second I met you, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop."

The confession cuts deep.

Because you believe him.

And you hate that you believe him.

Jake steps forward, voice lower, rougher, desperate.

"Run away with me."

Your breath catches.

"What?"

His jaw tightens, his fingers twitch at his sides. "You don’t have to stay. You don’t have to let them take you down for something you never did. Come with me."

Your stomach drops.

Jake sees the hesitation flicker across your face.

"Please," he murmurs. "You don’t have to forgive me. You don’t even have to trust me. But you can’t stay here."

And for a second—

Just one second—

You almost consider it.

And then—

The door to the rooftop slams open.

Jungwon’s voice is breathless, shaking.

"You need to see this."

Your head snaps up, your entire body going rigid. And when Jungwon steps forward, he tosses a thick folder onto the floor between you and Jake.

It lands with a heavy thud. And across the top, a single name.

PARK SUNGHOON.

Your heart stops. Jungwon’s breathing is ragged, his gaze flickering between the two of you.

"You were chasing the wrong person," he says, voice strained.

You swallow hard, but your throat is dry, tight, too tight.

Your fingers shake as you slowly, carefully crouch down, flipping open the folder.

And then—

The world collapses.

Jake is silent as you stare at the pages in front of you.

You don’t hear anything.

Not the city. Not the wind.

Not even the sound of your own heart breaking.

Sunghoon was the mole.

Sunghoon was the reason you lost every chase.

Sunghoon was the reason Jake always escaped.

It wasn’t Jungwon.

It was never Jungwon.

It was the person you trusted most.

And when you finally look up, your voice is barely a whisper.

"Where is he?"

Jake exhales slowly.

And then—

"Gone."

16/01/2025 1:35 AM

The wind cut through the rooftop like a blade, sharp and unforgiving against your skin. It howled between the buildings, drowning out the city noise below, but it wasn’t loud enough to silence the thoughts screaming inside your head.

The folder was still open in your hands, but the words blurred, letters bleeding into one another. The truth was too heavy to just exist on paper. It weighed on your chest, pressed against your ribs, and squeezed the breath from your lungs.

You tried to blink, tried to make sense of the files, the documents, the photos that confirmed everything you didn’t want to believe. But no matter how hard you stared, the reality didn’t change.

Sunghoon was the mole.

Sunghoon was the reason you had lost every chase, the reason every lead had gone cold, the reason Specter—Jake—had always slipped away at the last second.

Your partner. Your best friend.

Your traitor.

The air felt thinner, like you weren’t breathing right, like the world had tilted sideways. Somewhere behind you, Jungwon was speaking, voice quiet but firm, his words measured as he pointed to different reports in the file. He was piecing it together out loud, trying to form something logical, something tangible, but you couldn’t process any of it.

Because standing across from you, watching you with an unreadable expression, was Jake.

Jake, who had known the truth all along.

Jake, who hadn’t said a single goddamn word.

Your grip tightened around the folder until the edges of the paper crumpled beneath your fingers.

"You knew," you finally said, and though your voice wasn’t raised, it cut through the space between you like a gunshot.

Jake didn’t flinch. His posture remained loose, relaxed in that way that always made you want to hit him, but there was something else there—something almost too still, too controlled, like he was bracing for impact.

"Yeah," he said, voice even.

And that was it.

That was all it took for something inside you to snap.

"You knew." This time, your voice rose, the words scraping against your throat as you threw the folder down onto the rooftop floor, sending pages scattering between you. "You knew this whole time, and you let me—you let me chase you like a fucking idiot while my own best friend was working for you?"

Jake exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back like he was shaking off the weight of your anger. "It wasn’t that simple."

"Wasn’t that simple?" Your laugh came out harsh, sharp, like shattered glass. "You let me turn on the wrong people! You let me think Jungwon—Jesus Christ, Jake, I almost had him arrested!"

Jake’s jaw clenched. "I didn’t let you do anything."

"Like hell you didn’t!" You stepped closer, shoving him hard against the chest. He barely moved, but it wasn’t about that. It was about hurting him the way he had hurt you, about making him feel even a fraction of the betrayal clawing at your insides.

Jake took it.

He didn’t step away, didn’t try to stop you. He just looked at you, eyes dark, unreadable, waiting for you to finish breaking yourself against him.

"You let me think I was getting closer," you whispered, voice shaking. "You let me think I was catching up to you, that I had a chance—"

Your breath caught, and suddenly, you hated yourself.

Hated that you had ever believed in the chase, hated that you had ever let yourself fall for him.

"You played me," you said, quieter now. "You played me the whole time."

Jake shook his head, voice rough. "I never wanted to play you."

"Then what the hell was it?"

He hesitated, just for a second. And then—

"A mistake," he murmured, something raw in his voice. "Because the second I met you, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop."

Your pulse stuttered.

"I should’ve stayed away," Jake continued, jaw tight, voice lower now, rougher. "I should’ve let you be. But I didn’t. And that’s on me."

"Sunghoon and I grew up together," Jake continues, almost like he’s talking about someone else. "We were kids. We didn’t have a choice but to run. He made it into the system first, cleaned up his past, made himself useful. I followed later, but by then, we’d already figured it out—how to survive."

Your voice is barely a whisper. “You lied about everything.”

Jake’s expression doesn’t change. But for the first time, you think you see something flicker in his eyes—regret.

“Not everything,” he says.

And that’s what breaks you the most.

Because even now, even after this, there’s a part of you that wants to believe him.

He took a step forward.

You stepped back.

"I lied about a lot of things," he admitted. "But not about you."

The wind between you howled.

You wanted to believe him. That was the worst part.

You wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.

But then he said something that made your stomach drop.

"You need to leave."

Your head snapped up. "What?"

Jake exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "They’re turning against you next. You’re the easiest target now. Sunghoon’s gone, and the force needs someone to blame."

Jungwon, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. "What are you talking about?"

Jake looked at him then, like he was deciding whether to explain, whether it was even worth it. And then—

"Heeseung," Jake said simply. "He’s running everything. The entire system is built around him."

Jungwon’s expression froze. "That’s—no. That’s not—"

Jake laughed, but there was nothing amused about it. "You still think the force is clean?" He shook his head. "He’s been pulling the strings since day one. Every case you thought you were leading, every step you thought you were taking forward—he let you."

You swallowed hard. "And you know this how?"

Jake gave you a pointed look. "Because I made sure I did."

Your pulse roared in your ears.

"You think you’re going to be safe after this?" Jake asked, stepping closer. "They’re going to frame you for everything, Baby. You’ve been working this case for too long, and now that it’s unraveling, they need a loose end to tie up. That’s you."

Your breath came faster, uneven, frantic.

No. No, that couldn’t be true.

But it made sense.

The second Sunghoon disappeared, they needed someone else. Someone already involved, someone already in too deep.

You.

Jake turned to Jungwon then, voice sharp. "Both of you need to run."

Jungwon’s brows furrowed. "I can’t just—"

"You can," Jake snapped. "And you will."

You couldn’t breathe.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This wasn’t how the story was supposed to end.

Jake looked at you, gaze steady. "I don’t care if you never forgive me," he murmured. "But I can’t let you die for this."

You hated him.

You hated that you were considering it.

"You can run with me," Jake said. "Or you can run without me." His voice softened. "But you have to run."

The rooftop felt like it was tilting beneath your feet.

Jungwon was still frozen beside you, his mind trying to process what this meant for him, for the force, for everything.

And you?

You had to decide.

The wind had died down, leaving only a heavy silence between the three of you. The world outside this rooftop continued on, cars moving through the streets below, lights flickering in windows of high-rise buildings, people going about their lives as if nothing had changed.

But up here?

Everything had.

Jake stood in front of you, shoulders tense, gaze steady despite the storm raging behind his eyes. Jungwon had gone still beside you, fingers flexing at his sides as he processed the weight of what had just been laid out.

And you?

You weren’t sure you were breathing anymore.

Because everything Jake had said made too much sense.

The force wasn’t looking for justice. The moment Sunghoon had vanished, they had needed someone else to take the fall, someone already deep enough in the case that it wouldn’t seem suspicious.

They needed a scapegoat.

They needed you.

Your hands were cold. You curled them into fists to stop them from shaking, but the feeling settled deep, twisting in your stomach like a sickness you couldn’t shake.

Jungwon cleared his throat, voice hoarse. "If Heeseung really is behind this, if he’s the one controlling everything—" He swallowed, shaking his head. "We can’t just run. We have to—"

Jake cut him off, voice sharp. "No."

Jungwon blinked.

"You don’t get it, do you?" Jake exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair. "You think you can fight this. You think you can take this system down from the inside. But you won’t. You’ll be dead before you even get close."

Jungwon’s jaw clenched, but he stayed silent.

You turned to Jake, voice low. "And what do you suggest?"

Jake’s eyes softened just slightly, but there was something else there, too.

Something like pleading.

"You know what I’m suggesting," he murmured.

The weight of his words settled between you.

You knew.

There was no fight left to win.

No justice left to seek.

The only thing left was to leave.

Jake took a slow step forward, gaze never wavering. "I told you before, I don’t care if you hate me. But I’m not letting you die for something you had no control over."

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the finality of this moment press down on you.

He was asking you to choose.

Not just between running and staying.

But between your past and your future.

Between what you had believed in and what you were finally starting to see as the truth.

Jake extended his hand.

Five Years Later – Somewhere in Italy

The afternoon sun stretched lazily across the rolling hills, casting golden hues over the vineyards and stone-paved roads. The world here moved slower, untouched by the chaos of the life you had left behind. From the balcony of your home, the scent of citrus and sea salt drifted through the warm breeze, carrying the quiet hum of the nearby town.

This place had become your sanctuary. A world away from everything you once knew.

The house was small, nothing extravagant—two stories, white stucco walls, terracotta roof tiles that had been worn down by the Mediterranean sun. The shutters were always left open, allowing the crisp air to weave its way inside, and in the early mornings, the golden light would pour through the bedroom window, painting the sheets in soft amber.

Standing at the edge of the balcony, you ran your fingers along the cool stone railing, gaze fixed on the horizon where the ocean stretched endlessly. It had been years, but sometimes, it still felt like a dream. That at any moment, you would wake up back in that city, back in the cold alleys and smoky rooftops, back in the endless chase that had consumed you for so long.

But then you would hear him—the steady sound of footsteps behind you, the quiet exhale as he stepped closer. And just like that, the past no longer mattered.

Jake leaned against the balcony beside you, the soft fabric of his shirt brushing against your arm. He had yet to fully wake up, the faint creases from sleep still lingering in his skin, his dark hair tousled in a way that was almost careless. There was no urgency in his movements anymore, no tension coiled beneath the surface, no need to always be one step ahead. He was different now.

Or maybe, he was simply allowed to be.

"You’re up early," he murmured, voice still rough from sleep, as he cast a glance toward you.

You inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly before answering. "Couldn’t sleep."

Jake tilted his head slightly, studying your expression. He didn’t ask why, didn’t press for an answer. He already knew. There were nights when the past still found you, lingering in the spaces between dreams, seeping into the quiet moments where memories felt sharper. It wasn’t regret that kept you awake—it was the echoes of what once was.

"Thinking about the past again?" he asked, though his tone was gentle, not accusatory.

You glanced at him before turning back to the view. "Not as much as I used to."

It was the truth.

The past no longer had its claws in you. It existed, like an old scar—faint, but still there, a reminder of everything that had led you here. There was a time when you thought you would never escape it, when you thought you were trapped in an endless cycle of chasing and being chased.

But now?

Now you had chosen a different life.

Jake followed your gaze, eyes drifting over the vineyards below. "It's different, isn't it?" he said, voice quieter this time. "Not having to run."

You turned your head slightly, taking him in. There was something almost strange about seeing him like this—completely at ease. His shoulders no longer carried the weight of expectation, of deception, of a world built on calculated risks. The sharp edges were still there, but they had softened, replaced by something steadier. Something real.

"Do you miss it?" you asked, watching him carefully.

Jake was silent for a moment, considering your words. Then, he shook his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "No," he admitted. "I really don’t."

Neither did you.

The sound of laughter echoed from inside the house, faint but familiar. Jungwon’s voice carried through the open window, followed by Jongseong’s exasperated groan—probably another one of their endless debates over who made the best coffee. It was mundane, simple, ordinary. But after years of living on the edge of survival, it was everything.

Jake turned toward you then, leaning slightly closer. "Do you ever wonder?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Wonder what?"

"If things had gone differently. If we had stayed." His gaze was steady, but there was something thoughtful in the way he studied you, like he was searching for an answer before you even gave it. "Do you think we would have made it out alive?"

You exhaled slowly, thinking back to that night on the rooftop, to the weight of your choice, to the moment you finally let go of the life you had sworn to uphold. The truth was, you didn’t know. Maybe you would have survived. Maybe you wouldn’t have. But either way, it wouldn’t have been this.

And that was what mattered.

"No," you said finally, turning to meet his gaze. "I don’t think we would have."

Jake held your stare for a long moment before nodding, as if he had expected that answer.

Then, he reached for your hand, fingers brushing over yours before lacing them together. His thumb traced absent circles against your skin, grounding, familiar.

"Do you regret it?" he asked, voice softer now.

You didn’t hesitate.

"Not even for a second."

Jake’s lips curved into a smile, warm and real, the kind that had nothing to do with deception or carefully crafted personas. It was the kind of smile you had only seen in stolen moments, in whispered confessions between tangled sheets, in the quiet spaces of a life not meant to last.

But here?

Here, it was forever.

Jake lifted your joined hands, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles before murmuring against your skin, "Me neither."

The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting golden streaks across the fields below. The wind carried the scent of sun-warmed fruit through the air, blending with the quiet hum of the town in the distance.

You looked back at the house—the place you had built from nothing, the place that had no ghosts, no past chasing after you. It wasn’t just a hiding place.

It was home.

And finally—after years of running, of chasing something you could never quite catch—you were free.

fin.

Taglist: @manuosorioh @dazzlingjaeyun @jkslvsnella @vernorica123 @lillotus17 @wonnienyang @firstclassjaylee @belle643 @ijustwannareadstuff20 @heelovesmeknot @heeseunggotrizz @jaeyunsbimbo @immelissaaa @somuchdard @naurwayyyyy

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revelboo · 8 months ago

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Motion City Soundtrack was my go to when I wrote on FFN years ago, so my brain just associates the band with Transformers. Songs like Calling All Cops and Point of Extinction that make very obvious references to Transformers just reinforced it.

Bad Idea Pt 7

TFP Soundwave x Reader

• Visored helm focused on the bank of screens, he reaches out a tendril to loop around your waist and tug you away from the edge of the desk for the fifth time, the contact with you offering him a chaotic flurry of images and the warmth of your amusement spilling through him. Because you’re doing it on purpose, entertaining yourself by seeing how near the edge he’ll allow you to get before he snags you to gently move you closer to him and safety.

• He can feel Lazerbeak’s judgmental stare from his perch on the berth. Not understanding why he’s toying with you. Why it feels so satisfying to have someone need him again when Lazerbeak chafes against his protection, thinking he doesn’t need to be watched over. And he respects that, tries to give him space even as he feels that loss aching in his spark.

• His helm tips to watch you, biolights pulsing softly as you lean on one of his long arms laid across the desk, feeling that weird unheard hum rattle through your bones at the contact to leave you breathless. After you’d gotten over the fear of how alien he looks and realized he wasn’t going to hurt you, you’d been able to finally start relaxing around him. And realized he’s a big softy for being so scary and pointy. Always reaching for you, petting you with his servos or loosely coiling a tendril about you. Holding on to you. He doesn’t even have to ask anymore, you absently sing to yourself, sing to him. Even sing to Lazerbeak, grinning when he bristles, panels fluffing aggressively and promptly flies as far from you as he can get every time.

• So affectionate, little palms on his arm, torso leaning on him so your emotions spill into him, happy and warm. Reaching to retrieve a treat, he nudges it at you until you take it, nose wrinkling. “You know I can’t just eat chocolate, right?” You ask him as you tear open the package and slide down to sit with your back to his arm. “I’ll get sick.” Freezing at that, he tips his head to watch you. Can’t detect any deceit in your chaotic thoughts and that worries him. Drives home how very little he knows about humans. About you. Tendrils shifting about him in agitation, it takes an effort to not take the treat from your little hands.

• Watching his tendrils do a weird little dance about him, you’re reminded of that first interaction when he’d repeatedly asked you to sing, those things had whipped about like that then, too. Some kind of tell for when he’s upset or frustrated? Annoyed at you for telling him you can’t live off chocolate alone or worried now? Arm shifting so suddenly you almost fall back, he hooks a servo around you and leans forward so his visor is almost touching you. Your breath shudders out of you at the contact, seeing your own wide eyes in his visor. It is worry. “I’m okay,” you say, pressing a palm to the dark glass that makes up his face, wondering if there’s anything underneath watching you. “Really. Don’t worry.”

• You’re trying to soothe him, worrying over him when you’re his to protect and tend to. And he’s failing you. He has no right to your forgiveness, to savoring the touch of that little hand against him, given willingly because you care for him. He’ll do better. Be worthy of that trust you have for him. Learn.

#tfp soundwave #transformers x reader #soundwave x reader

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olderwomenenthusiast · 5 months ago

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she's in control (alex cabot)

PAIRING: alex cabot & fem reader DESCRIPTION: you were meant to be focusing on the team's meeting but alex made sure you were only focused on her CAUTION: semi-public sex, spanking, oral, fingering, slight degradation, power dynamics; dominance and submissive, vibrating painties, reader recieving, aftercare! WORD COUNT: 3.2k AUTHOR'S NOTE: i haven't proof read this, let me know if it doesn't flow or there are any mistakes! x

The precinct was heavy with the weight of the case, the fluorescent lights casting a clinical glow over the room. Every face around the table was grim, brows furrowed in concentration as they pored over evidence, their minds sharpened by urgency. The air smelled of stale coffee and exhaustion, a familiar scent that usually kept you grounded in moments like this.

But right now, no amount of familiarity could anchor you.

Because beneath the sturdy conference table, hidden from every detective, sergeant, and assistant district attorney in the room, a secret war was waging inside you.

Your panties were vibrating.

It was subtle at first, a faint hum that barely registered over the murmur of conversation. But your body noticed immediately. Heat prickled over your skin, and your breath stilled in your chest as the sensation bloomed between your thighs. Your grip on your pen tightened, knuckles white as you forced yourself to keep still.

Across the room, Alex Cabot sat poised, the very picture of composure. Blonde hair pulled back into a perfect bun, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, she exuded nothing but professionalism. To anyone else, she was absorbed in the case file before her, flipping through the pages with steady, meticulous hands.

But you knew better.

You knew that the phone in her hand wasn’t just for checking emails or reviewing legal documents. You knew that with the slightest flick of her finger, she could send another pulse of pleasure through you, controlling you from across the room.

Your panties. Her rules.

Your stomach clenched, desire curling low in your abdomen as the vibration intensified, still gentle, just enough to make you aware of it, to make you ache.

You swallowed hard. Focus. Stay calm.

A grainy surveillance photo of a dark alleyway stared up at you from the file, but you couldn’t process a single detail. You were hyper-aware of every sensation - the soft throb between your legs, the way your skin flushed with warmth, the way your thighs clenched together in a desperate attempt to relieve the ache Alex was so cruelly stoking.

And then nothing.

The vibration stopped.

Your breath left you in a quiet, controlled exhale. Relief and frustration warred inside you as you forced yourself to steady your hands. Maybe she was done. Maybe she’d had her fun.

Then a new wave hit.

Stronger. Fucking hell babe.

Your body jolted. Just a tiny movement, but enough.

"Something wrong?" Fin’s voice broke through the haze clouding your mind. His dark eyes flicked toward you, brow raised.

Oh shit.

You forced yourself to blink, to shake off the heat creeping up your neck. "No. Just thinking."

You swore you could feel Alex’s eyes on you, but when you dared a glance in her direction, she was the very picture of professionalism. The only giveaway was the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, almost imperceptible.

She was enjoying this. Savoring every second.

And you were completely at her mercy.

The vibrations stopped again. Your body ached at the sudden loss, but you couldn’t allow yourself to react. Not here. Not in a room full of detectives trained to notice the slightest shift in body language.

A beat passed. Then another.

You allowed yourself to relax, just a little.

And then Alex turned the dial higher. Shitshitshit.

Your breath hitched, and a sharp pulse of pleasure slammed into you. This wasn’t teasing anymore. This was punishment.

Heat pooled between your legs, your pulse pounding in your ears as you struggled to stay still. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to grip the table as your entire body tensed. The pleasure was unbearable, just on the edge of overwhelming, and yet you had no choice but to endure it.

Alex was playing a dangerous game.

"Hey," Olivia called your name, her sharp gaze locking onto you. "You good?"

Fuck.

You couldn’t speak immediately. Couldn’t even move. You knew your face must have been flushed, your breath just slightly too uneven. You were seconds away from completely unraveling.

Then Alex spoke.

“Maybe they need a break,” she suggested smoothly, not even looking up from her file. Her voice was calm, completely unbothered, as if she weren’t the reason you were struggling to hold yourself together.

You shot her a glare, but all she did was lift one perfectly sculpted brow. She was mocking you, daring you to challenge her.

Oh, she was going to pay for this later.

But for now, she was in control. She always is.

And as she pressed another button on her phone, sending another sharp, pulsing vibration through your body, you realized something chilling.

You barely made it through the rest of the briefing. Every second was torture. Alex’s calculated teasing, the unbearable pressure building inside you, the constant struggle to keep your face neutral while the SVU team carried on as if nothing was wrong.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, your body was humming with unfulfilled need, and you were desperate for relief.

The second Olivia dismissed everyone, you bolted. You didn’t even try to make it subtle, you just grabbed your case file and strode out of the conference room as fast as your legs would carry you. You could still hear the others talking behind you, but it didn’t matter. You needed to get away.

Alex knew that.

That’s why she followed.

You could feel her presence behind you, her heels clicking purposefully against the tile floor. She didn’t call out to you, didn’t make a scene. She didn’t need to.

The moment you turned the corner, she was on you.

Before you could react, Alex’s hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you into the nearest empty office. The door clicked shut behind you, and then it was just the two of you - alone, finally.

The second she let go, you spun around to face her, eyes blazing.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed, your voice sharp but quiet.

Alex didn’t answer right away. Instead, she took a slow, measured step forward, the ghost of a smirk playing at her lips. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, her voice dripping with faux innocence.

Your whole body was still buzzing, throbbing from her relentless teasing. You clenched your fists, your frustration boiling over. “You damn well know what I mean.”

Alex just tilted her head, watching you with those piercing blue eyes, the ones that always saw too much, the ones that always stripped you bare. “You did so well,” she murmured, and the warmth in her voice sent a fresh wave of heat through you. “Not a single noise. Almost like you wanted to be good for me.”

You inhaled sharply, your fingers twitching at your sides. “Alex,” you warned.

She took another step closer, so close now that you could smell her perfume, could feel the heat radiating off her body. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to sit there and watch you struggle?” she murmured, her voice low and dangerous. “To know exactly how wet you were, how much you wanted to squirm, and not be able to touch you?”

Your breath caught in your throat. The air between you crackled, thick with tension. You wanted to fight her. Wanted to push her against the wall and punish her for making you suffer.

But she was faster.

Before you could react, Alex reached into her blazer pocket, pulled out her phone, and with a single press of her thumb ---

The vibrations started again.

A strangled gasp escaped you as your knees nearly buckled. The pleasure was instant, overwhelming after all the torment she had put you through. Your hands shot out, gripping the edge of the desk behind you as your body arched into the sensation.

Alex’s gaze darkened with satisfaction. “You’re so responsive,” she murmured, stepping even closer. “I think you like this more than you’re willing to admit.”

You let out a shuddering breath, barely able to focus. “Alex...”

She lifted a single finger and pressed it against your lips. “Shhh,” she whispered. “Be a good girl and take what I give you.”

Your entire body trembled.

And then she turned the dial even higher. The relentless vibration between your legs was torturous, your body wound so tight you thought you might snap.

Alex knew it. Course she did, she knew exactly how to work you.

She watched you with the sharp focus of a predator, her blue eyes dark with something deeper than just satisfaction. Power. Control. Possession.

And you had given yourself over to it.

With deliberate slowness, she reached for you, her fingertips ghosting over your hips before sliding beneath the hem of your skirt. Her touch was electric, sending sparks across your skin, but it wasn’t enough. Not after everything she had put you through.

You needed more.

"Please," you whispered, barely recognizing your own voice.

A pleased hum left her lips. "So polite," she murmured, her breath warm against your jaw. "I should reward you for that."

Then, without warning, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties and dragged them down your thighs. The cool air against your flushed, aching core sent a violent shudder through you, but before you could react ---

Her teeth sank into your neck.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as pleasure and pain mingled into something dizzying, something primal. Alex bit down hard, her mouth hot and demanding against your skin, sucking deep enough to leave a mark. One that would linger long after this moment ended.

Your hands scrambled for purchase, gripping at her blazer, her shirt, anything to ground yourself as she claimed you. The vibrations had stopped now, but the absence did nothing to ease the ache. If anything, it made you more desperate.

Then finally, she slid two fingers inside you.

The moment Alex’s fingers slid inside you, a sharp gasp tore from your lips. The stretch, the fullness, the precision of her movements, it was everything you had been aching for, everything she had been teasing you with all night. Your body clenched around her, desperate, your fingers clutching at the fabric of her blazer to keep yourself from unraveling completely.

Jesus.

Alex bit down harder on your neck, her mouth hot and unyielding as she sucked a deep, claiming bruise into your skin. The pain was sharp, intoxicating, a stark contrast to the pleasure flooding through you.

“You’re shaking,” she murmured against your throat, her voice thick with satisfaction. “You’ve been holding back all night, haven’t you?”

Her fingers curled inside you, pressing against that spot that made your knees threaten to give out. A strangled whimper escaped your lips.

Alex chuckled softly, a dark, pleased sound, before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. Her pupils were blown wide, her lips slightly parted, her expression dripping with control and hunger.

“Look at you,” she purred. “Dripping. Needy. Desperate for me.”

Then her other hand slipped between your legs, her thumb pressing against your clit.

Another sharp cry left you, your body jolting at the sudden contact. The sensation was immediate, unbearable in the best way, after all the teasing, all the waiting, she was finally giving you what you needed.

Alex moved in slow circles, her fingers inside you matching the rhythm, coaxing, guiding, and certainly demanding.

“Shhh,” she whispered when another whimper escaped you. “Do you want the whole squad to hear how wrecked you are for me?”

You did. You didn’t care. Not when she was touching you like this, not when she was rubbing tight, merciless circles against your clit while her fingers worked you open with practiced ease.

Her mouth found your ear, her breath hot, teasing. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nodded frantically, unable to form words, pleasure coiling so tight in your stomach you thought you might snap from the tension.

Alex’s pace quickened. Her thumb pressed harder, her fingers thrust deeper, and just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore ---

“Cum for me.”

Her command shattered you.

Your body arched, pleasure slamming into you with an intensity that stole your breath. You clenched around her fingers, a broken moan slipping from your lips as wave after wave of release crashed over you.

Alex didn’t stop. She worked you through it, her movements steady, guiding you down from the high until you were trembling in her arms, breathless, spent, utterly wrecked.

Only then did she slow, her fingers slipping from you, her touch gentle now as she smoothed her hand over your thigh.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against the bruise she had left on your neck. “That’s my girl.”

Your head was still spinning, your body still tingling with aftershocks, but even through the haze, one thing was clear.

This wasn’t over. Not even close.

Before you could catch your breath, Alex’s hands gripped your hips, lifting you with effortless strength. Your back met the cool surface of the desk, papers scattering to the floor, but you barely noticed. Not when she was pushing your legs apart, her fingers digging harshly into your thighs as she spread you wide.

Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and ravenous. “I’m not done with you.”

Then she hooked your legs over her shoulders, her breath hot against your already-sensitive core. Alex held you in place, her grip firm as her mouth descended on you. The first slow, deliberate drag of her tongue sent a sharp jolt of pleasure straight through you, making your fingers claw at the edge of the desk.

"Fuck.." The word ripped from your throat before you could stop it, but Alex only smirked against you, lips brushing your soaked skin as she chuckled darkly.

"Language," she teased, her breath a cruel, teasing heat before she licked into you again, firmer this time, her tongue flattening against your clit in a way that had your hips jerking against her.

She hummed, pleased with your reaction, and then tightened her grip on your thighs, holding you still as she truly began to devour you.

Her tongue moved with precision, flicking, circling, sucking, never staying in one spot long enough to let you adjust. The sensitivity from your first orgasm made every touch feel unbearable, too much, yet not nearly enough.

Your body writhed against the desk, your hands flying to her hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as if grounding yourself was the only way to keep from unraveling completely.

Alex groaned at that, the vibration sinking deep into you, making your breath hitch.

“You taste so fucking good,” she murmured between strokes, her voice thick, dripping with hunger. She flicked her tongue over your clit again before sucking it into her mouth, sending another shockwave of pleasure crashing through you.

Your back arched violently, another strangled moan escaping your lips.

Alex didn't let up. If anything, she doubled down, her tongue working you over with ruthless intent. When she slid two fingers back inside you, curling them just right, you knew you were done for.

"A-Alex --" Your voice was nothing more than a desperate whimper, your body trembling against the desk.

"I know," she murmured, her lips brushing against you between strokes. "Cum for me again. I want to feel you fall apart."

Her words, her touch, her voice. It was all too much.

The tension in your core snapped, pleasure flooding through you like a tidal wave. Your thighs shook against her shoulders, your fingers gripping her hair tightening even more as you came hard, a broken cry spilling from your lips.

Alex groaned as she worked you through it, her tongue and fingers relentless, drawing out every last aftershock until you were nothing more than a trembling, gasping mess beneath her.

Only when your body finally sagged against the desk, boneless and spent, did she pull away, placing one last teasing kiss against your thigh before straightening.

Her eyes were heavy with satisfaction as she dragged the back of her hand across her mouth, wiping away the evidence of just how thoroughly she had ruined you.

She smirked. "I should keep you on this desk more often."

Your chest heaved, your limbs still weak. Alex’s eyes softened as she watched you, still sprawled across the desk, your chest heaving with each breath. Her expression shifted from the intense hunger of moments before to something gentler, more protective.

She didn’t need to say anything. Her hands were already on you, tenderly adjusting your body so you were sitting upright, her fingers brushing through your hair, smoothing it back from your face.

“Easy,” she murmured, her voice soothing, her touch gentle as she lifted you carefully off the desk. You felt dizzy, light-headed, the effects of your orgasm still rippling through you in waves.

Alex supported your weight, guiding you toward the chair, her hands steady, never once letting you wobble or fall. She knelt down in front of you, her fingers carefully massaging the tension from your shoulders.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, as she worked her way down to your wrists, her touch light but sure, coaxing the last remnants of strain from your body.

You were too tired to speak, your voice still a bit shaky, but you leaned into her touch, closing your eyes for a moment, just letting yourself relax.

She stood, pulling a blanket from the chair and wrapping it around you like a protective cocoon. Her hands lingered, her fingers tracing soothing circles on your skin as she sat down beside you, holding you close.

“You did so well,” she said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple, her lips lingering there for a moment. “Just breathe. Let me take care of you now.”

Her hands were warm as they moved over your body, a contrast to the cool air around you. She ran her fingers gently over your thighs, down your arms, offering you comfort in every touch, grounding you back to reality.

She didn’t rush you, didn’t demand anything more from you. Just slow, soft caresses that reminded you of her presence—solid, steady, always there for you.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asked, her voice low, almost protective now.

You nodded slowly, unable to form words just yet, still caught in the aftermath of everything she’d given you.

Alex gave you a soft smile, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, her touch tender. “I know it was a lot. Just relax. I’m not going anywhere.”

You melted into her embrace, your body still humming, but safe, warm, cherished in the aftermath.

She kissed your forehead, and for a moment, all the intense energy of the night seemed to fade into something soft, something that felt like home.

You could feel yourself drifting into a gentle calm, the stress of the day, the hunger from earlier, all fading away under her care.

As the silence settled around the two of you, Alex’s fingers continued their slow, rhythmic movements over your skin. It was a different kind of connection now, one built on trust and tenderness.

This wasn’t over. Not yet. But for now, you were exactly where you needed to be.

"I love you, Alex." you whispered.

"And I love you."

#alex cabot #alex cabot x reader #alexandra cabot #stephanie march #alex cabot x you #alex cabot x fem!reader #law and order svu #svu #l&o svu #svu smut #alex cabot smut #tv shows

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melzula · 1 year ago

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Hi, i love your stuff! Your writing is AMAZING!

Could you do a sokkaxreader fic, where reader gets majorly hurt saving sokkas life-and she almost dies and super angst but turns sweet/fluff?

-✨anon

a/n: ugh i love angst!!! tysm for requesting this <3

warnings: mentions of blood, injury,

summary: a fight gone wrong leads to an important revelation for you and Sokka

It all had happened so fast.

One minute your group is enjoying a nice breakfast together and the next you’re fighting off Azula and her minions. They’d ambushed you, catching you in a vulnerable position and striking the moment you least expected them to. You had the advantage of numbers against them, but these girls were immensely skilled, so you didn’t have enough of an edge to completely defend yourselves against their attack.

You were assisting Katara in trying to take down Azula when you happened to catch a glance of Sokka from across the way. His back was turned to you and his focus was set on trying to dodge Ty Lee’s chi blocks, so he wasn’t able to detect the blades that were being aimed in his direction. Your eyes widened with panic as you quickly make your way towards him; you wouldn’t be fast enough to stop Mai from throwing the knives, but you’d at least be fast enough to get in their path and stop them from hitting your friend.

“Sokka, move!” You urged, shoving him out of the way and effectively knocking over Ty Lee in the process as well. You weren’t given the time to process anything else as you immediately felt the blades make contact with your skin, digging themselves deep into your back. You cried out in agony before immediately collapsing to the ground, all while Sokka watched on in horror.

“Y/n!” He screamed before scrambling to your side. The fabric of your top was beginning to turn a deep red, and you could already begin to feel the effects of blood loss take over. Your vision was hazy and your body felt cold, and yet you were still able to make out the features of his face as he stared down at you with tears in his eyes.

“Just hang on, I’m going to get you out of here!” He insisted, some of his tears landing on your face. You couldn’t find the strength to muster up a response, so instead you simply let your eyes close and allowed the cold to consume you whole.

When you regain consciousness again you find yourself in a tent. Everything hurts and your body feels like it’s on fire, and yet you can’t find the strength to move. Blurry faces hover over you and muffled voices fill your ears, but no matter how hard you try you can’t make sense of any of your surroundings.

“-more water. I need more water!”

“Why isn’t it working?!”

A sharp pulse jolts up your spine and this time you do cry out in pain, effectively startling the figures in the tent.

“Y/n!” A voice cries. Sokka’s voice.

He’s beside you in an instant, kneeling before you and taking your hand tightly in his own. You’ve never seen him like this, so distraught and terrified. You wonder what happened when you passed out.

“Try to stay awake, okay? Please stay awake,” he begs you before looking frantically to his sister. “She doesn’t look any better!”

“Sokka, I’m doing everything I can here!” His sister shouts back, equally distressed as she exerts all of her energy into healing you. Progress is there but it’s slow, and she worries that if she isn’t fast enough the damage may be permanent. Why did the blades have to hit your spine so perfectly?

“Sokka…” you murmur quietly, your eyes beginning to feel heavy yet again.

“No, no, no, y/n, look at me! Don’t go back to sleep!”

But his pleas fall on deaf ears, and you’re swept back under.

You’re not sure how much time has passed since you were last conscious, but the lamp beside you must mean that it’s grown dark outside. You feel warm, the sharp pain is gone, and all that is left behind is a sense of exhaustion from your adrenaline inducing day. You try to sit up only to immediately collapse due to the soreness of your back, but at least you’re able to move now.

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t move,” Sokka insists, alerting you of his presence beside you. You feel his palm carefully lift the back of your head towards the bowl of water he holds in his other hand, allowing you to take greedy gulps until you’re satisfied. “Katara says you shouldn’t try to get up yet or you’ll strain yourself. Your body is still adjusting.”

“What happened? How long have I been asleep?” You ask groggily.

“About twelve hours,” he replies sullenly, and it isn’t until this moment that you’re able to detect the exhaustion present on his features. “Those blades dug right through your skin and into your spine. Katara spent hours healing you; for a minute we thought you might not make it or that maybe you’d live but be paralyzed for the rest of your life. Why did you do it?”

“What?”

“Why did you do it?” Sokka says more firmly this time. “How could you do something so stupid like that?! You could’ve died!”

“It’s not stupid to risk my life for someone I love,” you correct him with a faint smile. Your admission takes him by surprise, his face immediately growing hot and his mind actually at a loss for words for once.

“You… you love me?” He asks gently, almost as if he doesn’t believe you.

“I thought it was obvious, dummy.”

“Not to me!” He cries defensively. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know,” you admit with a small shrug. “I guess there’s never really been a good time; there’s always another fight to win or people to save. It just didn’t feel right.”

“I guess you’re right,” he murmurs faintly. “But I’m glad you told me now, and I’m glad you’re alive. Because I can’t stand to lose another person that I love.”

You smile tiredly at his words, a new sense of understanding now being shared between you both. You love each other, and neither of you can stand to lose the other. This is real now, and you’re in it for the long haul.

He presses a kiss to your forehead then and urges you to get some more rest, and so you do. And Sokka stays planted right beside you to keep watch over you in your vulnerable state. In that moment he swears he’ll never let anything like this happen to you again.

And that’s a promise he intends to keep for a lifetime.

#sokka #sokka x reader #sokka imagine #atla #atla x reader #atla imagine #avatar the last airbender #request #✨ anon #angst #fluff

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fancyfeathers · 7 months ago

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Requested in messages by @elvabeth

A scenario that lets say all the darlings were in the JL watchtower by themselves cause of some world ending event. The tower is on lockdown (courtesy of batman) to prevent them from escaping. Unfortunately, while the JL are at the other side of the planet or something, the watchtower ends up being attacked by aliens, robots, armed goons or all of them and the darlings can't escape. Doors to the outside are locked. The windows are barred or stuff Ps luthor is responsible Or some sort of high end terrorist group That wants to bring down the Justice League The worst part is that even when the darlings made to the backdoor or secret door whatnot, they can't leave cause of their shock bracelets. Plus the communication system in the tower have been hacked so they can't call for help. Worst part, the Justice league aren't aware of this until after they're done with their mission when Barry can't reach his darling's phone. But when they get there, The watchtower is in shambles and they meet this kind of scene

Minus the dead people The shock bracelets are on the floor soaked in blood but their darlings are no where to be found How will they take this and what's the aftermath Sorry it's so long Ps Hal's darling is paralyzed here

Yandere!Justice League AU Masterlist

Not including Diana’s and Arthur’s darling because I covered why they would not be in the Watchtower or the Hall of Justice here

TW// Very Slight Ableism, Miscarriage, Traumatic Injuries, Loss of Body Parts

It would have been an extremely dangerous incident, the level of Doomsday, in order for everyone to leave. Hell, normally Bruce leaves his darling back at the manor but he has no idea of when he would be returning.

Their one mistake was choosing to leave their darlings in the Hall of Justice instead of the Watchtower, it would be easier to get them all out on the ground if something went wrong.

The Hall of Justice was locked up so tight so that even a drop of sunlight would not even get in, or even oxygen from the outside, but the hall is big enough that they do not even have to worry suffocating.

At first the quiet and person space is nice for a change, especially for Hal’s darling since when he is there he practically never lets her move about on her own, she honestly misses those days as a detective more than anything, but then… she had her accident not too long ago.

Clark’s darling is really just happy to be around other people, it somewhat helps break the perfect family delusion he has made, a darling who is pregnant with his child. It reminds her of who she used to be before all of this occurred.

Barry’s darling is in the same boat as Clark, albeit a tad less delusional, at least lucid enough to know his darling does not want any children… yet, at least. Barry being Barry, I don’t think he can go complete no contact with his darling, so he lets her have phone which has one of those network monitors, so practically all she can do is text and call Barry and whoever else he lets her have contact with. So every few hours he calls up his darling to check up on her, and she does not even have the choice to hang up or ignore it because he has a setting to answer on her behalf, benign all happy and cheerful on the phone, asking how she’s been and having Batman yelling at him to put the damn phone down.

Both Oliver Queen’s and Bruce Wayne’s darlings is just kind of indifferent to it all, it does change any of their circumstances in the long run. Then thanks to Bruce none of them will even have the chance to get out of there, you know those ankle bracelets that people wear on house arrest? Ya turn that up to eleven, pulse, mics, precision point accurate tracking, and a small shock to keep them in line and out of forbidden areas. Though a few won’t let their darlings have this on, because what if something goes wrong or what if it malfunctions and it hurts them? This is namely Clark (because he can always have eyes, or ears rather, on his darling at all times), Hal (his darling was stabbed in the back, literally, when she was a detective and is paralyzed from the waist down, like hell he is going to let something go wrong and fuck her up and hurt her even more), and then Kyle just doesn’t like the vibe of it all.

Kyle Rayner’s and John Stewart’s darlings are just kinda all used to it at this point, with the things they have heard about from the Green Lanterns it’s normally just a question if they should be not worried, slightly worried, or very worried and normally this means how much they need to bunker down. When Hal’s darling comes along they just kinda form a group with how much they get tossed around from place to place for their own protection while they are away.

Then there is just J’onn J’onnes’ darling, who I see being in more of an aroace relationship with him, she is just over everything, literally nothing bothers her because well she does not have no more privacy of her own mind. Like while everyone else is slightly scared or when members of the League are leaving their darlings there, she is just sitting in an armchair, reading her book, completely unbothered by what is happening even when she gets one of Bruce’s cuffs on her ankle.

Now onto the interesting bit of things, it’s one of the nights when they are all alone, they had just finished cleaning up from dinner and everyone is settling down for the night, all of them going off and doing their own things.

And things certainly go wrong in the night.

…

When the Justice League returns they certainly do not expect what they see…

Everything is in ruins…

Blood lining the walls…

The cuffs on the ground and-

Oh god that is an arm.

The footage was bugged so they cannot even look back to see what happened, the power was cut which made everything a complete blackout.

Bruce would barely be able to track anything if it was not for the last security measure he put in place, a chip in his darling’s neck so he could track her if anything went wrong.

While everyone else is arguing about what to do, Bruce and Clark have already figured out their location, though Bruce is much more put together than Clark is.

The Superman looks mortified, just standing there in shock and staring down at the ground.

“There is only one heartbeat…”

Their unborn child never got to see life because of what happened.

It was some mass terrorist organization who the Justice League had bumped heads with before. They saw an opportunity and took it, god knows how they got the information but if they were able to hack the system of the Hall of Justice then they really should not be surprised.

They can’t kill…

But they have to rescue them first…

And then shut down what’s going on.

The Green Lanterns will get to the darlings first, use their constructs to stabilize whatever happened to them, Clark’s darling is a priority since a miscarriage can be deadly, so is Hal’s darling due to her condition, along then with whoever lost the arm. The others will clear the way and-

When they find them all they are a complete mess…

Serious lacerations on every single one of them.

Hal’s darling was clearly thrown against the wall when they arrived and she clearly had head damage and was laying in her own blood that she could not even push herself out of due to the injured state of her arms and the uselessness of her legs.

Serious damage to the left eye of Barry’s darling, cut by some sort of rusted weapon.

Kyle’s darling had broken her right ankle and left leg, along with a huge gash on her upper back. John’s darling was looking after her as the best she can with a broken foot.

Oliver’s darling is the one with the missing arm, clean sliced off along with a punctured lung and in a state of unconsciousness while Bruce’s darling looks after her since she was lucky to get off with only a sprained ankle.

Then there was Clark’s darling, a complete mess, head trauma, broken ribs, and a miscarriage causing her to bleed out. Similar to the previous, J’onn J’onnes’ darling was in well enough condition to take care of her, just enough to stabilize her.

When everything is said and done and they are safe again, there is a heavy bitterness in the air.

The kidnapped them saying that they were keeping them safe…

Hal’s darling entered a coma from her head injuries after being rescued and has not woken up yet after her surgeries.

Barry’s darling had to get her eye removed in order to prevent infection, and then minor damage to the other eye.

Kyle’s darling can’t move out of the awkward position the doctors put her in on her side, so she doesn’t put pressure on the gash on her back or the shattered leg with a metal pole in her leg because of it.

John’s darling is one of the lucky few with only a boot and crutches for a few weeks.

Oliver’s darling had gone into surgery after surgery for her injuries, her arm and lung getting her placed in severe intensive care for at least a few months.

Clark’s darling is in a state of pure emotional distress along with her injuries, her head having been braced and stitched up after a surgeries to take care of her head damage and her… her miscarriage.

Clark is just as much in a state of distress as his darling over her injuries and the fact that he was supposed to protect her and their child and now one of them is dead and the other has injuries she will never fully recover from.

J’onn’s darling and Bruce’s darling are far more focused in looking after the others since they are far more healthy than the others. They visit them all in the medical wing, Bruce’s darling leaving flowers at their bedside, J’onn’s darling reading to them (I think she would be a librarian before all of this), and either of them sitting with Hal’s darling while she is in her current state along with Oliver’s darling who is in recovery.

All of them are in extremely pain emotionally and physically, they were kidnapped, told it was to keep them safe and for their own good, and now one of them is in a coma after she was paralyzed a number of months prior, another is missing an arm along with extremely brain trauma, one of them is missing an eye along with being now legally blind in the other, and one of them is now dealing with the loss of a child.

God when Hal’s darling wakes up she will be having a field day when she was right all along.

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https-furina · 2 years ago

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✎ i wasn’t ready to say goodbye [various men - part two] ft. lyney, zhongli, childe, ayato, alhaitham, cyno & tighnari x fem!reader content: angst, heavy trigger warnings for death, blood, injuries, gore & murder, fontaine archon quest spoilers (lyney), hurt no comfort, suggestive for a moment (zhongli), sumeru archon quest spoilers (alhaitham), ooc ayato (i'm not confident with him, sorry) not proofread.

detective's notes. this is the second part to the 'i wasn't ready to say goodbye' series i've started following aly's request, which is part one and you can find it here.

lyney put a lot of trust and faith into you the moment you'd uttered precious sweet nothings to him and promises you swore you'd keep. the magician was hopeful that for once potentially things were going right, he was landing on his feet if it wasn't for the heavy, nagging feeling working for the fatui left on his shoulders. it suffocated him, no matter how many loving smiles you'd send his way. he could drown every moment in your familiar scent - his home, his four walls but it would never rid him of his actions.

even when he so blindly puts that trust and faith into the auspicious blond traveler travelling teyvat and bringing nothing but destruction in their wake.

a shaking gloved hand reaches out for your silhouette against the backdrop of crackling fires, embers rising into the deep night sky like fireflies. dilated lilac eyes search your facial expressions but they keep trailing that to that blade piercing through your abdomen, soaked in the precious liquid you need so desperately. he doesn't understand - he didn't do anything wrong. he'd followed every rule in the book, he'd been a good man, he swears! yet that look of fear on your face and the hatred in the traveler's eyes... he's lost. the traveler yanks their arm back, withdrawing their sword without another word. no explanation, nothing that could ease lyney's mind as he rushes forward to catch you in his arms, falling to the floor with you when your vision darkens. the loss of the blade in your wound results in a heavier blood loss, nothing is there to stagger the waterfall that leaks through your attire and lyney is desperately pressing his hands to your wound but to no avail. "y/n?" he murmurs, panicked and breathless as he hyperventilates and his eyes burn from tears. your eyelashes are fluttering, lips parted as shallow breaths escape you but no words come out. you do not respond, prompting lyney to continue begging you, "please, hold on, i'm sorry - i'm so sorry y/n-" he doesn't care to know where the traveler disappeared to. the fires roar louder in his ears, competing with the rush of blood that's sending him crazy. he can hear his own pulse thudding, heavy as he watches the light drain from your eyes. words are flurrying from his lips, his voice cracking as he wonders whether begging to the hydro archon will get him anywhere. but it doesn't when your tense shoulders fall limp, your head rolling to the side as one last breath intakes into your lungs. he promised you his work would never affect you. he promised the traveler his eternal loyalty and the concept that he was a good guy. he never lied but when he's sobbing into the crook of your neck, hugging your body close, he can't help but think his entire being was built on a web of tightly knit lies created by the fatui.

zhongli vowed that falling in love with a mortal would be unwise, he knew from the very start when amber eyes as warm as cor lapis landed on you from across the room. it was like there was a pull, a tug in your direction and the benevolent man had no choice but to approach - just like that you had the archon wrapped around your finger, not that you knew. he couldn't tell you, no, that would be even more unwise and he'd already made one grave mistake swallowing pretty moans when his lips pressed to yours in the dead of the night.

but if it had protected you from those who wanted his blood, who wanted him to hurt and his heart to ache, would it have been wise? for then, he would not have to relive this stabbing grief once more.

sal terrae remained one of his favourite spots of his country, with dazzling waterfalls and memoirs of the god of salt - a memory long drifting away - he could spend days here, camped out under a tree and listening to the calm that nature brings. but this is not the sal terrae he remembers, no. not the blood splattered on the dirt ground beneath you or the way there's a small, delicate red river trickling out of the corner of the mouth he'd kissed so many times before. he should have known not to trust the fatui the way he had whilst they were in liyue - specifically that damn ginger harbinger and the bank. he scowls, brows knitting together as he hesitantly takes a step forward. he considers whether you'll yell at him, scream and cry out in anger for his mistakes. after all, perhaps you would have not been pierced in the chest so brutally had he protected you and even more so, if he hadn't lied about his identity. you don't. you gasp out for breath, choking on blood as you cough it up. it dribbles down your chin, an horrific scene. he'd seen many in his thousands of years walking teyvat, he'd seen so much mortal blood it felt like water by this point but seeing your specific blood clawed at his heart. he wishes he could forget the vision, forget the way there are tears glittering as they spill down your cheeks. zhongli feels an immense amount of guilt and he knows the heavy weight of it will drag on his ankles for the rest of his existence. "z-zhongli?" you croak out, your vision blurring as you make out the tall man from where he stands. you reach out, your hand covered in your own blood from where you were just holding your chest. blood seeps through your clothing, the reality is starting to hit zhongli more. he approaches quicker, hands cupping your cheeks as his thumbs wipe your tears. he isn't sure how to comfort you - perhaps he can't. the adrenaline is fading, you're feeling the burn of your wound every time you gasp for breath. your lungs hurt, your head feels light. zhongli wraps an arm around your waist quickly when your knees give in, lowering you to the ground softly. he kneels at your side, swallowing the lump in his throat. "i'm... i'm sorry, my love..." he whispers, unsure if that's the apology he wants to drop right now. you're fading in and out of consciousness, your bloodied hand clutching at his coat as if he's the one who is going to fade away at any moment now. zhongli grimaces, the unfamiliar sting of tears in his eyes as he watches the way your chest doesn't rise again.

childe cherishes you to the point of possession. you're the best thing that's ever happened to him, he'll remind you at least once daily. if it doesn't come out of his mouth verbally, he'll show it in the form of actions, gifts, anything he can consider a love language - you have to convince him that killing people who look in your direction is not a love language.

his wealth brings unnecessary trouble as well as his association with the northland bank. there are many souls in liyue who would crave for an ounce of it, at any means possible.

he doesn't remember ever giving you a reason to leave the front door wide open - not that you need a reason but it's the peak of winter in liyue and you always complain at the thought of heat escaping through cracks in the window. upon closer inspection, the harbinger sees that the door handle is busted, hanging on by a limb. there's a sudden pang of anxiety in his chest, his gloved hand pushing the door wide open. childe is met with the sights of shattered glass and broken pottery, porcelain decorating wooden floorboards. there's a lump in his throat now, making it hard to breathe as he calls your name out and begins to frantically search your shared house. he can hear your whimpers, your soft begs to not hurt you as he approaches the kitchen. there's a bloodied kitchen knife on the floor beside you but his eyes land sooner on the puddle of deep red liquid staining your clothes and the floorboards beneath you. the blood is seeping from your neck, your voice strangled and gurgled when you cough up more blood onto the floor. your fearful eyes meet his blue ones and you choke out a sob. "c-childe- ajax.." you cry out any name you can but it's barely a whisper when you finally realise there's no one else here to attack you. his eyes are cold, his blood running even colder when he grips at the bow in his hands, his knuckles turning white and he swears he'll kill whoever did this to you. he swears that they'll feel his wraith, he'll spill their blood and he'll taint teyvat's ocean with it until they remember his archons forsaken name. when he doesn't respond to his name, you sob once more and he snaps to reality, dropping his bow as he kneels at your side. he peels his gloves off, his hands still warm as he clears your neck to look at your wound clearer. you wince, whimpering and whining at any form of contact as you grow fainter, hands weakly grabbing at childe's clothing. "i'll kill them, i swear baby - i'll make them pay, they'll regret ever coming near you-" childe's tone is sharp, stabbing the solemn air as you struggle to breathe, gasping for your final breaths. you can't even form the words to argue back against him, to tell him that killing people doesn't solve everything. that silence kills him. it sends him insane as he watches you helplessly die in front of him. he hyperventilates, brows knit together in frustration. you were supposed to argue back, tell him he's wrong. why didn't you? he shakes your shoulders gently but you're limp, unresponsive.

ayato is not a man of many words nor actions, you should have seen it coming the moment you married a socialiate, let alone the head of his clan. the man has an image to maintain and that is not limited to the likes of his wife either. you do not mind, heavily avoiding the limelight of inazuma's tabloids. ayato can do many things to protect you from scenarios like that as the commissioner of the yashiro commission.

he could not have foreseen enemy clans using you, his devoted wife against him and he could have not particularly predicated this scenario.

"who did this?" his words cut the silence, it's tense and heavy. all that resonates in the courtyard is your desperate gasps for breath, your brows knitted together as you try to recall anything about your attackers but nothing comes of it. there's no one but the two of you around, ayato had long sent everyone on a wild goose chase to find who did this to you. red soaks the white of his sleeves, hanging in the pool of blood you lay in. ayato lets out a shaking breath, there's a tight feeling in his chest. did he feel guilt? potentially. he trusted himself enough to protect you, he swore he'd never fail you. it seems he'd failed himself in that regard too. "i-i... love you..." you whisper shakily, weak and barely audible above the winds of inazuma that blow through the kamisato estate's courtyard. ayato grimaces, a cool hand cupping the soft skin of your cheek. shadowed eyes belonging to that of your beloved husband drink in the sights of your blemishes, your insecurities - the things that he has forever found beautiful. "yes... yes, i know, dear," he reassures softly, his voice cracking ever-so-slightly as he gives you a broken smile, "i love you too." you're beginning to fade out of consciousness, the blood loss taking you in its toll when your chest becomes heavy and you're struggling to find the strength to breathe. ayato coaxes you to keep going, to keep trying for him. just hold on a little longer, he promises, clasping your bloodied hands in his. he does not care for the liquid staining his clothing, it is yours and anything of yours is precious to him. but his reassurances and promises begin to fall on deaf ears when he is the only person left breathing in the courtyard of his home, his sacred sanctuary he swore would be safe for you. it's always been safe for him but as he cries out into the night, exposing his vulnerability in the moment of being alone, he wonders why it could have not been for you, truly.

alhaitham claims he has no reasoning for falling in love. he's a busy man, especially when he's thrust into the role of the acting grand safe following his expeditions helping the traveler free lesser lord kusanali. but between stacks of paperwork and arguing with one particular blond in the house of daena, turquoise eyes find you, another ordinary scholar of the akademiya. he swears he had no intentions of knowing you further than polite words shared as you pass each other in the halls.

is that why months later when he doesn't hear from you while you're out researching in the desert, he decides to go searching for you in a worry he'd never voice aloud?

thick, red liquid is binding the sand together under you, dripping from your open wound across your side. your attire is ripped, the wind occasionally blowing sharp granules of sand onto your exposed wound and causing you to yell out in pain. alhaitham is pale, his eyes wide. he should have trusted his gut sooner when you stopped writing back to him, keeping him updated on your adventures out in the desert. better yet, perhaps he should have just came with you in the first place. there are no polite words shared in the heavy atmosphere as you pant for breath. alhaitham is no better, struggling to breathe at the sight of one of the only people he'd allowed this close bleeding out in front of him. his eyes don't leave your wound, you're way too far from the bimarstan for him to get you help. you fall to your knees and alhaitham follows, his hands fumbling as he struggles to remove his cloak and wrap it around your shoulders. you're in the middle of the desert and yet you're drenched in a cold sweat, hugging his cloak around you tighter. you breathe in his familiar scent, it's warm and hugs you back. it's comforting when the wound burns harsher on your side. alhaitham should have known better than to let you venture into the desert alone, the guilt biting at him aggressively when he pulls you into his chest, burying his face into your hair. he drinks you in, feeling your shallow breaths against the shell of his ear. he listens helplessly as the seconds between your breaths become longer and they become quieter to the point he no longer feels them anymore. he refuses to pull away from you, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck as your skin turns cold beneath him. he's in denial, his breaths struggled when your arms fall from around him, limp. just a little longer... he'll wake up and you'll be in front of his desk once more, that wide smile almost rubbing off on him.

cyno warned you the moment you'd figured you had a chance at getting so close to the general mahamatra - he worked a dangerous job and not only that, he himself was a dangerous man. yet you were stubborn, initiating a conversation with him any chance you got. had he been on an expedition recently? did he have any criminal arrest stories to tell your curious mind? cyno could almost chuckle at how much his work did not seem to bother a citizen like you.

he should have held his breath as he ran from the akademiya to treasures street, having been told of a murder happening in broad daylight of sumeru's summer.

"what happened?" "oh archons.." "is she dead?" cyno scowls at all the voices, the questions, the intrusion of a victim's privacy as he pushes through the crowds of civilians. his brows are knit together, trying to comprehend the idea that someone would be brave enough to commit such a vile act in broad daylight like this. a matra tries to stop him, reassuring him the case is covered but cyno shakes his head, pushing further. ruby eyes fall to the body that lies on the ground, half covered by a white sheet. the pavement below is pooled in blood that seeps through the cracks and stains the cream colour of the tiles, soaking into the white sheet being used cover for privacy. he takes note of that familiar anklet around the victim's ankle and it feels as though his whole world just came crashing. "general mahamatra, sir?" the matra from before asks wearily, appearing beside him as cyno is yet to say anything. there's a lump in cyno's throat that won't budge even though he keeps swallowing, he tries to put it down to dehydration in the summer heat but he's never struggled before, "eremites, sir." cyno wanders to you slowly, catching sight of the way your familiar hair spills out from underneath the sheet. he was hoping that the anklet was just coincidence, it was a gift from him when he'd ventured to aaru village one day but that was most definitely your hair - it was definitely your hand that peeked from the cloth. he shakily reaches for it, attempting to keep his calm in front of so many eyes. the voices whisper, gasps and sorrowful when he kneels next to your body in a rigid silence, his knuckles white from his grip on your cold hand. he chews his tongue, hoping you'll wake up and scold him for having such a strong grip and not being more gentle but you don't budge. the sheet doesn't lift, the blood doesn't disappear as if it was a bad dream. he knew you'd be in danger at his side. he has enemies, many of them. ones he has never cared for before, never bothered to utter an ounce of consideration in their direction but the man was very much aware of their existence. you was a weak spot for him, a vulnerable moment with soft, shared kisses and gentle, lingering touches. he should have known. the guilt eats at him, it follows him to bed that night where the empty pillow beside him witnesses his pillow soak in salty tears.

tighnari was head over heels from the beginning. you'd finished your studies in the amurta darshan and had promptly beelined for the avidya forest to gandharva ville, much happier out in the nature than you had been cooped up in the house of daena. if anything, he also saw you as the most dedicated forest ranger in gandharva ville. he loved that particularly.

he related to your need to protect the avidya forest with your life, you was so passionate about it but he didn't expect you to physically use your life to protect it.

there was definitely something protruding from your chest, no amount of blinking was going to make it vanish now. tighnari's tail droops as he rushes to your side, sending one last arrow in the direction of a treasure hoarder, piercing him in the neck. you're alone now, left in a vulnerable state as tighnari eases you against the green grass you've valued more than your own life. "nari?" you ask softly, confused as to why those precious, fluffy ears were flattened against black hair the way that they were. tighnari assumed the adrenaline of battle hadn't fully worn off and you had caught a glimpse of the arrow buried into your heart, which was beginning to slow its pulse as it keeps your body going. blood oozes out of your ranger uniform, something you wore with the utmost pride. "i'm here, love," he chokes out, a sharp sensation stinging at emerald eyes as he pulls his gaze away from the arrow lodged in your chest to those eyes he treasured so much, "you know i love you - right? you'll always... be mine?" your brows knit together, eyes glancing over his face. why does he look so sad? the concept of him reminding you foxes mate for life was nothing new but he always seemed so joyous when he'd remind you - this was different. there's a stiff feeling in your chest and your eyes fall down to it, where tighnari's gloved hand is gently laid around an arrow pierced into your skin. he's not attempting to pull at it nor apply pressure, he is simply keeping his hand close to the thing that meant the most to him - your heart, specifically while it's still beating. "i love you too, nari." you finally realise what's happening, the corners of your vision going dark and hazy as you admire the fox male once more. he'll be the last thing you see, laying on the grass of your home, the avidya forest. he'll be your last comfort, the last thing you smell and touch. you know it was reckless to have put your life on the line in such a way but you would have done anything to protect the forest. tighnari lets out a wail into the calm of the avidya forest, praying that someone hears his cries of sorrow. your skin is cold to touch hours later but tighnari has not left your side, his tail curled around your body with only an emptiness left in his chest in your absence.

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hiraethwa · 4 months ago

Text

to be loved is to be known

four; let me be your sanctuary // a quiet kind of love

pairing. kageyama x reader

cw. angst, timeskip, setter!reader, death, grief, divorce

wc. 12.5k

featured track. 金木犀の夜 by kinokoteikoku // the sanctuary playlist

he saved me in every way that a person can be saved.

there is nothing kageyama tobio could do as your world falls apart and you crumble along with it. nothing but hold the sky from crushing you under its weight with his bare hands and a determination to carve out a safe space for you to fall apart.

you retreat into yourself, away from the world, leaving behind a ghost of your former self. he holds his breath, for the air feels suffocating without your warmth, your light. he cannot save you, but he can shoulder the weight of the world, shield you from it.

so he does, taking it upon himself to see that you make it home to japan to see your grandmother before it is too late—handling the calls to your team for your absence, arguing his way through when the coach had the audacity to deny your request, ensuring all the immigration papers are prepared among the most of it.

booking the seat next to yours and coming with you, because he is worried sick with the state you are in, whether you would be able to make it home safely alone. his coach is not happy about his decision either, but he will deal with it when he gets back.

as long as you make it home.

he knows just how much she means to you.

you are quiet, staring out the window at the clouds below you. thirty-five thousand feet in the air and thousands of miles between you and home, you remain silent, even when the air stewardess mistakes you for his significant other.

there is an emptiness within you, wrapping around you and pulling you into its orbital vacuum, a hollowness he isn’t quite sure how to deal with, whether he should try to chase it away or let it stay, whether you would be alright.

it is going to be alright, he wants to tell you, i’m here. but he doesn’t, because he isn’t sure if his presence is welcomed if you were fully conscious and capable of going by yourself, if you were not so overcome by grief.

he knows it well, too well, this feeling that consumes you whole. he recognizes the grief, because he had gone through the same thing a decade ago, when he lost his grandfather and himself to it.

even now, there are days when he wakes up, the loss suffocating his chest feeling just as fresh as it was yesterday.

he wants to hold you, tell you that it is going to be fine even if the world falls apart, because he is going to be right there by your side, but that’s his own selfish desire speaking, so he keeps his hands neatly folded over each other in an effort to be respectful of your space.

if space is what you need, then he would be your sanctuary, shielding you from anything the world throws at you. anything, he swears silently.

and then your fingers snake between his own, hesitant and wishful, your hands fitting together perfectly like two puzzle pieces falling into place. he almost chokes on thin air, head jerking towards you, but you were looking out the window into the dark skies still, lost in your own thoughts with your earbuds in.

if his finger fell over your pulse, he would detect the spike in your heart rate mirroring his own.

he releases a jagged breath, wondering if you are seeking comfort in him or the other way around. but his fingers tighten around yours instinctively, a quiet reminder that he’s right here next to you. that he’s not going anywhere.

when your head falls on his shoulder, soft and even breaths falling from your mouth, he sighs in relief, carefully adjusting your posture to ease the weight on your neck.

there is a crease between your brows even in your sleep as you stir frequently, no doubt anxious and restless. he supposes he should be glad that you are getting any rest at all.

finally, after a long four days of your worrying silence, the crease eases as you push open the soulless white door of a hospital room, even though your hand stills on the doorknob, wavering on the threshold.

your hesitation confuses kageyama, but he waits for your lead, allowing you to take your time. and then, “obaasan?”

you breathe the word into the world with uncertainty and a touch of dread. the tension that lines your tired shoulders from a thirteen hour long haul flight slips away as the elderly woman on the bed looks up from her book, a wide smile gracing her face as she holds her arms out to you. “my darling, y/n-chan!”

he watches you transform before him as your grandmother scatters the worry and anxiety that had you in their stranglehold, running to her as though time unwinded and you are nothing but a lost child finding your way home.

you remember a time when she felt like your whole world, filling in for your absent parents, raising you into the person you are today—where your classmates had their okaasan and their otousan, you had your obaasan who loved you and cared for you like her own, made sure you were warm enough when you walked to school, nursing you back to health when you were sick.

she was always there for you, believing in you, pushing you to go after your dreams even if it meant leaving her behind.

she still is your whole world, but you are a grown woman now, so much older than you were at eight when your parents left you with her, a cruel reminder of the passage of time as you become aware of how your frame engulfs her smaller fragile one.

the two of you exchange a flurry of greetings and fret over each other, you lightly scolding her for worrying you so much when the phone call came as she insists that she is doing fine and the doctors are overreacting.

what you were not prepared for is the way her eyes lit up as she noticed kageyama silently standing by the doorway, bearing witness to the heartwarming bond between you and your grandmother.

oh. in your frenzied state, it has conveniently slipped your mind that he is here. and now that the haze has lifted and your mind is clear again, a new panic sets in as the realization truly sinks in.

kageyama is here. with you. in japan. isn’t the italian league still in season?

you blank out as you search your memories for how you ended up here, coming up short. your grandmother pulls you to her side of the bed where you sit dumbfounded. her hand, aged with wrinkles and dotted with scars from the years of work, stays firmly within your grasp as she gestures for kageyama to approach.

“and who is this handsome young man you finally decided to bring home, granddaughter?”

you fluster, blurting the first thing that comes to mind, “obaasan, this is tobio.” you give her a look with as much discretion as you could, and you know she caught it, but she presses on slyly.

“tobio…? a rather uncommon family name, if i might say, through my years of living.”

gods. “kageyama is his family name. kageyama tobio.” you correct yourself, reddening at your blunder.

you ignore the burn of his eyes on you, keeping your gaze steady on your grandmother. “well, it’s good to finally meet you, tobio-chan.”

finally? what does she mean by finally? you have never mentioned kageyama to her before.

“it’s good to see you are doing well too, oumae-san. i have heard a great deal of warm stories about you from your granddaughter.” he bows his head respectfully to the woman who basically raised you by herself.

“ah, no need for such formalities, young man. you can call me obaasan like y/n does.” she smiles warmly at kageyama. you tighten her hand around hers, frowning at the assumption she is making of the non-existent relationship between you and kageyama.

but you accidentally look at kageyama, your eyes locking with him and you falter at the silent question in them. you turn back to your grandmother who looks at you expectantly.

“obaasan, are you going around claiming strangers as your grandchildren now? i thought i am your favorite and only grandchild,” you pout, wrapping your arms around her childishly to keep kageyama from stealing her away.

“nonsense, there you go acting like a child again. you are an adult now, act like your age,” she chides teasingly, warmth rising to the surface of her eyes as she pats your hand lovingly.

“i will always be a child around you,” you nestle your head into the crook of her shoulder, savoring her presence, her clarity, the safety of having your grandmother back. you know you are acting like a spoiled child, but you could care less of what kageyama might think of you, knowing this moment of lucidity is rare and fleeting.

tears well in your eyes as you remember the doctor’s words, notifying you of the nearing end. you wish the tears away, sniffling slightly, as emotions overwhelm you without any warning.

kageyama saves your breakdown from being noticed by her, lightheartedly chiming in, “i suppose i should stick to addressing you as oumae-san before your granddaughter plots my death.”

“ah, tobio-chan don’t mind her, she is quick to jealousy.” she rubs your back soothingly, “always has been, hm?” her arm comes to a rest around your shoulders, giving you a firm squeeze in reassurance.

it takes every fiber of your being from crumbling in the familiar safety of her arms, resisting the urge to let your shoulders crumple with the onslaught of her recognition. a memory flashes across your mind of a similar setting as she tends to your injuries—a bloody knee from tripping on the uneven roads of the village, only you were young and her embrace engulfed your tiny frame, the only adult shielding you from the unkind world—a cruel reminder of the passage of time.

it demands every single shred of resilience you built up over the years to stand tall in the way of the persistent waves of emotion crashing against you, swallow the tears in your eyes and the tightness in your throat.

you tighten your arms around the only person who has ever loved you unconditionally, only letting go when a nurse interrupts you for their afternoon rounds, albeit reluctantly.

“why don’t you two go get something to drink in the meantime? you must be tired from your travels.” your grandmother pats your arm reassuringly.

you try to return a smile, but it comes out all tight and tense. “we will be right back, okay?” your assurance sounds more for yourself than anyone else.

wait for us. it goes unsaid.

“come on,” kageyama guides you out of the room with a hand on your back, a quiet reminder that you are not alone in this, leading you down multiple hallways and corners. you lose track of them as your thread of control snaps, spiraling into devastation.

“i can’t do this.” before you know it, you are breaking down in front of a vending machine with a tight fist on the sleeve of his jacket. “gods, gods. i can’t do this, kageyama.”

the lights are blindingly bright and blurry in your vision. uneven breaths leave your quivering lips as you pant, grabbing at your chest where it hurts. and gods, does it hurt. your ribcage heaves under pressure with each inhale, this thing in it is all you could feel, all you could focus on.

“hello, is this oumae y/n?”

“yes, this is her speaking.”

“i’m calling about your grandmother, oumae fumiko. i am afraid i have bad news. she was admitted to the hospital yesterday, and her dementia has progressed much faster than we anticipated. she has already lost too much weight from losing appetite, which is typically a sign of end stage dementia. we are doing all we can for her, but i am afraid all we can do at this point is making her as comfortable as we can.”

the phone call repeats itself in your head again, a record broken on loop, holding you captive, unable to escape its claws that sink deep in your chest, injecting devastation and hopelessness straight into your veins, into the organ that keeps you alive.

a minute.

a minute was all it took to tear your world apart.

you sink to your knees as ugly sob after sob finally rips free from your throat, grieving the inevitable loss of your only constant. multiple streaks of warmth streak down your cheeks, as you cry out, hands finding hold on anything you could to keep you anchored as the world spins around you.

“w–we were supposed to have m–more time.” you hiccup, leaning into him, your anchor. the thing in your chest—pain, grief, desolation, everything—feels too much to bear, and you wish you could pour it out. but it stays stubbornly, even as the tears and cries are released from you.

kageyama’s own heart breaks alongside yours, knowing what the loss of your grandmother would take from you. your heart wrenching sobs tug at his heartstrings, reminding him of his own loss that suddenly feels as fresh as yesterday, only it had been more than a decade ago.

his breath staggers with yours, selfishly collecting your frame into his arms after a lengthy debate with himself. he rubs the back of your head awkwardly as you allow yourself to give in to the flurry of emotions that you had kept at bay since you received the call.

he internally scolds himself for the satisfaction that settles in with the knowledge that he is the one you sought comfort in. how selfish—but how could he deny you comfort when there is no other shelter for you to take refuge in?

so he allows it, his hand taming the strands of hair on the back of your head, fingers gently running through the knots from lack of care. you bury your face further into his chest, hands bunching up the front of his sweater.

“i know.”

kageyama wraps his other arm securely around your shaking shoulders, hoping it gives you some sense of comfort. he slows his breaths down, gradually lengthening each inhale and exhale, waiting for you to match his own before continuing.

slowly but surely, your sobs grow silent, and your breathing evens out with his coaxing.

he holds his breath when he feels you shifting in his embrace, suddenly aware of the proximity between you.

he licks his lips nervously, unsure of how you would react as you lift your head to meet his eyes. you blink, visibly vulnerable and he chides himself for his actions again. but was he supposed to let you suffer and not do anything?

“sorry.” the apology leaves his lips roughly before he could think about it, moving to release you from himself, only to stop abruptly as he notices your face scrunching with distress.

“don’t go.” you dip your head, arms snaking around his back, enveloping him in your embrace firmly as you nestle back into his chest.

his heart jumps, mouth running dry, but he manages to reply, “i’m here as long as you want me to stay.”

“stay forever,” you mumble, the words coming out muffled, failing to reach his ears.

“hm?” the sound rumbles in his chest, echoing through your body pressed against his, starkly reminding you that everyone has their own path to walk, overlapping for a short moment in the march of time, forever destined to walk the path alone.

you cannot keep pretending this could be forever. friends no longer encompass the feelings that took on a life on its own for him, threatening to burst into fireworks and alert everyone of just how much you love kageyama tobio.

and it hits you then, hard. the repressed feelings jumping at the moment of weakness, springing free from the carefully locked box you forcefully shoved them in.

it punches the air out of you, the enormity of your love for him, rivaled only by your love for your grandmother. leaving you gasping for breath, for air that could not come quick enough.

because one way or another, you are going to lose them both.

when you return, the nurse coming out of the room informs you that your grandmother has taken her medication and is resting for the night. you note the sympathetic look in her eyes and her thinly pressed lips.

oh.

kageyama tries to protest, to which you give a firm shake of your head, telling him in a quiet voice that you are tired and that you wish to go home.

home. is it still home when she is no longer there?

the house stands exactly the same as you remember up to every tile in the slanted rooftop. the two missing tiles in the left corner from accidentally hitting a volleyball into it as a teenager, the mismatched wood colors from a makeover that was never completed. the front door that needs a little coaxing to open from its misaligned frame.

it’s just as you recall. the corners of your lips quirk a little as you turn the doorknob, pushing in and up at the same time and the door creaks open with no resistance.

the last standing testament of your grandparents’ love, this house that has bore witness to it all.

you wonder what it is like to have experienced a love so whole, so overflowing that a mere fifteen years shared is enough to sustain her through forty more surrounded by his memories.

the thought brings a fresh wave of tears that prickle at your eyes and over the brim. because soon that would be you trying to cope in a world without her in it.

how did you do it, obaasan? you already want to crawl into bed and stay there forever, hide from a world where you could not reach her whenever.

“you still have her.” kageyama says gently, reminding you that you are not alone. you sniffle, quickly wiping at your cheeks, the corners of your traitorous eyes.

“sorry, i just– my emotions are all over the place.” you take your shoes off, placing them in the open rack in the entrance and moving over so that he could follow suit. “make yourself at home.”

you miss the conflict in his eyes, his struggle on whether to push you to open up or allow you more space. the frustration that wells up within him, hating that you don’t trust him enough to lean on him when you so clearly needed someone earlier, that you have shut yourself off again.

unreachable. untouchable.

you lead him past the living room, into the kitchen, softly pointing out the cabinets for cups, utensils, snacks, tea, anything he might need before heading up the stairs. the eighth step on the way up groans underneath your weight like it always does, and you let go of the breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

kageyama has an unreadable expression as you show him to the spare bedroom that your parents use when they deigned to show up, the number of times of which you could count on all ten of your fingers and toes.

his lips part, a quiet storm brewing inside his mind as he struggles to find the right words.

“do you need anything else?” you ask.

he hates this. he hates the feeling of helplessness as you struggle alone to stay afloat and all he is allowed to do is watch you edge closer to the precipice of despair and wait for you to reach out.

“you are not alone in this, i am here. if you need anything,” he swallows, “anything at all. just remember i am here.”

“it’s fine, i am used to it.”

“are you? i have gone down this road before. keeping everything bottled up,” he shakes his head, “there is only darkness and pain waiting for you at the end of it.”

“i have made my peace with it a long time ago, but facing it now, this goodbye seems more permanent than i ever imagined.”

“it gets easier, i promise.”

you turn away so that he does not see the shimmer in your eyes. “that is also what i am afraid of.”

you send a silent prayer to the gods the next day when you find her awake and lucid.

and the next day.

and the next.

they are short, fleeting moments. sometimes minutes, sometimes up to a few hours. each time she remembers you, you breathe a sigh of relief. each time she forgets, kageyama is there to catch it first.

in some way, he became your safety, your shield.

your grandmother is enjoying herself recounting your childhood stories to kageyama, who listens raptly, nodding along to each sentence. you protest weakly, correcting her dramatisations of the mischief you were up to.

“she is always so full of energy, running around the fields, chasing after grasshoppers in the grass, scaring away the birds that came to our home. one time, she climbed up the big tree in the backyard to chase after a cat that conveniently left you stuck up there crying and i ended up having to ask our neighbor to rescue her.”

“obaasan, but i did catch the cat.”

“who scratched you on your nose, and hopped off the tree gracefully, did you forget? i was watching it all from the kitchen window, child.” she taps your nose teasingly.

“and your teacher, she asked you to try out for volleyball because of that restlessness and that mind of yours, hoping you would get into less trouble, and what did you manage to do? break our roof.”

“it was two tiles, obaasan! you are overexaggerating everything.” you pout at her.

the two of them exchange a glance and burst out laughing at you. oh, so that is how it is.

and despite the imminent end that hangs over your head, you smile.

your apprehension begins to fade as the days pass with laughter and happiness next to the two people you loved most. the selfish hope that the end will be painless for both you and her begins to grow. that you would not have to live through the pain of her forgetting you again.

it is easy to pretend like this could be forever.

but forever falls apart. it always does.

you grew complacent, forgetting how unpredictable dementia is. it hits you when you least expect it, reminding you of your own mortality as helplessness floods your veins, freezes you in place, as you stare at the blank face of the woman who raised you.

the lines of worry that formed over the years, the smile lines that run along the sides of her nose to her mouth, the curve of her nose that you inherited—everything was familiar as your mind remembers.

everything but the lack of recognition in her eyes as she stared back at you.

your play pretend world comes crumbling down around you. there it is. the dementia that takes her away from you.

and you had stayed up all night makes her favorite stew in hopes that she would eat more than a few bites.

your fragile heart plummets as kageyama steps up from behind you, hand sliding into yours to take the soup flask from your shaking hand. oh, you had not even noticed that you had started to shake.

your eyes are still pinned to her, frozen in place, watching as her eyes flick over to kageyama, and then—recognition dawns on her, a wide smile appearing on her face as if she is the sun incarnate.

“hatsu?”

a smile reserved for the warmth that was taken away from her too soon, too young. a smile reserved for oumae hatsu, the first and only love of her long life.

kageyama startles, looking to you for help, worry evident in his dark eyes as they roam over your tightly clenched fists.

“she thinks you are my grandfather who passed away when my father was in junior high.” you press your lips into a thin line, hurt fresh on your mind that she does not remember you. the last thing you want to do is push him to do something he is uncomfortable with, but his eyes soften, understanding shining through them.

it makes you swallow hard. this side of him that somehow no one else sees is the reason you gave over your heart unconsciously, the reason your heart throbs in pain alongside the hurt you feel from your grandmother.

if only he knew…

“go ahead, if you want to talk to her.” you glance at the flask of stew, a sad smile ghosting over your lips. “i will head home first.”

“you don’t want to stay?” he catches your wrist as you turn to leave.

“no.” you glance back at her, at the frown marring her face. “no, it hurts us both more if i stay.”

kageyama hesitates, wondering if he should return with you. but your grandmother looks at him expectantly, and you give him a small reassuring shove towards her before disappearing from the room.

all right.

he sets the thermos on the overbed table, unscrewing the cap and handing over a spoon to the elderly woman smiling warmly at him. “here, y/n made your favorite stew.”

she scrunches her nose in confusion at the name but takes the utensil regardless, sniffing at the smell of the food before tasting it.

“it tastes just like how you used to make it.” she looks at him, spooning another mouthful of stew into her mouth after lightly blowing on it. he takes a seat at the uncomfortable plastic chair next to the bed, giving her a small smile, allowing the silence to stretch as she eats a good amount of the food.

at least your efforts did not go to waste. his heart pains for you, thinking of how hurt you must have felt when she did not remember you. he knows for a fact that if it was him and his grandfather he would have broken down on the spot.

how much have you had to go through by yourself all this time?

“do you remember this time of the year?” she is looking out the window at the budding cherry blossoms, set to bloom early this year compared to past years. “it should be right around the time you asked me to marry you in a few weeks.”

a smile blooms across her aged face at the memory, and kageyama could see the features you inherited from her, the same slanted nose and the almond shaped eyes that sparkles with happiness.

“we would get married around summer, the season you were named after. aptly, because you are the only person who managed to melt through the ice i wrapped around myself. we would have our perfect baby son just a year later.”

kageyama wants to interrupt her, say that he is not who she thinks he is, but he could not bear to cut her happy memory short.

she laughs at the memory. “he is the cutest baby i have ever seen in my life. do you remember how soft and caring he was about us as a kid? always worrying past his age for our wellbeing. sometimes i was not sure if we were his parents or the other way around.”

“sometimes i would wonder if we were raising him right, if it was our fault that he became the person he is today because we did not give him enough safety as a child,” she takes his hand in hers, voice thick with emotion. “you promised me we would grow old and haggard together, but the gods took you from me too soon. i tried so hard in the days after to reach out to him, but i failed him as his mother and his only remaining parent. i am sorry, i promised you i would keep our family safe after you left, but i failed. i am lost without you.”

a tear rolls down her cheek as she sniffles. “there was so many times i wanted to give up, but it would all the worth it because i get to be with you soon.”

his hand tightens around hers, as he gives her a tight smile, a small voice at the back of his head telling him that now is the time to free her from being trapped in a past filled with pain.

but she suddenly withdraws her hand, features shifting into a distrustful frown. “who are you?”

not allowing him a moment of explanation, she begins to shout for the nurse, getting upset over his presence in her room. he quickly follows her wishes, stepping out as a nurse comes rushing in to check on her.

he did not even realize how high his heart rate rocketed over the last minute of whiplash, trying to catch a breath with his head in his hands on the bench right outside the room, a question nagging at the back of his mind.

how long have you had to go through by yourself?

kageyama finds you at your grandmother’s home as promised, staring absently at the cup of tea in your hands, sitting cross legged under the kotatsu. he suspects that the cup has long since turned cold, but he does not bring it up.

“how are you feeling?”

“i am fine.” your reply comes a few moments later, as though you took a while to register that he is talking to you, to remember to respond.

clearly not fine.

“come on, oumae. talk to me.”

“i said i am fine.” your face scrunches as you take a sip of the tea, setting it back down on the table and pushing it away from yourself. clearly cold.

“don’t shut me out.” he knows he promised you time and space to figure it out on your own, but worry gnaws at his mind persistently, and the truth is he is afraid that he would be too late.

“why did you come? was it pity?”

“no, how could you think– no. i came because you were hurting, and i wanted to be here for you.” his heart is lodged in his throat, and he wishes he could hand it to you on both hands on the slightest chance that he could take on your pain for you.

“you shouldn’t have.” the immovable mask slips back in place on your face. “i need to learn to live by myself again. i can’t rely on you forever.”

he feels an urge to leap across the table and shake the truth out of you. it is the grief speaking, molding your helplessness into anger, into doable actions. he would let you draw blood with your knives, words sharpened with the intention to cut him, if he had not glimpsed the momentary pain flashing across your face.

“why? that has never been a problem before, even before– is it because of what i said in the interview?”

“yes.” you say, but the split second of hesitation gives you away. “we are just friends, and i cannot keep counting on you to be around forever. so yes, i need to remember how to do this alone. i can’t keep running to you whenever i have a problem.”

“that’s not–” he begins, confusion swarming his mind from your explanation.

“i cannot keep losing people i care about, tobio. there is only so much of me that i can lose until i am gone.” you cut him off, stumbling to your feet, trying to shake off the numbness that collected in your limbs.

and then you are gone.

the dots do not connect, but… should he respect your wishes and go?

he exhales, rubbing his hand over his face and pushing his hair back from sticking to his forehead, staring out at the backyard where the first of the cherry blossoms have bloomed on the giant tree overlooking the house.

kageyama pretends not to notice your swollen eyes the next day when he steps into the kitchen. he himself is not any better off with the heavy circles under his eyes from tossing and turning all night.

something about your last conversation is bothering him, and it is all he can think of when he closes his eyes and try to sleep. but he does not mention it and neither do you.

there is a strange distance that separates him from you—awkward but not entirely unpleasant. an odd harmony that feels both on and off, like a light switch being forced to balance between the two.

although, the question itches at his lips. do you want him to go? he lets it weigh heavy on his chest because he is a coward who is afraid to know your answer.

to no surprise, your grandmother picks it up, waving him over for questioning when you step out to speak to the doctors.

“how is she holding up?” she must have seen the hesitance in his eyes, continuing, “i forgot again, didn’t i? and she was here to witness it again that time.”

she knows? “i don’t know, but…” he trails off, unsure of what to tell her. she gestures for him to go on. “not too well, i think.”

“she has gone through too much. maybe i didn’t do that good of a job in raising her.”

he scrunches his nose with disbelief. “you did great, trust me. she is like nothing short of the greatest person i know. she is stubborn but forgiving and kind, passionate to a fault but it’s one of the things i love about her. she does not like to burden others with her own problems, even though she is always thinking about what they might feel or need. sometimes i wish she would–”

he stops short as he catches the knowing look on her face. fuck.

“well, did you tell her all of that and more? i am guessing you didn’t because you would be together by now if you did.”

“she doesn't feel the same way, obaasan. who am i to force it?” he ignores the pang of hurt that echoes in his chest as he recalls your words from last night.

“kuroo tetsuro never saw past her brilliance that captivated everyone. never once did he bother to look past the warmth she radiates to the people around her, or the cheeriness that she wore for so long it became natural. the sun burns only as long as there is something left to burn.” her eyes are hard now, glittering like gemstones, as she holds him to an unspoken scale.

“but you, you have always seen it, haven’t you? you are not blinded by her brightness like the others are. you love her the way my hatsu loved me, like she is the sun and the air, and life itself. so let me ask again, tobio-chan, have you told her?”

“i–” he get interrupted by her clearing her throat, looking in the same direction as her only to find you walking back in, wearing exhaustion and sorrow like a second skin.

heartbreaking but still, hauntingly beautiful. tragically poetic.

he feels like an ass for not being able to tear his eyes from you in a time like this, when you are surrounded by the promise of loss and grief.

somehow you manage to pull together a smile for your grandmother, and there. he sees it, the last of the fuel burning up behind your eyes.

your lips move at a rapid pace, though he is too deep in his thoughts to hear the conversation between the two of you. her words echo in his mind—the sun burns only as long as there is something left to burn.

he thinks about her question and your admission that he should not have come. no, he has not told you, but it does not matter. not when you drew that line so firmly defining where you ended and where he began. even if the words don’t quite fall into place when played over and over.

i cannot keep counting on you to be around forever. why not? he had wanted to ask. why not? he would be there whenever you call for him, in any way you would take him, even if it is just friends.

have you told her? he did, he wanted to scream. he did, and it did not matter.

unless— and suddenly everything clicks in place. unless you had not heard his not-so-secret confession on national television. but still, he must be missing something, something that triggered the change of distance between you?

“tobio-chan,” your grandmother calls, noting the way he immediately looked for you. “she left already. i told her i have something to talk to you privately about.”

“do you think i stand a chance? i–if i confessed to her, that is. not right now, of course, maybe after…” he trails off, gesturing at nothing in particular.

“stand a chance? no.” he flinches as her words send his precarious hope plummeting over the self-imposed cliff. “have a chance? yes. she looks at you the way i look at my husband. and don’t wait on my account because who knows? you might be the reason she survives my death.”

“you think she might not recover when you–” he bites his tongue, finding it disrespectful to discuss her own death to her face, even if she knows it is coming.

“it’s alright, you don’t have to dance around it. i know death is coming for me. my hatsu has been visiting me more and more in my dreams, sometimes even when i am awake. but yes, us oumae’s love hard, and we have a hard time letting go. always has been, always will be.”

the knowledge bears down on him. he thought he understood how important your grandmother is to you, but it was tainted by his own experience of losing his grandfather. it is all of that, but different, more.

learning about your past makes him uneasy because it feels wrong that you had to go through so much as a child. because as cold as his parents were, he had his grandfather and his sister. but listening to your grandmother recount what you were forced to live through—a messy divorce and being sent away because of a stepmother who disliked you, with your grandmother as your only support.

he didn’t know his heart could break further for you, but it does.

her last words accompany him on the quiet drive back to the farmhouse.

“when she told me she was marrying kuroo, i had hoped that he would prove me wrong, that he could love her the way she deserves to be loved. then the call about the divorce came, and i was angry at the gods for being so careless with her heart. but the day you walked into this room, i knew. my prayers were finally being answered.”

his gaze roams to you from time to time. there is something lodged in his throat, he thinks, the vastness of his emotions, or the thought of laying it bare before you makes him want to jump out of the moving car.

he struggles to find the words to describe it, any way to start a conversation like this, and fails terribly. all the progress he made in the decade decides to leave him, leaving him a fresh first year too caught up with his own demons to convey the thoughts running through his mind.

you disappear up the stairs before he could even get a word out. fuck. always too late.

it is not until later that night that kageyama finds his opening as he is looking for a midnight snack in the dark kitchen. he catches movement outside the house out of the corner of his eye, chalking it up to the trees swaying in the wind.

he shakes his head. but—there. a small movement illuminated by the soft moonlight catches his eye again. his heart picks up pace as he pads closer to the window that overlooks the backyard, suddenly finding it rushing up his throat as he realizes what or more specifically, who it is.

there you are, all huddled up in a chair with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

he licks his lips, wetting his dry mouth, as he finds his heart rate accelerating for an entirely different reason.

there is no better time than the present. a voice reminds him, though he could not put a face to the voice.

he knows that, and yet he lingers by the back door, fingers hovering over the switch for the lights in the backyard. an unknown source of courage surges through him, nudging him onwards.

kageyama slips out the door, footsteps swallowed up by the wind rushing over and around him.

the thundering in his heart never pauses, even as he takes in your tired features carved in with sorrow. your cheeks are gaunt although it has barely been a week. he realizes that it is not only his own desire and your grandmother’s encouragement leading through what he is about to say, but also fear that you would not be able to find your own way back.

he would light the way home for you, if you allowed him to.

“do you remember what you said to me on the day we first met?” he curls up in the chair next to you, following your line of sight to the moon hanging low in the sky.

“wha–” you stop yourself short as you decide to go along with it, not knowing where this is leading. curiosity prickles at the back of your mind, prompting you to search through your memories. “i don’t know. i think i said something embarrassing and fangirled too much that i blocked it from my memory.”

“really? i didn’t peg you for a fan.” he jokes.

“well i didn’t peg you for a joker either, but here we are.” you shoot him a deadpan look. “what kind of embarrassing things were they?”

“nothing embarrassing. though you did call my serves godly.” he smiles lightly while meeting your eyes.

your eyes fly wide open, mouth falling open in indignation. “i did not. no way in hell.”

“oh, but you did. you took me by surprise with the sincerity behind your words, especially coming from the best setter in the v-league.”

“oh gods. you are being serious. i did really say that, didn’t i? oh.” you bury your face in your hands, feeling a rush of heat to your cheeks.

the light mood sours as soon as your mind drifts off from the conversation, turning your expression somber. “i know you are trying to cheer me up, but you don’t have to.”

“i’m not– i’m not here out of pity or sense of duty. i’m here because i am selfish. because i could not bear to see the woman i love alone in her grief, even though you tried to put distance between us. because you are my heart and i cannot live without it.”

“what?” your head whips towards him, five different thoughts flying through your mind in an instant. he licks his lips in nervousness, wishing he could hear your thoughts in that moment. “but– you said– in that interview, you said we are just friends.”

in the interview — he said what? he could only assume that it’s the same interview that he is thinking of, though he draws a blank on those words leaving his lips.

“you said we are just friends in that post-game interview against milano. that pretty interviewer was all over you too, did you forget?”

did he say—oh. he remembers the question now. he did say that, but it came from a place of respect for you, not wanting to assume things by himself.

“i have never seen you smile at anyone the way you smiled at her. i don’t understand. how could it be me that you–” you stop abruptly, as though you could not say the word love.

the urge to throw someone (mostly hinata) flashes through his brain, and this time it’s directed at you. he crosses his arms, frowning at you, the absurdity of your misled beliefs forcing a laugh of disbelief from him.

“where do you want me to start? i love that you are intelligent and witty and don’t hesitate to put me in my place if i say something stupid.”

“are you a masochist?” you interrupt.

he frowns harder at you before continuing, “i love that you are kind and strong-willed–”

“you mean stubborn.” you mutter.

“would you please let me finish?” he sighs exasperatedly, pointer finger massaging the crease between his brows. you relent, settling back in your seat while pouting. “and you look so gods-damned cute when you do that, it takes all my willpower to not kiss you. if you asked me to fetch the moon, i would do it in a heartbeat.”

he could go on forever if he wanted to, though words would fail to accurately capture the love that blooms far and wide within him. that is, if he could even begin to find the words that have collectively decided to leave him.

kageyama tobio has never been good with words anyway so he settles for something simple as he turns his body to face you fully.

“it has always been you. from the first time i watched you play, from the first day we met, even when you were still with him, it has always been you for me. even with a whole continent between us, when i thought i should let you go, it has always been you.”

he searches your eyes for any hints of emotion, wishing to run his hand over yours and soothe your trembling fingers, but he keeps it to himself instead of intruding in your space. “i’m sorry for dumping this on you at such a time, but obaasan–”

“but the interviewer, you smiled at her like– i don’t know–”

“like she was my sun?” you nod. he could not help himself then, as he reaches over and flicks your forehead lightly. “she asked me about you. i was thinking about you, my sun.”

“i am not– you could have chosen someone else. anyone else.” your nails are carving crescents into your flesh now with how tight you are digging into your forearm. “someone who is stable, not a divorcee. someone who knows what family feels like, who could give that to you. someone who can give you everything they have. someone whole.”

oh.

he feels your insecurity cutting into him like shards of glass, not only because he was hoping to hear a different answer—he had expected you to reject him—but also because this is the first thing that comes to your mind.

that you are worried over what you can give him. what he deserves.

what about you?

“i am not asking for anything in return. i only wanted you to know that someone else in this world loves you besides your obaasan.”

“that’s stupid. everyone expects something in return. love is always conditional.”

“not mine.”

“then you are stupid for giving it so freely.” the look in your eyes hardens as you stare back at him unflinchingly, unwilling to back down.

“you–” he bites back the ugly retorts that rise in himself reflexively as his patience finally gives under your resolve. he grits his teeth, spitting out the words flatly, “well for the record, i think it’s stupid too.”

kageyama regrets it almost instantaneously as hurt flashes through your eyes so quickly he thinks he imagined it.

but it is not until he slides down against the shut door of the guest room that he realizes he never got an answer from you. though he thinks he has a good idea of what it is.

you almost regret the hurtful words you flung at kageyama last night.

if you are being honest, you didn’t quite understand what you are trying to achieve with that either, going to war with yourself over whether you should accept or reject it. his love. as if it is yours to decide what to do with.

you had done neither, pushing him away by insulting the very love he offered to you on both hands, no better than the people you compared him to.

for the record, i think it’s stupid too.

it hurts to breathe when you hear his voice saying those words, worse than stepping on shards of broken glass—his heart that you broke so carelessly, but you deserve it. the pain and the disappointment when, not if, he sees you for who you truly are and falls out of love.

it is bound to happen, and it’s better for both of you that it happens sooner rather than later.

the sooner he moves on from you the better, you know that.

you expected the pain that followed, but the flare of hope in the midst of the disbelief, that had been real too. the brief glimmer of a promised heaven only serves to drive the wedge deeper in your bleeding heart in your fall from grace.

he probably thinks the worst of you now. you would not be surprised if he decides to take it all back. a logical person would.

and kageyama tobio is nothing if not logical.

still, reality pierces through the useless wisps of spider silk you have carefully woven around yourself over the years to hide away from the world. his absence at breakfast slices through the layers easily, leaving you alone to ignore the pang of hurt that springs up in your chest whenever your eyes wander to the empty seat in front of you.

even your grandmother has decided to side with him after taking one look between the two of you, chastising you for your stubbornness the moment kageyama is out of earshot.

of course she had a hand in it. you sigh, scooting closer to her bed as you peel an apple while she continues to scold you with disappointment.

“obaasan, we accept the love we think we deserve.” you try to explain your side. “kageyama, he’s not like me. he’s the north star in the night sky, burning bright and unbridled. i won’t taint it.”

“are you blind? you are perfect for each other. and you, you deserve everything, the whole world at your feet, so don’t even go about thinking of rejecting him because you think you don’t deserve him.” she trains her eyes on you, staring you down. “if you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for me.”

“obaasan, there is nothing i will not do for you, except this. i can’t, i am sorry.”

“you are stubborn, like your father.” she huffs, evidently upset about your refusal to budge on the matter. “go, i don’t want to see you until you make the right choice.”

“obaasan–” you protest weakly.

“go.” you turn your face away to hide the brimming tears, the sting of betrayal that she chose him over you when she is the one who was supposed to stand by your side when everyone is against you.

you stumble into a wide-eyed kageyama on your way out. he must have heard some parts of your conversation. you give yourself the time to think too much into it before you are pushing yourself away from him and leaving.

you hear his voice projecting from the open backyard before you see his figure approaching the garden by the side of the house.

“hey, you doing alright?” his hands are in his pockets, shoulders relaxed as though what happened the other night is long behind him.

that’s good, you remind yourself.

you shrug in response, not knowing what to say when you don’t know how to feel about it yourself. “i don’t know.”

the hand trowel hits the hard soil again as you pour your energy into loosening the garden bed instead of sorting through your feelings. useless things, bringing only turmoil and confusion.

stab, push, pull. repeat. you lose yourself in the rhythm before you remember to speak up. “she calls me stubborn, but isn’t she the same? it’s been a few days and she still refuses to see me. and for what? it’s like, does she not realize the line between the dead and the living that is about to separate us?”

“all she cares about is tobio-chan this, tobio-chan that. who is her real grandchild?” you complain, pointing the trowel at him in an accusatory manner and narrowing your eyes at him. “traitor.”

you ignore the pounding of your heart, the dull throb that runs through it at his proximity, at the feigned normalcy between you.

“you’re upset because you know she is right.” your jaw falls open at his straightforwardness. oh, so we are not dancing around it anymore. “we accept the love we think we deserve, i think that is what you said to her.”

“eavesdropping is dishonorable.” you hiss back at him. why does it feel like the tables have turned?

“why are you running away?”

“i am not running away from anything. i didn’t accept your confession, or whatever that was.”

“but you didn’t reject it either,” he raises an eyebrow at you, arms crossed over his broad chest. the innocent action sends your poor heart into a gallop, temporarily forgetting the pain that has been inflicted upon it by yourself. “you are easy to read when you are jealous, did you know that? the expression on you when you complained about your grandmother liking me too much, it is the same one you had when you were asking me about the interviewer.”

he leans in and steals the trowel from you, continuing your forgotten task, satisfaction written all over his face for leaving you speechless.

“you are reading too much into it.” you breathe once you recover your bearings. “give that back.” you make a grab for the tool in his hands.

“tell me i am wrong then. that everything i have seen and heard that seems to point to the same answer is wrong.” he circles your wrist with his left hand, tugging at you gently. “tell me.”

you blink at the burning touch setting your skin on fire, the overstrained heart stumbling and stuttering in your ribcage. “you said you didn’t need anything from me.”

“i did. but that and this are two completely different things. i am fighting alone here, but if there is even a shred of you that wants us, i will keep fighting for you. so tell me to leave you, y/n. tell me to pack my bags and go back to italy. tell me to go and i will.”

leave. the simple one-syllable word refuses to vibrate in your vocal cords no matter how hard you try. your mouth is open, ready to push the sound through, but nothing comes out. there is warmness on your cheek—tears, you realize.

“if you want us, then why are you fighting so hard against it?” his voice almost sounds pleading.

we accept the love we think we deserve. and you are kageyama tobio.

and then that burning touch is on your face, wiping your tears away so tenderly it almost convinces you that you are worth it all.

“then i will make sure you know you deserve the universe.”

realization dawns on you as you stare after his retreating figure—you had said those words out loud. your body releases the shuddering breath you didn’t know you were holding, betraying your warring inner thoughts.

he is still fighting for you. despite your every effort to chase him away.

kageyama tobio must be your blessing from the gods, considering he managed to change your stubborn grandmother’s mind. perhaps your greatest blessing because it was only through his peacemaking that you were able to spend her final days with her.

you let out a huff at the thought that she would be stubborn enough to keep you away even on her deathbed.

it was all blurry in your memory, but it had been like any other day, or at least you think so. everyone was prepared for the day to come, the doctor and the nurses, kageyama, you. she continued to grow weaker, getting more tired, mistaking people for your grandfather, and with it she slipped deeper into the holds of dementia, forgetting.

you had braved through it, the days when she would not remember you, ignoring your instinct to run away and protect yourself from getting hurt, knowing you would never get a chance to see her much longer.

but on that final day, she was sitting in the chair overlooking the gardens, turning to look at you when you entered as if she had been expecting you—waiting to say goodbye to you.

not long after that she was gone. and all you can remember is the shock that sank into your skin, disbelief as her warm calloused hands turned cold. hands prying you away from her and with it, the part of you that she once commanded space in.

you remember the emptiness that came creeping in with the realization that she is truly gone, pushing out the emotions that you should be feeling, numbing you to the pain that should have set in.

her departure left a hole within you where your feelings used to reside, leaving behind someone you don’t recognize, as if it stole away your will to live.

kageyama had expected screams and cries, not this. a human shell who resembles you, alive and breathing, eating and drinking whatever he pushes your way, but nothing behind those eyes that once glowed with life as though a living star breathed through them.

nothing but a blank stare and a faraway look, as though your body may be there, but your mind has long since left. he had not heard your voice in days, not a single word or noise leaving your lips. you continued to remain in that statelessness through the wake where strangers showed up to offer their condolences.

your parents are absent, not a single call, even with the funeral service happening today.

you are not surprised—how often have you really seen them growing up? you could probably count it all on ten fingers.

still, they are nowhere to be found as the guests complete their round in placing the flowers in the casket. you stare at the pure white of the kimono on your grandmother. the hole in your chest seems to grow by the minute, consuming everything in its path.

not when the coffin is nailed shut, your grandmother’s serene face disappearing beneath the wood for one final time. not when the funeral procession leaves to the crematorium.

not even when the casket is slid into the cremation chamber, the door sliding shut between you for the final time, a permanent separation between the living and the dead.

something in you cracks at the sight, pinning you in the place of your last farewell. this is as far as you could accompany her.

so this is the way your world ends, not with a bang but a whimper.

the fracture grows as the time for kotsuage approaches and you are returned to the harsh reality of a world that exists without her, a world that keeps spinning even if yours had stopped, remains of it laid bare before you, and sitting next to it is an urn and two pairs of chopsticks.

all that is left of your memories and your love, the only evidence left that they ever existed are the white bones mixed in ashes on the sterile metal tray.

you think you might throw up.

a commotion behind breaks the narrowing of your vision, as your ears pick up the quiet shuffle of kageyama’s feet to investigate the noise.

something rushes at you, hot and pressing, rushes up your neck and your ears, your cheeks as their voices become discernible. it spreads across your chest, enveloping you in its heat, squeezing your hands into trembling fists at your sides as recognition walks in.

anger, hot white anger erupts in your vision at the sight of your father and his wife. it engulfs you in its flame, pressure rising against the nothingness in your chest, turning your breathing ragged.

it builds and builds and you explode with it, instead of succumbing and crumpling under the pressure.

“what are you doing here?” your voice croaks, raspy with disuse. they had not bothered to show up, not when you needed them, not when she needed them, not even to put up a show at her funeral and play the role of a good son and daughter-in-law.

“not even a hello or how are you? your grandmother was just cremated and you have already forgotten the manners she taught you?” your father shakes his head with disapproval dripping from his voice, dressed in a clean cut suit.

you might have mistaken it for funeral attire if not for the shiny watch slapped on his wrist. funerals are meant to grieve the deceased, not show off your wealth.

you hate this. him. how dare they show up now and insult her when the funeral rituals are not even complete, her bones not even cold? how is it that he is alive and she is not?

“get out. you are not welcome here.” you hate the blurriness in your vision, fighting to keep your voice level, holding onto your anger with a tight leash before it consumes you whole, before the tears that follow it arrive.

“i have every right to be here as her son. i will not disrespect the traditions of our ancestors simply because you think you are grown up enough to make your own decisions.” he says it so matter-of-factly that you wish he could have taken her place instead.

“get out of here.” you breathe, nose flaring as he takes another step closer, reaching for the special chopsticks reserved for the ritual.

“did you forget? kotsuage is a ritual that requires two relatives of the deceased. no matter how much you despise me, i am still her closest living relative.”

not when you have not bothered to visit her in years, you want to scream. not when you have not bothered to see her even one last time. you knew she wanted to see him for the last time even if she did not say it aloud—and he had not come.

you hate the way you shrivel under the stare he pins on you, making you feel small and dumb and five again, being yelled at for mistakes that are not yours. you will for the words to come, for your vocal cords to make the sounds, but it is kageyama who speaks up when your own voice fails you.

“you are right, kotsuage is a ritual that requires two close relatives of the deceased,” your heart plummets at his words, deathly still as he glances at you, “but it does not dictate that they have to be blood relatives of the deceased. sometimes flesh and blood is no different than strangers, and from what i heard from obaasan, that would be the case here.”

you tense, instinctively taking a step in front of kageyama as your father turns his attention to him. your hand finds kageyama’s arm, giving him a light squeeze in gratitude.

“remind me, who are you and why are you meddling in my family affairs?” he narrows his eyes on kageyama with an unpleasant glint. you brace yourself for the insults that are sure to follow, but what comes is worse than you could have imagined. “is this what you have been up to in italy, daughter? is this why tetsuro divorced you? because he caught you cheating? i always knew he was too good for you. at least have the decency to keep him away from staining the funeral.”

his words cut deep into the heart of the eight year old girl he left at his mother’s door—the girl who still waited for her father to return and keep his promise that she will be his little angel, the same girl who fell asleep waiting by the door when he bails on their plans. the girl who was left behind because she did not fit into the new and perfect family of his.

somewhere deep within you, her heart shutters for a final time, but you are not her anymore. you have not been your father’s daughter for a while now.

you hold onto kageyama firmly as his arm flexes in response to your father’s outrageous insults, feeling your own rage reflected in him. he relaxes slightly as your hand wraps around his tightly clenched fist, fingers winding between his own and closing the distance.

behind you, kageyama swallows stiffly, barely able to see past his rage at your father’s implication that kuroo deserved better than you, his own daughter. he might have tackled the older man with grey streaks in his hair, if not for your hand laced tightly with his.

i got it, you seem to say.

he believes it—believes in you. you could do anything you wanted if you put your mind to it. he busies himself with the different ways he could handle the fallout with your father, shield you from his anger.

he does not expect the words that come next.

“this is kageyama tobio. he’s only the best setter the world has ever seen, and a better man than you could ever be, or even dream of. he is the one who sat by obaasan’s bed, peeled fruits for her, fed her when her own strength failed her, kept her company when she forgets about me and i cannot bear to be there. right until the end, even though he was not related to her in any way.”

you wipe the stray tear that slides down your cheek, the final tears from the five year old who needed her father, as you turn to look at kageyama.

“he saved me, again, and again, and again, asking for nothing in return. so if you cared to ask anyone, kageyama is a part of this family more than you ever were.” you run your thumb over the back of his hand, smiling gratefully at him. “he will carry out the kotsuage with me. so please feel free to leave, or watch quietly by the side, i don’t care either way.”

your father seethes at your words, ready to rain hell upon you, but kageyama silences him with a glare, “i would listen to your daughter, if i were you. like you said, we should not be disrespecting the traditions of our ancestors by making a scene at a time of mourning.”

“you would stand there and allow him to speak to your father like this?” he turns to you, disappointment on his aged face. you always remembered him to be in his prime, but perhaps that only serves to show how long it has been since you saw him last.

the young girl who wished for her father fades away into the shadows, finally coming to an understanding that she will never be loved by him the way he used to ever again. it feels like the weight of a boulder is lifted off your shoulders when you hold his stare and say, “i have not had a father for years.”

kotsuage brings back somber memories from his early teenage years, of his absent parents, of him and his sister painstakingly transferring each bone that used to be part of his grandfather into the ceramic urn.

if he had to describe the hollowness he felt that day, you would be a close description of it.

your father had left in a fury, slamming the doors behind them, and silence fell in the time since then. silence that forces you to face the new reality, punctuated with the sound of chopsticks picking up each individual bone starting from the feet all the way up to the head.

with each bone carefully lowered into the urn by both of you at the same time, pieces of you that awakened momentarily during the confrontation with your father return to dormancy.

“thank you, i’m sorry for asking this of you.” you had told him softly as your shoulders drooped with exhaustion, dropping your bravado as soon as your father was out of sight.

he had wanted to wipe away the single line of tear that streaked down your left cheek, but you looked so fragile that he was afraid his touch might be the final straw connecting the hairline fractures that accumulated over the weeks, shattering you into pieces too small to piece back together.

you tried so hard to hold it together, not wanting him to see beneath the facade that you are just fine and grieving that he allowed it, pretended to not notice your nails digging into the flesh of your palm, or the shiny film of tears that you will away every now and then.

that was three days ago. three whole days since he had seen you eat, watching you wither away before his eyes as you fought the grief shrouding you. he had stood by his promise and gave you time and space to face the grief, but he could not bear to watch as you keep running.

so enough is enough. he would not stand by and watch you lose yourself any longer.

deciding that is easy. the hard part is choosing when and how to approach it, especially since you have been keeping your interactions to a minimum.

kageyama feels guilty for springing this on you, of course he does, but he made a promise to your grandmother that he would help you find your way home when you are lost, and he intends on keeping it.

“hey,” you flinch at the sound of his voice breaking you out of your empty gaze staring out the backyard. his eyes track your movements, zeroing on the way your fingers fiddle with the glass in your hands. “you holding up alright?”

you give him a half smile, hoping that it is enough to pacify his worries, nodding your confirmation.

kageyama had given you a wide berth since… since then, and so you expected him to do the same today, but he takes a step towards you, and another, and another until he comes to a stop next to you at the kitchen sink, entering your bubble separating you from the world.

he half expected you to step away, to leave, but you don’t. it surprises you as well, finding his presence within your imaginary sphere of safety to be soothing, instead of suffocating, like the past few days had been.

you tried to not think about the things you had said to your father about kageyama, about what it meant for the two of you. it had been easy to ignore them, memories of the day reminding you of—

you shake the thoughts away like you did for the past few days. it was not a revelation that you wanted him to stay and fight for you despite you pushing him away. a selfish desire you harbored for him to prove that he would not leave at the first sign of inconvenience. but that is selfish and wrong of you to wish for, and you wanted him to turn away and never look back.

you aren’t quite sure which side you stand on anymore, and it had not been a priority as you were preoccupied with walking away from the truth that keeps tapping you in the shoulder. it sunk its claw in you, forcing you to look it in the eyes, but it had been too horrifying that you had ignored it ever since.

if you pretended it didn’t exist, then it cannot be true, right?

he probably wanted to know where you stand, you don’t blame him at all. you would too, if you were him.

what you don’t expect, are the words that follow—“it’s okay to mourn.”

mourn. the word shudders through you, an unwelcome weight that settles between the spaces of your ribcage, heavy yet unable to fill the void carved out of your soul.

your slumbering emotion cracks an eye open at the surge of conflict awakened within you.

“i am.” you withdraw your hand, spitting the word out like it is poison. “mourning.”

“you are angry. that’s normal too.”

“i don’t appreciate you psychoanalyzing me.” you shove back at the crack of anger that sparks to your defense. deep down you know he means well, his words make the emotions in you swell further.

“you are trying to run away from it, just like i did.” he splays his hands on the countertop, a neutral gesture to soothe your defensiveness. “i know how hard it is to live with the sudden emptiness that appeared inside you, but it’s alright to sit with it, to feel the nothingness of what used to be there.”

you open your mouth to deny it, but he knows. suddenly you are reminded of the fact that he went through the same thing as a child, and it leaves you feeling guilty.

“i can’t” you finally admit the truth softly. “already, her smile is slipping from my mind. i lost her, i don’t want to forget her too, kageyama.”

“you won’t. ten years from now, twenty, thirty, her memories will live on in you. you will never lose the love you hold for her, or forget the love she gave you. grieving, properly mourning her passing is only the beginning of the end that stays with you for the rest of your life. i learnt the hard way that grief is just love with nowhere to go.”

your bottom lip wobbles as tears start streaming down your face at the eventuality of it all. the dam of tears that you suppressed over the last few days come breaking all at once, and then you feel it—the rawness of a broken and bleeding heart at the thought of never seeing her again.

“i– i can’t–” you gasp between whimpers and sobs. “it’s too much.”

“it gets easier, but it never goes away completely.” kageyama says quietly, rubbing your back in circles as sobs engulf you.

as much as he wants to take the pain away from you, he would never deny you the final act of love that stands as a testament of the bond that existed between you. so he stands there, right next to you as you finally allow yourself to grieve.

“love was here. love still is.”

you shatter in the sanctuary of his arms as grief finally catches up to you.

taglist. @hatsukeii @daisy-room @soulfullystarry @kitsune-kita @bakery-anon @thechaosoflonging @bakingcuriosity @wordsofelie @theshxaverse @animechick555 @jkkhay @sickpatientt (gen) @mintgrumpy @box-of-roses (tobio nation) @hiraethwrote @shouyuus @yogurtkags @mcdonaldsnumberone @lale-txt (add yourself here)

a/n. it took three months to get here <33 and i couldn't wait any longer so forgive any mistakes i may have missed xoxo

awaiting updates? browse the library while waiting

if you liked this, please consider leaving a like, comment, rb or ask <3 (perhaps i enjoy breaking hearts a little too much)

#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #kageyama #kageyama tobio #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama angst #kageyama fic #hq #kageyama tobio angst #kageyama x you #kageyama x y/n #hiraethwa writes #《 to be loved is to be known 》#hq x reader

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mylovelies-docx · 2 years ago

Text

Love Bites (But So Do I)

🎃 HAPPY HALLOWEEN TO ALL MY SPOOKY, HORNY BITCHES 🎃

I'm finally participating in Kinktober, but it's literally the last day and it's whatever the fuck I wanted to write.

Pairing: Innocent!Vampire!Reader x Werewolf!Bucky

Plot: Reader is suffering from hunger pangs due to national blood shortage. Bucky offers a solution.

C/W: 18+ MDNI!!! (I am so for serious). Loss of virginity, age gap (Reader is late 20's), what’s the name for blood drinking?, fingering, praise kink, unprotected sex, slight dom/sub, knotting, cock-warming, fluff, resolution of mutual pining.

Vampirism is cool and all, but it also fucking sucks sometimes.

Like during a national blood shortage.

You’d been turned only a couple of years ago around the time of your 25th birthday. You can’t quite recall what happened, as everything around the event is distorted in your memories. All you know is that you were on a mission with some of the other Avengers one second, and then the next you were lying in the med bay with an intense craving for blood.

Everyone was surprisingly accepting of your new ‘condition’, with the exception of one person.

Bucky.

Bucky wasn’t on the mission where you were turned into a vampire, so he had no idea what he was walking in on when he stopped by to visit you in the med bay. You distinctly remember the look of worry and confusion on his face when he peered through the window and saw you strapped down onto the bed. You’d given him a forced, awkward smile and turned your head away, not able to look him in the eye.

You heard the door to your room click open and Bucky began to call your name, but then he inhaled sharply, unable to finish his question. You turned your head slightly and peeked back at him. You could tell immediately that Bucky’s werewolf senses had picked up on the change in your DNA, his instincts telling him that you were now his enemy.

You leaned your head back against the bed and closed your eyes, devastated that Bucky hated you before you could even have a proper conversation with him. You’d been on the team for a few months at that point, only really developing surface level friendships with everyone. They were all welcoming enough, but your anxieties prevented you from letting anyone in.

With your eyes closed, your other senses were able to accommodate for the loss of sight. The gust of wind from Bucky opening the door rushed up your nose, and a heady, intoxicating scent lit up your brain. Your eyes popped open and you stared at Bucky, noticing his heavy breathing and his pulse pounding against the arteries in his neck. Your mouth watered at the smell of him, divine and irresistible in a way that no one else had been up to that point.

A choked keening had erupted from your throat, your wrists and ankles straining against the bonds holding you down. You twisted and pulled, trying to break free and make a run for Bucky, but he’d immediately sensed your desire to drink his blood. A shutter fell into place over Bucky’s face, masking any expression that might have been there. He sucked in one final deep breath and slammed the door to your room, storming down the hallway and away from you.

As soon as you could no longer detect Bucky’s scent in the air, your mind cleared somewhat and you were able to realize just how out of control you had acted and how embarrassed you were at your actions. But you were also unable to stop imagining running after him and sinking your teeth deep into the flesh of his throat.

Slamming your head a few times onto the bed underneath you, you cursed yourself. Bucky barely even liked you before, but now he probably despised you – not just for what you were, but for how you acted, as well. You’d gotten off on the wrong foot with him to start, but then you’d stumbled hard and crossed a line by almost ripping your arms to pieces in order to get to him.

You’d never been able to look people in the face or hold eye contact for very long, but it’s especially true when it comes to Bucky. You’re not exactly sure why it is that your heart races and butterflies fill your stomach, but the feelings bubble up and prevent you from speaking and make you uncomfortable in your own skin. This happens every time you meet someone new or are with people you don’t really know, but the sensations that flood your body when Bucky is around are 100x worse than anything you’d felt for anyone before.

You’d realized in that hospital bed that whatever you’d felt for Bucky prior to becoming a vampire had changed, had become almost unbearable. His scent never left your thoughts and your mind always drifted off to think about Bucky: what he was doing, where he was, who he was with. Your eyes would darken and turn red, fangs lengthening when you imagined him with anyone other than you.

It’d taken you weeks to recover your sanity completely. You’d drained bag after bag after bag of blood, never feeling completely satiated, but unable to find out why. Some members of the team visited in those weeks to determine if you were safe to be around, and although the aroma of their blood wafted through the air and surrounded you, you never reacted to any of them the way you had to Bucky that first day. Dr. Cho had decided that you were no longer a threat after your successes, so she’d allowed you out of your restraints. You were finally able to walk the halls again and explore the compound.

Though the sunlight wouldn’t kill you (discovered during Dr. Cho’s studies), your skin would prickle and start to burn after prolonged exposure, so you tended to avoid the daylight. You’d wander the halls after everyone had turned in for the night, lamenting the fact that you could really only spend the evenings with them all before they needed to sleep.

You’d catch whiffs of Bucky as you stalked the night, your pulse racing and endorphins fizzing through your veins, but he never appeared. Bucky kept his distance from you for nearly a full year after you’d nearly attacked him. You couldn’t blame him. He’d been tortured enough in his life, he didn’t need the added stress of you trying to suck him dry every time he entered the same room as you.

It took some time, but you were finally able to cohabitate the same spaces with him again. Even though your mouth watered and your hands longed to reach out and grab him, you refrained. You kept yourself distant in order to make him more comfortable with your presence even though nature meant for your two species to hate each other.

You understood why Bucky had such a vehement reaction when he smelled you for the first time after your transition; walking the streets of New York, you’d catch of whiff of wet dog and dirty sock, immediately identifying werewolves as they prowled the streets, their stench clinging to your nostrils and turning your stomach. You’d grimace and walk away as fast as you could in search of clean air not polluted with the presence of werewolves. If grody socks and dirty mongrel was what you perceived werewolves to smell like, you can’t imagine what Bucky must smell emanating from you.

The only thing that doesn’t make sense is that you’d never found Bucky’s scent displeasing: in fact, the fresh, pine scent drove you crazy and had your body begging to be near him despite knowing that he’s a werewolf. You feel insatiable whenever he’s around, needing to consume blood soon after in order to calm the raging hunger within you.

Your mouth waters at the thought of the hot liquid filling your mouth and sliding down your throat, warming your insides and sending shivers all the way down to your toes. It’d been nearly a full day since you’d last tasted the savory red substance.

A nation-wide disaster the Avengers had handled yesterday required the hospitals to use up most of their stores of blood, leaving you feeling guilty for even thinking about taking the life-saving liquid for your own benefit. All the Avengers were out celebrating a job well-done and the prevention of more death and destruction that would have occurred had you all not been there to help.

The fight yesterday had taken everything out of you, and you were unable to drag yourself from the couch where you had collapsed earlier in the day. Your head is spinning and your muscles are weak from the lack of blood in your system. Some of the others had offered you their blood to help you feel better, but you’d declined and told them to go out and donate it to one of the blood banks that were in desperate need.

You’d never drank directly from a person in the years since you’d become a vampire, choosing instead to avoid the intimacy that must come along with the action. Holding someone’s wrist in your hands as you clamp down on their radial artery, nuzzling your face into the crook of their neck and sucking a mark around the two perfect puncture holes from your fangs – it just felt overwhelming.

And besides, the only person you could even imagine suckling from was Bucky and he’d never offer you his blood, regardless of whether it was in a bag or straight from the source.

You groan as your stomach contracts in on itself, the emptiness feeling as if there’s a black hole inside of you and you’re going to be consumed from the inside out. You feel foolish for turning your friends’ offers away, but there’s no way you’d have kept them from enjoying themselves after everything they went through yesterday. You can only hope that Dr. Cho is able to procure something for you in the morning or else create some alternative to the human blood that sustains your life force.

You’re curled in the fetal position on the couch, clutching your stomach and trying to think of anything else besides this nauseating hunger you feel. Your eyes squeeze tightly shut and your face scrunches in agony. You moan once more, unable to hold it in.

All of a sudden, your senses detect the presence of another person in the compound – a door in the residential wing swishing open and the pad, pad, pad of socked feet walking towards you. The sweet, fresh smell of a pine forest after a spring shower wraps around you, easing the pain enough for you to open your eyes and witness Bucky walk into the living room and find you lying there. His face contorts momentarily, but then smooths back out.

“Y/N?” he questions. You whine at the timbre of his voice, the rich sound penetrating your eardrums and burrowing into your veins. “What’s wrong?”

You wince as another hunger pang claws through your gut. “I’m –” you whisper hoarsely. “I’m hungry. So hungry.”

“Hungry?” he asks. “What about the blood you keep in stock?” Bucky walks over to the hospital-grade equipment in the kitchen behind you, looking for a blood bag you know isn’t there. You hear him open and close the door, quickly ascertaining that there is nothing to be found within. Bucky quickly walks back over to you and crouches a few feet from the couch. “Where did it all go?”

A red-tinted tear falls from your lower lashes, leaving a pink streak along your cheek. “The… the civilians,” you murmur quietly. Even with Bucky’s enhanced hearing, he has to lean closer to hear what you say. “They n-needed it more th-than me.”

“Shit,” Bucky mutters under his breath. A determined look comes over his face as he rolls up his sleeve. He holds his wrist in front of your mouth and barks out a command. “Drink.”

You barely find the strength to shake your head at him in refusal. “No,” you whine. “I’ve never… I can’t…”

“Yes,” he growls, “you can. And you will.” Bucky stretches his mouth wide and rolls his head on his neck, transforming his normal human teeth into the incisors of a wolf. He bites down onto the center of his wrist, tearing open his vein and shoving it back in your face. “Drink.”

Your bloodlust overtakes you at that moment. The warm, coppery blood seeps down his wrist and beads onto the sofa beside your head. Your hands move of their own accord, your mind fighting a losing battle with your instincts. You grasp Bucky’s wrist and wrap your parched lips around the gaping wound. You lick and suck where Bucky’s teeth had torn apart his own flesh. At the taste of Bucky’s blood hitting your tongue after years of craving it, a pleasured whimper crawls up your throat and forces its way between your parted lips against his flesh.

Buck’s metal arm reaches around and cups the back of your head, holding you in place as you continue to feed from him. “That’s right, doll,” he says. “Take as much as you need.” You feel the cold pressure of his hand as he strokes your hair away from your face. “Fuck. Been waiting for this. For you.”

The words send a shiver through you and you would have happily stayed right where you were for the rest of eternity, but the mouthfuls of blood have quickly turned into a trickle. You whine at the realization, running your tongue over Bucky’s wrist to confirm that his wound is healing too rapidly for you to continue drinking. You cry and raise your eyes up to Bucky’s, tasting his blood that had dribbled down your chin as you lick your lips.

“It’s –” you try. “You’re not…”

Bucky curses once again. “I heal too fast and the vein is too small for the amount of blood you need.”

He takes a hair tie from his pocket and quickly runs his fingers through his hair, gathering it all into a bun at the back of his head. Bucky rises swiftly and picks your body up into his arms. He cradles you against his chest as he settles quickly on the couch and places you in his lap. He circles one arm around your back to hold you upright and uses his other to guide your mouth to his throat.

“Bite,” he commands.

You whimper at the authority in his voice, but shake your head. “I’m okay,” you plead. “I – I don’t know how –”

“It’s instinct,” he replies harshly. “You do know how.” He takes your head and pushes your face further into his neck. “Bite me. Now, Y/N!”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you cry, resting your forehead against his skin and struggling to maintain the hold you have on your sanity when Bucky’s pulse is thrumming just under his skin. It’s right there. So close you can hear the blood as it rushes through his veins. This is the closest you’ve ever been to Bucky and his scent is beginning to drive you insane. You pant heavily against his throat, exhausting yourself from the effort of holding back.

Bucky releases a sigh and a sliver of tension leaves his muscles. The hand against your back strokes up and down, settling your body as it shivers against his.

“You won’t hurt me,” he says. “If I use my claws, the cut will be too big and I'll bleed too fast. Your teeth are so small, I won’t even feel them,” he soothes.

You hesitate for a moment before saying, “... you promise?”

“I promise, baby,” he hums.

The softness of his words is all it takes to tear down your defenses. You suck in a breath and bare your fangs. They sink into the skin right above his jugular and you feel the slight pop as you pierce its wall. Blood gushes into your mouth and you feel something inside you pop open just like Bucky’s vein.

All of the sudden, you become acutely aware of everything Bucky.

The rhythm of his heart as it pumps blood through his body and into yours, his breaths as they leave his mouth, the sounds he makes as you suckle at his neck – as if he’s enjoying every second of having your lips at his throat and sucking the blood as it floods into your mouth in time to the pulse of his heart. You can feel your own heart race to match his, beat for beat.

You moan at the sensation and pull harder against Bucky’s neck. Needing to be closer, you swing a leg over his lap to straddle him, hooking one arm around his shoulder and the other around the back of his head. You feel Bucky’s hands grasp your hips as he holds you tight to his body.

Involuntarily you roll your hips against him, rubbing your covered core over the bulge in his jeans. The action elicits a groan from Bucky and the contact sends an electric current through your body, forcing your hips to seek more friction. You continue to grind against Bucky’s crotch, your panties becoming soaked and leaking through your shorts and onto his jeans.

You continue to draw from Bucky’s neck as he begins to thrust against you in response to your motions. You moan at the extra pressure against your mound and work harder to match his rhythm.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” Bucky groans. “Using me so well to work that sweet little clit.” You whimper against his neck and brace one arm on the back of the couch, gaining leverage and moving your hips faster against him. “You gonna cum like this, darlin’?” He pants into your ear. “Gonna cum when I haven’t even touched you yet?”

At his words, you release your fangs from his throat and take big, heaving breaths. You pull away and stare down into Bucky’s eyes, his pupils dilated and staring deep into your own. You lean down quickly, capturing his lips with your own like you’ve dreamed of doing for so long. Bucky returns the kiss feverishly, working his tongue between your lips and delving into your mouth. You continue to grind yourself against Bucky until you’re nearly delirious with lust and feel a tight knot forming between your legs.

Bucky’s fingers snake between your bodies and pull the fabric of your shorts and panties aside so that he can run his fingers along your soaking slit.

“What a good girl,” he growls. “Already so wet for me.”

He nudges one finger at your entrance and you keen at the pressure of his thick finger trying to enter you. You huff against his mouth, trying to relax and allow his finger entry.

“’s okay, sweetheart,” he breathes against your throat as he trails wet kisses from your lips down to your shoulders. “’m not gonna hurt ya.”

You nod your head feverishly and lean backwards, changing the angle of your hips so that his finger has more access. It slips inside and your pussy clenches hard around it, not used to anything filling you so full. You cry out in pleasure as he crooks his finger against your walls with what little room he has.

“Goddamn, you’re so tight,” he huffs. “Have you not done this before?” Bucky questions you, using his free hand to pull your face back towards his so that he can kiss you once before letting you respond.

You shake your head no and cry out again as he withdraws his finger and plunges it back into you. He continues to massage your walls while he pulls his finger in and out, in and out.

“Then is this okay, baby? Do you like this?”

“Yes! Yes, Bucky! I – I love this.”

He sucks your bottom lips between his teeth and holds it there for a second before letting go. “Let me see how much you love it, Y/N. Come on, cum for me.”

“Uh, ah, I’ve never –” you half confess before stopping yourself by biting your lip and throwing your head backwards.

“You tellin’ me you’ve never let yourself orgasm, pretty girl?” he asks you. “What a tragedy,” he growls against your neck, finger still working between your legs as he slowly tries to fit another one inside you.

“Unh,” you whine in time with his finger thrusts, feeling the stretch of your hole as the slick from your core coats his hand and allows his second finger entry. You gasp at the sensation of his two thick fingers inside of you and the heel of his hand against your clit. The knot in your stomach feels as if it’s stretching as tight as it can go, pulling and straining to be undone. You work your hips in time with Bucky’s hand, trying to get him deeper inside you where your body screams for more.

“But don’t worry,” he whispers against your ear. “I’ll take care of that right now.”

Bucky’s other hand comes up and pinches your erect nippled through your shirt. The sharp sizzle of pain morphs into pleasure as he surges through your nerves and rips the knot in your core apart. Your hips freeze and your knees lock tight against Bucky’s hips, every muscle in your abdomen clenching and your walls bearing down on Bucky’s fingers.

“That’s a good girl,” he breathes. “Look at you cumming all over my hand.” His words send another blade of pleasure to your core and you squeeze his fingers tighter. “You like when I talk to you, baby?” Bucky asks. “You like when I tell you you’re a good girl?” Bucky chuckles at the realization that his words cause your pussy to work his fingers harder.

“Does my sweet, pretty girl want to cum on my cock?” He wonders, tracing a finger down the side of your face and then slipping it into your mouth. You instinctively suck on his digit, lathing your tongue around the tip. Bucky sucks in a sharp breath when you nip at his finger with one of your fangs.

“Dirty girl,” he teases as he takes his finger from your mouth. He grabs your chin and looks into your eyes again. “Will you let me fuck that tight little pussy of yours?”

You moan and nod your head. “Yes! Yes, Bucky – please!” you cry out.

With a wolfish grin, Bucky grabs the back of your thighs and holds you up as he carries you out of the living room and towards his bedroom. You notice two little pinpricks of blood where your fangs had been earlier, the skin already healing over. You lower your mouth back to Bucky’s throat and lick his skin clean. Bucky bounces you in his arms and kisses your lips forcefully as he finally arrives at his room.

He crawls with you up the bed until your head is nestled on his pillows and his body covers yours completely. The warmth of him encompasses you and his scent surrounds you where it pours from his sheets and clothing scattered around the room. Bucky’s bedroom smells just like him, like being sheltered by a grove of pine trees as the sun rises in the sky after a long, dark night.

Bucky slides his hands under your shirt and pushes it up your chest, kissing your breasts as they’re exposed. You hum at the warm, wet kisses he places on your nipples before he pulls the shirt over your head and up your arms. Next, he kisses your lips and slowly makes his way down your body, leaving a trail of warmth in the wake of his lips as he reaches the waistband of your shorts.

His fingers curl around the elastic and tug them down, down, down, your legs. Bucky sits back on his haunches, your shorts and panties dangling from the end of his fingers. You reach to cover yourself with your hands, never having had anyone look at your naked body before.

His glacier blue eyes lock onto yours and freeze you in place. Bucky shakes his head once, telling you to stop hiding yourself from him. You slowly pull your hands away, not exactly sure what to do with them now that they don’t have a purpose.

Bucky hums in content at seeing your naked body lying on his bed, wet and ready for him. He slides backwards off the bed, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. Your face heats as he whips his shirt over his head, exposing his solid chest and torso. He reaches for the button of his jeans and slowly undoes the fastenings. He watches your eyes widen when his cock springs free, finally relieved of its confinement.

You can’t take your eyes away from Bucky’s dick as it stands at attention, the pink tip weeping liquid. You quickly glance up at Bucky’s face, and see amusement flicker in his eyes.

“I don’t th-think…” you stammer.

“Oh,” Bucky rumbles. “It’ll fit.”

Bucky positions himself on top of your body again, pulling your legs apart so that he can nestle his hips between yours. You feel as his warm, hard length rests between your lower lips and up onto your mound. He’s so big that you could wrap both hands around him and there would still be leftovers. You swallow hard and look up into Bucky’s eyes as he hovers over you.

“Are you sure?”

He leans down and presses a hard kiss to your lips. “I’m sure.”

Bucky guides his tip to your entrance, coating the head with your juices. He slides it up and down your slit, notching it against your clit and sending shocks to your core. You slowly bring your knees up and wrap your feet around the small of Bucky’s back, reaching your hands to grab onto Bucky’s metal wrist where he has it placed above your head. You look into his eyes as a smile graces his lips.

“Good girl,” he praises. Your body shivers at the compliment and you smile shyly back at him. Bucky takes the head of his cock and slowly notches it into you, pausing at your gasp of air. “Relax, doll,” he says as he leans down to kiss you. You melt into the kiss, allowing your legs to relax slightly and your walls to open enough for Bucky to slide in a couple of inches.

His cock is thicker and longer than his fingers and your body is unsure what to do with so much of it inside you. You whine against Bucky’s lips, the stretch and pressure unfamiliar.

“It’s okay, baby; you can take me.”

You nod and consciously relax your pelvic floor, imaging the muscles loosening up and allowing Bucky inside. You can feel the effects immediately, Bucky’s hips closing the gap and the tip of his cock lodging deep inside you, the notched head putting pressure against a point inside you that forces all the air to leave your lungs. You suck in a sharp breath as Bucky fully sheaths himself inside you, barely believing that his entire length rests within your walls.

“That’s it, doll,” Bucky commends your efforts. “Told you you could do it.”

You smile at him earnestly, proud of yourself for taking all of him inside of you at once. He brings his flesh hand up to your face and pulls your bottom lip down with his thumb. “I’m gonna move now, okay? You ready?”

“Yes,” you breathe. Your heart pounds in your chest as Bucky slowly slides from you until he’s almost completely out. Then, in one smooth motion, he presses back inside, the head rubbing against the spot that made you lose your breath when he entered the first time. You stare into each other’s eyes as Bucky continues to rock into you, his hips meeting yours with every press forward.

You can’t help but sigh at the sweet pleasure that builds from Bucky’s measured pace. You unwind one hand from Bucky’s metal wrist and reach for his face, closing your eyes and capturing his lips in an ardent kiss. The feeling of him moving inside you is nice, the coil from earlier returning to its place inside your core.

You cry out suddenly when Bucky’s next thrust enters you with more force than his previous ones. He opens his eyes and looks down at you, seeing the heat of your cheeks spread down your neck. He smirks and slams into you again, harder. Your eyes widen and your breath rushes out with the thrusts, your walls constricting around him with the repeated motion.

“You like that?” he questions, thrusting hard into you again. You gasp when he picks up speed and force, slamming into you over and over again. “I said: do you like that? Answer me.”

“Uh”-thrust-“huh”-thrust- you answer, your affirmation being knocked out of you as Bucky slams into your core. The rapid, harsh thrusts have the ridges and veins of Bucky’s cock sliding against your walls, and you can feel every single one of them tightening the coil inside of you until it is stretched tight once again. Bucky continues to thrust, taking you higher and higher and higher until there’s no room left inside of you that your emotions seep from your eyes, your pink-tinged tears from pleasure rather than pain this time.

You gasp for breath repeatedly, listening to the wet sounds of Bucky thrusting in and out of you, the moans and muttered praises falling from his lips.

“So good for me.”

“You take me so well.”

“Look at you, crying over my cock because it’s making a mess of your sweet little cunt.”

The praise sends you soaring, you can’t help but whimper and sob into Bucky’s mouth as he keeps his face close to yours, making sure that you like everything he does to your body, monitoring your cries of pleasure to make sure he’s doing the best he can.

The coil begins to fray and snap. You begin to tense up, the sensations becoming too much.

“I think,” you moan, “I’m gonna…!”

Before your body completely lets go, you feel Bucky snarl into your neck and bite down hard with his incisors. You feel a flood of endorphins rush from Bucky’s mouth and travel through your body, pooling in your core and lighting the coil on fire. You cum hard on Bucky’s cock, liquid gushing from you. Your mind goes completely blank as your body shudders and shakes against Bucky’s, your pussy sucking him in as if it will never let him go. Buck retracts his teeth from the mark on your neck, licking his tongue over the puncture wounds.

“Oh, fuck yes, baby girl. Look what I did to you – no one else will ever make you squirt like I do. No one will ever touch you. You’re mine, baby. No one else’s. I’m never letting you go.”

You stare down in enraptured surprise as you feel Bucky’s cock suddenly swelling inside you, locking him in place. He’s buried to the hilt and you feel a bulging just inside your entrance, preventing him from thrusting any more. Bucky groans loudly in your ear and you feel warmth and extra pressure against your walls, filling you to the brim with Bucky’s cum.

Bucky leans down and nuzzles into your neck, placing tired kisses against where he’d bitten you. “Mine,” he growls. “Say it. Tell me you’re mine,” he commands.

Your eyes drift closed as the after effects of your orgasms and Bucky’s mark leave you breathless and blissed out. “Yours,” you murmur. “Always.”

Bucky flips you both over, his knot keeping you firmly locked together, unable to separate even if you wanted to (which you don’t). He lays you gently on his chest and holds your face in both of his hands. He wants you to look at him, but your eyes are so heavy that you can barely lift them.

You hear Bucky’s low voice as you drift off to sleep, but the words don’t make any sense.

“My mate.”

***

Your eyes snap open at the feel of soft lips against your forehead, then your nose, then eyelids and cheeks, and finally against your own lips.

You pull away immediately, hands covering your mouth in absolute horror. The previous night comes rushing back to you when you sense the heaviness of a mark on your neck and the aching pulse between your legs. Bucky looks up from where he lays beneath you, his expression turning puzzled and then quickly alarmed at your words.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean to. I can’t believe –” you gasp out, placing your hands over your entire face and scrambling away in embarrassment. “I don’t know what came over me. I told you. I’ve never done that before, I didn’t know that would happen. I – I must have hypnotized you or something!” you cry out. “I didn’t know that was something I could do! I'm so sorry. I never should have –”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he calls, rushing to sit up and pull your hands away from your face, tilting your chin up until you’re looking at him. There’s a tender look on his face that you’ve never seen before, as if he’s dropped all of his walls with you. Your heart shatters at the realization that you’ve made him do things he never wanted to.

His eyes soften, almost as if he could understand your thoughts just by looking into your eyes. He tries to get you to calm down, to regulate your breathing by taking in deep breaths of his own, but you’re too full of anxiety and self-loathing for it to work.

“It’s okay,” he consoles you. “We didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do.”

“How is that possible?” you sob helplessly, trying your best to divert your gaze from his. “You don’t even like me. You’ve never liked me and especially not after I became a vampire. I mean, you’re a werewolf! You hate me. You couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as me for a year.”

“Shhh,” Bucky soothes. “When did I ever say I hated you?”

Your brows furrow in confusion, your breaths continuing to heave in and out of your chest, but your heart somehow calms of its own accord. You feel its beat echoing around you and you realize that Bucky’s heartbeat is working to calm yours, his eyes peering into your own while his hands rub up and down your arms in a soothing motion. “I – we’re enemies,” you say quietly. “Vampires and werewolves have always hated each other.”

“Do you hate me?” he questions, turning your face so that you’re looking at him once again.

You hesitate for a moment before shaking your head softly. “No.”

“And I don’t hate you,” he states, raising a hand and softly stroking your hair.

“But you…?” You try to make sense of what Bucky’s saying. “You can’t stand me. You avoided me after – after I…”

“Because I didn’t want to scare you,” Bucky murmurs. “I knew that if I was around you, I would do something I would regret.”

“...like kill me?” you wonder.

Bucky’s lip quirk into a small smile and he chuckles at your question. “No, Y/N. Not kill you.”

“Then what…?”

“After you were turned,” Bucky begins. He pulls his hand from you and clasps your hands within his, gently stroking your skin with his thumbs. You watch, entranced, as his fingers move over your skin. “I realized something as soon as I walked into your room in the med bay and scented you for the first time.” He tugs on your hands until you look up into his face. He smiles softly down at you with a look of pure adoration and love. “You’re my mate, Y/N.”

You stare at him in confusion. There’s no way – that’s not possible. “How… How is that possible? Are you sure I didn’t hypnotize you into thinking that?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and laughs. “You didn’t hypnotize me – that’s not real, and you know it.” He moves one hand to your throat, where he caresses his bite mark on your skin with his thumb. “I don’t know how it happened or why the universe saw fit to bind us together, but it did.” Bucky bends his head and smiles ruefully at you as he continues. “I knew you were going to be special to me the first time we ever met, but you were so quiet and you avoided me like the plague, so I thought you were afraid of me.”

You feel the anguish coming from Bucky as he thinks back on how you treated him these last couple of years. How your inability to meet his eyes or hold a conversation with him led him to believe that you were frightened to be near him, frightened of him.

You pull your knees to your chest and rest your chin on your folded arms. You glance away and say softly, “I’m… I’m not good with people. Sometimes it’s okay, but others… it’s like I forget how to talk to people.” You flicker your eyes to his quickly, but look away just as fast. You raise your fingers to your lips and rub back and forth, a nervous habit you’ve had for years. “If…if I… like someone. It makes it worse.”

“And that’s why you wouldn’t talk to me?” Bucky questions, pulling your hand from your mouth and placing a kiss on the center of your palm.Your face flushes and a small smile flits to your face. You nod your head while looking down at your knees.

“Well,” he says, “I like you,too.” You raise your eyes to see a smile lighting up his face and brightening his eyes. “I always have.”

“You do?” you ask, checking to be sure that Bucky isn’t just saying these things because you slept together after feeding from him. “It’s not because of what I did last night?”

“No, sugar,” he replies. “I’ve wanted to be with you this whole time.” You watch his eyes scan your face, watching your reactions and feeling your emotions through your new bond. “Do you want to be with me? I wasn’t going to mark you without asking first, but my instincts wouldn’t allow you to be so close without claiming you.”

You shyly pull your hair over your shoulder where Bucky’s mark resides. You worry a strand between your hands and look up into his eyes. “I… I like it,” you confess, feeling your heart beat faster in your chest at your bold words.

“Good,” Bucky states. He leans into you and brushes your hair back away from your shoulder, exposing your mark and placing a tender peck against the raised edges. “Because you’re mine.”

You nod and tilt your head to the side, allowing Bucky to trail his lips up and down your throat before he makes his way to your lips. He kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding into your mouth and meeting with yours. You hum and unfurl your body, climbing into his lap as his hands guide you into straddling his waist.

“I’m yours,” you agree.

“And I’m yours,” he echoes.

________________________________________

So I didn't have time to make the part 2 I was thinking about for this, but it was never a direct continuation anyway.

Hope you enjoyed! 🎃

#kinktober #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #smut #bucky barnes fic

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dietc0kelver · 2 months ago

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MYSTERY THRILLER WRITING TIPS (aka how to keep readers up at 3AM):

1. Start with a body, not a backstory.

Hook them fast. Open with the crime, the aftermath, the consequence. The past can come later—drip-fed like poison.

2. Give everyone secrets.

Not just the killer. Your protagonist. Their best friend. The sweet old lady down the street. Secrets build tension—and suspicion.

3. Red herrings are your best friend.

Make the wrong answer look so right it hurts to let it go. Then twist the knife.

4. A ticking clock adds pressure.

A missing person with 24 hours. A killer promising another body. A secret that will destroy everything if it gets out. Urgency is king.

5. The ending should feel shocking—but inevitable.

The clues were always there. The readers just missed them. That’s how you get that “OH MY GOD” reread moment.

6. Emotional stakes > body count.

It’s not about how many die—it’s who. Make the loss personal. Make it hurt.

7. Don’t make your detective perfect.

Flaws. Obsessions. Regrets. Maybe they missed something before. Maybe they’re too close this time. The best detectives are just as haunted as the case.

8. Use silence like a weapon.

The absence of sound. The message that never came. The moment the music stops. That’s what makes a scene crawl under your skin.

9. Setting should work with the mystery.

Creepy lake? Cool. Now make it swallow evidence. Make it reflect trauma. Make it part of the story’s pulse.

10. Your killer should be someone we know.

Don’t pull a random guy out of nowhere in the last chapter. The best killers are hiding in plain sight. We just didn’t want to believe it.

Keep it sharp. Keep it clever. Keep it cruel.

#book things #bookish quotes #teen writer #wattpad #writing #book memes #writing tips #aesthetic #authors #writers on tumblr #writer stuff #writerscommunity #writerslife #mystery #thriller #mystery thriller #romance mystery

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onechicagolife · 4 months ago

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ABSENTIA | JAY HALSTEAD

Detective Jay Halstead is a senior member of the Intelligence Unit, where he is partnered with Detective Hailey Upton after his former partner went missing undercover. While he never wanted to give up hope, the CPD assumed her dead and he was resigned to accept it. Now, two years later, Jay gets a sudden phone call with news that changes his life forever. Avery Clarke is alive. want to be tagged? link in bio <3

Chapter 24

Dmitri Volkov moves with deliberate, unshaken ease, exuding the kind of calculated power that doesn't need to be loud to be terrifying. His expensive suit is immaculate, untouched by dust or blood, standing in stark contrast to the cold, grimy walls around them. Every step he takes is measured, every glance precise—as if he already owns the room, already owns them.

Avery stays still, forcing her expression blank, despite the way her pulse pounds against her ribs. She has met monsters before. She's survived them. But Dmitri? This is something else.

This is the man Nikolai learned from. The man who built an empire in blood and fear, who ran his organization so ruthlessly that even his own son is afraid to breathe wrong in his presence.

His eyes rake over Jay before he shifts his attention toward her. His gaze drags over her slowly, taking her in. The faintest ghost of a smile plays at the corners of Dmitri's mouth. "You and your little friend here aren't as smart as you think you are."

She tilts her head mockingly, "I think I've done just fine. Ask your son."

Nikolai's jaw tics, but Dmitri—Dmitri just chuckles. "And yet, here you are." Dmitri studies her curiously, "You really don't remember, do you?" He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "The human brain is a truly remarkable thing."

It's then that everything clicks. The fact that Dmitri knows about her memory loss means Nikolai knows too, which he used to his advantage to taunt them. And if they know that, then it's the first real confirmation that there is someone in the task force working for Volkov. She believes Lang, but he had to have told someone once he found out she was still investigating. Maybe she should've returned his call.

Avery narrows her eyes and grits out, "Why don't you just tell me why we're here."

"Clever girl like you should know the answer to that." His tone is mild, conversational, like they're discussing a business deal instead of life and death. "I have many friends in many places. Friends who know quite a lot about you."

He takes a slow step forward, his gaze flickering between her and Jay, before settling back on her. "I'll admit, I didn't think you would be this easy to find. The hope was that your boyfriend here would bring you to us, but instead, he brought us to you. You should consider not being so codependent, spend some time apart."

She swallows down the anger clawing at her throat, the urge to talk back.

"But you... you just don't know when to quit." His voice is so calm, so even, like it's a fact of life, like he's already decided her fate. "You should've kept running."

Avery glares at him, "You don't know me very well."

Jay exhales a quiet laugh, his almost-certainly broken ribs making it increasingly more painful to breathe. "She's stubborn."

"Yes, she is," Dmitri's lips quirk, almost impressed. Then he sobers, shaking his head with a tired sigh. "It was my fault for trusting my boy to handle a man's job."

Nikolai stiffens. His entire posture changes, tension rolling off him in waves. His father's disappointment is like a blade, one that cuts deeper than any wound. "Father—" Nik starts.

"Quiet," Dmitri snaps, and Nikolai clamps his mouth shut like a chastised little boy.

Avery watches the exchange, then lets out a low chuckle.

Dmitri tilts his chin toward her, his brow arching slightly. "Do you find this amusing?"

"You—" she shakes her head, eyes ticking between them, "You have no idea how truly pathetic your son is." Nikolai tenses visibly and she leans forward as much as she can, her voice mocking, dripping with contempt. "That every time I was forced to listen to him whine about his daddy issues, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to empty my clip into his face just so he'd shut the hell up." She tilts her head, "Now I see where he gets it from."

Jay snorts, but Nikolai—he snaps. He steps forward aggressively, fists clenching, rage flashing hot and uncontrollable. Dmitri doesn't even look at him. He just raises a single hand that stops his son dead in his tracks.

Her chest rises and falls quickly, adrenaline spiking, but she keeps her face carefully blank.

Dmitri studies her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he clasps his hands behind his back, exhaling like a teacher disappointed in a student. "All you had to do was walk away," he chides.

"Those girls you have in cages can't walk away," she grits out through clenched teeth, horrible memories of how close she was flashing behind her eyes.

Jay sees it—the way Dmitri's eyes darken, just slightly, the way his fingers twitch briefly, like she touched a nerve.

Then—he smiles again. A slow, controlled smirk. "Where is it?"

She arches an eyebrow, "You're gonna need to be a bit more specific."

He lets out a dramatic sigh, "The evidence, Detective. I know that you collected your own during your time with my son."

"Well, like you said," Avery shrugs casually, like this is all just a waste of her time. "I don't remember."

Nik circles behind Jay's chair, fingers trailing lazily along the back of it. "Perhaps I can encourage your cooperation."

Her entire body locks up at the way Jay stiffens, the way he tries to control his already-labored breathing. "Do not touch him," she seethes, glare darkening dangerously.

Jay knows what's coming before it happens.

Nik leans down slightly, just close enough for Jay to feel his breath against his ear. "Such a shame, Halstead," he says mockingly, almost bored. When he doesn't get a reaction, it makes him grin. "You were in Organized Crime, were you not?" he continues, his tone dripping with condescension. "Yet you let her go in all alone. And you couldn't even protect her."

Her fingers curl into fists, her nails biting into her palms so hard she feels the skin break. Nikolai's eyes flick to her, watching, enjoying before his fist slams into Jay's ribs. The blunt hit echoes through the room as Jay grunts, his body jerking against the restraints, pain flaring through his torso like fire.

Avery flinches, her stomach twisting violently. But Jay just clenches his jaw, refusing to give Nikolai the satisfaction.

Which only pisses him off more. Nikolai steps back, shaking out his hand, smirking. "Let me know when you've had enough," he taunts.

Jay coughs once, pain sharp and stabbing, but when he looks up, his eyes are steadily defiant. "I'm good," he rasps, breathing through it. "You hit like a bitch."

Nikolai's smile disappears instantly. Avery doesn't even have time to yell before his fist cracks across Jay's face, hard and fast. His head snaps to the side, blood spattering onto the concrete. A metallic taste floods his mouth, his cheekbone throbbing, his vision blurring for a split second before he blinks it away.

Avery jerks against her restraints, a growl of frustration ripping from her throat. "Get the fuck away from him," she snaps, her voice sharp and commanding.

He grins, wiping the blood from his knuckles with casual ease, "Ah, there she is." He crouches slightly, placing a hand on the back of the chair. "Two years is a long time, Halstead..." he muses, his tone playful but cruel. "Do you truly believe she stayed loyal to you, even as you moved on? What's that blonde's name again?"

Jay glares at him, struggling to sit upright.

He tilts his head, amused. Nik glances at her, eyes tracing her body, "Was she as good of a time as our girl?"

Avery lunges forward as much as she can, her body screaming in protest, but she is practically vibrating with rage. "Touch him again and I will—"

Nik laughs, cutting her off, "You'll what?"

"Untie me and find out," she growls, the threat hanging in the air.

Before he can say another word, the door swings open suddenly, and a tall man in a dark suit steps in, tension carved into every line of his face. He speaks in rapid Russian, his voice clipped with urgency.

Dmitri, who she'd almost forgotten was even there, her focus purely on Jay, turns sharply, his face hardening as he listens. Nik frowns, stepping back from Jay, his expression shifting from amusement to something more serious.

Avery watches the exchange, her pulse quickening.

Dmitri sighs, long and slow, like this is nothing more than an inconvenience. He turns back to Avery, his expression unaffected. "It seems we have other matters to attend to," he says, clasping his hands behind his back again. "But don't worry." His lips curve slightly, but his eyes are cold. "We'll finish our conversation soon."

Nikolai lingers a beat longer, gaze flickering between Avery and Jay, like he's memorizing them, savoring this moment. With one final glance at her, he steps away, following Dmitri out the door.

Avery's pulse hammers against her ribs as she works her wrist against the restraint, ignoring the sting of plastic biting into her skin. She grits her teeth, sweat beading at her temple, her breath shallow and uneven. She can hear Jay across from her, his own struggles punctuated by quiet grunts of frustration.

"Dammit," she mutters to herself, twisting her wrist harder, but nothing happens.

Jay glances at her, his breathing heavy. "Ave—"

"Lift your foot," she demands. She scoots her chair until their knees bump against each other. When he doesn't respond, just arches a brow, she huffs, "Just do it."

He finally complies, even though he has no idea what she's thinking, and rests his leg across hers. It clicks together, their academy training kicking in, when her fingers start working at the laces of his boot, struggling against the tightened zip tie. Jay shuffles as close as he can, his own ties digging into his skin as he helps her thread the lace through the small gap. Once it's secured, the string tied as best as they can manage, he yanks his foot hard.

The plastic breaks with a snap and the moment her wrist is free, she exhales a sharp breath of relief, shaking out her aching fingers. It's a lot easier as she works at her other wrist before moving onto his, unable to stop her worried gaze from constantly checking him over.

“He was lying,” she mumbles. Her hands shake, her heart pounding too fast, too loud, but she forces herself to focus.

Jay studies her, and he knows exactly what she’s talking about—Nikolai’s taunts still hang between them. His jaw clenches, his fingers curling into fists and as soon as the tie rips, he reaches for her wrist, gripping it firmly but gently. His touch is grounding, his fingers tracing over the raw marks on her skin. His voice is low, steady and unshakable, “I know.”

Avery finally meets his gaze, and for the first time since they were taken, she feels like she can breathe again. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t doubt. And that’s enough. She gives a small nod, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly, but her fingers keep working, body still shaking with adrenaline.

The second the final zip tie snaps, his body goes rigid from the sudden release, muscles locking up from pain. Before he can slump forward, Avery’s hands are on him, gripping his shoulders tight. “Jay,” her voice is sharper than she intends, thick with concern.

His breath stutters, his chest rising and falling too quickly, his body tensing as he fights to stay upright. His face is pale, blood trailing from his busted lip and other cuts from the crash. "I'm good," he forces out, one hand coming up to clutch his ribs.

Her stomach clenches painfully, not believing him for a second. Avery lifts a shaking hand, her thumb brushing carefully over his cheek as her eyes scan over every bruise, every cut.

Jay huffs a low chuckle, but it’s strained. "Don’t start crying on me now."

Her lips press into a thin line, her jaw tightening. "Shut up," Avery scoffs, but the words lack any bite. Because he's hurt. Because she knows him, knows that he's pushing through the pain, knows that his entire body is screaming in protest. But he's still making jokes, still acting like none of this is affecting him. Her fingers ghost over his side, light but deliberate. Jay flinches slightly, jaw clenching, but he doesn't pull away. "How bad is it?" she demands.

He lets out a slow, controlled exhale, shaking his head, "I'll live." His eyes flicker with exhaustion, his body screaming in protest, but her glare cuts right through him. Jay recognizes this kind of pain too much not to know. "Cracked rib. Maybe two." Then he shifts slightly, trying to straighten, and a harsh hiss escapes his lips before he grits out, “Or three.”

She inhales sharply, her pulse spiking with anger, worry, helplessness. She can't fix this. She can't undo what Nik did to him. Can’t take back the crash. Can’t ease the pain he’s in. All because of her. But she can get them the hell out of here. Avery tightens her grip on him, bracing him as best she can. "We’re getting out of here," she says, determined.

Jay nods once, his fingers clenching into fists before flexing out again, trying to regain circulation.

"Hey," she mutters, softer now, tilting her head just enough to meet his gaze head-on. Jay blinks at her, exhausted but still sharp. "You with me?"

He lets out a slow, steady breath. "Yeah. I'm with you."

Avery nods once, forcing down the knot in her throat. And then, without thinking, without hesitation, she leans forward, her lips crashing against his. He freezes for half a second before he melts into it, his body sagging against hers just slightly, just enough to let her hold him up. It's not slow, not careful. It's raw, fueled by adrenaline and desperation. Her hands grip onto his shirt as Jay threads his fingers through her hair and pulls her closer, needing to memorize the way she feels against him.

When they finally break apart, their foreheads rest against each other, their breaths mingling, heavy, uneven. His hand lingers at the back of her head, his thumb brushing against her skin, his eyes still closed.

She pulls back, her eyes flickering over his face, over the bruises, the cuts, the blood, the exhaustion. "Come on," Avery orders gently, looping his arm over her shoulder, taking as much of his weight as she can.

Jay lets out a strained exhale, shifting his stance, gritting through the pain as they start moving. His body is heavy against hers, but she doesn’t let go, doesn’t hesitate. His voice is hoarse, but strong, “You got a plan?”

“Nope,” she admits, breathing through her own aching muscles as they walk.

The corridor is cold and damp, the overhead lights flickering weakly, casting long shadows against the cracked concrete walls. Their footsteps are measured but quick as they move forward, each step painstakingly cautious. Jay’s weight is heavy against her, his ribs screaming with every movement, but he doesn’t slow down. He won’t slow down.

They make it halfway down the corridor when a door swings open ahead of them. The guard steps out, his AK casually slung over his shoulder, completely unaware that he’s about to have a really bad day.

Avery reacts instantly. Her grip tightens around Jay for just a split second before she lets go, shifting her weight as she lunges forward, closing the distance fast—too fast for the guard to even process what’s happening. The sharp, brutal snap of her knee connecting with his groin is the first thing that registers.

The guard chokes on a strangled breath, his body folding forward on pure instinct, but she’s already moving again. The side of her open hand collides hard against his throat, an efficient strike. A garbled gag escapes him, his hands flying up, desperate, instinctive—too slow. Avery follows up with a swift, devastating punch to the side of his head, and he crumples to the ground, unconscious before he even lands.

Jay lets out a sharp breath, leaning against the wall slightly, his body reeling from both pain and sheer admiration as he watches.

She grabs the guard’s gun instantly, flicking the safety off and scanning the hallway before turning back to him. "You good?" Avery asks, breathless but sharp.

Jay steadies himself, his stance still solid despite the pain wrecking through his ribs. Despite the blood smearing his face, the bruises forming along his jaw, and the fact that they’re literally in the middle of an escape attempt—he grins.

She immediately narrows her eyes. "What?"

Jay tilts his head, wincing slightly but still smirking. "That was really hot." Avery blinks once, utterly unamused. He shrugs one shoulder, like he didn’t just say the most inappropriate thing at the worst possible moment.

Avery lets out an exasperated breath, reaching out and smacking his chest—not too hard, because she’s still worried about his ribs. "Focus, Halstead."

He huffs a laugh, his expression still far too entertained for someone who just got his ass kicked. "I’m focused. Just also… appreciating the moment."

"Come on, Romeo.” Avery rolls her eyes, draping his arm over her shoulder as hers bands around his waist to keep him steady.

"It’s not my fault you’re sexy as hell," he quips, his smirk lazy but affectionate even as he grimaces at the way his ribs shift.

She bites back a smile. "Keep it in your pants."

They round a corner, Avery leading quickly, Jay keeping up as best he can. But then she freezes. Her entire body locks up, eyes widening as she lifts her head. "Did you hear that?"

Jay stills instantly, all amusement gone, his instincts kicking in. "What?"

Silence.

But then she hears it again—a soft whimper.

Avery spins toward the sound, following it, heading straight toward a heavy metal door. Her heart is racing now, the gun hanging heavy on her shoulder as she unbolts the latch at the top. She pushes it open.

And everything stops.

Rows of locked cages line the walls, the metal rusted and filthy. Inside, young women and girls huddle together, their eyes wide, hollow, terrified.

Her stomach twists violently. Her pulse thunders in her ears, rage crackling down her spine like a live wire. Avery moves before she even realizes what she’s doing, pushing the gun into Jay’s hands, leaving him leaning against a table for balance as she rushes forward. "Hey, hey," her voice softens, urgent but gentle. "You’re safe now. We’re the police."

One of the girls flinches. But then another lifts her head, recognition flickering through her tired, broken gaze. "Talia?"

Avery stops cold. The name hits like a bullet to the chest. Her lungs squeeze, her vision momentarily tunneling as she meets the girl’s eyes. She remembers her. Remembers the promise she made the last time she found them. The promise she didn’t keep.

Jay watches her closely, his grip tightening on the gun, his knuckles white with tension as he glances between her and the girls.

She forces herself to breathe, to push past the momentary freeze, to focus on the mission. She turns back to Jay, "Stay here."

His head snaps toward her instantly, his brow furrowing, eyes flashing with protest. "The hell I am."

"Jay." Her voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. "You’re hurt. You can barely stand. You stay here, cover them. I’ll find a way to get help."

He grits his teeth, his frustration palpable as his fingers tighten around the weapon. But he knows—deep down, he knows she’s right. Still, it doesn’t stop him from hating it. "Be fast," Jay grinds out, stormy green eyes burning into hers.

Avery nods once, meeting his gaze, silently promising that this isn’t goodbye. She’ll come back, and he’ll be okay.

Then—she turns and disappears out the door.

Avery moves fast through the dimly lit corridors, her heart pounding with adrenaline, her grip tight around a discarded piece of wood she found. She has a plan—find a way out and call for backup before Volkov’s men realize they’re gone. Then get Jay and the girls out of here. Easy.

Then she rounds a corner and nearly runs straight into another guard.

His eyes widen, his hand flying to his holster, but Avery reacts faster, smashing the wooden plank into his face. A sickening crack rings through the corridor, blood spurting from his nose as he staggers backward with a strangled curse. He recovers quickly and lunges, using his size against her, and she goes down hard. The cold concrete knocks the breath from her lungs, pain screaming through her back, but she doesn’t stop fighting. His knee digs into her stomach, his weight crushing as his hands pin her wrists beside her head.

“Ty tupaya suka,” he spits at her, voice rough with pain. The radio on his hip crackles, distorted voices filtering through.

Avery registers the distraction instantly, feels it in the way his grip loosens just enough for her to slip free. She shoves her thumb deep into his eye socket, pressing hard, relentless. The man howls, both hands flying up to claw at hers. That’s all she needs. She twists sharply, using the opening to buck him off her.

The plank is just within reach, but before her fingers can grasp it, his hand clamps around her ankle, yanking her back. She whips around, slamming the bottom of her boot into his chest. The impact sends him sprawling, his body hitting the floor with a heavy thud. Avery doesn’t waste a second. She snatches the plank, spins, and swings it with everything she has. It connects with his face, the force snapping his head to the side—and then he’s out cold.

Avery lays there for a moment, chest heaving, muscles burning with exertion. She tosses the plank aside and winces as she pushes herself up, snatching the guard’s gun from his waist and checking the clip. After a moment, she grabs his radio just as a voice comes through again.

“Vlad, dolozhi na vostochnoy storone. Gospodinu Volkovu nuzhno bol'she okhrany.”

East side. Volkov. Security.

Her breath sharpens, the mission to find an exit fading instantly. Because now, all she can think about is Volkov.

Avery heads back the way she came before taking a hard left. She keeps moving, gun ready. She finds her way into a large room lined with concrete pillars, dimly lit by flickering overhead lights.

And there—standing by a desk, flipping through a thick folder of documents like he has all the time in the world—

Dmitri.

Avery doesn’t hesitate. She raises the gun, the metal steady in her grip, her heart pounding. "Back up.” His cold, calculating gaze lifts, meeting hers, his face utterly unbothered. "Hands where I can see them. Now," she orders through gritted teeth.

Dmitri exhales slowly, almost amused, before lifting his hands, palms open. "You’re predictable, Talia."

Her jaw clenches at the name, but she doesn’t let him see it rattle her. She tightens her grip, taking a step forward. “You’re under arrest.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying her. "You won’t shoot me."

Avery arches a brow, unfazed, "You sure about that?"

“I am.”

The voice doesn’t belong to Dmitri.

Avery freezes. Because suddenly—the cold press of a gun barrel digs into the back of her skull. Her stomach drops.

"Drop it," Nikolai breathes against her ear.

Her breath catches, her muscles coiling with tension. Slowly—furious, seething, but smart—she lowers the gun, then tosses it to the cement with a hollow clatter.

Nik grins, his fingers brushing her hair back over her shoulder deliberately. "Good girl."

Her nostrils flare, rage coiling like a storm beneath her skin as he nudges her forward. She pretends to stumble, just enough for him to lower his guard. And in that split second, she snaps into action. Avery grabs his wrist, shoving his arm away from her head. The gun goes off, two deafening shots firing into the ceiling. She spins, driving him back, slamming him against the wall—but Nikolai recovers too fast.

He flips them effortlessly, his hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her. She inhales sharply, her fingers digging into his wrist, trying to pry him off. His grip tightens, his fingers pressing into her windpipe, making it harder to breathe. His eyes burn with something raw, something broken. "I loved you," Nik grumbles lowly, voice trembling with rage.

She doesn’t see it coming.

A sudden, white-hot pain rips through her side.

Avery gasps, her body jerking violently as the blade sinks deep, just below her ribs. Fire spreads through her torso like a shockwave. Her legs buckle, a choked cry slipping past her lips as she claws at his wrist. Nikolai twists the blade slightly, ripping a fresh wave of agony through her. Her vision blurs at the edges, and just as she starts to see spots, his grip around her neck loosens and he rips the knife out.

She crashes to the ground, the impact knocking the wind from her lungs. A warm rush of blood spills down her side, seeping into her shirt, pooling beneath her on the cold cement.

Nikolai steps back, chest heaving, his own hands shaking. His father steps up beside him, eerily calm. They exchange a few words, but she can’t hear it over the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears. She blinks up at them blearily, fingers coating in warmth as she brings her hand to her stomach.

And she watches as they turn and walk away.

Leaving Avery bleeding out on the floor.

prev . . . next

#jay halstead #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead fanfiction #chicago pd #chicago pd fanfiction #story: absentia #gifs are not mine: ask if you would like yours removed

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enhaflixer · 4 months ago

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sjy - Chasing Ghosts - TEASER

a Criminal!Jake x Detective!Reader SEXY crime thriller

NOW POSTED HEREEEE!

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

🔹 TAGS: crime thriller, enemies to reluctant allies 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

🔹 RELEASE DATE: WHNV YALL WANT AYYYYYY

🔹 TAGLIST: OPEN!

⏳ Somewhere in the city, a chase was already in motion. But here, it was just the two of you—waiting for who would make the first move.

The lounge was dimly lit, the golden glow from the overhead chandeliers casting deep shadows against the walls. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey and expensive perfume, a low hum of conversation filling the space as people slipped into quiet corners, murmuring over half-finished drinks.

But none of that mattered.

Because across the room, he was watching you.

Jake sat casually at the bar, one arm draped along the back of the leather stool, a glass of something dark and amber in front of him. He looked too at ease, the kind of effortless calm that came with knowing exactly how much control you had over a situation.

And right now?

He had all of it.

Your fingers curled around your own glass, untouched. You weren’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t part of the mission. You should have already been gone, moving onto the next lead, following the trail of evidence that was supposed to bring you closer to Specter.

But for some reason, you weren’t leaving.

For some reason, you were still here.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of Jake’s lips, and before you could second-guess yourself, he lifted his glass in a silent toast.

Cocky bastard.

Your grip tightened slightly. You had been chasing him for so long that it was unnatural to see him like this. Not a shadow slipping through alleyways, not a whisper at the scene of a crime.

Here, he wasn’t a ghost.

Here, he was just a man.

And that was dangerous.

Jake tilted his head slightly, an unspoken challenge lingering in his gaze. You’re already here. You might as well come say hello.

Your body moved before your brain could catch up, legs carrying you across the lounge with a steady confidence that didn’t match the pulse pounding in your throat. Every step felt deliberate, like walking across a tightrope with no safety net beneath you.

By the time you reached him, Jake was already setting his drink down, his smirk widening just slightly.

"Didn’t think you’d actually come," he mused, his voice smooth, easy—too familiar, like you had known him for years instead of knowing him as the man you were supposed to arrest.

Your nails dug into the palm of your hand. "I thought I’d see what kind of lies you’d tell me to my face."

Jake chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he reached for his glass again. "Lies? No, sweetheart." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough that it sent something sharp down your spine. "I only ever tell you the truth."

Liar.

And yet—

You stayed.

The city outside pulsed with movement, a chase still happening somewhere beneath the skyline. But here, in the quiet hum of the lounge, in the space between words neither of you were saying—

It was just the two of you.

Waiting.

Watching.

Seeing who would make the first move.

taglist: @jkslvsnella @vernorica123 @lillotus17 @wonnienyang @firstclassjayle @belle643 @ijustwannareadstuff20 @heelovesmeknott @heeseunggotrizz @jaeyunsbimbo @immelissaa @somuchdard

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impala-dreamer · 1 year ago

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Save Me - Part Two

A Short Story

~ Sometimes, when life seems the brightest, shadows creep in. After announcing their engagement to the world, Jensen's fiancé is kidnapped. With the help of a friend, she tries to fight her way back home to him.~

Jensen Ackles x F!Reader, Dean Winchester (cameos by Misha Collins and OCs)

7,160 Words Total. Part Two: 3,950

Warnings: My kind of Super Angst. Blood. Injury. Kidnapping. It's really sad...

A/N: Written for @jacklesversebingo "No one's coming to save you. Get up!"

PART ONE ~ PART TWO

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

Snow was falling from a gray sky. Big flakes landed on his shoulders, dusted his hair, melted on his cheeks. His lips were frozen; his fingers numb.

The cherry of his cigarette fell to the icy sidewalk and he huffed. He fumbled with the lighter and lit back up, pulling at the filter as if he were trying to set his lungs on fire.

Maybe he was. Maybe he wanted to set the hotel on fire, the police station, the entire city.

Jensen tipped his head back and exhaled, sending the smoke to mix with the clouds overhead.

“When did you start smoking again?”

Misha appeared next to him, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other holding a jacket. He was visibly cold, bouncing a bit for warmth even as he settled next to Jensen.

“I don’t know. When did the world implode? Four days ago?” He licked his lip and then took another drag. “Then.”

Misha shook his head sadly and Jensen rolled his eyes.

He flicked the butt into the street and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Put your coat on at least,” Misha suggested, tapping his shoulder with the jacket.

Jensen looked down at it as if he’d never seen anything like it.

“No.”

Misha sighed. “It’s freezing. You’re gonna get sick.”

“So?”

Not wanting to fight, Misha draped the jacket over Jensen’s shoulders and gave him a friendly squeeze.

“Y/N needs you to be strong. You can’t go off and get pneumonia.”

Jensen turned his head and glared; green eyes narrow and angry. “She doesn’t need me to be strong. She needs me to fucking find her.” His jaw clenched so hard he could feel his pulse beat in his temples. “She needs me to save her.”

Heartbroken, Misha closed his eyes and dropped his head. “I know. But there’s nothing you can do right now.”

Jensen scoffed. “Isn’t there?”

“No. The police are-”

Enraged, defeated, hopeless, Jensen spun away, kicking at the snow and pushing Misha’s care away. “The police aren’t doing shit! It’s been four fucking days!”

“I know…”

“They can’t even figure out who took her. The fucking- the security cameras in the parking garage weren’t fucking working! What the fuck good is that!”

The louder Jensen’s voice grew, the smaller Misha felt. There was nothing he could say, no way to comfort his friend.

Jensen wouldn’t be comforted even if Misha knew how. He wanted to rage at the universe. To put his fist through the brick wall behind him. To drive a truck through the Starbucks across the street. To run away from everyone and everything in this godforsaken city and find her. He had to find her.

A snowflake landed on his nose and he batted it away, slapping himself in the face.

He calmed.

His heart ached.

His voice crackled with tears.

“Odds are,” he whispered, “She’s dead already.”

“Don’t say that.” Misha choked back his own pain and cleared his throat. “The detective said there’s no reason to assume-”

Jensen laughed bitterly. “Forty-eight hours, isn’t that what they say? If you don’t find them in the first forty-eight hours you’re not going to. Or they turn up dead on the side of the road or in a shallow grave behind some psycho’s house.”

“Jensen…”

Green eyes closed to the world.

He was trembling, shaking from the cold and the pain of uncertainty and loss.

“I just…I don’t know what to do.”

They stood there in silence, letting January seep into their bones. There was nothing to say, nothing either of them could do.

It just was what it was.

And it was impossible.

A deep shiver moved through Jensen’s body and he shoved his arms through the jacket sleeves, thankful that Misha was looking out for him and the little things. He was too shattered to care about staying alive. Not right now.

He turned back to his friend and the revolving doors, deciding it was time to go back in and shake away the cold.

Flashing lights pulled his attention to the street and he held his breath as the police car turned into the hotel lot. The world moved in slow motion as the car parked in the nearby handicapped spot and Detective Lassiter hopped out. He held a clear bag in his thick fist and his countenance was heavy. He looked at Jensen and shook his head.

Jensen’s universe cracked. He bit his tongue, needing to feel the pain to keep himself conscious as the detective explained what had happened.

“They’re not asking for a ransom,” he said, speech rushed and emotionless. “Not yet, anyway. But this- this is good.” He handed the bag to Jensen.

Y/N’s diamond engagement ring glistened in the dim gray light.

Jensen closed his fist around it. The platinum prongs dug into his palm. “How?” His voice broke. “How is this good?”

“Means they want something. They’re not just going to kill her and be done. This is the kidnappers opening a line of communication.”

Jensen couldn’t hear him, couldn’t follow his words any longer. His fist tightened and the diamond cut through the thin evidence bag. He squeezed until it hurt, until his skin broke, until he could feel the warm trickle of blood.

A drop fell from his fist and painted the freshly fallen snow.

It was hard to stay awake, hard to think.

The pain was still there, but she couldn’t feel it much anymore. It didn’t feel as intense, as if she were getting used to the constant stabbing and shredding of her insides that accompanied every breath she took.

She couldn’t feel the cold anymore either. Her flesh had simply become part of the concrete, all of her warmth had been drained into the darkness.

In and out of the dreamless sleep of unconsciousness, she lay on the dirty floor, barely able to think let alone move.

“Why you?” she whispered, watching burgundy flannel pace back and forth by the steps.

Dean stopped short, his boots making a dull thud on the floor.

“What?”

She lifted her head, cringed at the hurt that erupted in her shoulder.

“I said, why is it you?”

His forehead creased and he shrugged. “I don’t know. Who else would it be?”

Y/N rubbed her right eye. It was dry and it hurt to blink. She was dehydrated and starving; her body was failing, her mind was slipping.

“It’s just odd, I guess.”

Dean sat on the bottom step, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t think it’s that weird. You need someone to talk to, you need someone to help. I’m pretty good at that shit.”

Y/N sighed. “But you don’t exist. I’m just talking to myself.”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really.”

“There should have been way more demon Dean.”

Jensen laughed and shot her a look that would have knocked her over had she not already been sitting down.

The couch cushion between them seemed as wide as an ocean, but neither were ready to swim across.

“You like bad boys, huh?” He licked his lips and watched hers as she answered.

“I guess everybody does at some point,” she said. “But there was something special about Dean as a demon. It was like… he was finally free for a little while. Like he was on vacation. Just hanging out and getting laid-”

Jensen grinned. “And murdering innocent people.”

She dipped her chin and looked up at him flirtatiously. “Is anyone ever truly innocent, Jensen?”

His smile faded and he stared harder. His lips parted slowly. “Are you?”

She blinked, painted lashes fanning over enchanting eyes. “I can be when I need to be.”

Her hand slid across the space between them and she bit her lip, daring him to match her move, begging him to meet her halfway.

He dropped his hand to the cushion, fingers landing a breath away from hers.

“What about right now?” he asked, leaning close.

She could feel the heat pushing off of him, smell the lingering scent of his faded cologne.

“Honestly?” she smirked.

He nodded. “Always.”

Y/N leaned in dangerously close. “I’m not feeling too innocent right now.”

A tentative kiss. The first taste of his lips; the first feel of her skin.

There were footsteps above her head. Someone running; heavy shoes falling on old wooden planks.

Y/N lay on her back and stared up at nothing. There were long beams above her and she wondered what it would take for them to come crashing down and crush her to death.

It wasn’t that she wanted to die, she’d never want that, but she knew it was happening. She could feel her body giving up. Her skin was hot but she shivered. Her blood had dried but the wounds wouldn’t stay closed. Her thoughts were fuzzy and shadows played tricks on her.

She couldn’t tell how long it had been since they’d tossed her down the steps; didn’t know how far from help she was. Time meant nothing. It could have been hours, a month, a week mostly likely. There was no way for her to guess. No windows to help count the sunsets, no ticking clock to pace her breaths to.

Sometimes, she counted her heartbeats just to have something to do, but they were unsteady. Too fast at times and then far too slow. It scared her to pay attention to the erratic pulse of her blood, so she tried to ignore it.

Mostly, she remembered things.

Mostly, she remembered him.

In moments when the pain overwhelmed her and her eyes refused to stop leaking, she would pull up his face, try to remember the placement of every freckle, count each thick eyelash. She could still feel his hands on her skin, smell his breath first thing in the morning. She could taste the salt on his neck after a workout, hear his delicate whispers in the heat of night. But his eyes were fading away. She couldn’t get the shade right in her mind; couldn’t remember what shirt made them darker, what time of day they looked the lightest.

The green was washing away.

Last winter. A break in filming. Sand beneath their feet; ocean breeze filling their lungs.

The sun was so bright it hurt her eyes, but she refused to close them, unwilling to miss one single second of time with him.

He was already burning in the sun; his shoulders tanning, his chest turning red. Every now and then, he’d take off and run into the water, dip below the perfect blue horizon and cool off. She loved those moments the best, when he came back to her dripping and laughing, his hair wet and slicked back behind his jet-fin ears.

He’d always come back to her, always fall down over her, hold himself up on his big arms and let the ocean water dribble down onto her bare stomach. He’d block the sun for a few precious moments, and all she could see was the halo around him and the love in his eyes.

“Y/N…”

She couldn’t open her eyes. They felt so heavy, so dry. It was all so pointless.

“Y/N, wake up, sweetheart.”

Dean was hovering again, crouched down at her side. His giant hand was hovering over her forehead as if checking her temperature like a mother would for her child.

“Don’t- don’t call me that,” she croaked. Her eyes fluttered open and she was met with his worried smile.

“What should I call you then?”

“A cab.”

He laughed softly. “You’re still funny. That’s good.”

“Is it?”

She tried to sit up but her spine felt like gelatin. She tried to speak but her throat was ripped to shreds. She tried to cry but her eyes were dry and nothing came out. Her shoulders shook and she moaned pitifully.

Dean’s jaw clenched, dimples popped above his lip. “You gotta get out of here. You’re not doin’ so well.”

Y/N curled in on herself, knees and shoulders meeting somewhere in the middle. “Go away.”

“No.”

She covered her face.

He shifted onto his knees. “You gotta get up and find a way out.”

“There is no way out. We’ve looked a hundred times.”

He exhaled hard, frustrated and desperate. “You gotta try again. You gotta get out.”

Her eyes fell closed again, her breathing slowed. “He’ll find me. He’ll save me…”

Y/N was still confused when the elevator door opened. Jensen had refused to tell her where they were going or why they were dressed like they were being photographed for GQ.

‘Wear that purple dress,’ he’d said on the phone with no explanation why.

Her hand clasped in his, they stepped out into a large empty ballroom. Floor to ceiling windows looked out on a gray morning; the L.A. smog was thick and hung like rain clouds in the sky.

Jensen led her deep into the room and turned to face her. He was nervous, she could tell. His chewed his bottom lip, rubbed his thumb over her hand quickly, breathed a little too fast.

She laughed gently. “What’s going on?”

He took a big, calming breath.

He licked his lips and smiled.

“Eighteen months ago, we were both here for that HBO after party. You wore this purple dress and I was wearing…” He looked down at his crisp black button down and charcoal slacks. “Well, this.”

She smiled. “I remember. It was the first time we met.”

He swallowed hard and held her hand in both of his. His palms were damp.

“But what you don’t know is that I saw you the very second you walked in.” He bit the corner of his mouth and took a second to collect his racing thoughts. “I was over there by the window talking to Eric and you walked in… It was like the crowd opened up for you. Every head turned; the music stopped.”

“I don’t think it was that much of an entrance,” she laughed.

“It was for me.”

Her heart raced.

“Jen, what’s going on?”

He smiled and bent down to kiss her lips. He held her face in his hands, ran his thumbs lightly over her cheeks. She kissed him back, licking at his plump lips.

“I wanted to do that the moment I saw you,” he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered open and all she saw was green.

“And this…”

He let her go and dropped down onto one knee.

He took her hand.

She held her breath.

“Marry me, Y/N…”

“I need you to calm down.”

Detective Lassiter was tucked behind his messy desk, his beer gut smushed against the edge.

Jensen refused to relax. He paced in front of the man’s desk, his hands rushing through his hair; fists beating at the stale air.

“I can’t fucking calm down, OK!” His face was red and his jaw hurt from holding his tongue for so long. “You people can’t do shit, you know that? It’s been six fucking days.”

“Mr. Ackles, please-”

“No. No. No.” He turned to the detective and slammed his hands down on the desk. He leaned in, close to growling. “You need to save her.”

The older man sat forward. “We are doing everything we can. They’re working on the emails right now. Still hoping there’s traceable DNA on the ring. We will get these bastards. We will find her.”

Jensen closed his eyes, felt a thousand more tears brewing in his chest. He didn’t know how much longer he could go on without having a complete breakdown. There wasn’t enough bourbon in the world to soothe his soul.

Only one thing would do.

Only Y/N.

He was coughing so badly she was sure he was dying. She could hear him from the kitchen, his wet cough rattling above the sound of the screaming kettle.

She poured the boiling water onto the tea bag and grabbed some Tylenol from the cabinet.

The room was dark but the light from his cell phone guided her across the soft carpet.

“Hey…”

He groaned miserably.

“You feelin’ any better?”

He shook his head. “I feel like death.”

Y/N set the mug of tea down on the nightstand and switched on the lamp.

He cringed at the light and shielded his eyes with a forearm over his face.

“You better not die on me, Ackles. I’ve still got plans for you.”

He smiled and sat up a little bit, reaching for the tea. “You can’t get rid of me this easily. Even if it is your fault.”

She gasped in mock offense. “It is not my fault!”

“You got me sick,” he chuckled and took a sip.

“Yeah. You’re right. It was all part of my master plan to steal the Impala from you.” She pressed her fingertips together and gave him an evil grin. “Everything is falling into place.”

He laughed. It triggered a cough and she took the tea from him as his body shook.

“Oh, god, Jen.” Her brow creased with worry and she pressed a cool hand to his cheek. “You’re burning up, baby. I think we should get you to the doctor.”

Jensen shook his head and grabbed her wrist. He closed his eyes and kissed her palm. “Just stay with me, please.”

She smiled and settled in next to him. “They couldn’t pull me away…”

There was screaming coming from above. The words were muffled but the emotion was clear.

They were coming for her.

Y/N lay face down on the floor, her fingertip tracing a crack in the concrete. She was tired, so tired, and cold again. The air touching her skin hurt, the strands of hair that touched her forehead felt like knives.

Dean was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his body locked in a tense defensive pose. He listened to the shouts, eyes narrowed and ears struggling to understand.

“That’s it,” he huffed, spinning around toward Y/N. “You gotta get up. You gotta go. Now.”

Boots pounded above.

Y/N sighed. “It’s fine. He’s coming for me. Jensen is coming. He’ll save me.”

Dean grit his teeth and knelt down beside her. His voice was deep and firm. “Listen to me. You can still fight. You can get up and fight.”

She laughed. “I can’t. Look at me. I’m… I can’t fight. They’ll kill me.”

“Then you go down swinging. You’re not some damsel in distress, Y/N. Get up and fight!”

Gingerly, she rolled over and looked up at him. “Maybe I am. Maybe I just have to lay here and wait for the cops to show up.” She sighed and closed her eyes, waving him away. “I’m tired, Dean.”

The fight upstairs was growing louder, the boots getting closer to the door.

Dean slammed his palms against the floor by her head, making her jolt awake.

“No one is coming to save you. Get up!”

Navy uniforms blurred in his vision. People rushed past the big window, but he stayed put, frozen in the chair beside Lassiter’s desk.

Jensen was in shock; tired and lost. He had barely heard the detective when he explained the situation.

They’d tracked down the kidnappers. The S.W.A.T. team was on their way. Just a few more hours and Y/N would be home.

He just had to wait.

Finally, Dean got her to stand. Her legs were shaky, but her head was clearing. She knew what had to be done.

Behind the staircase was an old, rusted tool box. Inside it, a hammer.

She gripped the wooden handle tight.

Dean urged her to stand in the shadows beside the staircase. He held her gaze, reassuring her every second that she could do this. She could fight her way out. She could run.

The boots above stopped. The kitchen light turned on, illuminating the seams around the door at the top of the stairs.

Y/N steadied her breathing. She bent her knees, planting herself on the spot.

The door creaked loudly as it was pulled open.

Her hand trembled.

Dean nodded reassuringly. “You got this.”

Heavy footsteps bounded down the stairs and a large man appeared, gun in hand.

Y/N’s blood was racing, adrenaline coursing through every cell.

The man turned to the right and Y/N leapt from the left. She lunged forward, swinging the hammer with every bit of strength she had.

She missed his head, striking him in the forearm.

The gun fell.

She pulled her arms back and the claw of the hammer dug into the flesh beneath the man’s chin. He screamed and doubled over, taking the old tool with him.

Y/N stared down at him, eyes wide with shock and terror.

“Now!” Dean clapped his hands, stealing her attention back. “Run!”

She could still feel the warmth of the lights on her face; hear the cheers from the crowd.

Jensen pulled her close and kissed a trail down to her lips. He kissed her forehead, her nose, the top of each cheek. By the time he met her lips, she was laughing into him, so warm, so happy.

His arms folded around her, his beard tickled her cheeks.

She clung to his shirt and sighed.

“I won’t be long,” he whispered. “Just gotta go smile for a thousand photos or so.”

She groaned. “I don’t wanna let go.”

He laughed and squeezed her tight. “Me either.”

The kitchen was bright, the lights burned her eyes. She stumbled into a chair and hit her foot against the island.

Dean was there every step, calling her name, leading her through the worst pain she’d ever experienced.

“You can do this,” he shouted, urging her to move faster. “Just a little farther. Come on!”

She pumped her arms, dodged the sparse furniture in the living room, raced for the front door.

It was locked, bolted and chained.

“Almost there, kid. Almost there.”

She focused hard, willing her fingers to cooperate.

The man shouted from the basement, loud and angry. Dean looked back over his shoulder, and flinched.

“You gotta hurry, Y/N-”

The chain was the hardest part. Her fingers were numb and tingling; she slipped more than once.

Boots thudded on linoleum.

“Come on!”

She wrenched the door open and tumbled out into the cold night air. The moon was full and bright, the sky clear and inky black.

She took a breath and steadied herself; bare feet sinking into the snowy lawn.

Dean was across the street already, silently urging her on with a waving hand and desperate expression.

Flashing lights pulled her gaze away and she smiled. They’d found her.

Sirens blared.

She took a step toward the street.

Dean shouted her name.

She smiled.

A shot rang out and her world fell into darkness.

Jensen collapsed.

His knees hit the ground first, then his hands. His palms scraped against the gravel but the sting was irrelevant.

Someone was touching him, grabbing at his shoulders, trying to help him up, but he shouted and pushed them away. He didn’t want help. He didn’t need comfort. He didn’t want anything.

His chest burned, his heart raged against his ribcage. The earth beneath him opened up, shattered like his soul.

“Jensen…”

He looked up into his own dark eyes. Eyes he’d seen in the mirror for years. Eyes that he’d cried with, laughed with, died with a thousand times.

Dean sighed. A single tear slid down his cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

Jensen closed his eyes and Dean faded into nothingness, swept away by the freezing January wind.

“Keep her safe, Dean,” he whispered. “Stay with her.”

“Always.”

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@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05

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