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raekensluver · 4 months ago

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a guarded romance (1)

part one, part two

description: you are a famous billionaire's daughter and your father has hired you a new bodyguard. his name is spencer reid and he used to be a part of the fbi's behavior analysis unit.

pairing: bodyguard!spencer reid x famous!reader

contains: age gap (everyone is 18+), fake relationship, mentions of a stalker, talk of parental death, overprotective father, lmk if i missed anything!

song rec: you don't own me by SAYGRACE ft. g-eazy- "don't tell me what to do, and don't tell me what to say."

w.c: 2.4k

an: i hope you all enjoy!! i feel like there aren't many bodyguard!spencer fics on tumblr. please give me feedback! good or bad, i appreciate it!

in the grandiose study, the scent of aged leather and mahogany filled the air, a silent testament to the wealth and power that had been cultivated within its walls. the room was dimly lit, the setting sun casting a warm glow through the stained glass windows, creating a mosaic of colors on the polished floor. your father's office was a sanctuary, a place where he made decisions that shifted the course of empires, but today, it was where your world was about to be upended once again.

"honey," your father's firm voice called out as you stepped into the room, his eyes never leaving the paperwork scattered across his desk. he looked up, the stern lines on his face softening slightly as he took in your appearance. "this is spencer reid, your new bodyguard."

spencer stood by the door, his posture ramrod straight, and his eyes met yours. there was a flicker of something in them, an intensity that made you pause. he was tall, with a lean build and a sharp jawline that spoke of discipline and experience. his suit was impeccable, but there was a hint of something else beneath the surface, a wildness that the tailored fabric couldn't quite conceal. he looked older than you, maybe thirty-five, if you had to guess.

"daddy, i don't need another babysitter," you protested, crossing your arms over your chest. "i'm twenty-five, not five. i can handle myself."

your father sighed heavily, setting down his pen and folding his hands together. "sweetheart, it's not about that. it's about keeping you safe. with everything that's been happening, i just want to make sure you're protected."

you rolled your eyes, feeling the familiar ache of frustration in your chest. "what's been happening? i've had one stalker in the last year, and that was just some lovesick fan. i can handle myself."

spencer cleared his throat, his gaze shifting between you and your father. "miss carter, if i may, i understand your concerns. i've studied the case files and the potential threats are minimal. but in the line of work i've been in, it's always better to be safe than sorry."

his words hung in the air, and you felt a spark of curiosity. there was something about the way he spoke, a calm confidence that was hard to ignore. maybe he wasn't just another incompetent bodyguard your father had hired.

"fine," you relented, unable to argue with his logic. "but i don't need you following me around like a shadow."

spencer nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. "i understand, miss. i'll do my best to respect your privacy while ensuring your safety."

the week flew by in a whirlwind of meetings and social engagements, with spencer a constant presence at your side. your father had informed you of the annual gala in a week's time, a grand affair where the crème de la crème of society mingled and networked. "you need to make an appearance," he'd said, his tone brooking no argument. "and i expect you to look the part."

"spencer," your father announced, his voice carrying a hint of finality, "you will accompany my daughter to select a suitable gown for the gala. it's an important event, and i want her to be dressed to the nines."

you felt a pang of annoyance at the thought of being dragged around by a bodyguard to pick out a dress, but the idea of escaping your father's scrutiny was tempting. "fine," you said with a resigned sigh, "but i can't believe you're making me go to this thing."

spencer's eyes met yours for a brief moment before he nodded. "i'll be there to ensure nothing goes wrong, miss."

the shopping trip was a delicate dance of wills. you wove through the racks of haute couture, your mind racing with thoughts of the gala and the dreaded encounter with the man your father insisted on setting you up with. spencer remained a silent sentinel, his eyes scanning the room, his presence both comforting and stifling.

you slid a sleek, black dress from its hanger, the fabric whispering against the others as it glided through the air. it was perfect for the gala, elegant yet understated, a stark contrast to the flashy outfits you knew the other attendees would be wearing. you held it up to your body, the soft fabric brushing against your fingertips. "what do you think?" you asked, not bothering to hide the challenge in your voice.

spencer's gaze flicked over the dress and then back to your face, his expression unreadable. "it's… appropriate," he said, his voice measured. "but i suspect you're looking for something more than just appropriate."

you couldn't argue with that. you wanted to make a statement, to show the world that you weren't just a billionaire's daughter to be bartered off to the highest bidder. you wanted to be seen as a woman of substance, not just a pretty face in a sea of designer labels. "i need something that says 'hands off'," you murmured, your eyes searching the racks for the perfect dress.

spencer's gaze sharpened. "you worried about someone in particular?"

you nodded, your thoughts drifting to the smug grin of the man your father was so keen on setting you up with. "his name is alexander. he's… persistent."

spencer's eyebrows shot up, the first real sign of emotion you'd seen from him. "oh, i know the type," he said, his voice tight. "well, let's make sure you're dressed to make him understand that you're not interested."

you felt a strange thrill at his sudden protectiveness, and you found yourself smiling slightly. "okay, let's do this."

as the gala night approached, the tension in the air grew thick. your father had been dropping hints about alexander, reminding you of his wealth and status, and his potential as a suitable match. you, on the other hand, had been preparing your speech, rehearsing the perfect way to tell alexander that you had no interest in him without causing a scene.

the evening of the gala arrived, and you found yourself in a whirlwind of hair and makeup artists, turning you into the picture of sophistication. the dress spencer had helped you choose was a stunning blood red that made your eyes pop and your skin glow. it hugged your curves in all the right places and had just the right amount of flair to make you feel powerful.

as you descended the grand staircase, your father's eyes widened with approval. "you look… incredible," he said, his voice filled with pride. "exactly what a future lady of the house should look like."

you bit back a retort, choosing instead to smile sweetly. "thank you, daddy. i'm sure reid will make sure i'm well protected tonight."

your father nodded, his gaze flicking to your bodyguard, who was standing a respectful distance away, watching the exchange. "he better," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

the gala was a dizzying array of lights and sounds, the chatter of the elite echoing through the opulent ballroom. spencer was a silent shadow at your side, his eyes never still as they swept the room, looking for any sign of trouble. you felt a strange comfort in his vigilance, his presence a buffer between you and the world that so often felt suffocating.

as the evening progressed, you spotted alexander cutting through the crowd, his eyes locked on you like a hawk on its prey. your heart sank, but spencer was there, his hand lightly on your elbow, guiding you through the throng of people with an ease that belied his size. "just keep walking," he murmured in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "ignore him."

but alexander was not so easily deterred. he reached you before you could escape, his smile as plastic as the flowers adorning the tables around you. "so, the elusive miss carter," he said, his voice oozing with false charm. "how are you enjoying the gala?"

you felt your heart race, his presence setting your nerves on edge. "i'm enjoying it," you replied, your voice cool and even. "thank you for asking."

alexander's gaze slid to spencer, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. "and who is this charming man at your side?"

your heart pounded in your chest, your mind racing for a way to shake alexander off. without missing a beat, you reached for spencer's hand, squeezing it tightly. "this is my fiancé, spencer reid," you blurted out, the words surprising even you.

spencer's eyes widened slightly, but he recovered quickly, his hand closing around yours. "hello, alexander," he said smoothly, a polite smile playing on his lips. "i've heard so much about you."

alexander's gaze darted between the two of you, his confusion clear. "fiancé?" he repeated, his voice skeptical. "i had no idea, your father said nothing about this."

you felt your cheeks heat up, but you held your ground, flashing spencer a desperate look. "it's a recent development," you said, your voice surprisingly steady. "we wanted to keep it private for a bit."

alexander's smile faltered, his eyes narrowing slightly. "recent?" he echoed, his grip on his champagne flute tightening. "how recent?"

you swallowed hard, your mind racing. "very recent," you said, the lie slipping off your tongue with surprising ease. "we just got engaged."

spencer squeezed your hand in reassurance, his eyes never leaving alexander's. "yes, it was quite a whirlwind," he said, playing along flawlessly. "we didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

alexander's expression shifted from skepticism to something darker, his grip on his drink tightening. "well, congratulations," he said, his voice tight. "i wish you both the best."

you felt a wave of relief wash over you as he turned and disappeared into the crowd. you looked up at spencer, your heart still racing. "thank you," you murmured, your voice shaky. "i can't believe that worked."

spencer's smile was tight, his eyes still scanning the room. "it's not over yet," he said, his grip on your hand still firm. "let's get you somewhere quieter, away from prying eyes."

you allowed him to lead you to a secluded corner of the mansion, the music and chatter of the gala fading into a distant buzz. the walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, the moon casting a soft silver light over the manicured gardens outside. it was a stark contrast to the bright, flashy lights of the ballroom, and the calmness of the night seeped into your bones.

spencer's hand was still wrapped around yours, his eyes never leaving the partygoers as he scanned for any sign of danger or unwanted attention. "are you okay?" he asked, his voice low and concerned.

you nodded, trying to compose yourself. "yeah, i just… i didn't expect to lie like that." the words felt heavy on your tongue, but the truth was, you had no intention of letting alexander near you again.

spencer's gaze softened, his grip on your hand loosening slightly. "it's alright," he said gently. "i've seen worse at these types of events."

you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for dragging him into your personal drama. "i'm sorry," you whispered. "i didn't mean to get you involved."

spencer's gaze finally left the crowd, his eyes meeting yours. "it's part of the job," he said, his voice gentle. "and i'd rather be involved than see you miserable."

you looked down at your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his skin. "thank you," you said again, the words feeling inadequate. "i just… i don't know why my father can't see that i'm not a little girl anymore."

spencer's eyes searched yours, filled with understanding. "he's just trying to protect you," he said. "it's hard for parents to let go, especially when they've lost someone as important as your mother."

his words hit you like a ton of bricks, and you felt the familiar ache in your chest. your mother's death had left a void in your life that no one had ever truly filled, not even your father's overbearing attention. "i know," you said softly, "but it's like he doesn't trust me to make my own decisions."

spencer's expression grew serious. "it's his way of dealing with his fear," he said. "but you're more than capable of taking care of yourself, and i'm here to support you in any way i can."

his words resonated with you, and for the first time in a long while, you felt seen. "really?" you asked, hope flickering in your eyes.

spencer nodded. "really," he said, his voice firm. "you're a strong, independent woman. and if your father won't give you the space you need, i'll do my best to make sure you have it."

his words echoed in the quiet corner of the mansion, and you felt a sudden urge to get out of the suffocating atmosphere of the gala. "can we leave?" you asked, your voice small. "i don't think i can handle much more of this."

spencer's eyes searched yours for a moment before he nodded. "of course," he said, his voice calm. "let's go."

you felt a wave of relief as he led you through the throng of people, his hand at the small of your back a reassuring presence. the cool night air hit you like a slap in the face after the stifling heat of the gala, sending a shiver down your spine. the stars twinkled overhead, a stark contrast to the artificial lights of the mansion.

spencer opened the door to the sleek black sedan waiting outside, his hand on the small of your back as you slid into the passenger seat. you felt his eyes on you as he took his place beside you, the leather seats sighing beneath your weight. "are you okay?" he asked again, his voice low and concerned.

you took a deep breath, the cool leather calming your frazzled nerves. "i'm fine," you said, your voice shaky. "i just… i hate those kinds of events."

spencer's eyes searched yours, and without a word, he reached over and gently took your hand that was resting on your lap. "i promise," he said, his voice filled with a quiet resolve, "i will talk to your father. you're an adult, and you deserve to make your own choices."

his hand was warm and comforting, and you felt a sudden surge of gratitude towards him. "thank you," you whispered, your eyes welling up with unshed tears. "i just want to live my life without feeling like i'm under a microscope."

spencer squeezed your hand gently before releasing it to start the car. the engine purred to life, the smooth vibrations of the vehicle a stark contrast to the chaos of the evening. as you pulled away from the mansion, the lights of the gala grew smaller in the rearview mirror, and you felt a weight lift from your shoulders.

edited 8.21.24

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thrillridesz · 3 years ago

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the secrets we share ▫ k.yh

in part of the ‘don’t breathe’ halloween collab hosted by @junjungsunwoo

⥛ pairing: serial killer!younghoon x detective!reader (f)

⥛ genre: angst, horror, thriller, action, suspense, unrequited love, stalker!au, serial killer!au

⥛ synopsis: a serial killer is on the loose, leaving a trail of gruesomely mutilated bodies in his wake. as the detective assigned to his case, this case holds a special significance close to your heart and you need answers... but will you catch him in time?

⥛ warnings: swearing, blood, gore, extreme violence, domestic violence, abuse (physical and verbal/emotional), depression, character death, betrayal, gun usage/violence, mentions and usage of knives, obsessive behaviour, stalking, insanity

⥛ word count: 7.6k

⥛ a/n: partially edited! I actually wrote this one way back in July and have been looking forward to posting this since then! this marks my first tbz horror/thriller fic and I hope you (whoever you are) enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! once again, feedback is also highly appreciated! (please let the mf tags work)

“Rise and shine, workaholic.”

You jolt awake from your slumber and look up blearily at your surroundings through squinted eyes, wincing at the bright glare of the sunlight streaming through the shades. The rickety, old ceiling fan is whirring away as usual with a loud creak every now and then, disrupting the morning peace in the office and a telephone rings off the hook at another desk. Officers move swiftly and shuffle across the linoleum floor, some in uniform and others plain-clothed, chatting into phones and carrying stacks of thick classified documents.

You catch a whiff of black instant coffee in the air and notice a cup of joe from your favourite cafe down the street on your desk in front of you. Rubbing your eyes, you stretch your limbs as Jacob slides over on his office chair, an iced latte in his hands.

“Thanks for the coffee, Cobie,” you say, still half asleep but quickly sobering.

He doesn’t say anything but smiles in a way that makes you knit your eyebrows together as you take a sip of your coffee.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “don’t you think you’re working a little too hard? You haven’t stepped out of the station in almost 2 days.” With that, he gestures at your messy desk piled high with paperwork and your overheated computer monitor.

You take in what he says with narrowed eyes. Your skin feels icky and grimy, your hair greasy and your body reeks of stale coffee and cheap floor cleaning detergent. You have been working on the same case tirelessly for almost a month to no avail and with every lead you receive, it’s almost like a cycle of disappointment - you think you have something but it turns up empty every single time. You stare intently at the face plastered across your screen and the name typed out in bold, black letters.

Kim Younghoon.

With his tall and fit stature, silky ebony hair and intense dark eyes that seemed to hold so much innocence and goodwill, Younghoon had an appearance that didn’t seem to match up to his serial killer profile.

On the outside, he looked like royalty and every bit of the prince you would think of when you read those fairytales to children but on the inside, he was a monster. He was a monster and a beast who lusted for blood, got an adrenaline kick off of suffering and left a trail of bodies in his wake wherever he went.

It was all over the news, all those bloody murders and sudden disappearances of people only for them to be discovered dead, sometimes in the goriest and most cruel ways imaginable. Dismembered limbs, horrifyingly disfigured bodies and faces… the images themselves sometimes left even the seasoned police officers and forensics department sick to the stomach, people who have seen terrible things throughout their careers.

The media has since dubbed him ‘The Boogeyman’, for the terror he brought along with him and his elusiveness. For months, the public have lived in constant trepidation, wondering when he would strike and many have publicly derided the police for failing to subdue him. This was a man who knew how to slip out of the police’s clutches and for every one step they took, he was always three extra steps ahead. Even now as you scroll through Youtube and online forums, the comments are harsh and biting.

choichan0232: back when the police are actually able to do their job smh

princesskkuno: it’s as if the police dont give a shit abt anything and just let this fking murderer go around killing #fuckthepolice

xmelsebzx: they should just fire every single one of them, istg i’ve never seen any police department fail so spectacularly at their job

“Quit looking at those comments. They don’t understand how hard we’ve all been working, especially you,” Jacob snaps, breaking you out of your reverie.

Your hands are trembling at this point and you have to put down your coffee just in case you don’t spill it. The dark circles under your eyes are darker than they have ever been and you can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage.

Jacob peers at you, his brows furrowed in concern and he reaches out to touch your hand and you flinch.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

His voice sounds distant and your head begins to throb. This whole thing is starting to take its toll on you and you rub at your temple, soothing your incoming headache. You look up and take a deep breath. Managing a weak smile, you reply as you look into his eyes, “I will be.”

The look on his face indicates that he remains unconvinced.

“You sure? I think you should go home and take a break. Leave it to the rest of us.”

You bite your bottom lips nervously and he leans forward.

“I mean it, y/n. You deserve it. You’re overworked.”

You sigh, your voice wobbly.

“I know but-”

“If this is because of what happened, all the more you should rest and then come back when you’re clear-headed. Sangyeon would hate to know you’re neglecting your health and body over this,” he interrupts sharply but not meanly and you stiffen.

A moment of silence passes between the both of you and you look up at Jacob and hold his gaze.

“Jacob…”

“I’m your partner for this case. We’re supposed to work on this together so this case is mine as much as it is yours.” He says firmly and you know there is no way you were going to change his mind. You must say you aren’t very used to this side of Jacob - his eyes which normally sparkled with good humour and playfulness were now hard and unyielding, his gentle voice set. There were no two ways about it.

You can only relent and the usual softness in his eyes returns almost instantly and he pats you gently on the back.

“Go get some rest, eat some solid food. Take care of yourself and don’t come back until you’re well rested okay?” He asks and you nod as you switch off your monitor.

He watches as you leave and he opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, only to close it again and turn back to his work.

You step out onto the streets and watch as people go about their usual business. A mother is attempting to placate her crying child over a dollop of fallen chocolate ice cream on the ground across the street and a young, female cyclist whizzes past you and you instinctively lean backwards, almost falling over. It feels like forever since you’ve stepped out of the station and your limbs feel like lead as you force one leg in front of the other.

The sound of the morning traffic and chattering of people sound too loud, the sun feels too bright and your clothes are beginning to stick to your skin and you’re aware that you stink. The burden of not having made any progress so far weighs you down, like a boulder chained to your ankle. A huge screen set on a tall glass building is playing the morning news and news of the most recent murder last week flashes across the screen, almost taunting you.

It was a gruesome one - a twenty something college student by the name of Eric Sohn - found with his insides hollowed out in a ditch. Several passersby around you stare up at the screen with horrified expressions which turn to a mixture of pure fear and rage when the screen flicks to Younghoon’s image. You stare into those pixelated, cold, murderous eyes and they seem provoking, as if it tells you that somewhere the man is laughing to himself at the incompetence of the police.

You look away. Even if you were to run back to the station, Jacob would kick you right back out anyways.

It feels like ages before you make it back to your empty, unkempt apartment and the first thing you do is flop onto the sofa. Your apartment smells odd, like old pizza and lavenders. It is dark with the curtains drawn and you can hear the lady upstairs singing offkey to Britney Spears’ ‘Toxic’, her high pitched voice screeching and irritating. Your floor is littered with papers filled with scrawls and a large noticeboard is tacked against your wall, covered with thumbtacks, leads and pictures of the crime scenes and of course, a picture of him.

You peel yourself off the sofa and stand before the picture of Younghoon, swallowing hard. Your eyes drift to the huge web of gathered notes and evidence you have compiled and at that moment, you have such an overwhelming urge to trash everything and scream your frustrations out but you hold back. Turning, you walk away to the kitchen.

As you pour yourself a glass of water, you notice the cluster of photographs pinned to the refrigerator.

“Sangyeon…” You mumble under your breath, your fingers sliding gingerly over the photograph.

Immortalised in photographs alone, you realise for nth time that you would never be able to see Sangyeon smile the way he did ever again. Without even knowing, tears were beginning to roll down your cheeks as you held the photograph in your hand.

You still remember when the photo was taken. It was in your sophomore year of high school, senior year for Sangyeon. You were a couple of people, a couple in love. The blue skies were clearer than they ever were, the flowers in full bloom as this picture was snapped while the two of you cosied up against each other, smiling like a pair of idiots unaware of what was to come in your futures. His head rested on your shoulder, his hair sweeping over his eyes as his strong arms wrapped themselves around you. You had your hands settled on his, a content smile gracing your face. This was a photograph of a couple who truly loved each other.

You stare hard at the picture until your tears start to blur your vision. That smile that promised the world and those eyes that held such warmth, they were long gone from your reality. From this world.

Looking away, you let the photograph flutter to the floor and gulp down the rest of your water. Your heart is beating so rapidly, you could have a heart attack any moment. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand brusquely, you took a deep breath.

No matter what, you have to find Younghoon.

The hallways are dark, dank and musty smelling. The lights overhead flicker and the black tiled floor beneath your feet is wet, slippery and the stale water soaks your shoes and socks. Dirty, cracked walls seem to close in on you and your clothes feel itchy and tight.

You squint and struggle to see even a few feet in front of you but you briefly make out a silhouette. The silhouette is tall, masculine and you can see that it’s a man with his back towards you at the other end of the hallway. A bright blue butterfly flits through the air in front of you and you watch as it rests on the wall to your left and the man turns such that his side profile now faces you.

The light falls against his skin and your eyes widen as you realise who it is. Fear fills your heart but as soon as it seeps in, anger quickly settles in. The anger comes in a rush, an unadulterated wave that threatens to overwhelm you completely and wholly. Suddenly, all you see in front of you is a target and you no longer fear anything. You just want to get your hands on him.

Your shoes plod and splash the dirty, stale water in every direction as you start forward but you don’t care. All you hear is the pounding of your heart in your ear and you stare straight ahead, full of determination. Somehow though, your legs feel heavy and every step takes great effort.

Yet, you don’t give up. You continue, the determination in you building up with every step and just when you almost reach him, the floor beneath you opens up and you fall. It’s a dark abyss you are falling into and your limbs that feel heavy earlier now feel weightless and you are a speck of nothing floating in a dark, empty space. You close your eyes and when you open them again, you are back at your apartment.

Except this time, you’re not alone.

A man without a face approaches you and even if there’s no features that tell of his identity, you know who it is. The hand reaches over before you can say anything and his fingers wind into your hair and the next thing you know, you’re crying uncontrollably despite your mind screaming at you not to and he’s dragging you across the floor.

The violence and sick satisfaction he feels from your suffering emanates from his entire being and you are powerless to stop it. Your gun isn’t with you and his grip is vice-like and everything about this is wrong.

You look up with tear-stained cheeks at the figure as he stops short.

A beat passes.

Suddenly, your head is yanked back painfully and he slams your head with all his might against a cabinet and you wake up, screaming into the night with beads of cold sweat lining your forehead.

The apartment is quiet, the sky dark outside and you pant, wide-eyed in your bed. The digital clock at your bedside reads 4:56am and you bury your face into your hands, chest still heaving. The shirt you are wearing clings to your back with cold sweat and you decide that going back to sleep wouldn’t be feasible at this time.

You take a quick shower, get dressed and leave the apartment block and head out onto the relatively tranquil morning streets.

The city never sleeps. No matter how late (or early) you walk out, the streets are never deserted or without a single vehicle in sight. The city lights glow and shimmer against the early morning sky and as you stroll along, the chilly wind whips around and your hair tickles the back of your neck, sending goosebumps down your skin.

As you continue down, you think back to the dream you had earlier. It isn’t the first time you’ve had nightmares like this since Sangyeon died and you had a personal goal to track down Younghoon yourself. Sleeping pills, alcohol… none of them worked. You still had these nightmares one way or another. They terrify you and you shudder in spite of yourself. The haunting possibility that you were never going to catch up to Younghoon chills you to the core and you clench your jaw, your footsteps growing quicker.

“No,” you whisper to yourself, “I have to find him.”

Just as these words escape your lips, you catch a figure shift at the corner of your eye. You stop short, hairs standing at the back of your neck and you turn to see a dark alleyway. There is something ominous about it, something you can’t quite put your finger on and your detective instinct kicks in almost immediately.

You slip your hand into your hoodie pocket where you’ve hidden your police handgun and walk towards the alleyway, eyes steely and hard but your heart beating furiously. The darkness seems to swallow you up and instantly, you feel as if you’re back where you were in your nightmares previously. A large trashcan nearby emits the most foul smell you’ve had to deal with in a while and you hold your breath as you advance closer, your eyes sweeping the area.

A short honk out on the street causes you to jump and turn behind you where the entrance to the alleyway seems miles away now. You turn back and see a dark figure clad all in black standing at the end. The dull streetlight above casts a shadow over his hooded figure and he is muscular but not overly so. Fit, athletic and strong. In his hand is a sharp serrated blade and you hitch your breath as you notice the red, viscous liquid coating the steel blade.

Blood.

You wait in the shadows and you are sure he can probably hear the pounding of your heart but you know it doesn’t matter either way since he definitely knows you are there, waiting for him to make a move. The honk from earlier destroyed all your chances of remaining unseen. The two of you remain locked in a standoff and he lifts his head and you see his face.

Younghoon.

His features are pristine, sharp. Lips split and bloodied, there is an angry, red bloody slash across his right cheekbone but he doesn’t seem to be in pain. If anything, there is a sadistic glint in those dark eyes of his and those very same lips are twisted into a deranged and mocking smile. His white teeth shine under the light and before you can even do anything, he bolts at the turn of the alley.

Without missing a beat, you gave chase and your shoes splash against the puddles and it’s like deja vu all over again. You ignore the feeling of foul water soaking your shoes and socks, your eyes trained intently ahead and as you turn left where he headed, he is nowhere to be found. The numerous stacks of old cardboard boxes unnerve you and you proceed with caution.

You take a few steps and suddenly step on something… soft. Weird, mushy yet springy. You look down and it’s so dark that you can’t even see what you’re stepping on. Against your better judgement, you whip out your phone and turn on your flashlight and what you see causes you to scream.

It’s a human heart.

You look up, horrified and your flashlight moves and you see that something has been written in crimson blood on the brick walls.

see you soon

The camera flash goes off and the entire alleyway is cordoned off as a few police cars park just outside on the street.

The sky is now bright and puffy clouds hang in the blue canvas. The sound of people going about their morning routine fills the entire city and It’s a perfect day out yet it’s anything but perfect for the police department.

“This is fucked up,” Jacob says, shaking his head in disbelief as he watches a forensic officer swab at the now dried up blood from the brick wall for DNA testing. You look at him and back at the words written.

“You think this is a taunt?” He asks.

“I mean, it has to be. ‘See you soon?’ What an arrogant fucker.” Another officer, Hyunjae bristles, running a hand through his hair and the frustration collectively felt by everyone is obvious.

“It’s been a month and we still haven’t gotten close to actually nabbing him. If I were him, I’d get cocky too,” Haknyeon chips in but falters when Jacob shoots him a glare, subtly gesturing towards you.

You remain quiet and you can feel him reaching out to you but you brush his hand away absentmindedly while you inch closer to the bloodied writing on the wall.

Everything sounds far away and even as Haknyeon receives a call and confirms that the heart belongs to the latest victim Eric Sohn, you barely hear him.

See you soon, see you soon, see you soon.

There has to be some kind of clue from that. This is all a game to Younghoon. The man gets a kick out of killing and he’s smooth with it. There is no way this is all there is to it.

That exchange the two of you had, that silent exchange. That was all the confirmation for you to know that he did indeed remember you.

The warehouse was dingy and expansive, far away from civilization. There is mildew on the walls and there was the old stench of rusted metal in the air which threatened to choke you but you refused to let out even so much as a tiny cough. The night was young with the bright full moon hanging in the sky and for a moment, it was peaceful, quiet.

Then, a piercing scream ripped through the air.

It is a scream of pain, agony and fear. It sounds more animalistic than human and it was that scream that truly shook you to your core and you began to cry. Your wrists hurt from being bound to the wooden chair and your ankles were sore from trying to inch out of the thick rope binding. Your hair is a mess with pieces of dried leaves, tiny twigs and dried blood, your face bloodied and your left eye sports a large bruise the size of a baseball. Clothes torn and tattered with your gun tossed to the side and your mouth duct taped, you were completely vulnerable.

In front of you, Sangyeon hangs upside down, tied and bound at the feet with coarse brown rope that almost looks maroon in colour with his blood. He is shirtless, his body marked with gruesome slashes and blood drips down to form a small puddle beneath his thrashing form. Tears are rolling uncontrollably and he begs the man sitting at the corner to let him go.

“Please! I’ll do anything you want, just let me go… please…” He cries out and his voice comes out as a yelp, the voice of a broken man.

Younghoon doesn’t reply, instead choosing to admire his blade, dripping with blood at this point. There is a hollow look in his eyes, a demonic haze. This is the look of a hardened murderer who murders for joy and the thrill of it, you realise. His lips slowly curl into a sick grin and you feel your stomach drop as he rises to his feet.

You struggle against your restraints and you try to kick but to no avail. You struggle so violently, you almost knock yourself backwards but Younghoon reaches you in quick strides and plants a firm hand at the back of your chair. You hold your breath as he leans in, the demon leans in.

His eyes trace your every feature and you feel naked, exposed. Your heart feels like it is about to burst out of your chest and he brings his blade against your soft cheek, tapping the sharp end against your skin. You turn away and he slides the knife and it breaks your skin, a tiny trickle of blood emerging from the slash.

Suddenly, he grabs you roughly by the chin and turns your face to his. The smile is wiped clean from his face. If you were any closer, your noses would be touching and he locks you in an intense gaze while Sangyeon screams in the background. His eyes up close are cold, unyielding and yet there is something… different.

Before you can read more into it, the look is gone and his lips are tilted into the same sadistic smile you’ve seen on his face as he tortured Sangyeon in the past few hours.

His nimble fingers twirls the blade in an almost celebratory, performative gesture and you know that cold hard murderer persona is back. Your eyes widen as you realise what is about to happen and before you can do anything, there is a dull pain at the back of your head and you black out.

When you come to, Sangyeon is dead, you are surrounded by police officers, your fellow colleagues and Younghoon is nowhere to be found.

A funeral was arranged for Sangyeon and the murder was so gruesome that you couldn’t even tell that the corpse in front of you was your husband. Your whole body ached and some injuries were even declared to be semi-permanent but you didn’t care. How could you when your husband is dead?

No matter what everyone said or how they tried to persuade you to take a break from the force, you ignored all of them. You knew you had to get on the case. You knew that you needed to find Younghoon for everything that happened. There is nothing you wouldn’t risk, no place too far that you wouldn’t comb in order to find him.

“Here, eat something.”

You glance up and Jacob is standing before you, holding out a bottle of soya milk and convenience store chocolate bread. You push his offerings away, mumbling, “I’m not hungry.”

He frowns and plops down next to you. Behind the two of you, the rest of the force are busy sourcing out any traces of evidence they can possibly find in the alleyway. Hyunjae is barking orders into his phone while Haknyeon is hard at work, jotting any notes that could have been made. The commotion is enough to give you yet another pounding headache, one of several you’ve had in the past week alone.

“I insist. You’ve lost so much weight and you can’t keep starving yourself like this,” Jacob says in a soft voice, “please, don’t do this to yourself.”

You are silent for a moment before you take the bread and take a bite. He looks visibly pleased by this but the gears in your mind won’t stop working. You are convinced that there has to be some sort of link, that this cryptic message has to mean something and you will stop at nothing to figure it out.

Suddenly, it occurs to you and you could have smacked yourself for not considering the possibility.

You stand up so abruptly that Jacob startles and almost falls to the ground.

“I know where Younghoon is.”

The drive to the old warehouse took some time but finally, the two of you found it.

“Y/n, I’m not sure about coming here alone. I really think we should call for backup.” Jacob says as his car rolls along the uneven, bumpy road. His eyes are narrowed, shifty and on a constant lookout for suspicious activity while you sit unnaturally straight.

“I have to get to the bottom of this now. Getting the rest involved is going to take too much time. I have to do this. For… For Sangyeon.” The last word comes out as a whisper and Jacob looks at you with an unexplainable look in his eyes and he looks as if he wants to say something but then he turns to focus on the road ahead.

“You know you didn’t have to come,” you say and he doesn’t reply for a second before he murmurs, “I want to.”

The car rolls to a stop and the two of you disembark. Handguns at the ready, Jacob and you advance slowly, careful not to make any noises that might possibly alert Younghoon of your presence, if he is even in there.

The old warehouse looked exactly like it did that night of Sangyeon’s death and you shake away the horrible memories. You have to remain alert no matter what. Your hands are beginning to tremble and you curse under your breath. You gave Jacob a hand signal, indicating to split ways and when he shakes his head, you whisper, “I can take care of myself.”

Raising your gun, he looks at you with concern in his eyes and you mouth this time, “Trust me.” He hesitates but relents at the last minute and the two of you split up.

The warehouse is piled high with giant shipping containers and plastic barrels of stale water, filled with dried leaves and bugs. The whole place exudes an eerie vibe but you are undeterred as you advance forward, gun raised. You take care not to step into any of the puddles to make unnecessary noise and you move soundlessly.

A shift in the air behind you causes you to whirl around, eyes scouring the area. The place is quiet, extremely quiet and the slightest misstep can echo through the place. You wonder how Jacob is doing and a part of you is worried but then you reassure yourself.

“Everything is going to be fine, y/n. Calm down.” You whisper to yourself and even that itself sounded loud in this empty warehouse.

A scream suddenly tears through the quiet afternoon and echoes through the warehouse and you recognise it as Jacob’s. A chill runs down your spine, your stomach falls and everything instantly turns dark for you even though it’s bright out. Immediately, you run as fast as your legs can carry you. Your heart is beating a mile a minute and the adrenaline in your body shoots up to obscene levels as you frantically search around.

Sweat trickles down your temple, your back and when you round a corner, you see a pale faced Jacob trapped in a headlock by Younghoon, a blade against his neck. Jacob’s handgun lies useless on the floor and he is a fish on a chopping board, flailing but ultimately no match for the other’s strength.

You stand, locked in a standoff with Younghoon and Jacob, your hand gripping onto your handgun.

Trapped in his arms, Jacob manages to choke out, “Go… y/n…” His face is turning more purple by the second and you rest your finger on the trigger, eyes trained on Younghoon who only smiles back at you. The sunlight streaming in through the gaps in the roof illuminates his face and brings out the coffee brown colour of his soft hair and even as a cold, stony murderer, he still exudes the grace of a swan, the regality of a royal.

“Betraying me, y/n?” Younghoon says, his voice silky and warm. “Is that wise?”

You narrow your eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Younghoon chuckles but tightens his hold around Jacob when the latter struggles and you can see he is gasping for air.

“Let him go.”

Younghoon raises an eyebrow at you skeptically and bursts out laughing. “You are talented at many things, y/n. Acting is not one of them.”

You don’t reply and his smile widens. “Come on, there’s no one around. Is there really a need to keep up with that good cop persona with just one guy around?”

There is a short moment of silence and Jacob stares at you in shock, the dark realisation dawning upon him. The truth of the matter effectively knocks the wind out of him despite the pressure on his neck already attempting to do that. His face grows pallid and he stammers, “y-y/n…?”

The cat is out of the bag. This charade is over.

You sigh in resignation and lower your handgun.

“I didn’t want him to come along, Younghoon,” you begin and point your gun in Jacob’s direction, “He insisted.”

“That’s more like it,” he smirks and releases Jacob who falls to his knees, grasping at his throat. His eyes are bloodshot and shining with denial, betrayal, shock and fear all lumped into one. From afar, he looks like a wounded little child, scrambling on his hands and legs to get up. The expression on his face is one of confusion and he splutters, “What… i-is… going-”

You look at him sadly, a heavy feeling in your heart. You really didn’t want to have to do this but Jacob, he brought it upon himself.

You lift your gun and shoot.

“He had such a bright career ahead of him,” Hyunjae mumbles under his breath softly, his expression grief-stricken. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

It has been a week since Jacob died in the hands of Kim Younghoon, the city’s most wanted ‘Boogeyman’.

When the police found him, he was already long gone - his body scarred with knife wounds and multiple shots to the chest, head and face. It was a cruel way to die but also an equally cruel loss to everyone who knew him.

He was a treasured colleague, valued friend and exceptional detective who did his job well. Everyone remembered him as the colleague who would always look out for his fellow detectives and officers, always shooting anyone a smile and offering words of encouragement when the morale was low. With him gone, nothing really felt the same.

The office seemed a little less bright, a little less warm. His absence was felt by every single person in the room. At some point, a female officer had to excuse herself in the middle of the day and her muffled sobs effectively sent a few others discreetly wiping tears from their eyes.

You look at Hyunjae, saddened and place a hand on his shoulder.

“He really didn’t. But he’s gone now and we have to accept that.”

Hyunjae peers up at you with teary eyes and nods silently, subdued.

Just then, your laptop pings with a notification from your email. It’s an unknown email but you know who it is anyways.

Your place. 1am.

Instantly, your mood is lifted and you smile to yourself, unable to contain your excitement.

1am rolls around and you sit by your balcony, waiting. You have freshened up, brushed your teeth, tidied up the apartment, the only thing left is to wait for him to arrive. You check the time again - 1:11am.

Just where is he?

You are about to give up waiting when you feel a presence creep up behind you and as you turn, you feel his arms wrap around your waist and you let out a startled yelp. Younghoon’s face is buried in the crook of your neck, his chest is pressed up against yours and you love the feeling of his body on yours. He smells of lavender and you’re convinced that lavenders are now your favourite flowers. Hell, you even buy a bunch of them whenever the apartment no longer smells of him. Every cell in your body just misses him so much, it hurts.

“I see you’ve gone all stalker mode on me,” he murmurs in your ear and nods towards the huge noticeboard you have on your wall.

“What was I supposed to do? Just wait for you to come to me?” You whine, your tone accusing. “You never visit as much anymore and I just miss you more with every second that passes. I needed you.”

He laughs and lifts you up in his arms, kissing you and this moment feels so right.

“The detective misses me that much, huh?” He whispers.

“You have no idea. Not only that, I owe you so much. I can never forget the day you got rid of that monster.” Your voice wobbles at the last word.

Sangyeon. He deserved to die the most horrible death.

The two of you had met back in high school and back then, you thought he was everything you looked for in a soulmate. He was suave, charming and every bit the gentleman a man could be. Attractive with a stunning smile, it didn’t take long for you to fall for him. He was kind, sweet and knew the right words to say that would make you swoon. The best part was, he seemed to really love you for who you were as well. He looked at you as if you were the most beautiful person to grace the planet and treated you as such. The torrid love affair the both of you shared was unlike any other and before long, the two of you got married within 4 years of dating.

Married life with Sangyeon was supposed to be blissful, full of sunshines and rainbows but it was anything but. After losing most of his savings in the stock market, Sangyeon turned to drinking and most nights, he would return home drunk and worst of all, violent. The good natured Sangyeon you once knew seemed to turn into a completely different person and the man who you thought wouldn’t harm a fly struck you so terribly that the bruises wouldn’t heal for weeks.

He laid his hands on you any chance he got. He slapped, kicked, punched and strangled you, sometimes to the point whereby you had difficulties walking and with each injury that healed, you had to cover up more that replaced it. What hurt more than the physical injuries were the words he said.

“You’re such a loser, why did I even marry such a good for nothing? You fucking suck.”

“We could get divorced but that mother of yours just wouldn’t give us our inheritance already. It’s wasting my time, ugh.”

“I must be blind when I married you. Fucking hell, you’re ugly as fuck.”

It was truly hell on earth.

Yet, things changed one day. The day you both made the mistake of (or should you say, amazing decision?) of trusting a stranger’s word that brought the both of you to an abandoned warehouse instead of the holiday inn the two of you were supposed to stay for a summer holiday. At the time, there were already a series of murders but Younghoon’s identity was still unknown.

You remembered the first time you saw him. His eyes were galaxies you could get utterly lost in and you’ve never seen such soft lips on a man. He spoke confidently, eloquently. He had such grace to him but you felt something more… dangerous.

Call it detective senses but there was something about him that just drew you in. You weren’t sure if he felt it but you definitely did. Sangyeon was too dense to notice it, instead brusquely accepting his help without so much as a thanks. It was only when the three of you were nearing the warehouse did the both of you realise this was a set up but your fates had been sealed.

When he revealed his true nature as a serial killer, you feared the worst but at the back of your mind, there was a side of you that would have preferred to die rather than go home and be subjected to abuse at the hands of Sangyeon again. If this was your fate, then let it be.

“Please! I’ll do anything you want, just let me go… please…” Sangyeon cried out and his voice came out as a yelp, the voice of a broken man.

As Younghoon leaned in front of you, you felt fear struck you dumb. You quiver under his touch and behind him, Sangyeon screams, “Kill y/n instead! Not me, please not me! I’ll do anything, if you want to kill someone, kill y/n! Kill y/n please!”

Even at death’s front door, Sangyeon was so eager to sacrifice you, outrightly screaming for your murder in place of his. Your tears were beginning to run but you look into Younghoon’s eyes and it’s as if you see the sympathy in his eyes and at that moment, you realise this murderer, this cold blooded, sadistic murderer has more decency and more humanity than your husband. His grip on your chin softens and at that moment, you realise that he’s on your side. The murderer is on your side.

He lifts his blade and you black out.

When you come to, you have to contain your joy firstly at being alive and then at the fact that Sangyeon is dead and murdered in the most gruesome way possible. Finally. Finally, you are free. Free from the shadow of your abusive husband, free from his inner demons and free from the burden of being with him. When your fellow colleagues question you, you remember the man who killed your ex-husband and the way his eyes looked. Eyes that understood you and a soul you connected with more than anything, more than you ever did with Sangyeon.

So you lied, you hid the truth. You don’t tell them that you’ve seen his face. You say you don’t remember a thing and you are the traumatised survivor and nobody questions it. People give you the space you claim to need. Yet deep inside, you want to see him again. You won’t admit it but your heart yearned for him in a twisted kind of way.

Who is he? Where is he from? Where is he now? What is his name?

And so you begin to do your research. You scour sources, the internet, the police database… anything and anywhere you can find. It seems like your sick prayers were answered when a victim who escaped manages to live to tell the public of this man’s identity.

Kim Younghoon was his name.

When that same face that you have yearned to see again appeared on your screen, you thought your heart could burst. Over the past weeks since Sangyeon died, your need to see him again has only grown with each passing day. When you do finally see him, it’s like the stars have aligned and you needed to find him. You throw yourself into your work and the deeper you delve into it, your mind slips slowly into obsession, the kind of obsession that only the twisted can have. You had his pictures everywhere and maybe it’s some sick little voice inside your head or your inner demons orchestrating this whole thing and it isn’t real but you felt an invisible connection with Younghoon.

Two twisted minds connecting across time and space.

The first time you met him again, it was at your place. It was late at night and you were at your kitchen table, obsessing over his whereabouts. You had to find him. It was like a mantra in your head, repeating itself over and over again. You were so engrossed that you don’t notice him standing at the sofa and when you did, the overwhelming happiness took over the shock and you fling yourself at him.

Younghoon stands and for a second, he doesn’t reciprocate the hug but then you feel his hands around your waist and you feel like you’re in heaven.

Two twisted minds connecting across time and space.

So it wasn’t just you who felt the connection. He did too.

Younghoon comes and goes as he likes and you are too scared to say anything even though all you want to do is beg him and do anything you can to get him to stay with you forever. Who cares if he’s a wanted man? He saved you from your abusive, dangerous, monster of an ex-husband. He is perfect for you, murderer or not.

Whenever he leaves, it is a long time before he comes back and you lose sleep, you lose your appetite. It’s like your world stops turning when he isn’t in it. He’s like oxygen to you - you have to have him in your life. The nightmares come when he isn’t around too, scary ones where you run down hallways and it seems as if an invisible force is weighing you down. You want to reach him, you are about to and then you fall.

He is unreachable, unattainable in your dreams and then you land back into that dark time where Sangyeon was still alive. The figure tormenting you in your apartment in your dreams has no face but it didn’t need a face for you to know it’s him, Sangyeon. Some nights, he pours boiling water on you, others he rams your head against the cabinet until your skull cracks and you bleed out . These are just some of the terrifying things he does in your dreams and you wake up, soaked in cold sweat. You are left alone with the fear of never seeing Younghoon again.

When you look at the pictures and photographs on your refrigerator and see Sangyeon, all you feel is contempt and no longer fear, an emotion you’ve felt for so long that you now refuse to feel any of it for a man like him.

You leave his photos there as if by doing so meant that he can see how good you’re having it with a man like Younghoon, rubbing your relationship in his face even in death. You cry tears of joy at the thought of never having to see him again.

Good riddance, Sangyeon.

The other night when you thought you saw Younghoon in the alleyway, you felt like a drug addict who was so close to getting their high. You craved him and seeing him again was everything you wanted right there and then. At first, you hesitated due to the dimness but once you recognised him, he had bolted and you wanted to kick yourself for losing him. How did you miss him? You were just a little heartbroken but when you stepped on that heart, a twisted, dark part of you felt such unbridled joy. This was his way of showing love, isn’t it?

Unconventional, but that was Younghoon.

The message on the wall, it was all the confirmation you needed. When you sought to find him back at the warehouse, it wasn’t a part of your plans but you really couldn’t stop Jacob from following. Damn the man and his insistence. He couldn’t stay off even when told specifically to do so. He practically asked to be led to his slaughter, he was collateral damage. He was about to get in the way of your love with Younghoon. You would rather die than let that happen.

In the present time, Younghoon’s lips meet yours and the two of you remain locked in an embrace. You grin into the kiss and when you part, he asks quietly, “What’s so funny?”

Your eyes are hazy and there’s a faraway look in them and it’s a look of someone who has well and truly lost their sanity.

“I love the taste of blood on your lips.”

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