#sergeant gray | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rulerofstars · 8 days ago

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pretty church girl

oneshot: you’ve always been the church's golden girl—sweet smiles, soft dresses, sunday devotion. but when sergeant barnes returns, quiet and scarred, his steady gaze strips you bare. in pews and candlelight, tension simmers slow and sacred, until every glance feels like a prayer and every touch, a sin. with him, desire feels dangerously close to worship.

pairing: modern! sergeant! bucky barnes x reader

tags: (18+) 6.9k words. slowburn SMUT. sacrilege. raw penetration. fingering. creampie. sex in the church (i am so sorry). filthy smut. body worship. minors, dni. i am so going to hell for this.

“Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death, jealousy as fierce as the grave.”

Pastor Thomas’s voice settles low into the marrow of the sanctuary, like it belongs more to the wood than to his throat, woven into years of confessions and casseroles, baptisms and burials. Song of Solomon, chapter eight, verse six. A verse meant for brides, for devotion.

The June light slants through the stained-glass windows in muted halos, bleeding color across the old pews and softer sins. The scent of wax, lilies, and lemon oil clings to the thick air. Outside, the heat is climbing, inside, it gathers slowly between skin and fabric, between your thighs, between breath and restraint.

Your dress sticks faintly to the curve of your waist, the fabric stretched tight over your lap, clinging in places you wish it wouldn’t. The stockings itch beneath your knees, but you don’t move. Stillness is safer. Stillness hides the way your body betrays you when it shouldn’t. Your Bible rests closed in your hands, heavy with underlines and quiet doubts, and your knees remain pressed together in the obedient pose you’ve perfected over the years.

You look the part, demure, lightly glossed lips, posture faultless, a ribbon in your hair like some Sunday painting. But inside, you are heat and hunger and something far less holy.

Beside you, Natasha slouches in her usual irreverence, legs crossed like she owns the pew. Her red hair tumbles out of its barrette, she leans over, breath brushing your shoulder. “I swear, I’m about to drop dead,” she mutters, voice low and lazy. “No coffee. No air. Your uncle’s trying to preach us straight into Revelation.”

You flick her a warning glance, lips barely parting. “Nat. Hush.”

Her mouth quirks, unapologetic. “What? You think Mrs. Carter’s gonna smite me with that hat?”

You almost laugh, but you don’t. Not when your chest already feels too tight.

Natasha’s teasing feels distant when you glance across the congregation. The town’s finest: fanning themselves with bulletins, murmuring prayers with dry mouths, shifting in their pews like sheep waiting for the bell to ring. There’s comfort in the predictability of it all—Mrs. Thompson dabbing her forehead, the Levin twins flicking spitballs when they think no one’s looking, old Mr. Jenkins snoring softly into his tie.

Then you see him.

Back row. Second pew from the door. Half in shadow.

Your lungs forget how to fill.

White shirt. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The stark line of his forearms catching the fractured blue light from the window. Broad shoulders hunched slightly forward, as though he doesn’t belong to the pew or the building or even the air.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

You know that name. Everyone does. Even when people don’t say it, it lingers in town like the burn of communion wine on the tongue. The sergeant who disappears and reappears like a ghost. The boy who left with too much silence and came back older than the war he fought in.

You hadn’t seen him since last summer—when you passed him roofing nails and lemonade during a heat wave that melted straight through your better judgment. When he called you darlin’ like it wasn’t a sin to speak that way in front of the steeple. When he looked at you with those storm-gray eyes, slow and sure, and smiled like he saw every rule you ever followed curled up at his feet.

He was trouble. You knew it then.

But now? Now he’s ruinous.

His jaw is sharper, dusted with stubble. A new scar drags a pale line across the corner of his chin. His face is unreadable, but his hands, resting on the hymnal in his lap, are tight. White-knuckled. Like the sermon is something to endure. Like you are.

You shift slightly, thighs pressing tighter together. It does nothing to relieve the pressure, only makes it worse.

Natasha leans over again. “No way. No actual way. He's back?” Her voice catches the edge of a gasp, tempered by a wicked sort of thrill.

“I don’t know,” you manage. Your voice is hoarse.

“God, he looks…” She shakes her head, eyes wide. “Like sin in a shirt.”

You swallow, jaw stiff. “Shut up.”

But she’s right. He does.

He looks like a man built out of grief and war and hard decisions. Like someone who wouldn’t flinch if you kissed him wrong. Like someone who would ruin you sweetly and make you thank him for it.

“Bet he hasn’t looked away since you walked in,” Natasha whispers.

You stiffen. You don’t dare turn back. Not yet. You can feel it, though, like pressure against your skin, like being watched through a keyhole, like heat crawling under your dress in places you can’t mention during confession.

“He was staring last summer too,” Natasha adds casually. “Remember the festival? While you were passing out lemonade?”

You don’t answer. Because you remember. You remember every second of it. How he watched your fingers wrap around the cup. How his gaze trailed down the slope of your neck like he was memorizing it. How he didn’t look away, not even when your hands trembled.

“You’re imagining things,” you whisper.

“Am I?” Natasha hums, smug. “Look at him now.”

Your fingers tighten around your Bible, nails digging into the leather. And against every whisper of sense you ever inherited from your grandmother’s lectures and your mother’s modesty, you lift your gaze.

And find him already watching.

His eyes lock with yours—steady, unflinching, like they’ve been waiting. Not curious. Not playful. Hungry. And not in the way a boy looks at a girl in passing, not like a crush or a flirtation.

No.

This is a gaze that says: I would kneel for you. Or make you kneel for me. It depends on the hour.

His mouth doesn’t move. His hands don’t twitch. But the weight of him—of it—lands between your legs with aching clarity. You feel it. Low and deep. Like a question no prayer can answer.

You look away.

But it’s too late.

You’ve already said amen with your body.

The service closes with “Amazing Grace,” the final verse sung off-key but full-hearted. An old hymn, a familiar one, but today the words feel strange in your mouth. Voices rise and fall unevenly, and when the last note fades, the congregation stirs like a spell has been broken.

The pews empty with the slow chaos of a summer Sunday. Bulletin pages flutter like leaves in the breeze from the open doors. Your uncle stands at the entrance, shaking hands, nodding gently to familiar faces, each one softened by light and routine. Natasha’s already vanished, no doubt chasing lemon bars and iced tea in the fellowship hall, her halo of red hair the only warning left behind.

But you stay.

The quiet chapel feels safer now that it’s half-empty, stripped of voices and eyes. You move through the rows slowly, hands methodical as you gather hymnals, stack them spine to spine. It’s a ritual. One you’ve claimed for yourself. Tidying things while your thoughts fray. Your dress whispers against your legs with every step, the hem brushing your skin, static clinging to your stockings.

You’re not the saint they think you are. But you’re good at looking like one.

That’s what matters here, isn’t it? Pretty posture. Kind smiles. A polite “bless your heart” that can cut cleaner than sin. You know how to play this part, the girl with just enough shine to distract from the cracks.

Your fingers brush a forgotten tissue in the pew, and you pause just long enough to hear voices drifting in from the vestibule. The low hum of your uncle’s voice. Familiar, reassuring. Then another... lower, rasped.

Him.

“James,” your uncle says, warmth curling around the name, “we’re planning a Thanksgiving Mass. To give thanks for you and the boys coming home safe. I’d like you to speak, if you’re willing.”

Your hand stills, the bulletin in your grasp crinkling beneath your fingers. You hadn’t known. No one had told you there’d be a Mass. That he would be its centerpiece.

You shift closer to the aisle, quiet as a shadow. Through the curve of the vestibule, you glimpse him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, face angled toward the light. He doesn’t belong there. Not really. But he looks like he could, if he let himself. He takes up space in a way that doesn’t feel fair.

His frame eclipses the doorway. Shoulders broad under crisp white cotton. His sleeves are still rolled. Still wrongfully intimate. Like his wrists have known the burden of restraint, and his forearms could still break it.

“Not sure I’m the man for that, Pastor,” he replies, voice rough and quiet. “Words aren’t my thing. Neither are crowds.”

His tone isn’t humble, it’s factual. Honest. Like he knows what he is and what he’s not, and he’s not interested in pretending otherwise.

You catch the sharp gleam of the scar on his jaw, etched like it was earned. You wonder what part of him bled when it happened.

Pastor Thomas chuckles, warm and unwavering. “You’ll do fine, son. The Lord brought you back. That’s a story worth sharing.”

Bucky hums, noncommittal, and you should go. You should leave. But your feet are heavy. Rooted to the worn wooden floor like they’ve decided they’d rather burn than miss this.

Then he sees you.

No. Finds you.

Across the room, through half-light and silence, his eyes catch yours like a snare. And something inside you stumbles. Not your feet. Your faith.

He doesn’t look away.

He doesn’t smile.

His gaze doesn’t search, it knows. It lands on you like a thumb pressed gently against the base of your throat, a question and a warning both. You lift your chin instinctively, jaw tight, breath shallow. You hope it reads like defiance. But your heart betrays you, thumping recklessly, desperately, like it doesn’t believe in restraint anymore.

You’re still gripping the tissue like it might tether you when you hear them, his footsteps. Not loud. But sure. Each step is a confirmation that he’s coming closer.

You don’t turn.

Not yet.

“Need help?”

His voice is low. Right behind you. Close enough that you feel it in your spine before you hear it fully. You turn slowly, deliberately, because anything faster might reveal too much. He’s only a few feet away, holding a small stack of bulletins. His forearms flex slightly with the weight, veins visible, movements restrained, like he’s always holding something back. Like he could split a pew with his bare hands and wouldn’t apologize.

“I’m fine,” you say, sharper than you intend, smoothing your skirt out of reflex. You need control. You need space. You need him not to be looking at you the way he is.

“I don’t need saving.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t take offense. Just lifts one shoulder in an indifferent shrug.

“Didn’t say you did.”

He steps forward and places the bulletins gently on the pew, fingers brushing the worn wood with unexpected reverence. Every motion is quiet. Careful. Like he’s spent years learning how not to break things.

“Just offering.”

You grab another hymnal too hard and it lands in the stack with a dull thud.

“Well, thanks,” you mutter, eyes not meeting his. “But I’ve got it.”

He lingers. Not moving. Just watching you.

And it’s worse than a smirk. It’s worse than any teasing or flirtation. His silence is knowing. It leaves room for you to trip over your own heartbeat. It asks nothing and says everything.

You don’t trust it. You don’t trust him.

And yet...

Your body betrays you with every pulse of heat under your skin.

You can feel the faint hum in your fingertips. The way your breath shallows when you finally glance at his mouth. The slight part to your lips.

“All right,” he says at last, voice dipped in something gentler than before. He turns away like he’s not trying to take the air with him. But just before he disappears into the doorway, he glances back.

“Good to see you.”

The words are simple. They shouldn’t make your knees weak. They shouldn’t leave you standing there, staring at your reflection in a polished hymnal like a girl who’s already been ruined in thought, if not in body.

But they do.

—

Weeks passed. Long, thick cozy weeks filled with the same rituals, Sunday services, choir rehearsals, bake sales, and casserole rotations. You keep yourself busy. Keep your hands full and your smile polite.

You stand behind the soup station, ladle in hand, your dress a soft petal pink that hugs at the waist and flares gently at the hem. It’s modest, church-safe, but the way it clings just enough when you lean forward, it’s not innocent. Not really. Your lips are tinted to a subtle shine, catching the light each time you smile politely at a neighbor or crack a joke to one of the kids. Your hair is pinned back with delicate precision, curls tucked into place.

You’re polished. Poised. Perfect.

And you’re distracted as hell.

James Barnes hasn’t been back to Sunday service since. Not that you’ve kept track. Not that you’ve stared too long at the back seats, wondering if it was him that made the air feel different. Not that your heart doesn’t stutter every time the church doors creak open.

You haven’t seen him.

Until now.

You don’t sense him before you see him. There’s no shift in the air, no chill across your neck like in some storybook.

He’s just suddenly there.

Across the table. Holding a tray in his hands.

His jacket is gone—no black barrier between his body and the room. Just a plain gray shirt, sleeves pushed up. His forearms are bare to the elbow, veins visible like topography on a map you don’t dare read too closely. His hair is a little damp at the ends, curled near the nape like he just ran his fingers through it out of habit. He doesn’t smile too much. Doesn’t speak, only when asked.

Your fingers tighten around the ladle.

“Chicken noodle or vegetable?” you ask, voice softer than it should be.

His eyes hold yours a moment longer, like he’s letting the sound of your voice settle in him before answering.

“Whatever you think’s best,” he says, and the gravel in his tone ripples through you like someone dragging their thumb along your spine.

You shouldn’t react. You shouldn’t feel it.

You dip the ladle into the chicken noodle slowly, trying to look as unaffected as you pretend to be. As you pass the bowl across, his fingers meet yours—just for a second—but it’s enough. The touch sends a jolt up your arm.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, holding your gaze a second too long before moving on, his tray held steady. You exhale only once he’s past you.

He walks to the edge of the room, settling at a small table in the corner, where the noise can’t reach him fully. You watch him eat slow, methodical. He doesn’t glance around. But he’s present in a way that’s almost unnerving—aware of everything, even if he doesn’t react to it.

He looks at families like they’re echoes of something he’s lost. Like he’s not sure if he misses it, or if he just envies the simplicity of belonging.

“Earth to you,” Natasha murmurs, appearing at your elbow with a plastic cup of lemonade and a sly smile.

You blink, pulled back into your skin. “What?”

She grins wider. “You were staring.”

“I wasn’t.” But your voice isn’t convincing. Your cheeks are already warm.

“Oh, please.” She sips her drink, gaze flicking over to Bucky. “That man eats soup like he’s brooding on a mountain somewhere.”

“He’s not brooding,” you mutter, though you’re not sure why you feel the need to defend him. You look back toward him and catch the moment he rises quietly to help Mr. Hargrove adjust his chair. He’s gentle. Careful. He doesn’t rush the older man or flinch when thanked. His movements are restrained, but there’s a softness in the way he places a hand on Mr. Hargrove’s shoulder that twists something in your chest.

“Heard he’s been going to the grief group,” Natasha says, quieter now. “Doesn’t talk much, but he listens. Really listens.”

You swallow.

Of course he does.

—

The church’s annual rummage sale spills across the lawn like a quilt, blankets unfurled, tables groaning under crockpots and glass trinkets, old ladies manning booths with sun hats and clipboards. The air smells like cinnamon bread, mothballs, and last year’s perfume. Laughter rises from the youth tent, mingling with the sharp rustle of donation bags and the distant notes of someone strumming a guitar.

You’re tucked beneath a white canopy, surrounded by cardboard boxes of clothes, carefully folding sweaters and arranging them into neat piles by size and color. Your dress is a pale blue today—modest neckline, flutter sleeves, cinched at the waist. It brushes your knees when you crouch to dig through a box of scarves, the cotton soft and worn from too many washes.

You’re trying to focus. Really.

But your eyes keep drifting.

You’re folding a forest green cardigan when voices filter through from the other side of the rack, low, familiar, and just loud enough to pause your breath.

“Come on, Buck, it’s not that bad,” says someone with a warm, amused voice.

Bucky.

“Steve,” comes his gravelled reply, filled with dry disdain. “I look like an idiot.”

Another voice, deeper, playful: “Man could wear a trash bag and make it work. Even ugly Christmas sweaters.”

You freeze, clutching the cardigan a little too tightly, peeking between the racks like a guilty thought.

Bucky stands beside two other men, one tall, blond, with kind eyes and a faded plaid shirt, clearly the peacemaker. The other, handsome and grinning, carries the energy of someone who always gets the last word.

And James...

He’s holding up the most hideous red sweater you’ve ever seen. Rudolph stitched with googly eyes and a pom-pom nose. His brow is furrowed, jaw set, expression hovering between horrified and resigned.

But his eyes, when they land on his friends—are softer than you’ve ever seen them. Like for a brief moment, the weight he carries lets up, just slightly. Just enough to let something tender slip through.

“It’s for Christmas,” the blond says, Steve, you guess, trying to sound reasonable.

“It’s October,” Bucky mutters.

“Early prep,” the other man adds, grinning. “Ugly sweaters are a chick magnet. Right, Steve?”

“Sam—” Steve starts, face flushed, and Sam just cackles.

You duck back behind the rack, heart suddenly racing.

You don’t know why seeing him like that, a little relaxed, surrounded by people who know him unsettles you.

Maybe because it makes him human. Not just this dark-eyed soldier who lingers like storm clouds in the corners of sanctuaries. Maybe because it cracks the outline of the mystery you’ve built around him. Maybe because you liked it.

You’re folding a scarf, willing your pulse to settle, when...

“Need help with those?”

His voice slides into your bones.

You spin, scarf forgotten, to find him standing behind you, closer than he should be.

The ugly sweater is draped over one forearm, but it’s his eyes you notice first. Clear, steady, gray as winter and just as cold until they settle on you

Your throat tightens.

“I’m good,” you say quickly, too quickly. You step back instinctively, bumping against a box, the cotton of your dress catching on cardboard. “Just sorting for my uncle.”

He nods once. Doesn’t leave.

Instead, his gaze drifts to the rack beside you.

“Looking for anything specific?” he asks, voice low enough to keep between you.

“My aunt needs cardigans,” you reply before thinking. “Medium. Maybe large. She likes them loose.”

You don’t know why you’re telling him. It’s stupid. Pointless.

But he nods, like it matters.

Then he starts looking.

No hesitation. No small talk. Just quiet, focused movement as he shifts hangers aside, fingers brushing knit sleeves and lace trim, eyes scanning the rows. His brow furrows in concentration, the same way it did back in the chapel—like he sees the world in sharp lines and weight.

You steal glances.

His scar looks more pronounced in the sunlight. His hair is messier today, wind-tossed, one dark lock falling across his forehead. His shirt clings to his back when he bends to reach a lower hanger. You shouldn’t be looking. You know that. But your gaze keeps betraying you.

Within minutes, he pulls three cardigans from the rack: dusty rose, seafoam green, and cream. All soft, a little worn, and exactly the kind your aunt hoards in her closet like armor.

“These work?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You blink, surprised. “Yeah. Perfect.”

He holds them out. You reach to take them, and your fingers brush.

You don’t pull away immediately.

Neither does he.

When you finally glance up, his eyes are already on yours. And for one breathless, endless second, you’re not in a rummage tent surrounded by old clothes and casserole pans. You’re in some private, weightless space where nothing exists but the hum beneath your skin and the way he’s looking at you.

You open your mouth, unsure what you’re even going to say, when—

“Buck! You buying that sweater or what?” Sam’s voice slices through the air, easy and loud.

The spell breaks.

Bucky’s jaw tenses. The softness fades like a curtain drawn shut.

“I should go,” he says, stepping back.

You nod, throat dry. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime.”

And then he’s gone, the red reindeer sweater swinging limply from one hand as he walks back toward his friends, their laughter rising around him like smoke.

You hold the cardigans to your chest, trying to breathe normally. Trying not to stare. Trying not to feel the ghost of his fingers still lingering on yours. But when you glance up, just once, you catch the faintest twitch of his lips at something Sam says.

And your chest flutters—small and secret and completely, helplessly real.

—

Today's prayer service ends with the slow murmur of Amen echoing through the chapel. Candles flicker across the altar like dying stars. The scent of wax lingers thick in the air, threaded with incense and old wood. Outside, the sky has opened up and rain falls in relentless sheets, hammering the roof and streaking the stained-glass windows with watercolors. Most of the congregation has already fled, their laughter and boots fading across the slick stone path. The sanctuary empties quickly.

All except for you.

And him.

You’re still gathering candles in the soft hush, moving between pews with practiced care. The hem of your green dress skims your legs with every step, fitted enough to cling when you bend, the fabric catching on the curve of your hips. Your lips are red tonight. A sinful shade, bold against the candlelight. Your hair’s loose, damp near the temples from the mist that snuck in earlier, curling slightly around your shoulders. You hadn't intended to stay this long, but you always do. You like the quiet after services. Like to feel the hush settle into your bones.

But tonight, it’s not just yours.

You hear him before you see him.

He’s at the front now, by the altar, stacking hymnals with the kind of care that suggests reverence, not obligation. Rainlight casts him in fractured hues hrough the stained glass. His shirt, gray, damp at the collar, clings to his chest and shoulders. His hair’s slightly mussed from the rain, one curl clinging to his temple, and there’s a shadow along his jaw.

He hasn’t looked at you yet.

But he doesn’t have to.

His presence coils through the chapel like smoke.

"Rain’s keeping everyone out," you say, trying for lightness. Your voice breaks the quiet, but not the tension.

He looks up, finally.

“Good thing,” he murmurs, voice low, rough, quiet enough that it feels like it’s for you alone. “Gives us time to clean up.”

He sets another hymnal down, the muscles in his arms flexing subtly beneath his skin. You catch a whiff of cedar, leather, rain, and maybe war. It fills your lungs and lodges somewhere between your ribs.

You don’t ask for help.

But he joins you anyway, stepping into the aisle beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He doesn’t speak.

And you don’t either.

But the silence between you? It's alive.

The two of you work side by side, collecting stray candles and crumpled programs, and though your fingers never quite touch, they move in rhythm, close enough to feel, never enough to satisfy. You’re too aware of him. Of the heat he carries, the way his movements are quiet but commanding.

He nods toward your dress as you reach to place another candle. “Careful with your dress,” he says, voice steady but low. “Wax’ll ruin it.”

You glance down, then back at him. “This old thing?” you say with a faint smile, brushing the fabric. “You sound like my aunt.”

He lets out a quiet huff—amusement, and his eyes flick over you once more. “Doesn’t look old,” he says simply, and there’s something about the way he says it that makes your spine straighten.

You don’t look at him.

But you feel his gaze like the weight of prayer.

Another candle slips as you move—a clatter against wood that echoes too loud in the stillness. You both reach for it at once, and for the first time, you touch.

His fingers meet yours. Warm, firm. You both pause. You could move. You should move.

But you don’t.

Not right away.

You clear your throat, cheeks warm. “Clumsy,” you mutter, standing again, smoothing your dress more out of nerves than necessity.

“Happens,” he replies, placing the candle down carefully, like it deserves respect.

You watch him for a moment. The way he moves. The quiet precision. There’s no arrogance to him. Just control. And control is its own kind of seduction. You turn, gathering the last of the candleholders, but his voice draws you back.

“Been comin’ here a while,” he says. It’s not a question. Just a thread he’s decided to pull. “Used to feel different. Quieter. Now...” His eyes flick to yours. “Better with more of you around.”

Your lips part. The breath you draw feels too full. “Really, James?.”

He steps closer. Not enough to touch, but enough to crowd your space with his warmth. He sets a hymnal on the pew beside you, then lingers—close enough you can see the faint crease in his brow, the flecks of something almost blue in the gray of his eyes.

“Bucky,” he says, low and certain. “Not James. Not with you.”

It knocks something loose in your chest.

You nod, almost breathless. “Bucky,” you echo, trying the name on your tongue. It tastes like honey and warning.

His eyes darken, not in danger, but in depth.

His hand lifts, hesitates, then settles gently at your waist. The contact is featherlight. Careful. But the intention behind it is anything but innocent. His thumb brushes, just once, over the side of your dress. Not suggestive. Not aggressive. Just there.

And your body hums in response.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, reverent, sinful. His voice is the kind that belongs in confession. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout you.”

You feel the words like a hand at your throat. Not choking. Just claiming. And you don’t pretend to misunderstand.

“Show me,” you whisper.

He leans in, barely touching his lips to yours. It’s not a kiss. Not yet.

But your hands rise, uncertain but brave and settle over his chest. He’s warm beneath the fabric, solid, alive.

Then he kisses you.

Gentle.

Sacrilegious.

His lips brush yours with reverence, not hunger, and your mouth parts without a second thought. It’s not urgent. Your fingers curl against him. His hand finds your lower back, anchoring you, holding without taking. He tastes like rain and smoke, like silence, like ache.

He pulls back first.

Breathing ragged.

Forehead to yours.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he breathes, voice thick. “You’re somethin’ else.”

So is this.

So are you.

You smile, slow and knowing, fingers lifting to trace the sharp line of his jaw. The scar beneath your touch is rough, an uneven line carved by something cruel but here, beneath your fingertips, it feels sacred. Claimed. “Gentleman, huh?” you murmur, teasing, your voice a hush in the chapel’s hush.

He chuckles, deep and quiet, the sound vibrating against your palm. His hand settles at your hip, broad and warm, thumb brushing over the fabric of your dress like he’s checking for fragility. “For you,” he says, voice low and thick, reverent as a vow.

Then he kisses you again. Slower now. Deeper. His tongue parts your lips with careful grace. He tastes like rain, like patience, like restraint stretched too thin. Your breath catches, your pulse thrums, and your thighs press together under the growing heat—soft and aching where you want him most.

But it’s not just lust. It’s the way he holds back, like you deserve more than hurried touches and breathless abandon.

“Wanna do this right,” he breathes against your mouth, his hand sliding down to your lower back, guiding you gently, reverently, to the back pew. The wood creaks as you lower, the old bench cool against your thighs. He kneels between your legs like he’s done it a thousand times, but never like this. Never for this. His frame is massive, towering, but lowered before you now, his eyes locked to yours, asking.

You nod—small, sure.

His fingers slide up your legs with aching patience. Your dress bunches at your hips, and for a long moment, he just looks at you—=, at your trembling thighs, your flushed face, your breath shallow. And then he moves, so slowly it feels like a confession.

You whimper, soft, unsure if it’s from the need or the way he’s looking at you—like he’s memorizing you, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast.

“Touch me, Bucky,” you whisper, barely a sound, barely a breath.

And he does.

His fingers trace higher, finding the hem of your dress, and he pauses again, eyes searching yours. “This okay?” he murmurs, voice rough but soft, like he’s afraid to break you. His care makes your breath hitch, a spark flaring low in your belly, but it’s his gentleness that holds you.

“Yeah,” you whisper, and he groans, soft, his hand inching your dress up, slow, revealing the soft skin above your stockings. His fingers graze lace, feeling the first hint of your slick through your panties, and he exhales, shaky, like he’s been holding it in.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice awed, gentle, “this pussy’s already wet for me, ain’t it?”

You blush, biting your lip, not desperate, just curious, wanting. “Maybe,” you tease, voice soft, and he chuckles, low, wicked, his finger brushing your clit through the lace, light, teasing, making you gasp.

"God."

He leans in, his breath hot against your neck. “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, darlin’,” he whispers, teasing, lips brushing your skin. “Not when you’re this wet and sweet under me.”

You laugh, soft, clenching your thighs, earning a low moan from him. “You’re trouble,” you whisper, fingers grazing his neck, wanting to mark him. His free hand cradles your back, keeping you close.

“Love this,” he growls, lips brushing your ear, teeth grazing, soft, his finger still teasing through lace, not pushing, just stoking the fire. “Gonna make you feel so good, doll.” He pauses, eyes meeting yours, checking again, and you nod, leaning into him, wanting more, but patient, letting him lead.

A sudden gust rattles the chapel windows, rain pounding harder, and you both freeze, glancing toward the sound. The moment breaks, tension easing, and you laugh, nervous, the spell softening but not gone. “Storm’s loud,” you murmur, smoothing your dress, and he nods, hand resting on your knee, steady, grounding.

“Keeps us here,” he says, voice low, eyes glinting. “More time.” He leans in again, lips brushing your forehead, a gesture so tender it makes your heart stutter. “You sure ‘bout this, darlin’? We can stop.” His voice is gentle, respectful, and it pulls you closer, wanting him more.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, voice raw, and he groans, his hand sliding back up, peeling your panties down, slow, careful, lace slipping over your thighs.

“Fuck, this pussy,” he murmurs, voice awed, finger brushing your bare clit now, making you whine, hips twitching. The wet sounds are soft, obscene in the chapel’s hush, and the rain’s roar makes it feel like a secret, sacred and sinful.

“More,” you plead, soft, and he obliges, dipping a finger inside, stretching, curling slow, hitting your spot. Your pussy grips him, cream coating his finger, and you moan, quiet, head tipping back, the intimacy overwhelming. “Bucky, fuck,” you gasp, and he covers your mouth, gentle, muffling, his lips brushing your ear.

“Shh, baby,” he whispers, amused, naughty, breath hot. “Don’t want the angels listenin’.” His finger thrusts deeper, thumb circling your clit, slow, building you up, and you’re trembling, pussy dripping, the risk spiking your pulse, his cock hard, pressing against your thigh, patient but huge.

“Feel so good,” you murmur, muffled, and he kisses your neck, soft, lingering, his free hand sliding up your back, holding you like you’re precious. “Want you closer,” you whisper, fingers tugging his shirt, pulling him in, and he groans, low, shifting, his massive frame pressing against you, shielding you.

And then it deepens everything. The intimacy, the tension, the sheer care of it. His fingers trace slow, deliberate circles, his eyes never leaving yours. The chapel holds its breath, the candles flicker like they're witnessing something unholy.

Or maybe divine.

“Gonna give you everything,” he murmurs, adding another finger, fucking you slow, deliberate, wet sounds louder now, your pussy clenching. Your eyes roll, thighs shaking, and he watches. “Fuck, look at you,” he whispers, voice thick, “takin’ my fingers so sweet.”

You chuckle, shaky, clenching again, earning a moan. “Tease,” you whisper, biting your lip, and he smirks.

“Cum for me, darlin’,” he murmurs, fingers curling, thumb relentless, and you shatter, pussy spasming, cream coating his finger, a muffled scream against his hand. He holds you, lips on your neck, soft, whispering, “That’s it, baby, fuck, so perfect.”

“I need you, Bucky,” you whispered, voice raw and dripping with want, your gaze locked on his steel-blue eyes, darkened with lust.

He exhaled a low, guttural sound, his hands finding your hips, pulling you flush against him. Through the rough denim of his jeans, you felt the hard, throbbing outline of his cock, thick and insistent, sending a pulse of heat straight to your core. Your fingers fumbled with his belt, brushing against him, and he hissed, head dipping to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the curve of your neck. “Baby,” he murmured, “you’re gonna kill me.”

With a swift motion, he freed himself, his cock springing free, veined and heavy, the tip glistening with precum. You swallowed hard, your mouth watering at the sight of him, so potent, so ready. His hand guided himself to your slick folds, rubbing slow, deliberate circles against your entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come. Your breath hitched, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you pressed yourself closer, your thighs quivering. “Please, Bucky,” you begged, voice a sultry plea, your legs hooking around his waist, urging him nearer.

He growled low, his hand cupping your ass, lifting you effortlessly onto the edge of the old wooden pew, the creak of the wood echoing in the sacred space. “Gonna love this pussy,” he rasped, his eyes burning into yours, holding you captive as he positioned himself at your entrance.

The first push was exquisite agony. His cock breached you slowly, the thick head stretching your tight walls, parting you with a delicious burn that made you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. It felt like he was carving a space inside you, claiming you inch by inch, the sensation overwhelming—full, hot, and unrelenting.

He’s watching you come apart, his lips parted, reverence in every movement. His fingers never rush, never push too far. He keeps you right at the edge, not to tease, but to honor the feeling. His hand curls around the back of your neck, grounding you, and your head falls forward, resting against his.

Your pussy fluttered around him, gripping him instinctively, and you moaned, head falling back as the pleasure-pain of his size consumed you. “God, Bucky,” you whimpered, “you’re so fucking big.”

“Shit, so tight,” he groaned, his voice strained, his vibranium hand steadying your hip as he eased deeper, giving you time to adjust. The stretch was intense, but the intimacy of his restraint made it sacred, a slow, deliberate act of worship. When he bottomed out, filling you completely, your walls pulsed around him, and you both stilled.

He began to move, slow and deep, each thrust a promise, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, igniting sparks that curled through your spine. The wet, filthy sounds of your bodies filled the air, and you clung to him, your fingers raking down his back.

“Fuck, feel that,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, “your pussy’s grippin’ me so good.”

“Harder,” you whined, craving more, and Bucky obliged, his thrusts deepening, the pew creaking louder under the force. “Yes, fuck, yes!” you cried, your pussy creaming around him, the slickness easing his glide, making every thrust smoother.

He shifted you then, guiding you to turn, your palms bracing against the back of the pew as he positioned you on your knees, your dress hiked up around your waist. The new angle made you gasp as he re-entered you, his cock hitting deeper, stroking a spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. “Goddamn, look at you,” he growled, his hand smacking your ass lightly, the sting blooming into warmth that made you yelp, then grin. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ well.”

You arched your back, pushing back against him, meeting each stroke with a desperate need. “Cream on my cock,” he urged, his voice a dark caress, and the combination of his words, his touch, and the relentless drive of his cock sent you spiraling.

"That's it, that's my pretty girl, Oh— God."

Your orgasm crashed over you, your pussy pulsing, clenching around him as you screamed into the crook of your arm, cream dripping down your thighs.

He wasn’t done. With a gentle tug, he pulled you upright, your back against his chest, his lips finding your neck as he guided you to straddle him, facing him now. You sank onto his cock, the new position intimate, your faces inches apart. His eyes locked on yours, and the connection was electric, his hands guiding your hips as you rode him, slow and deliberate. “Fuck, darlin’,” he panted, his flesh hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing your lips. “You’re really somethin’ else.”

The pace built again, your thighs burning as you chased another peak. When you came again, it was softer but no less intense, your body trembling as you clung to him, his name a prayer on your lips.

His groan was raw, almost feral, as his body tensed beneath you, his hands tightening on your hips. “Fuck, baby, this pussy’s gonna make me lose it,” he growled, his voice rough and urgent, thick with lust. “So fuckin’ tight, squeezin’ my cock like you were made for it.” His hips stuttered, thrusting up into you with a desperate edge, and you felt the first hot pulse of his cum spilling deep inside you. “Shit, I’m cummin’ so hard for you,” he rasped, his words dripping with filthy reverence. “Gonna fill this sweet pussy up, make you drip with me, baby—fuck.”

Each pulse of his release was a searing claim, his cock throbbing as he poured himself into you, the heat and fullness overwhelming, slick and messy as it leaked down your thighs and onto his lap.

His thumb strokes slow across your cheek, and the air between you is heavy with unsaid things, with want, with restraint. His other hand finds yours, interlacing your fingers, as he leans closer, kissing your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, like he’s tracing a rosary made of skin.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmurs, and the words are hoarse, unraveling. “Pretty thing. Touchin’ heaven sittin’ on this pew.”

You stayed like that for a long moment, your bodies entwined, the rain a soft murmur outside, the air thick with the scent of sex and intimacy. Your fingers carded through his damp hair, tracing the strands that clung to his forehead, and he sighed, leaning into your touch like a man starved for it.

The storm rages outside.

And inside, he worships.

Not God.

You.

#rulerofstars #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #marvel #the winter soldier #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #smut #marvel smut #new avengers #thunderbolts #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts fanfic #thunderbolts smut

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miabebe · 7 months ago

Text

Calendar Killer (HJS)

Was it really love if it didn't include just a little madness? What was love if it didn't cross the line? And how was it love if it didn't care whether it was the red of love and the red of blood?

Pairing - Afab!reader x Detective! Hong Jisoo (Joshua)

Word count - 14K (we are back to Mia's inability to be concise)

Genre - Psych thriller, smut (18+), supernatural elements hinted, warnings under the cut!

A/n - This is the last installment of my 95s psych thriller Halloween series - I know its late but I just wanted to finish up what I committed to. Also, this is the wildest thing I have ever written, I'm not kidding, buckle up! I do suggest reading Jeonghan's and Cheol's before this!

Thank you to Lola ❤️ @monamipencil, the love of my life for beta reading this and filling our chat with 'oh my god's and frantic comments - I'm a lot more pleased with this piece now hehe

Warnings - Please note that this fic is dark, not morally appropriate at all and as psychotic as it gets. With that being said, let's goooo - people missing, mentions of deaths, bodies, murders, serial killer, mentions of stalking, choking, blowjobs, throat fucking, hair pulling, cum in mouth, masturbation, manhandling, unprotected sex, rough sex, marking, slight dubcon, creampie, psycho thoughts and behaviour

The station buzzed with the oppressive hum of a fluorescent light, flickering occasionally. The air was thick with the musty scent of old paper, the subtle clicking of the typewriter and cold winds blowing in through the open door.

“Great job today boss.”

Joshua looked up from the paperwork strewn across his desk at Minho standing by the coffee machine, a mug in hand. the dark circles stark under his eyes. It had been a sleepless few weeks for everyone in his team and nights at the station were only getting longer and longer.

Giving a tired nod of acknowledgement, Joshua turned his attention to what he liked to call his ‘murder board’. Wrong choice of name yes, but someone once told him that positive manifestation was a real thing. Maybe if he kept calling it a ‘murder board’ for long enough, one day he’d finally find himself climbing the ranks, handling real murder cases. He knew with just a little more power in his hands, he could be brilliant - he was a good detective, he had great intuition, he was sharp, efficient. Oh he’d make a fantastic sergeant or maybe even a lieutenant but instead, here he was, sitting in a tiny cubicle, the pages of his case files scattered across his desk, each one heavy with unanswered questions.

Six missing persons cases. That’s what Joshua was stuck on now.

Given his brilliance, it normally didn’t take more than a week for him to crack a case but these? These cases had turned into a three-month-long nightmare of frustration - endless hours of interrogation, dead end leads and constant running in circles. What bothered Joshua the most was that he had spent five years in the field, aced every exam, and most importantly, the sergeant position had been vacant for two months—ever since Hye Jin left for maternity leave. And yet, here he was, stuck in this cubicle, staring at the empty faces on case files, with no promotion in sight. How could he ever climb the ranks with these six cases making him look like an undeserving amateur?

One miracle—that’s all he needed. Six miracles, really. One clue per case, just a single point he had missed, one thing he might have overlooked. Shutting his eyes and leaning back in his chair, he sighed, wondering where on Earth he should look for answers. If only they walked into the station, looking for him.

And then, you did.

The creak of the door was what made Joshua’s eyes flicker up, following you as you stepped into the precinct. You were wet from head to toe, hair sticking to your face and neck, your knee-length white nightgown clinging to your body as if you’d been caught in a downpour.

Joshua glanced outside.

The sky was gray and heavy, but it was not raining.

He frowned, rising from his chair. “Can I help you?”

You didn’t speak right away, your eyes darting around the room, searching for something. Joshua’s instincts flickered to life. Something was off, not in a way that screamed danger. Just… unsettling.

Water dripped all over the floor as you walked barefoot, struggling to take steps, shaking eyes, trembling lips and bruised knees accompanying you. Hand hovering over his pager, Joshua’s gaze shifted to his team, who were quietly filling the room, all of them sensing the shift in the air.

“Are you okay?” He took a tentative step toward you, searching for answers on your face when you refused to meet his eyes. Instead they kept darting nervously over your shoulder and towards the door as though someone was about to follow you in.

Joshua frowned at the entrance. “Is someone else coming-”

“Don’t look.” You whispered, grabbing his hands, skin cold and grip tight. “I need help.”

With a single gesture, Joshua had his team pull up a chair for you as he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around your trembling shoulders before gently guiding you to sit. The air around you hummed, almost electric, as if something unknown was lingering.

Stepping back, Joshua leaned against his desk. “What’s going on?”

You hesitated, glancing nervously around the room. When you finally met his eyes, Joshua softened his expression, silently urging you to speak.

“Talk to me.”

“I.. I’m..” You muttered, your hands nervously fiddling with the fabric of your nightgown. “I’m being followed.”

Joshua's brow furrowed, and he exchanged a glance with his team who immediately began heading towards the door. But you shook your head, fear evident in your voice. “They’re already here. In the precinct.”

“What do you mean?” He studied the room, his mind racing as everyone began frantically looking around, more alert than ever. “No one came in after you-”

“Y-you can’t see them.” You raised your head, looking directly over Joshua’s shoulder, gulping. “.....Only I can.”

Joshua followed your line of vision, his eyes finding the empty corner of the room. What on earth were you looking at?

“I don’t understand, Miss…?”

“Y/n,” Your voice was steady despite the fear in your eyes.

“Miss Y/n.” Joshua hesitated but still squatted in front of you, his eyes level with yours. “I’m here to help. You have to tell me exactly what’s happening..”

Taking a shaky breath, you pulled the jacket closer to your body. “It started a week ago, I was coming back from the supermarket and there was a woman, standing right at the edge of the street.”

“Was she someone you knew?”

You shook your head. “I could sense her following me all the way home so I made sure to close the door as soon as I stepped inside but when I went into the kitchen…. ..she was already there.“

Joshua’s jaw tightened as he listened, watching you gulp the phantom lump in your throat.

“I grabbed a knife and ran out, screaming for help, but when I brought my neighbor in… there was no one. It was like she vanished…. disappeared, into thin air.”

Joshua’s brows furrowed. “She ran off before you got back?”

You didn’t answer the question, simply continued.

“Then the next day she was there again, but this time with three others. It was too early in the morning, the street was empty, I-I couldn't even ask anyone for help. When I entered the house I locked myself in again, but when I went into the kitchen…” You let out a shaky breath. “They were already inside. And just like before, when I tried to get help… they disappeared.”

Joshua leaned forward, concerned.

“The third day there were more of them, but this time I ran back to the store to get the cashier or the other townspeople to help me but no one could see them….. even though there were, standing right there, at the door, no one could see them.”

The room grew tense as Joshua exchanged looks with his team. What was happening here?

“Miss Y/n are you sure they were there?” Joshua asked, his voice low.

“I’m not crazy,” You whispered, voice trembling. “They were there then… and they’re here now. All ten of them, right behind you.”

Joshua felt something cold trickle down his spine. This time, he didn’t feel like looking behind him..

“Y-you can’t see them because they…” You hesitated.. “They are spirits.”

The room that was already quiet to begin with grew more silent. Even the fluorescent light seemed to pause, waiting for someone to break the tension. Joshua blinked in disbelief, then scoffed softly.

“Spirits?” He repeated, incredulous. “You’re saying ghosts are following you?”

You didn’t flinch at his tone. Your gaze remained serious, too serious as you nodded.

Joshua’s eyes flickered to his team, who were exchanging nervous looks. Things were slipping beyond the edge of rational thought. Was this the universe’s way of taunting him? Yes he has always wanted to work on more complex cases but a beautiful looking seemingly mad woman who could see spirits? That was not on his bucket list. Nor was it his expertise.

Ji Ho, the only woman on the team and ever the skeptic, slowly walked up to you, her voice calm but firm. “Miss Y/n, don’t worry, we can get you the help you need-”

“You think I’m crazy.” You shook your head, eyes wide, desperate and not leaving Joshua’s “I swear, you have to believe me, I’m not insane.”

Realising you wouldn’t cooperate, Joshua held up a hand, signaling for Ji Ho to step back as he slowly reached for his pager, dialing in the code for help.

“I promise we’ll help you Miss Y/n, you need to trust us-.”

Suddenly, moving with startling speed, you grabbed the pager out of his hands, anger in your eyes sharp.

“You’re not listening!” You hissed, your grip tightening around the tiny device. Your hands, which had been shaking just moments before, suddenly stilled. It was as if you had snapped into a new state of resolve - you weren’t just pleading for help anymore; there was something else behind your gaze. Demand.. “These spirits won’t leave me until I give them what they want and you're the only one who can help me do that. I-I can’t live like this anymore.”

Joshua’s fingers tightened around the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white. Something was off. You were clearly in distress, but there was something more beneath the surface. Something dangerous. The guard he had called for arrived at the door, waiting for his orders. Joshua nodded at Ji Ho who understood immediately and whispered something into his ears. As the uniformed man took off, Joshua walked over to this seat, pulling out a book and a pen. He had to engage you till he had help, he had to play his cards right.

“Fine.” He flipped to an empty page, ready to write. “Tell me more. These spirits, what do they want?”

“T-they’ve been telling me their stories, about who they are, about what happened”

“Okay…. Who are they?” Joshua tapped his pen against the surface. “Do you know their names?”

You shook your head. “I…I don’t but, I can ask.”

Looking around the room at nothing in particular you began mumbling something. Slowly, one after the other, you started dropping names as though you were repeating after an invisible, unheard voice. Joshua scribbled them down, eyes constantly darting towards the door, waiting for help. But as the list got longer, with each name he wrote, Joshua felt his guts twist.

As did the whole team.

Because they had all spent enough nights on those case files to have every detail memorised.

Six of the ten names were the missing cases they had been working on.

“A-are you sure these… these are the six names?”

“Ten.” You corrected him. “Yes, these are the ten names.”

Ji Ho met Joshua’s eyes from across the room, shaking her head. How could it be? More than half the names matching their list of victims, this…. This couldn’t just be a coincidence right?

“You said you can see them? Can you, maybe, describe one of them for me?” Joshua studied your face as your eyebrows furrowed. “The old woman, Ye Soon, what does she look like?”

“S-she’s around 60 years old. White hair, kind of like a curly bob. She’s got scoliosis so she stands a little crookedly.” You looked at the empty space behind him. “She also has a burn mark on her right hand.”

Joshua froze. You were right. Down to every detail.

“And Macy?”

You turned around, looking over by the window. “She looks like a typical college kid - soft features, long straight hair, cheeks a bit sunken. She also peels the skin by her nails, they’re all bruised.”

Right again. Your words matched the photos tucked away in the case file almost exactly.

“And Jason-”

“Officer Hong, we’re wasting time.” You shook your head. “Describing them is of no use, it doesn’t matter. What matters is what happened to them.”

“You mean….” Joshua tapped his foot, his mind racing, the realisation just dawning upon him.. “You mean how they died?”

“I mean how they were murdered.” You lowered your voice just a little. “And now they want justice.”

The silence now was cold, heavy and deafening. No one knew what to do - the weight of your words had immobilised them all.

“Josh.” Ji Ho, the only one unable to stay silent anymore, stepped up. “A word?”

Excusing himself, Joshua got up and made his way to his team, all seven of them huddling around. Some of them looked terrified, constantly looking around, some looked at him plain confused like they still hadn’t put the pieces together.

“Something’s wrong.” Ji ho crossed her arms. “There’s no way she-”

“Knows the exact names and descriptions of missing people? Details of a private investigation?” Minho quipped. “I think it finally makes sense why we’ve not been able to trace these people…. They're dead.”

“Which means all this while what we should have actually been looking for, are bodies.” Jaehyun sighed.

“What?” Ji ho looked at the boys like she couldn’t believe they were falling for this. “You think this is real? You think spirits are actually talking to her?” She turned to Joshua. “Please tell me you’re smarter than to believe in this madness.”

“I don’t know what to believe right now.” Joshua pinched the bridge of his nose, lost in thought. “I think we should hear what she has to say-”

“Josh-”

“Ji Ho, we've been on these cases for months without a single solid lead.” He sighed. “As impossible as this might seem, I am desperate and I want to take a shot.”

“You’re wasting the team’s time. I don’t think-”

“She came to me, the case is mine,” Joshua looked at her pointedly. “So I call the shots.”

Throwing her hands in the air, Ji Ho walked away, refusing to be a part of what she mumbled - a meaningless spectacle. Joshua returned, pulling a chair up, sitting right before you. Although he was the one who wanted answers, you beat him to the questioning.

“You don’t believe me do you?” You sounded so scared. “You think I’m insane.”

“I want to believe you, trust me Miss Y/n, you have no idea how easy it would make my life to believe you, six of these people are actually….” Shaking his head he held himself back, sticking to what was important. “The point is, you have come to the right place for help, the law can help you. But the law also requires proof, you need to prove what you’re saying is true.”

You gulped, tapping your feet unsure, eyes darting around.

“Ye Soon, that old woman.” You looked at him, slightly hesitating. “What if I took you to her?”

Joshua frowned confused.

“What if I showed where she is…. “ Scooting closer to him, you whispered. “She told me everything, I can take you to where her body is.”

Ji Ho looked at Joshua with narrowed eyes. Joshua returned her look with an unreadable expression. As though the universe had timed it all, the guard finally returned with help - two men dressed in soft blue scrubs carrying the logo of the town’s only psychiatric hospital.

There were one of two things Joshua could do. He knew sending you away was the right thing to do, he knew you needed help, he knew listening to you was madness.

But he also knew you were the closest thing to answers he had gotten in months.

Turning to you, he pulled your chair closer. “Show me.” His voice was low, urgent. “Right now.”

Joshua stood by the back door, the rain slashing against the pavement like a thousand tiny daggers. He lit his cigar, inhaling the smoke as the faint hum of the town’s heartbeat seemed to vanish into the downpour. The cold air bit at his skin, but he didn’t care. His thoughts, heavy with the case, weighed him down more than any storm ever could.

Beside him you stood, leaning against the brick wall, your arms holding on to his jacket, wrapped around your midsection as if bracing against the cold. Your damp nightgown had long since dried, but the way you stood, your shoulders slightly hunched, made it seem like you were still caught in the storm.

Joshua couldn’t help but watch you. Something about you unsettled him, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. His eyes found their way to you, running all over your features, lingering longer than they should have.

“Smoking is bad for your health.”

You finally spoke, looking at him with those big eyes. Brown, soft, expressionless eyes.

“I believe every man should have some bad habit.” Joshua chuckled, offering a small smile. “Keeps him grounded.”

You laughed softly—a sound that almost got lost in the rain’s incessant roar, but thankfully, his ears were sharp enough to catch it.

“Do you have a bad habit Miss Y/n?”

You hummed, looking far off at the quiet darkness of the town. “I don't know if this is bad but, I tend to go to any lengths to help the people I love.”

Joshua’s lips pressed together. His gaze flicked to you, considering your words. “Must be why the spirits chose to talk to you,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Maybe they knew you’d help no matter what.”

When he turned to see what you thought of that, he found a small almost imperceptible smile tugging the corner of your lips. It was subtle, but present, making his chest tighten unexpectedly

“What?” he asked, his voice betraying the flutter in his chest.

You shook your head, still smiling. “I’m just relieved you believe me.”

How could he not? Afterall, Ye Soon was indeed where you said she would be - at the abandoned ice cream factory, tucked away in a large freezer, the body months old and ice cold. His team—especially Ji Ho—had recoiled in disbelief, but you? You hadn’t flinched. You stood aside, quiet and composed, as the body was recovered.

Over the last two hours, samples of hair, nails, fluid and whatever else that could be found were gathered and sent to the forensic lab for analysis but Joshua had a bigger question to address.

“Is…” He took a deep breath. “Is Ye Soon somewhere around here?”

“She’s by the gate.” You turned to him. “Why?”

“I just want to confirm….. you’re sure she didn’t see the face of her killer?”

On the ride back, you had recounted Ye Soon’s entire story to the team. How she had felt like she was being stalked for a long time. How she didn’t usually go anywhere at night but on the evening of her birthday, she couldn’t resist the free dinner invitation she received. How she was walking to the restaurant, dressed up and all alone when she was attacked from behind.

You shook your head, expression slightly dejected. “No, her killer wore a mask so she had no idea who it was. One moment she was hit on the head and bleeding to death and the next, she found herself looking at her body in the freezer…. as a spirit.”

“If justice is what she wants, it's going to be hard without having any idea who the killer is.” He sighed. “For now, we can start looking into why a freezer was functioning in an abandoned factory for the last 4 months but…. I’m not sure if it’ll lead to anything solid.”

“Don't lose hope already.” You pushed yourself off the wall, taking a step closer to him. “The forensic team might have some answers.”

“I hope so.” He nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. His gaze lingered on you, and for a brief moment, he imagined what it might be like to trust you completely. “Miss Y/n, I'll need you to lead me to the other nine bodies too. I hope it won’t be too much trouble for you.”

“Of course not.” You shook your head, hand finding his wrist reassuringly. “Although one of them is quite far and it's already past midnight-”

“Not now, tomorrow morning.” He glanced at your eager expression, hands itching to tuck that tiny strand of hair behind your ear. “It's late now, you should head home.”

You nodded, drawing your hand back, and Joshua already missed the warmth of your touch. Taking a step back, you attempted to remove his jacket, but when a strong gust of wind blew, a shiver ran down your body.

Joshua chuckled, pulling it up your arms, adjusting it over your shoulders. “Keep it, it suits you better.”

“Careful officer.” You smiled at him. “If you come asking for it again, I won't give it back.”

“Fine by me.” He laughed. “Let me grab my keys, I'll drop you.”

“That's okay, I'll walk.”

“It's raining Miss Y/n. I don't think-”

“I like walking in the rain.” You stuck your hand out in the pouring water. “Makes me feel good.”

“I could walk you.”

“It’s not like I don’t have company.” Joshua frowned as you giggled. “The spirits, officer. They follow me everywhere.”

That flicker of something playful in your eyes - Joshua was seeing it for the first time. When you had walked in here earlier you had been so terrified, shaking, desperate for help. Now you seemed so unfazed. Maybe you were glad that you were finally getting help. Maybe you were never really terrified. Either way, the unsettling shift in your demeanor troubled his mind.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” His tone was lighter than he intended, masking what he was truly feeling.

“I’ll be fine,” You brushed him off with the wave of a hand. “I’ll just get lost in my own thoughts, without any distractions.”

Joshua didn’t stop you as you began walking. He simply watched as you glanced over your shoulder, muttering a small “good night” before stepping into the rain. Slowly, as your figure was swallowed by the darkness of the night, Joshua retreated into the debate in his mind. Should he follow to make sure you weren’t in trouble?

Or were you the trouble that was looming around the corner?

Joshua leaned back in his chair, his eyes locked on the scattered files in front of him. The low hum of the fluorescent lights above, along with the steady, almost rhythmic tap of his fingers against the desk, were the only sounds that filled the otherwise silent room. The pile of crime scene files seemed to grow heavier with each glance—each one a grim reminder of the ten bodies they had recovered. Ten people dead, each with their own story, now reduced to nothing more than photos, forensic reports, and police notes.

Two weeks. Two long weeks of following the trail you’d led them to, finding all ten victims hidden in the most unimaginable locations, each one’s story recounted with haunting detail. As per protocol, his team had collected every piece of evidence they could find, and the progressive inspection of each item only further corroborated your stories. Ji Ho, who had initially resisted being part of this madness, had also joined, keenly looking into the details of the investigation.

There was just one detail that Joshua could not wrap his head around - the fact that all ten victims had apparently not seen their killer’s face.

Each one had been attacked from behind - either struck on the head, run over by a car, strangled from behind or shoved off a building. It was always from the back, perfectly concealing their perpetrators face, keeping that identity a mystery. Aside from this one detail which was making the progress of his investigation incredibly difficult, Joshua did not notice anything strikingly similar amongst all the cases.

That was until he was staring at his now very real murder board earlier today.

It was filled with a dozen pictures and pins, only getting messier with every detail but there was one connection Joshua happened to piece as he searched for the finer details - Ye Soon was going for a dinner on her birthday, Macy was returning from a birthday party her friends had thrown her, Jason was going to meet his girlfriend to celebrate his birthday….. All ten of them had died on their birthday and not just that - all of their birthdays fell on the 30th of the month.

And that was when the pieces clicked. Joshua arranged all ten cases according to a timeline, spanning from January this year to November. Every month on the 30th, right on their birthday, one victim had died and Joshua knew for a fact that this was a pattern because there was no victim in February - the only month without a 30th.

This was an MO. This wasn’t the work of ten different killers. It was one. One serial killer.

The moment he realized this, he knew he should share it with his team, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to. Perhaps it was because he knew the moment he revealed this discovery, all eyes would turn to one person—You.

And sure enough, the door slammed open and Ji Ho entered, a thick file in her hand.

“I heard back from forensics.” She walked over, setting the papers on his table. “But you’re a brilliant detective Joshua, so you must have already figured this out.”

“What?” Joshua sipped on his coffee, trying to appear nonchalant.

“There were many different DNAs collected at the crime scenes, but one particular DNA was found at every single one.”

Fuck. There it was. His worst fear, out loud.

“This is clearly a serial killer Joshua.” When he didn’t meet her eye, she moved into his line of vision. “For heaven’s sake, why are you trying to protect her?”

“Who?” Joshua shot back, his jaw tightening.

“Y/n.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “Please tell me you’re not being an infatuated fool-”

“I’m not a fool.”

“But you don’t deny the infatuation.” Ji Ho’s voice rose as she pointed at him. “I’ve seen you two over the last many days - you think I don’t recognise the way you look at her?”

“Ji Ho, just because the two of us were once a thing and it didn’t work out-”

“This isn’t about us!” She threw her hands in the air, frustration evident. “You know I’m more professional than that. This is about you. You saw a petite, pretty damsel in distress who told you a sob story and leaned on your shoulder and you decided to forget about everything sensible.”

“You aren’t being sensible!” Joshua turned to face her, anger simmering. “Ji Ho, if Y/n was the killer why would she lead us to the bodies? Why would she try to implicate herself?”

“You know how the brains of psychos work. They think they’re too smart, that they’ll never be caught.” Ji Ho crossed her arms. “This is just a game for her.”

Joshua shook his head. “She’d have to be too dumb to expose herself like this. Using the paranormal to do it, don’t you think it’s too much?”

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” Ji Ho let out a heavy breath. “So I did what I had to do. I called Y/n here.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“I took a sample of her hair without her knowledge and sent it to the lab.” Ji Ho took a step back, her eyes cold. “In a short while, we’ll know if that DNA matches hers… You’ll have your answers then.”

“Ji Ho, this wasn’t my order—”

“I’m sorry but I don’t care, Josh.” She stopped her tracks by the door. “We might have been in love years ago, but I know what you are like. You’ll do anything to protect her and I cannot just sit back and watch you indulge in this stupidity.”

“I’m none of your fucking concern!” Joshua’s voice rose in frustration as she walked out without another word. “Ji Ho, come back here, goddammit!”

Frustrated he slammed his hands on the table, the coffee cup toppling to the ground. It wasn’t like Joshua hadn’t thought of this possibility but this was his case to solve. He wanted to talk to you first, hear whatever it was from your mouth, not some cold DNA report.

Recalling Ji Ho say that you were here, Joshua bolted out of his room to the visitors lounge. There you were, sitting on the couch with your feet pulled up, flipping through a magazine while the sound of a Spanish telenovela played in the background. Annoyed by the noise, Joshua grabbed the remote and switched it off before walking toward you.

In the sudden absence of the sound you looked up, eyes finding him, a smile spreading across your face as he sat beside you on the couch. Normally, Joshua wouldn’t sit so close to a witness—or take her hand in his—but you were different.

“Hi.” You whispered. “You look tense.”

“How long have you been here?”

“About half an hour,” You rubbed his arm comfortingly. “Ji Ho said you wanted to talk to me.”

Joshua swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “There’s been some progress in the case.”

You turned to him, curious. “Did you find any of the killers?”

“Not exactly.” He shook his head. “I…I got a lead, though. Actually I’m not sure it’s much of a clue.”

“What is it?”

“All of them were killed on the 30th of the month.” He watched you closely, studying your face for any flicker of recognition, of guilt. “It seems like a pattern. Like this might be the work of one person.”

“One person?” Your eyes widened. “You mean like a serial killer?”

Joshua nodded.

“A serial killer who kills on the 30th of every month.” You muttered, lost in thought. “Why the 30th?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, his voice tight. “Maybe they don’t like the number.”

“I won’t be surprised.” You pursed your lips. “I’ve never really liked the number 30 either. It’s like a deadline... something always looming, reminding you of the things you haven’t done. The things you can’t undo.”

Joshua blinked, trying to keep his expression neutral. Please, please, please, this can’t be true.

“But if I am right and if this is a pattern,.” He stared at their intertwined hands. “30th December is not far off and maybe they have another victim in their sight…. I need to find this killer soon.”

“If it is a serial killer then this is much easier than we thought.” You reassured, turning towards him. “Think about it, isn’t it better to find one person than ten? And won’t all the evidence help you narrow down who the culprit is? All you have to do is something common amongst them all, right?”

Joshua nodded. Exactly. It was easy. Which meant it couldn’t have been you, could it? You wouldn’t have committed those crimes and then set up a trap for yourself would you? That made no sense.

Or perhaps Joshua was refusing to see sense in it. Perhaps he was so drawn by you that he couldn’t bring himself to see reason.

With each passing day, he had found his eyes lingering less over the crime scene and more over you. With each body being discovered, it was like the weight on your shoulders was lessening. You seemed more free, more at peace, more…..beautiful. Whenever your eyes met his, you began to smile. Whenever he rode his bike and you sat behind him, he felt his heart do a somersault in his chest. Just watching you walk into the station every morning made him feel a relief like no other.

Joshua had begun to like these small things. Your presence, your tiny quirks, the way you told stories, even though they were quite horrendous recounts, he liked how expressive your face was. He liked you.

And it was evident you liked him too.

At first, Joshua thought you liked to be around him because you felt safe but slowly you began sitting closer to him than usual. You began following him on walks to survey perimeters, holding his hand when you tripped but not letting it go even when you were steady. He could tell by the way you looked at him - you felt the same thing he was feeling. That undeniable attraction, that magnetism.

Except there was only one tiny thing between the two of you - you might be a potential murderer and Joshua might have to implicate you for your crimes. Which is why none of this could be true. You could not be the killer.

But no sooner than he thought that, the door to the visitors room flung open making the two of you jump apart and Ji Ho stepped in, a thin file in her hand.

“The results are back.” Her eyes flickered between both of you. “I’m sorry Josh but the DNA matches…. It’s her.”

Joshua's heart dropped. The words echoed in his mind, and for a split second, the world seemed to stop.

It was you. You were the killer.

Joshua stood in the observation room, his eyes locked on you through the two-way mirror.

You were slouched at the table, head low, your exhaustion palpable. The harsh light above cast long shadows across your face, making your features appear fragile and worn. Joshua’s heart tightened as he watched you. He longed to step in, to pull you close and promise that everything would be okay, but he couldn’t. He had to remain detached, professional—even though every instinct screamed to comfort you.

For the past three days, he had avoided entering the interrogation room, choosing instead to watch from the observation window, a silent witness to your suffering. He could see the strain in your eyes each time you pleaded for belief, for a chance to prove your innocence. Occasionally, you’d look towards him, and in those fleeting moments, it was as if you could see him right through the mirror. The desperate, pleading look you gave shattered something inside him—his resolve, his detachment. Every time, he felt that same arrow pierce his heart, and yet, he remained still, unable to intervene. Helpless.

His gaze flickered to Minho, who had just entered the room, pulling up his sleeves with the usual resolve. Joshua turned away from the mirror, his jaw tightening. He had to hold it together. He couldn’t let Minho see how he was unraveling inside.

“It’s my turn boss.” He glanced at Joshua. “Unless you want to?”

Joshua shook his head, sipping on his coffee. Minho sighed, pulling the door open and stepping in, catching you off guard with his sudden appearance. Joshua watched the man as he took a seat, settling the files on the table before you.

“Where’s Joshua?” You asked, your eyes flickering toward the door expectantly.

“I’ll ask the questions Miss.Y/n.” Minho cleared his throat a little too loudly.

“For the last time,” You sighed. “I did not do it. I am not the killer-”

“I’m not suggesting you are the killer Miss Y/n.” He pushed the file towards you. “I simply want you to explain why your DNA has been found on all ten sites.”

“I’ve already told you,” you leaned back in your chair, frustration evident in your voice. “When the spirits first talked to me, I went to some of those locations to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

“You mentioned you went to-” He flipped through the papers “-four sites. Then how was your DNA found at all ten?”

“Maybe because I was the one who led you to those locations,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“Are you suggesting we are stupid enough to mess up the sample collection?” Minho’s voice grew colder. “That we sat back and let you contaminate those crime scenes?”

“Then are you suggesting that I am stupid enough to commit ten murders and walk into a station and implicate myself?” you retorted.

Minho leaned back, narrowing his eyes.“I don’t know Miss Y/n. I’m looking for you to give me the answers.”

“For god’s sake!” You slammed your palm onto the table, frustration boiling over. “If you think I’m going to cave to this tortuous questioning and admit to something I didn’t do, you’re wrong. I. Didn’t. Do. It.”

“But you could have helped the killer.” Minho shrugged. “The sentence for an accomplice to murder is less severe Miss Y/n, if you admit to it, we can help you-”

“I don’t need your help because I did not do this.” You glanced at the mirror,your eyes locking with Joshua’s yet again. “I made a mistake coming here thinking you could help me, you’d help them. But now I am being held here, blamed for something I didn’t do.”

Joshua’s grip on his coffee tightened, his gaze sliding away from you. He had nothing to say.

Minho exhaled sharply. “Miss Y/n, you are being held because the evidence clearly points at you-”

“Or maybe I’m here because you need a scapegoat to take the fall.” you interrupted, voice dripping with bitterness.

Surprised, Joshua straightened out.

“I heard six of these cases were in fact missing people that your team hadn’t been able to find in months.” you continued, your tone mocking. “Convenient isn’t it, to blame it all on the only other person involved in the uncovering of the crime scene? A nice, easy way to wrap this up neatly.”

“Are you implying that one of us manipulated the evidence to make it look like you’re the killer?” Minho snapped.

“I didn’t say that,” you tilted your head, your gaze sharp. “But you seem to be admitting to it.”

“Miss Y/n, don’t twist my words….”

But there was no need to.

Joshua took a step back, mind running through the possibilities. About who might have such a motive, who might have manipulated the evidence…..

There was only one person who popped in his mind. Someone who was as driven as him to solve these cases. Someone who didn’t want to be a part of the investigation but had joined regardless. Someone who could possibly benefit from trapping you in this case.

Ji Ho.

Joshua knew his ex girlfriend well enough to dismiss this possibility of her involvement. It was the reason the two of them had broken up - She was incredibly competitive, she never seemed to remember the relationship the two of them shared when they were in a professional space, she was never happy for him, never acknowledged his achievements.

But that did not mean there was no passion between them outside the walls of the precinct. God they were wild and couldn’t keep their hands and eyes off each other. Things were fine till whatever happened at work stayed at work, but the more Joshua became successful in his career, Ji Ho started bringing her professional grievances home, between them. The suffocation her competitiveness brought forth was what stifled their bond - Joshua couldn’t live with it any longer.

But maybe, now that he thought about it, this situation allowed her to kill two birds with one stone - on one hand, the cases termed nearly impossible could finally be closed and on the other, you, his new person of interest would be out of the way. Joshua saw the way Ji Ho looked at the two of you, like she didn’t like it one bit - her incriminating you wasn’t exactly impossible. When she had secretly taken a sample of your hair to cross verify with the identified DNA, who’s to say she didn’t plant the other evidence the same way?

Grabbing his pager from the table, he gave you one last glance before pulling the door open, setting off to look for the woman in question. He had to act fast. He needed to find out if Ji Ho was involved.

Thankfully he didn’t have to look far, she was right at the visitors room, remote in her hand, watching the same Spanish telenovela that had been perpetually on the station’s TV for months.

“Ji Ho-” Joshua called out.

“Shh,” she raised a hand to silence him, keeping her eyes on the screen. “I’m watching.”

“Is that more important than what’s happening with Y/n-”

“Honestly? Yeah,” she replied without missing a beat, her tone flippant. “This is actually what helped save her.”

Joshua stared at her, bewildered. “What do you mean, ‘save her’?”

“I think she’s innocent,” Ji Ho said, finally turning to face him.

All points of argument that Joshua had come up with died in his mind. What?

“You do? You believe she’s innocent?” He placed himself right before the screen. “You were the one who was so sure she did it-”

“I simply believed the evidence that came up.” She rolled her eyes. “But unlike you, I don’t let my emotions rule over practicality.”

“I did not-”

“I know you Josh, I know something is wrong. Your judgement has been clouded for days, you’re not thinking straight. But I am.” She crossed her arms, taking a deep breath. “I knew we needed more irrefutable evidence and most importantly, we needed a motive so I had been looking and asking around. Turns out she has an alibi.”

“What kind of alibi?”

“The people at the store confirmed that a few weeks back she had run in, scared and shaking, claiming she was followed. The neighbours also said that she had approached them for help a few times but they didn't see anyone.”

“Didn't you say that she might have done all that to make her story more convincing?”

“Yes but,” Ji Ho bit her lower lip hesitating. “I also broke into her house-”

“You what??”

“-and I found her passport and a couple of other things that prove she wasn't even in town when three or four of those murders happened, the timelines don't match.”

“So it might not be her?” Joshua let out an inward sigh of relief. “Then… then what about the DNA?”

“Precisely.” Ji Ho nodded, gesturing him to turn around. “Watch this.”

Frowning Joshua did, eyes falling on the tv screen. He wasn't really familiar with this show, the only reason he had ever watched it was because Ji Ho was obsessed with it. He did remember this particular part of the plot though - everyone thought Maria was the mother of Lizzy but it was actually her twin, Gloria.

Twin?.....

“Identical twins have the exact same DNA.” Ji Ho muted the show as his mind raced with the possibilities. “Do you know if Y/n has a twin?”

Joshua shook his head. He didn't ask much about your family or personal life, he didn't really find the chance to have such a conversation but if there was even a possibility….

Rushing out, Joshua barged into the interrogation room where Minho was still badgering you with his questions.

“Joshua….” You looked up at him, eyes widening. For the first time in days, you saw something other than apology in his eyes. You clung to that look, hoping it meant he was still on your side. Ji Ho followed him, walking into the room right behind, earning a small frown from you.

“Y/n,” Watching Joshua unable to say anything she walked up, shoving her hands in her pockets. “There's something important we need to know.”

“What is it?” You continued to look at Joshua who simply nodded softly, signalling you not to worry.

“Do you happen to have a twin? An identical one?”

Blinking rapidly, you hesitated. “I…. I do, yeah, why?”

Joshua and Ji Ho exchanged looks. Fuck.

“Where is she?”

“I- I don't know. We both grew up at the St. Mary orphanage. At around the age of eight, she was adopted. The family didn't want two kids so they only took her in. Few months later I was adopted by a different family so we haven't really seen each other or even heard from each other since then.” Your eyes flickered between both the officers. “Why? What happened?”

Thank god. Thank fucking god.

Joshua let out the breath he was holding, shutting his eyes briefly out of relief.

Ji Ho, who looked both guilty and curious, stepped closer to you. “So you don’t know where she is right now?”

You shook your head, “But I know she's a Mayor's daughter, I don't remember for which town though.”

Nodding at Joshua, Ji Ho whispered something into Minho's ears before the two of them hurriedly left the room. Standing up confused, your eyes followed them as Joshua neared you.

“Joshua what's happening?”

He didn't say anything, just simply pulled you into a hug, finally feeling your warmth again as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“You'll be fine.” He held onto you tighter. “I'm not going to let anything happen to you.”

Joshua watched you fast sleep on the couch of the visitor’s lounge.

Curled up, with your hair spilling over your face like a dark veil, you looked peaceful, untouched by the weight of the world. As much as Joshua longed to slip in beside you and to hold you as you slept, he knew better. He had to maintain some distance. The team had already been giving him looks whenever you stood too close to him, leaning over case files, working through the details of the investigation. At least the pity and disdain in their eyes had faded—now that you were cleared, they saw you as less of a suspect.

Ji Ho, ever the efficient one, had tracked down your twin just a few days ago. She had been found in a town several hours away, barely conscious, dragged into the precinct with the sour smell of alcohol still clinging to her. Standing beside Joshua, you watched your twin in the interrogation room, hungover and dazed, trying to make sense of the evidence mounting against her. Though you hadn’t spoken in years, the ache in your chest was unmistakable. You didn’t want to believe it was her but even after sobering up when she failed to provide any alibi, the truth was undeniable.

Her neighbors, friends, and even family all corroborated the fact that she had fallen deep into drugs, her life spiraling out of control. The last few months had turned her into someone unrecognizable—violent, unpredictable and uncontrollable. No one could vouch for her whereabouts during the killings either and as the investigation wore on, the evidence stacked up against her, leaving little room for doubt. In the end, she was arrested, the case moving forward to court where she was to be prosecuted for her crimes.

Today was your final day at the station—just a few papers to sign, a final nod to close the investigation. After this, the case would be officially closed and the two of you would not be bound by the investigation anymore - there was no obligation to see each other.

“You know,” Ji Ho’s voice broke the silence, pulling Joshua out of his thoughts, “just because the case is over doesn’t mean you won’t get to see her.”

Joshua turned to see her standing in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning casually against the frame.

“I know.” He muttered, feeling a familiar pang in his chest. “But how do you always know what I’m thinking?”

She chuckled, stepping into the room. “Because I know you, Joshua. Better than anyone. I just wish you knew me too. I wish you knew me better. I would never incriminate someone out of pettiness.”

He winced, guilt tugging at him. “I’m sorry. I guess I was just ready to believe anything that meant Y/n was innocent.”

Ji Ho glanced at you. “Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore. She is innocent. “

“Thanks to you.” He smiled, looking at you slightly shifting in your sleep, mouth now slightly open as you continued to doze off. “She would have still been a suspect if not for your brilliance.”

“Nah.” Ji Ho waved her hand, dismissing his words. “I only did what I had to, it's my job. But what's really amazing is you cracked the cases Joshua, the ones no one could solve for months. I heard the promotion letter is on the way.”

“It should have been yours Ji Ho.” Staring at the ground Joshua shifted uncomfortably, refusing to meet her eyes. He couldn't bring himself to. “I know how much you wanted this too, and I… I don’t understand why you gave all the credit to me.”

Ji Ho sighed, her gaze distant. “I did want it. But I felt like you deserved it more, especially for all that I put you through the last many days.”

“So this is out of pity?”

“It's out of admiration.” She corrected. “I don't know if I would have been able to keep my calm the way you did when Y/n was being accused. You put your job above everything, you were the one who figured out the killer's MO, you were the driving force of this investigation. It's only right that you go up the ranks.” She then paused as though she was unsure if she should continue. “You can also think of it as an early birthday present from me.”

Joshua glanced at the calendar, the black rimmed circle placed over 29th December. His birthday was tomorrow. Here he was, too wrapped up in all this to even remember but of course Ji Ho did. Even after all that happened, she remembered.

“Thanks,” he muttered, trying to mask the sudden rush of gratitude. Before he could say more, his gaze shifted back to you. You were beginning to stir, shifting on the couch, their voices perhaps pulling you from your slumber.

Ji Ho noticed it too, and with a small nod, she tucked her hands in her pockets and began to back out of the room. “I should go. You and Y/n should have a nice celebration tomorrow, okay?”

Joshua smiled, not entirely convinced as she disappeared into the buzz of the busy office. Was he really worthy of a celebration though? Even though the six biggest problems of his life had been solved giving him the promotion he wanted more than anything, Joshua didn't quite find himself fully relieved. It was as though there was something he still wasn't seeing.

When you finally raised your head, blinking sleepily, Joshua pushed all his conflicting thoughts aside. Right now, only you mattered.

“Morning sunshine.” He smiled softly, voice light.

You glanced at the window, then at the clock. “It's 6pm Joshua.”

“Yes but you've been sleeping like it's the dead of the night.”

“Can you blame me?” You yawned. “For the first time in days, I'm able to sleep without thinking about somebody constantly watching me.” When Joshua looked confused, you sat up, crossing your legs. “The spirits, Joshua.”

“They're gone?”

“I haven't seen much of them the last few days, ever since she was brought in…..” You trailed off, your gaze flickering down to your restless hands. “I guess they've gotten the justice they're looking for.”

“I'd have thought they'd stick around at least till the trial.” Joshua looked thoughtful. “She's the Mayor's daughter. What if she buys her way out of this?”

“I don't know.” You shrugged. “I know her background might allow her to escape this unscathed but I hope not. Perpetrators deserve to be punished.”

Something about your words stung Joshua differently. Indeed, the perpetrator should be punished, but for that, it was necessary to find the real culprit. A tiny voice in his head was making him doubt his choice.

“I thought twins were naturally very protective of one another.” He glanced at you carefully. “You seem okay with whatever is happening to your sister.”

You looked at him incredulously. “Of course I'm upset but you know what she did. I'm not emotionally attached to her because we barely know anything about each other but even if I was, do you think someone who killed so many people deserves to walk freely? The spirits trusted me to ensure they got justice Joshua, how can I let their murderer not face any consequences?”

Joshua stared at the wall behind you, mind racing to the time it all began with you walking into the station. Your claim about spirits only you could see, all ten spirits being unaware of their killer yet all ten of them conveniently being killed by the same person. Your knowledge of all the crime sites, finding your DNA in every single one. You happening to have a twin sister who, in contrast to your perfect alibis, didn't have any. It was all too easy - was it a lucky coincidence that the spirits found the estranged twin of their perpetrator to be their yielder of justice? Or had he in fact caught the wrong sister…..Joshua felt a chill run down his spine. Somehow, it didn't seem like this case was over - there was clearly more to it.

He turned his attention back to you, gulping when he realised you were studying his zoned out expression intently.

“What is it?” You raised an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?”

“Just…” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to come over and get my jacket back but I realised I didn't even know where you lived.”

You cocked your head at him, a knowing expression on your face. “I told you - Once you give it to me, I won’t return it if you ask.”

“Right.” Joshua chuckled, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

Fuck. This was his one shot to confirm the truth before it was too late. Twins might look identical and even have the same DNA but their fingerprints? Fingerprints were unique even among twins and Joshua wanted to get his hands on yours. His jacket being a leather one would have been an easy way to obtain them but now, he had to think of something else.

“I was thinking, do you want to maybe go out and get dinner today?” He looked at you feigning casualness he was not feeling. “We've never really gotten the chance to do anything outside the precinct, I thought we could spend some time….”

You shook your head softly, a small, apologetic smile playing at your lips as you got up. “Not tonight. I have something I need to do.”

“Something more important than me?” He smiled half-heartedly, trying to mask the hurt. “Than us?”

Laughing softly you walked up to him, hands clasped behind your hand as you leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. “I'll be seeing you tomorrow anyway, birthday boy.”

Joshua watched as you slowly pulled away from him and began to leave, the lightness of your kiss still lingering on his skin. It didn’t feel like an intimate gesture, more like a goodbye, a farewell to something unspoken.

He stood frozen, entangled in his web of thoughts, unsure of what to do with himself. But when the moment passed, he made up his mind. - he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to know the truth.

Rushing towards Ji Ho’s cubicle, his heart pounding in his chest, he called out to her breathlessly.

“You said you broke into Y/n’s place, right?”

Her eyes widened, surprised by his urgency. She nodded.

“I need you to give me the address.”

Joshua slowly pushed the door of your house, both surprised and thankful it was unlocked.

He had been hiding in the bushes for over an hour now, watching you move around through the glass of the window. About ten minutes ago, you had donned his jacket, pulled your hair into a high ponytail and left the house, walking into the dead of the night. Joshua glanced at his watch - it was 11pm and he had no idea what kind of business you had set off to do. Now that he thought about it, Joshua didn’t know anything about you at all - why then was he so enthralled by you?

He had to snap out of it. He was here to find the truth and that’s what he was going to do. When he was finally convinced that you weren’t returning to grab something you might have forgotten, Joshua mustered his courage and stepped carefully into the dimly lit house, his heartbeat quickening with each creak of the floorboard beneath his shoes. This was the only chance he might have to explore your space, your sanctuary, see who you were outside that mask of affection you always wore when they were together. He knew it was dangerous and reckless, but he had to be sure.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. It smelled faintly of lavender, mixed with a subtle undertone of something he couldn’t quite place. He moved through the living room, avoiding the clutter of half-empty cups and newspapers, scanning for anything that might give him a clue. The space looked like it hadn’t been cared for in a while, like you hadn’t been home for a long time. Joshua made mental notes of everything as he walked in, his feet taking him around like he had been here a hundred times already.

It was only when he tripped over the rug that his tracks stopped, prompting him to look at the cause of his near fall - A loose floorboard. Frowning he crouched down and pried it loose, the cool edge of the tile slipping from its mortar with a slight scrape. Underneath, hidden in the narrow compartment, was a small wooden box, its surface worn with time. Turning it in his hands, Joshua pried it open.

Photographs.

Hundreds of photographs of you.

No, not you… you didn’t dress in designer wear, drink expensive champagne or drive in a Rolls Royce. This was your sister.

You had uncountable photographs of her, carefully taken and meticulously arranged. She looked young in some of them and much older in others. Some were clearly taken from a distance while others seemed more intimate, like they’d been taken while she was unaware….. You had been stalking her.

From the looks of it, you had been keeping an eye on her for years, watching her every move. Joshua’s stomach churned, a new sense of unease settling over him. You said you hadn’t seen her in years - you lied.

Spreading them out on the cold floor, he flipped through them, realising that everyone was right about her - she had an affinity to party and indulge in drugs, often blacking out in the middle of nowhere. But he also realised that she in fact, had an alibi…. A couple of dates on these photos were on the 30th… she couldn’t have possibly been the killer.

And more importantly, you knew that. If you had taken these pictures, you knew your sister was innocent - yet you watched her be put away behind the bars.

Fuck.

This was a terrible mistake.

Quickly moving, Joshua grabbed the relevant photos - Ji Ho had to see this, the whole team had to see this. But before he could smoothly stash them away in his pocket, he heard the familiar creak of the floorboard at the entrance. You were back.

Joshua’s breath hitched as the soft footfall of your steps echoed through the quiet room, getting louder and louder by the minute. Panicking, he quickly stuffed everything back in the box, shoved it back into its hidden compartment and placed the floorboard back in place, pretending like nothing had happened.

Just as he stood up, turning towards the sound, his eyes fell on your figure lingering by the large wooden arch, watching him intensely. Slowly, almost deliberately, you closed the distance in between, eyes not leaving him, not blinking. Joshua tensed, his body stiffening with a mix of fear and anticipation. And when you reached him, you didn’t speak - merely tilted your head, your eyes searching his face as if reading something he didn’t want you to see.

Then, without warning, curling your fingers around his collar, pulling him closer, you kissed him.

Your lips pressed against his, tenderly but also carrying an undeniable weight. Joshua's body froze for a moment, completely caught off guard by the intensity of it, the subtle brush of your lips conveying something far deeper than simple affection. Your hands moved, one sliding up to his neck, the other tangling in his hair, and for a brief second, Joshua forgot himself. His hand cupped your face, as he pushed you back against the wall, kissing you passionately, like he was a hungry man, finally being fed. You moaned as the heat swelled between the pressed bodies, both of you powerless to the undeniable attraction between the two of you.

Finally, you pulled away, just a fraction, your breath warm on his lips, and in that silence, you softly bit your lower lip, looking at him with big, lust blown eyes.

"Did I play my part well, Shua?"

Joshua’s heart stuttered in his chest, his breath slowing down, eyes fixed on you.

And then he cocked his head and gave a short nod.

At last, at fucking last, Joshua allowed the mask to crack, a small, victorious smile dancing on his face. The smile that had once been charming and controlled, faltered at the edges, now that he had come face to face with the full scope of the story he had spun. The facade he worked so hard to maintain, the calculated version of himself that had held the reins of this twisted game, finally slipped away.

Dragging his hand down from your cheek, he wrapped it around your throat, pulling you closer, angling your face up, pressing contrastingly soft kisses along your jaw. You sighed happily despite struggling to breathe, eyes rolling back as you grabbed his wrist, not to pull his choking hand away, but to hold it in place. Fuck. He loved that you loved this.

“You did great, baby.” He whispered into your ear. “You did so so well.”

“A…” He loosened his grip when you failed to speak. “Aren’t you going to reward me then?”

“Of course I am.” He pulled back, fully letting you go, supposedly to allow you to breathe again. But before you could, hand on your head, he pushed you down, forcing you onto your knees. As you quickly stripped out of his favourite jacket, placing it under you to cushion you from the cold floorboard, he unbuttoned his pants, getting ready for your mouth, his favourite place to be. Within seconds, you took over, pulling his pants down and his dick out, spitting in your hand before stroking it slowly. Joshua slapped your hand away and slipped his thumb between your lips prying your mouth open as he pushed his dick into your mouth.

“Fuck,” He threw his head back. He had missed this warmth of you, wrapped around him. “That’s it baby, that feels fucking good.”

Pleased with yourself, you hummed around his girth and without a warning, his hand finding the back of your head, Joshua pushed himself further in, your sound of surprise lost in your throat. You didn’t struggle too hard to take him all the way in, afterall, Joshua had been here a hundred times already. When he noticed you were running out of breath, he pushed himself just a little further before completely pulling out, throwing you into a coughing fit. Looking at you disappointedly, he shook his head,

“You can do better baby.” He tilted your face up. “Don’t you want to do better for me?”

Nodding eagerly, you took him in your mouth again, bobbing your head around his length just the way he liked it, just the way he had trained you to pleasure him. Without him even needing to say it, you clasped your hands behind you, only your mouth working vigorously, alternating between blowing him fast and letting him deep in your throat. Grinning at you, Joshua wrapped your ponytail around his hand, jerking his hips forward to match your pace, finding his orgasm building in him much sooner than usual.

Of course it did. Joshua was unusually happy today - afterall, everything he intended went according to plan. He had supposedly solved all six of those never ending missing cases, he had secured his promotion and no one even found out that he was the real killer.

Throwing his head back, he groaned as you skillfully let him so deep in, your nose nearly touching his groin, your face reddening. Dragging you off his cock, he looked down at you impressed, receiving your fucked out expression in return - eyes blown, drool leaking from the corners of your lips, mouth still open, waiting for more. Chucking, he stroked himself.

“Strip.”

And you did, pulling your gown over your head, tossing it somewhere far. Then you unclasped your bra, your perfect boobs spilling out of the cups as Joshua felt his mouth water from the sight of it. He had missed them so bad and by the end of tonight, he was going to irrevocably mark them as his. When you looked at him questioningly about taking off your underwear, he shook his head and pushed you against the wall by your shoulders, the back of your head softly hitting the concrete. Knowing what he was going to do next, you obediently stilled as he held your face with both his hands and, god did he fuck it like there was no tomorrow.

This was what Joshua loved about you the most - you never complained. Anything he gave, you took it oh so well, beyond his expectations, always proving just how devoted you were to him. That was why he was able to use you as the perfect instrument to orchestrate his scheme. Without you, there was no way he would have been able to secure that promotion and get out of this town.

He had committed too many crimes here, lingered for too long and if he had spent any longer, he knew the chances of him being caught were high. Although he was meticulous in choosing his victims and ensured they had no family or friends to notice their absence, six out of ten of them had landed on his table regardless. Just looking at the case files annoyed him. How the fuck was he supposed to get promoted if solving the very crimes he committed was the only way to deem him worthy? That meant Joshua needed someone else to take the fall, he needed a scapegoat and a story.

And that’s what everything so far was. Joshua spun an unimaginable, unbelievable story and centered it around you, his main character. He made you a meek, scared and vulnerable woman, just the kind that good old officer Hong would fall for while he himself played a well crafted role - a man tired of unsolvable cases finding his last ray of hope in a woman he happened to fall for. Being a part of a moral battle, guilt tripping his ex-girlfriend into handing him the promotion and coming out of all this with his love being victorious was just the icing on the cake. It was actually all too easy - the accurate decoding of his team’s psyche was what drove the whole plot.

He knew most of them were highly superstitious and the idea of spirits would terrify them enough to believe your tale. Although the idea of spirits was absurd and haunting, in a small town like this a touch of the supernatural was precisely what was required to get everyone on the edge, to make coincidences believable, to make the unreal seem real. He knew you wouldn’t mess this up - he spent hours telling you about each victim, making you memorise their appearances, their habits, their stories. He trusted you to do a good job, but it was Ji Ho who was the wild card, the one he had taken a risk with.

Joshua knew Ji Ho being the realist that she was, would never believe the idea of ghosts and would look only for solid facts and evidence. That’s why he had very meticulously planted your DNA in all ten sites, well aware that his ex-girlfriend would immediately suspect you. He wasn’t trying to trap you, no no, you were his favourite doll - he just needed to somehow introduce the twin twist, his most brilliant plot point.

Joshua was also well aware of Ji Ho's addiction to that stupid Spanish show - it was only a matter of time before she had a lightbulb moment and considered the idea of you having a twin. From there, it was a cake walk - he had already spent months ensuring your sister did not have significant alibis. Thanks to her drug addiction, she was already naturally sketchy, often aloof and most importantly, frequently unaware of her actions and locations. With the deletion of a few CCTV footages, and ripping up some parking tickets and restaurant bills, Joshua had made sure she had no solid evidence to back her innocence. Her being found in a state too far gone to vouch for the truth was no coincidence too - he had been secretly supplying her with stronger than usual doses of drugs for a while now.

And that’s how things went down exactly like he planned - an innocent person was sitting in jail, waiting to be tried for crimes she didn’t commit while here he was, promoted, free and fucking the mouth of the woman undeniably devoted to him.

Joshua focused his gaze on you, tears running down your cheek, the back of your throat most definitely bruised but you didn't ask him to stop. Instead you contracted your throat around him, drawing out those tell tale groans as he felt himself nearing his high. With a swift movement he let you go and pulled himself out, jerking himself hard as you waited for him patiently, mouth hanging open. The moment you stuck your tongue out desperately, Joshua came, spurts out white coating your tongue, spilling out of the corner of your mouth, down to your boobs. His chest heaved, much like yours, as he took a step back, letting go his softened length as he glanced at you. His masterpiece, the queen on his chessboard.

Slowly walking back he pulled up a chair, kicking his pants off before settling down on it. He wanted to pause this, let you catch your breath but the ironic thing was, you yourself didn't want to stop. Getting ready to crawl to him, you leaned forward but Joshua shook his head.

“Take a minute baby.”

You pouted. “I don't want to.”

“I know but I need to.” He chuckled, looking pointedly at his currently semi hard length. “Do you want to play with yourself till then?”

Nodding eagerly, you rested back against the wall, spreading your legs out wide, displaying your nearly soaked underwear for him to see. Fuck. Was that how wet you were from just sucking him off? Joshua bet he would slide all the way in with ease and god did he want to. But he could wait - he had all night to wreck you.

Raising your hips slightly, you pulled your panties, dragging it down your leg, tossing it to join the rest of your clothes. Sucking two fingers, you slid them along the folds, rubbing and spreading them, soft moans leaving your mouth. Joshua could already feel the blood rush down to his dick again. But not yet, he wanted to savour this sight first.

He watched as you reached for your clit, putting some much needed pressure on it as your head fell back, breath getting shaky and ragged as the feeling built in you. Your free hand found your boobs, squeezing it hard, the remnants of Joshua's cum smearing filthily. The man almost gave in, ready to rail you into tomorrow when coincidentally, the chime of the clock echoed in the room, indicating it was midnight.

You stopped moving, eyes glancing at the clock before turning to him, lips breaking into a sweet smile.

“Happy birthday Shua.”

Cocking his head at you, Joshua returned your smile.

“Happy birthday to you too sweetheart.”

The two of you sharing birthdays, Joshua didn't know whether to call it fate or a lucky coincidence but it was this similarity that drove the entire plot. It all started 4 months ago when he was looking for his next set of victims. He had just finished up with that old woman, Ye Soon, and frankly, all his targets were getting incredibly easy, serving him no excitement, no thrill.

He had stopped by at the gas station one day, hopping over to the store to buy a pack of gum when he overheard a bunch of young women chattering away about how the end of the year was packed with back to back parties - first with the Mayor's daughters birthday on the 30th, then new years on the 31st. Joshua had smiled to himself. What a perfect way to end the year indeed - a significant figure like the Mayor's daughter would definitely raise the stakes. Oh it would be so fun.

And fun it was.

The Mayor's daughter was a beautiful girl and stalking her was more exciting than Joshua anticipated. He didn't think it would be this easy to follow her around but she had an affinity for running away and falling in trouble. Oh she was perfect. But that was something else that was a little more interesting than the silly shenanigans she was up to - Joshua wasn't her only stalker, you were too.

At first, Joshua thought his eyes were playing tricks. The two of you were strikingly similar, but as far as he knew, the Mayor only had one daughter, not twins. Upon throwing himself into a little more research, Joshua found out about how the two of you grew up in an orphanage but were adopted into different families and to his luck, you were actually a part of his town. Something told him having you on his side might just make all the difference.

So he began with meeting you almost regularly at the bee farm you worked in. Not many people dropped by there given the bees were quite terrifying but those tiny things were nothing for Joshua, he had bigger things to focus on. Given he was the only person you saw nearly everyday, a friendship began blossoming between the two of you and you slowly started opening up to him, telling him about your life. About how you hated your sister, how you were the one the Mayor wanted to adopt but she had locked you in the storeroom while she took your place and left to live a life full of luxuries. You on the other hand were taken in by two farmers who were negligent, unbothered and died very early in your life in a car crash. Since then you grew up isolated, constantly looking at your sister's life bitterly, knowing that it should have been yours.

Joshua's joy knew no bounds when he discovered the tumultuous relationship between you sisters. Oh this could be his most elaborate scheme yet, so many birds to hit with one stone. But the first and most important thing he needed for that was for you to be irrevocably in love with him.

Surprisingly, that was the easiest part. All it took was some praise, some attention and a few sessions of love making - within a month, you were ready to do or die for him. Then all he did was feed you his sorrows - talk about how he wasn't getting a promotion because his ridiculous ex was interfering in his workplace, about how he needed to do something exemplary to climb the ranks. That's how he had convinced you to do this stint - you promised you'd go to any extent for him and in exchange, Joshua promised you revenge. This was your chance to get back at your sister for ruining your life.

You did however keep asking him who the real killer was. Joshua knew you were head over heels for him, but he wasn't sure if you'd really stick through something as dark as his past. He didn't want to take the chance before his plan came to fruition. But now as he observed you looking up at him with earnest eyes as you fingered yourself, he wondered if you were ready to know more. Sure you listened to everything he said, going faster when he instructed you, stopping when he asked you to, even though you were almost about to cum, you loved him enough to listen. But was it enough to handle more?

He could find out about that later, right now he had enough of looking at you pleasuring yourself, he needed to be inside you urgently.

“Come here.”

Standing up immediately, you walked over to him as Joshua fixed his eyes between your legs, at the arousal dripping down your inner thigh. Using your own fingers, he collected your release, slipping them into his mouth, relishing the taste of you. No matter how many times he had eaten you out and made you scream on his tongue, every time felt heavenly.

Grabbing you by the thighs he pulled you closer and you already knew what you had to do. Turning around, you leaned back against him, grabbing his dick from behind and aligning it with your wanting hole before sinking down on it slowly.

“It doesn't matter how many times I fuck you.” Joshua groaned, relishing the way your walls fluttered around him. “You're still so tight.”

You didn't say anything in response, it didn't seem like you could, not with his dick so far in you.

“Fuck yourself on me baby.” He whispered, his grip on your waist bruisingly tight. “This is your reward.”

Muttering a string of thank yous, you began moving, rotating and rocking your hips, wantonly squeezing him tight. Joshua knew you were trying to reach for those sensitive spots so he let you, biting and sucking on the soft skin of your shoulder instead, leaving a trail of red. When you began clamping around him unbelievably tightly, he landed a warning smack on your ass.

“Move.”

And you did, bouncing up and down his length vigorously, pouring your everything into it, loud moans tumbling out of your mouth. Squeezing your boob hard, he trailed his hand up your chest, wrapping it around your neck, holding you against him while his other hand found your clit, drawing figure eights. It didn't take you much to fall apart around him considering you had already fucked yourself on your fingers for a while. Joshua could feel your arousal dripping down his length as he continued to thrust his length up.

“Sensitive…” You whined, holding his hand tight, when he just wouldn't stop. “Shua please…”

“Shh.” He muttered, pushing you off him much to your surprise before getting up himself and throwing you onto the chair instead, your knees on the seat as your hands held the backrest. Joshua stripped out of his shirt tossing it aside before he smacked you again hard, thrusting himself much deeper inside.

“Fuck, shua….it's too much.” You nearly cried as he began to snap his hips into you, your orgasm blending into another one.

“Come on baby.” He softly nibbled on your ear in complete contrast to how roughly he was pounding into you. “Don't I deserve a gift too?”

You didn't complain after that, only graphic moans and whines escaping your lips. This was the best birthday he could have asked for - here he was finally fucking you after so many days and there, your sister, his final victim was taking her last breath.

Joshua thought it was rather beautiful, the way it all came to an end. He knew your sister couldn't go more than a few hours without her usual drugs so he had made sure she had access to a little secret stash that she could sniff on when no one was looking. Little did she know, Joshua had poisoned it.

Not only that, he had also managed to slip a thin folded paper into her pants just before she was thrown in the cell. It read that she was guilty for all ten crimes and was incredibly repentful - she didn't think she deserved to live. That was his final victim of the year - another death on the 30th, another death on their birthday.

There was no particular reason why Joshua picked this date or why it had to be their birthday - he simply wanted to create a pattern, see if anyone could crack it, if anyone was smarter than him. So far, it seemed like nobody was even close. Perhaps, only after he died and as per requested in his will, if his diary was published as a book, would people know exactly what he was capable of. For now, he alone revelled in and celebrated his intelligence. Maybe you if you were strong enough for it.

Perhaps not, Joshua wondered as he glanced at you, sound slowly reducing as you inched closer to passing out. Gripping your hips tighter he began fucking you harder and faster, pushing himself to finish before you blacked out. Recognising his pace becoming erratic as he neared his climax, you looked over your shoulder.

“I haven't been taking the pill for a while Shua…”

He groaned, not stopping his thrusts. “You know how much I love cumming inside you.”

“Shua please…” You could barely manage to beg him to stop. Your body had been pushed beyond its limit.

Owing to your silence, he groaned, jerking his hips, once, then again and then he came, white coating your walls as he emptied himself into you. You fell forward, spent and exhausted as Joshua pulled out, watching his cum drip out of you.

Fuck. You were perfect.

This was perfect.

Everything was perfect.

It was probably the wee hours of the morning when you woke up, your throat hurting and dry. You rolled your head to the side finding Joshua fast asleep beside you on the bed. He had dragged you here for round two, fucking you into oblivion before moving to round three where he slowly made love, dumping load after load in you. Thankfully, he cleaned you up before sleeping - you had passed out the moment the two of you were done.

You slipped out of the bed slowly so as to not disturb him, desperate for a glass of water. Stretching, you grabbed the spare blanket and wrapped it around your naked body. Struggling to walk thanks to how sore you were all over you made your way to the kitchen, flipping the switches and bit back a scream.

Stranding by the counter was an old woman, leaning against it, looking at you like she was waiting for you. Instinctively you grabbed a knife from the nearby drawer, pointing it at her threateningly.

“W-who are you? And what-”

“You know who I am.” She said, straightening and stepping closer to the window. Your eyes widened. That was impossible - it was as though the moonlight was passing through her. You ran your eyes over her features. She had white hair, her back was bent weirdly, there was a burn mark on her hand….. Ye Soon.

“Oh Y/n,” She took a step forward. “Don't you want to know who the actual killer is?”

You continued to stare, jaw slightly hung, still unable to fathom what was happening. The spirits were a story the two of you had spun, how could it be…

“Who are you talking to?”

You turned around sharply at the sound of Joshua’s voice. He walked out, dressed in his pants, rubbing his eyes as he looked at you confused.

He couldn't see Ye Soon.

“You wanted to know the killer didn't you?” The old woman's voice was right by your ear. “Look, there he is.”

Your eyes widened, grip on the knife tightening as you stared at the man before you wordlessly. Joshua frowned, his eyes flickering between the knife and you as his eyes narrowed.

Outside, the loud sirens of the ambulance heading towards the precinct resounded in the otherwise quiet town. It seems the story of the Calendar Killer had finally come to an end.

A/n - If you have made it all the way here, thank you for reading, I know it was intense and heavy but I hope you enjoyed it! Do let me know your thoughts in the comments or tags, particularly about the twist - I need to know if my crazy mind managed to pull this off or not hehe You can also read Jeonghan's and Seungcheol's :)

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