#stop talking as if its my only option as if its supposed to be what i want | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ireverie · 27 days ago

Text

indulgence

pairing ↠ serial killer!sunghoon x (f) professor!reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, graphic depictions of murder, graphic depictions of violence, noncon, mentions of pregnancy, sunghoon is 43 (set in 2023)

summary ↠ you're an accomplished detective in the detroit area and park sunghoon is a prolific serial killer. when your department sends you on its behalf to pull back his layers, you attempt to convince sunghoon to recount his experiences and unravel the mystery once and for all.

wc ↠ 10.3k

a/n ↠ originally posted on my blog revehae, i am not plagiarizing myself. sunghoon’s american for the plot. part 3/3 of the in my blood series. as always, feedback is appreciated!

don’t like it, don’t read.

the deepest prick of unease settled through you and you shuddered from its nipping cold.

killers were your forte, but none like this. never in your life had you ever met a killer who’d been at their craft for over a decade. they typically got sloppy after the first half, which insinuated that this sunghoon park guy, whoever he was, was far from an ameteur.

“gate twelve,” came the guard’s voice, speaking into a transmitter. he was to escort you to sunghoon’s holding room.

the gate lifted. behind it, you clocked the riveting face of detroit’s worst nightmare, hands cuffed at his back as he sat facing you. there was a sort of twisted grin on his face, not as if he was excited to have a visitor, but excited his visitor had been you.

“good luck with this guy. officers tried to get him to budge. he didn’t take the fifth, but the bastard’s damn good at talking in circles,” the guard whispered in your ear.

“duly noted,” you replied quietly, stepping further and taking the seat across from sunghoon.

the guard left you to your devices, shutting the door behind you and leaving through the passage that led to the gate. complete and total privacy was the only way sunghoon agreed to talk. your department initially refused, insisting there should at least be one or two other officers monitoring the interview, but you let him have his way.

if you wanted to get this man to talk, that was your only option.

“hello, sunghoon. i’m detective ___ from the detroit police department,” you introduced yourself coolly, cloaking your nerves with confidence. never would you show a guy like this any fear.

sunghoon hadn’t stopped grinning since he made eye contact with you. you’d seen pictures at most and he was devilishly handsome, even more so in person, but it didn’t compensate for his unsettling aura. “that’s a beautiful name, detective.”

“flattery will get you nowhere, park.”

“it’s gotten me here,” sunghoon quipped.

“yes, it has. and i suppose you already know why i’m here.”

“yes, i do,” sunghoon said, pleasant thus far. “you want me to tell you about the murders.”

you bobbed your head. “i do. you see, you’re an enigma to me, sunghoon. you turn yourself in, get fingerprinted, and all of the sudden our datsbase’s going off because your prints are connected to three other crimes over the past twenty-five years.”

sunghoon feigned surprise. “wow, it’s been that long?”

“it has,” you replied, in spite of knowing he couldn’t have not been aware. “martina mortes in 1998, sabrina lee in 2005, christine dalton in 2013, and dr. lee this year.”

sunghoon leaned back in his chair. “i’m familiar with those names.”

“you should be. you sexually assaulted and murdered these women,” you spat, none too tender. “except for martina mortes. you only strangled her. do you want to tell me why that it is?”

“what’s the weather like today? i haven’t been outside, but summer has been kind to detroit.”

ignoring him, you persisted, “let me guess. she was your first victim and that kill, unlike the others, was spontaneous. her being dead defeated the purpose of the sex act, didn’t it?”

“well, do you like your partners warm or cold, detective?” sunghoon asked, deflecting.

you were heeding the guard’s warning. it seemed this guy liked to answer questions with questions, your least favorite type of offender. “that’s why when you subsequently added the sex act to part of your crimes, you kept your victims much longer, because you like to see them suffer. until you got bored. then, you killed them and dumped their bodies like trash.”

as if he was disinterested, sunghoon glanced to the side and yawned.

the audacity on this guy was astounding. “am i boring you, park?”

sunghoon replied with total indifference, “if you think you know everything, then why are we here?”

you answered without hesitation, “because i think you’ve wanted to tell someone about what you’ve done for a long time, sunghoon. but you realize that you’re not like other people. i’m giving you the opportunity to get it all off of your chest.”

sunghoon cocked his head to the side, as if he was contemplating your offer. his face was borderline inscrutable. it was difficult, if not impossible, to decipher what he was thinking.

you restrained from heaving a breath. there was a crushing weight on your shoulders, the expectation to get this guy to crack. if you couldn’t do it, nobody would - ever. “how many victims do you have?”

“four.” sunghoon’s answer was quick, automatic. like he didn’t even have to think about it for a second.

folding your arms on the table, you shook your head. “no, i just don’t think that’s true. see, we’re pretty sure martina mortes, your high school girlfriend, was your first victim, and the college professor was your last.”

sunghoon cocked a brow. “but?”

“but there’s no way someone like you could’ve resisted your urges between four kills over the past two decades and then some.”

there was no point in denying the four victims, because you already had substantial proof. nor did sunghoon deny that martina was his first victim, because given the decomposition of the bodies, she died long before the other three. admitting that she wasn’t would be admitting that there were unfound others.

and sunghoon had no intention of implicating himself more than he already had. the only reason he turned himself in was because he didn’t want to prolong the inevitable, for whatever reason. he pulled his lips into a mock frown. “your assumptions about my self-restraint are hurtful,” he replied.

whatever, moron, you thought irritability. “i think they’re more than just assumptions.”

sunghoon teased, “then, let me know when you know something.”

you narrowed your eyes, groaning, “oh, come on. i know and you know that you can’t ignore your desires for a month, let alone over ten years. you have a compulsion. killing makes you feel powerful, it makes you feel in control, and you can’t live without the high it gives you.”

“you make me sound like an addict,” sunghoon remarked, pretending to be offended.

“it wouldn’t be so far from the truth,” you said, glancing over the file at your end of the table. “the first two kills were seven years apart. the second two kills were ten. full offense, i don’t see how you could control yourself for so long.”

“you can believe what you want, detective. i didn’t kill anyone else,” sunghoon lied, not that you ever needed to know.

of course, he couldn’t control himself. the second he took someone’s life, it became a part of him, and his purpose in this world became clear to him. for the first time in his life, he felt as if he had something that made living worthwhile.

you surrendered. it was obvious sunghoon was intelligent and he wouldn’t be easily tricked into confessing. “okay, fine. let’s talk about the victims we know of. tell me about martina mortes.”

“what is there to tell?” sunghoon asked, brow cocked. “we met in junior high. then, in eleventh grade, we got together.”

“tell me about why you killed her,” you insisted, painfully curious. “it happened in chicago, before you moved to detroit over the summer. you killed her in the heat of the moment.”

sunghoon gave the impression that he would take a minute to crack, so you were surprised when he said in response to your prodding, “we got into a wrangle, if you will.”

that much was obvious. “what kind of wrangle?”

the garage was hot and the air was stuffy, making it difficult to breathe. to say nothing of the frustration scorching sunghoon’s skin, his face tensed into an irritated glower.

there was something about women he never liked, the seemingly inherent ability to blow almost anything out of proportion, as exhibited now as his girlfriend screamed in his face. his stepmother was the same, never not coming up with a reason to fuss at him. he was always walking on eggshells around that woman.

martina was bristling. “you always fucking do this, sunghoon.”

sunghoon heaved a breath, sighing, “what - what do i always do, martina?”

“you trivialize everything i go through. you make me feel like i’m overreacting when i’m not, you just refuse to hold yourself accountable,” she spat.

“martina, we’re about to go to college, for fuck’s sake! you can’t focus on your academics and a goddamn child. i don’t get why you won’t just have an abortion and call it a day,” sunghoon roared, heating up a thousand degrees.

“god, do you listen to a word that comes out of my mouth? my parents will kill me, sunghoon. if not for being pregnant at eighteen, then for killing it.”

sunghoon sighed. “i don’t see the part where that’s my problem.”

tears blurred martina’s eyes. she came up to him, shattered by his carelessness and embraced by isolation, and bellowed, “you want to know what your problem is? your problem is that you’re an incompetent bastard with no regard for other people!”

sunghoon’s body was engulfed in flames but his shoulders were cold, and he lost control of his emotions, grabbing martina by the throat. he effortlessly lifted her with a single hand and smashed her against the closest wall none too gently, watching her eyes wince closed.

“you wanna say that again?” sunghoon asked, nothing short of belligerent.

ache spread out through the back of martina’s head, a ceaseless throbbing worse than any hungover. her feet dangled off of the ground, waving and kicking, fingers weakly prying at the ones pressing down on her windpipe. until she was completely still, legs dropping, hands going limp at her sides.

“i didn’t even realize how long i spent standing there, until she felt… empty, and i knew she was gone,” sunghoon confessed, but his tone was far from sympathetic. “she scratched me. you know, when she was trying to pry my hands off. i didn’t know until hours later.”

you shook your head, disdainful. “you killed your pregnant girlfriend?”

sunghoon groaned, “oh, please. i was eighteen. i would’ve been a terrible father.”

“i would be slightly more inclined to accept that as an excuse if it weren’t for the fact that you had a son by sabrina lee only two years later,” you said viciously.

“a lot can change in two years.”

“i’m sure it did.” your eyes flickered over the file again, but nothing would allow you to familiarize yourself with this killer more than talking to him yourself. “for example, you realized just how much you liked killing.”

if sunghoon could’ve raised his hands, he would’ve. “your words, not mine.”

you leaned over the table, unrelenting. “tell me about it, sunghoon. how did it feel when you strangled her with your bare hands? what was it like?”

sunghoon chuckled. “is that what you wanna hear?”

you nodded.

sunghoon leaned in too, getting closer to you, and whispered in your ear, “i squeezed every last breath out of her, one by one, until there was nothing left for her brain and she went slack in my arms. and when i was done, i felt elated. i felt free. it woke up this dormant sensation inside of me that i swore to never repress again, because it made me feel alive.”

your lungs started to feel shallower, like no breath could reach the bottom, and you sensed your heart come to a halt for a minute. sunghoon pulled back, grinning from ear to ear, as if he was proud of himself.

“detective, did i startle you?” sunghoon asked, tilting his head ever so slightly.

your face hardened. “why would you ever think that?”

“you’re not as good at feigning indifference as you think you are, detective. full offense,” he mimicked, mocking.

he’s just a fragile man that kills women to make him feel better about himself, because he needs to be in control. don’t give him power over you. that’s what he wants, you said to yourself, shutting any and all other thoughts. “so, you killed martina, nobody could connect her disappearance to you, and by the time they discovered her body you were already studying for college two states over.”

sunghoon ignored you, at least for a little. he was taking a liking to making you feel uneasy around him. “has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?” he asked out of nowhere.

“you aren’t my type. i don’t fool around with serial killers,” you replied sharply.

sunghoon didn’t seem to be offended, but you didn’t expect him to. “really now? it feels like we’re on a date right now. after all, we are getting to know each other.”

you asked, “have you always had such a distorted perception of normal human interaction?”

sunghoon shot with no hesitation, “have you always had such a sharp mouth?”

you pulled yourself together. the only way you would get anywhere with this guy was by establishing that you were the one in control. “okay, enough. this is my interview, park. you answer my questions, not vice versa.”

“that’s not any fair,” sunghoon told you, that unnerving smile still on his lips. “i don’t have to tell you anything, you know. and without me, you lose the only key to those answers you want so badly.”

“you shutting up doesn’t make much of a difference, considering you’re already dodging my questions,” you replied.

“let’s play a game,” sunghoon suggested.

you weren’t in the mood for any games, but that was sunghoon’s method of operation. “i don’t like games.”

“you’ll like this one,” sunghoon insisted, laughing. “twenty questions.”

your shoulders dropped. “am i supposed to be guessing something?”

sunghoon shook his head, something sinister about him. “no, it’s much easier than that. we take turns asking each other questions until i’ve answered ten and you’ve unanswered ten.”

you stared into his eyes, willing yourself not to break contact. he was just as relentless, silently cocking a brow at you, as if to challenge. and you weren’t an idiot. that’s exactly what it was. you asserted, “i go first, you can only ask me yes or no questions, and if i don’t like your final answer i get to press you for another.”

sunghoon slightly lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “yes, ma’am.”

“okay,” you started. “what made you move from illinois to michigan?”

“i was kicked out of the house. didn’t have anywhere else to go. but i had a buddy here whose family took me in,” sunghoon answered frankly.

you pondered those words, wondering if his aforementioned buddy knew about his secret indulgences. or if he asked why sunghoon’s parents kicked him out of their home. it would’ve been the question scratching at your mind, itching to be answered.

sunghoon’s lips parted. “what kind of perfume are you wearing - honey lavender?”

“yes,” you said, focusing your attention on anything but the possibilities of how he could’ve known that. he’d been with so many people to the point where he just knew. “why did you get kicked out of the house?”

“my dad always thought there was something different about me, ever since i was a child. he was a nasty piece of work. he found my journal, read a couple of things i wrote, and decided there was no hope for me in the house,” sunghoon ranted.

that piqued your curiosity. “what did you write about?”

“wait your turn,” sunghoon sang. “your hair smells just as lovely as the rest of you. do you match scents all the time?”

you were mildly uncomfortable, but given the type of dude he was, you stifled it. “yes. you don’t have to be such a pervert all the time, you know?”

again, sunghoon rolled his shoulders, chirping, “you call it perverse. i call it amusing.”

you almost cursed under your breath when you realize you’d asked him a question. “wait, i didn’t mean to ask…”

sunghoon cut you off, “that’s too bad. it’s my turn again. do you like necklaces?”

“not ones made out of fingers,” you retorted. it was meant to be a joke to hide how unsettled you were, hyper aware of the necklace dangling around your neck. you could feel invisible pressure on your throat.

sunghoon snickered. “i’ll admit that was funny.”

you pressed, “what did you write about in the journal?”

“my dreams,” he admitted vaguely, though in reality, he wrote endlessly about his corrupt fantasies of abusing women. some pages were about his stepsister, and there was a few about what he’d done to martina, though not explicitly. “you have the most beautiful eyes. they’re the perfect shade.”

you were certain he had told many other girls those same words and were not flattered in the slightest. the glare you were giving him was ferocious. “i’m not sure if there’s a question in there somewhere.”

“do you think your eyes are pretty?”

“i haven’t really thought about it,” you told him, quick to change the topic. you’d encountered your fair share of stranglers and it was no secret why he was so interested in your eyes. “was your relationship with your father estranged?”

“nothing was enough for that man. i had the top grades in my class and the highest gpa, and he took my door off its hinges and seized my privacy,” sunghoon told you, words harsh, but his tone plain. “he was obsessed with being the perfect family, something that was ruined the second my mother destroyed everything, and rather than embrace me, he turned me away.”

your eyes flickered. there was something about his language that stood out to you. courtesy of the research you’d done on him beforehand, you were aware that his father was divorced then remarried his stepmother, who already had a daughter sunghoon’s age. but rather than describe his parent’s separation as a divorce, he said his mother destroyed everything.

what a hostile view towards women, you mused, repulsed. but given the nature of his crimes, it adds up. and it might’ve been the origin of his hatred.

his family was twisted. you couldn’t fathom how his father, aware of just how unwell his son was, clocked his abusive fantasies towards women, and instead of getting him the help he needed, he left him to his own devices to slaughter them as he pleased.

you blinked when sunghoon leaned, craning his face towards yours, and snapped out of your reverie when you jolted back.

“there you are,” sunghoon said, chuckling at your surprise. it was all over your face. “i’ve been talking to myself all this time. you must’ve been thinking about me.”

“no, not really. i was wondering if i forgot to feed my dog last night.” it was an obvious lie, but you would never encourage this guy to feel more important than he was.

amusement gleamed in sunghoon’s eyes. he was having a wonderful time, truth be told. had you not been so pretty, he would’ve clamped up like a crab, but you were so pleasing to the eye that he didn’t mind confessing a couple of truths. “a dog. that’s interesting. i myself have always wanted a pet - a snake. the constricting kind are my favorite.”

“you don’t say,” you droned, voice dripping with crisp irony.

your sarcasm was chucklesome to sunghoon, but his words were the truth. he remembered, all those years ago, asking his father for a pet snake. and when he refused, sunghoon, in turn, killed the family dog. he added, “they don’t just suffocate their prey. they coil around them, almost like a straitjacket, and cut off its blood supply.”

you replied, “yeah, but animals hunt to survive. you hunted because you had nothing better to do with your life.”

“in my humble opinion, we’re all animals of nature, and creatures of sin,” sunghoon told you in a whisper, as if he were telling you a secret of some kind. “anyways, it’s my turn now.”

you resisted a disgruntled exhale.

like his questions couldn’t get any more absurd and strangely perverse, sunghoon asked, “when you shower, what do you use - a washcloth or a loofah?”

“that’s not a yes or no question,” you replied with total disinterest.

“it’s hardly any less simple.”

“a washcloth,” you replied, though only because you needed to ask him your questions and resisting an answer would only waste valuable time. “why did you wait so long before killing sabrina lee?”

sunghoon smiled at the mention of his son’s mother, but the grin on his lips was distinguishable from the others. like he didn’t even realize he was smiling. “she was special. i loved her.”

“no, you didn’t. you don’t hurt people that you love.”

“maybe that’s true for you, but you’ve called me everything but a child of god and it’s clear you don’t think you and i are alike,” sunghoon said. “i don’t miss her, though, because she left a better print on this world. a world that was never made for her in the first place.”

a better print on this world. your brows furrowed, until you remembered the child they shared together. “you know what i think? i think whatever you felt for your son’s mother was the closest thing to love you’ll ever be able to pull from your ugly black heart.”

“you’re very strongly opinionated,” sunghoon responded, ever so unbothered. maybe some decades ago, it would’ve irked him to the point of breaking, but he was much more in charge of his impulses now.

you lifted your shoulders, gazing at him with the most discerning of eyes. all he could think about was how nice it would’ve been to seize you by the throat and watch the light dull from them.

to your surprise, sunghoon’s next question was not as a deviant as you assumed it would be, asking, “what made you decide you wanted to become a detective?”

“because of the people i used to know that aren’t around to tell you why,” you answered distantly, before pressing, “how was sabrina different, sunghoon?”

sunghoon perched over the table again, an uncomfortable distance close to you, made worse by his whispers. “because unlike the others, she didn’t beg me to stop - she begged me to finish. for it to be over. and when i wouldn’t, she begged me to kill her.”

the mental picture you got was cruel. your heart hurt for these women that had no idea what hit them until it was too late.

“i put these women out of their misery,” sunghoon continued.

you spat in a heartbeat, “the misery that you forced them to endure.”

sunghoon winced. “no, these women were miserable long before they met me. they were just ignorant of it. impressionability is a weakness.”

“either you have one hell of a god complex or you are working overtime to justify your sick actions.”

sunghoon merely shrugged, vicious and ominous and everything in between. there was something so dark about his spirit. you could feel it just from sitting within a couple of feet of him.

sunghoon’s memories were triggered. he was reminiscing about the times he shared with his son’s mother, how perfect she was. there were no other women like her. she was his favorite victim, someone he took his sweet time with, while the others were disposed of in a few months time.

midnight loomed, riding on the tail of dusk. sunghoon was counting down the minutes until the clock struck twelve, a self-imposed rule to gauge his willpower. the second the hour came, he bolted from the crackling sound of the cabin’s fireplace to a bedroom, anticipation like a stimulant.

the wooden floorboards creaked the closer sunghoon crept to the door. save for himself and the woman chained to the bedpost, the cabin was void of life. it belonged to the parents of a close friend who ensured it was vacant whenever sunghoon needed a place to indulge his twisted fantasies.

which was basically all of the time.

he meandered inside with a crisp bottle of water in hand, droplets condensing at its sides. sabrina laid right where he left her, just as broken, dreading her next breath. tape adhered to the flesh over her mouth, muffling her whimpers. there was nobody around for miles, the cabin was totally isolated, but it was a safety measure.

the chains were used likewise. when sunghoon was not there, the restraints kept her prisoner. sunghoon, reckless as he could be back then, was many things and stupid was not one of them. the chains stretched long enough to reach the bathroom but no further and he had his loyal friend help him test it after each victim.

“can you go further?” sunghoon called out.

heeseung’s lower limbs were shackled, ceasing his footsteps just shy of the hallway as he came to a total standstill. “not if i want my legs to follow me,” he’d retorted.

sunghoon had snickered. “good.”

had sunghoon been there, though, he would take the chains off. none of this was fair, even sunghoon didn’t believe that, but not giving them the chance to fight was too unfair. he needed not to chain them when he had the gift of his big, burly arms.

sunghoon waltzed over with a lighthearted and carefree gait, as if this was just another wednesday afternoon to him. and in some sick, despicable way, that wasn’t too far from the truth. he ripped the tape from sabrina’s lips, watching her face tense with pain.

“sunghoon,” sabrina rasped, voice croaking. he could tell from her flushed face and misty eyes that she’d been crying. “i’m thirsty.”

sunghoon cocked a brow, glancing to his hand. he had an irritating knack for playing dumb. it used to be endearing. now, with everything she knew to be true torn from her bare hands, sabrina didn’t know what to think. “what - you want this?”

sabrina nodded.

“yeah?” he popped off the top, throwing back a few gulps just before releasing a satisfied, “ah.”

sabrina’s lips trembled. “please.”

had she been anybody else, sunghoon probably would’ve dangled the water in her face just to snatch it away, but there was something about sabrina that made him gravitate towards her. in a rare moment of benevolence, sunghoon handed her the water, letting her drink.

she didn’t drink in short sips, but in giant gulps as if she’d known for some time that they’d be her last. when her thirst was satiated, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, handing the bottle back, and whispered, “thank you.”

sunghoon set the drink aside before returning to her, unshackling her limbs. sabrina’s breath quickened the moment the chains clacked harshly against the floor and nearly stilled when he brought his hand to her flushed face, tracing her chapped lips with a calloused thumb.

his thoughts rushed with unbridled exhilaration, ablaze with suspense, but he slowed for a moment to marvel at her loveliness. sunghoon’s hand touched her hair, touch tender in ways it would never be again, because he would never again know a woman as great as her.

he brought his lips to her ear, nibbling at the shell before asking, “do you know what i want you to do?”

sabrina bobbed her head, starting to halfheartedly peel off her clothes without needing to be told. with so many days held prisoner in this hell hole, it became routine. like she’d already resigned herself to her fate and knew sunghoon getting his way was inevitable. he always got what he wanted.

to be frank, it came out of nowhere. she never saw this twisted side of him coming. all she knew was that she became suspicious of his lack of family presence and it was too late when she saw him for the monster that he was, and then she woke here.

it had to have been months ago, although sabrina couldn’t have been sure how many. everyday started to bleed into the static hopelessness of another. sometimes sunghoon wouldn’t show for days, leaving her to live antsily, dreading his unavoidable return. other times, he would spend a day or two in the cabin, fucking her into kingdom come.

as if she couldn’t be any more faultless. sunghoon smirked. “smart girl,” he purred. he would never deny her wit, given that she’d caught onto him, but her lack of strength was her only vice.

sunghoon restlessly tossed his own shirt over his naked shoulder and came to step out of his boxers. there was mischief on his plush lips. he knew something sabrina only knew from the unkind churn of her gut.

the end was more than near. it loomed over her, relentless and remorseless, and all she could like it to was dark and leaden clouds in a somber sky. even then, there was almost nothing she wouldn’t give to see the world again, but she’d long kissed that hope goodbye.

“down,” sunghoon told her, tone dark and stern.

she pliantly did as told, bare back meeting the mattress. sunghoon crept over her, hard cock twitching at the sight of her so meek. typically, he liked when they put up a fight, but sabrina knew better.

sunghoon could tell she was fighting back tears, willing herself not to cry with a stabilized breath, but her endeavors were in vain the second he started to force his way inside her. they escaped her eyes and dampened her cheeks, unable to overlook the agony of the stretch.

“shh, baby,” sunghoon crooned in her ear, the weight of his body bearing down onto hers. “what’s the matter? you used to beg me to fuck you.”

sabrina shook her head, silently pleading for a mercy she knew deep down that sunghoon wasn’t capable of. “please make it quick.”

sunghoon’s tone was almost sweet. “but baby, you told me you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, remember?”

sunghoon knew that his words weren’t reassuring and he didn’t intend for them to be. there was a reason why he loved how she tried to hold herself together. he got to push her limits, find her breaking point. in the end, she would get her wish, and in a way, sunghoon thought that that was love.

her walls were just as tight and vice-like as they’d been all those times he’d taken her before. if sunghoon got close enough to her, let his hands wander and tease as they never not had done, sabrina would still involuntarily gush around his cock. like her body knew she was forever a slave to his touch.

just looking at her face as she wept sent shock waves of pleasure rippling through his dick and chest. sabrina didn’t cry in noisy, gasping sobs. her tears dripped from her thick lashes quietly, mouth parting in the most silent of whimpers.

and she orgasmed the same way, sunghoon remembered. back when things were normal between them, when she begged for him to fuck her, as he called it, her release was marked by a volatile shudder, but a silent cry of ecstasy.

sunghoon pushed sabrina’s lips into an upward curling with his thumb and index finger. “smile for the camera, sabrina,” he whispered.

sabrina’s brows furrowed, painfully oblivious to the camera tracking her every emote. sunghoon couldn’t not document his deeds. there was something about being able to play them over, immersing himself back in that moment over and over, even when the life itself could not be so easily brought back.

but for sunghoon, they could be. when he rewatched these videos again and again, it was like he could feel their pulses thump in their neck, resuscitating.

sunghoon’s hands were everywhere, fingertips traipsing towards sabrina’s neck where marks lingered from all the times he’d strangled her, only to slacken his grip when she was just shy of passing out. the bruises were different colors, indicative of different healing stages. sabrina tensed, startled, and wondered when it would all be over.

“sunghoon.” sabrina was overcome with defeat. her voice cracked as she asked, “sunghoon, please just cum.”

sunghoon’s face tensed with pleasure. “fuck, babe, when you say it like that…”

he stood at the brink of climax, threatening to teeter over, and there was only one thing that could knock him over quicker than anything else. it wouldn’t be anything she said, anything she did, but only a weakness sunghoon had the power to wield against himself.

“you want me to finish?”

sabrina nodded.

sunghoon chuckled darkly. “then, in that case, it’s time for you to get your wish, baby.”

he watched her shoulders slump, releasing all hope of ever knowing anything different again and accepting that this was where things ended. thinking about the feeling he remembered none too distantly, one that almost seemed to keep his blood pumping through him, in a way, sunghoon’s fingers itched.

sunghoon lifted his hands, bringing them to sabrina’s face, but before he could touch her, she exclaimed, “wait, sunghoon!”

his brow cocked.

sabrina’s lips trembled. “can you tell me what today is? please?”

“wednesday,” sunghoon replied, holding his hands around her neck, but keeping his grip slack. for now.

“wednesday,” sabrina said, pulling her lips into the faintest of smiles as tears blurred her vision. “will you tell jake that i hope he has an amazing thursday?”

“that can be arranged,” sunghoon said, grinning.

sabrina nodded, setting her mind at ease. she’d already made peace with this day some months ago. she never knew when it come, but she saw it as something bound to happen. “thank you,” she whispered.

those were her last words. because when sunghoon tightened his grip at her throat, almost like tightening a noose, he couldn’t bring himself to stop in spite of the agonized gleam in her stare. and then her stare was empty, and sunghoon had already emptied his load inside of her.

to describe the sensation he got from killing in a way that captured its essence would be impossible. it was more than feeling the life leave her. it was more than watching her eyes become soulless. it was a release, a way of relinquishing all of the vacantness he harbored, and knowing that his heart was still there.

it would always return, sometimes as soon as the next day, but for a minute, sunghoon was whole and no drug could replicate that kind of contentedness.

sunghoon did tell jake what sabrina said. he wasn’t all too sure why, maybe it was because she was his mother and jake was her son that they’d created together, and sunghoon would never have it any other way. for her to be the one to give him a child, he couldn’t imagine any other woman in her place.

it was almost unfortunate that she had to go so soon. even sunghoon thought that her demise was premature. had she not grown so suspicious of him, sunghoon could imagine making her his wife, maybe even spending the rest of his life with her.

their marriage wouldn’t have been without his secret dark life, but sabrina wouldn’t’ve been a victim. alas, loose ends needed to be tied. sunghoon couldn’t trust that she would’ve kept quiet, and even then, she was in a much more fitting place for an angel like herself.

there was much of this memory that would be abridged. never would sunghoon reveal anything about the cabin or the dear friend that helped him commit his indulgences, or even the existence of the tapes. if they found those videos, that was proof of murder with a grand total of 106 women.

the air around you was heavy and the words you’d just been fed weren’t easily take in. “what you’re just told me is really sad.”

but sunghoon didn’t look sad. whether or not he ever truly cared for sabrina would perpetually be a mystery. “maybe,” he started. “but tell me that you wouldn’t hurt the person you loved most if it was what was best for them.”

“i did. but what i had to do is different from what you were.”

sunghoon’s interest was piqued. “how come?”

“it was my responsibility to decide whether or not to take my sister off of the ventilator. there was no hope for her,” you confessed, though brushed over it quickly. “what happened to your ex-wife?”

“not that interesting of a story,” sunghoon said. “she wasn’t sabrina, i got tired of her, here we are.”

“and yet she wasn’t a one-off like martina mortes.”

“had she been a one-off, my body count would be one number higher. that was a favor,” sunghoon told you, grinning as if you actually had something to be grateful for.

you didn’t waste a second to accuse, “because you need to keep your victims to extract all the relief that you can from them, right?”

“i’m afraid it’s not your turn to ask questions,” sunghoon replied tauntingly. “what was your sister like - did she have long hair? what color were her eyes? how long were her lashes?”

sick son of a bitch, bellowed the voice in your head, though you willed yourself to remain composed. it was plain on his face that sunghoon didn’t want an answer - he wanted a reaction. and as furious as that made you, you couldn’t let him provoke you. “that’s none of your business,” you said, but there was a loophole. “but she was beloved.”

that qualified as an answer. sunghoon glanced at you in a way that made you feel see-through, as if he knew that you were threatening to come apart at the seams and didn’t buy your nonchalance for a minute.

sated, he went on to feed you bullshit about his ex-wife’s death, though there were only four people who knew what truly happened to her and one of them was dead.

sunghoon remembered that day like it happened yesterday. it was a thursday evening when he’d come home from work. christine had picked jake up from school hours ago and sunghoon wholly expected to come home to her in the kitchen.

it was dark outside. the moon was a mere sliver and the stars were duller than they typically were, almost like they had witnessed something that drained their spirits. sunghoon remembered struggling to identify his house key, trying each of them until the door clicked open.

“i’m home,” sunghoon’s voice thundered as he turned to lock the door.

there were quick footsteps from upstairs. jake, sunghoon thought, more than familiarized with the sound. but there was none of christine’s usual voice.

“dad, i’m hungry,” came jake’s voice from the stairs, coming down them one by one.

that in itself should’ve been suspicious, but instead, all sunghoon could think about was how sabrina would’ve already fed her son. “hasn’t christine made dinner by now?” sunghoon asked, irritated.

jake shook his head, though sunghoon couldn’t see. he was hanging his coat on the rack, like he always did after he locked the door. “she can’t right now.”

“why not?”

“because i think she’s dead,” jake replied, nonchalant as ever.

that was the very second that sunghoon turned around and noticed that jake was stained with blood. it was all over his face and the spots would probably never come out of his clothes, not that they would be kept.

for half a minute, sunghoon was genuinely stunned.

jake didn’t say what happened, and there was no need to. “the blood won’t come off,” was all he said, showing his father the pair of hands that he’d washed with vigor.

sunghoon heaved a breath. he should’ve seen this coming. jake took after his father and he never liked christine. to say the least, sunghoon couldn’t blame him. “where is she?”

“where they all go,” jake replied, as if it was the most normal and natural thing in the world to him.

sunghoon headed for the basement with quick footsteps, jake following behind. if somebody were to come down there, they wouldn’t suspect a thing. not only was it decorated to look like one, but it was used as a man cave. behind a soundproof wall, though, was a dungeon for his prisoners.

in this case, there was a trail of blood leading to the wall, proof that jake had somehow brought christine there after he hurt her. sunghoon entered the cell and saw her there behind the bars, coming to her side to check her pulse.

pressing his thumb to her wrist and neck, sunghoon sensed a pulse, though it was weakening. “she’s not dead,” he said, wresting his phone out of his pocket.

jake didn’t look so relieved, but he didn’t voice his dissatisfaction. “are you mad?”

sunghoon glanced down at christine. jake had used a kitchen knife, attacking her in the heat of the moment. she was butchered and blood-splattered, on the verge of slaughter, and yet sunghoon couldn’t find it in him to offer any compassion. “that you hurt her? no. that you made a mess? a little.”

now that was a relief. to jake, at least back then, his dad was the coolest guy that he knew.

there was quite the scene in front of him and sunghoon didn’t have a thing for blood. he shook his head in reproach, chastising, “i’m going to teach you the right way to get rid of a woman when you’re sick of her.”

that piqued jake’s curiosity.

sunghoon was quick to dial heeseung’s number. he had medical experience and that was what he needed right now. when the call connected, he said, “i’m in calling in a favor.”

heeseung patched her up again. at least for a few months, sunghoon still needed her breathing. they scrubbed the floors free of blood, burned jake’s bloodied clothes, and it was as if nothing ever happened.

what sunghoon had told you was only a fraction of the truth, but still enough to make you want to grimace. it bemused you how he got away with murdering his ex-wife and nobody thought to suspect her husband with a track record of disappearing partners.

“you want to know what’s really amazing?” you started, though it was more like disgusting. “how three of the women you’ve killed were your significant others, and somehow, you’ve only now been incriminated.”

sunghoon looked proud of himself. had it not been for jake, he probably would’ve never been caught. “sabrina never told anyone that we dated, or that she had a baby by me. her parents wanted her to focus on her education. if they knew she’d gotten pregnant, she would’ve been the black sheep.”

“and you took advantage of that,” you hissed.

“so what if i did?” sunghoon asked, careless. “not to mention that dozens of teenage girls in chicago were going missing at the time. they added martina to that number and called it a day. is that sad? maybe. but that’s how it works.”

“and as for your co-worker?” you asked sharply. the boldness of his crimes astounded you. “her husband grieves her. were you having an affair?”

the thought of her made sunghoon chuckle. oh, were we, he reminisced. it was a misfortune that he didn’t get the chance to have his way with her the way that he wanted. and for that reason, he couldn’t regale you in a truthful account of her death.

what happened that day, the day his co-worker died, challenged his fate and was the reason that he only now knew the imprisonment he thrusted upon others.

sunghoon knew when he spotted her that he would revel in her vulnerability. married, but she hardly wore her ring. her kind was the most naive - the kind that believed ecstasy was without costly sin. one way or another, she had to reap what she sowed.

he worked his way inside her pants, but it was hardly any work; she was on a desperate pursuit for pleasure and when sunghoon promised it to her, offering content on a silver platter, she thought less with her brain and more with the throbbing between her legs.

for months, sunghoon slept with her, which was far from typical. if she were anybody else, sunghoon would have pursued her for a couple of weeks time, then banished her to the underground prison. though considering he already had a victim down there at the time, he had some time to spare.

it was no secret that she had grown fond of sunghoon in ways she hadn’t been of her husband in a very long time, and though sunghoon found her to be special, in a way, he could not reciprocate her feelings. when sunghoon saw her, all he felt was the overwhelming urge to use her with a lick of remorse, and squeeze those panting breaths out of her.

it was a shame that he never got the opportunity. sunghoon already tested the bounds of his self-restraint when it came to her, each of their encounters consensual with her oblivious to his deepest, darkest desires. sometimes, his fingers would wander to her neck, but even that was wanted.

what was not wanted was the tyranny over her body that preceded her death. it bemused sunghoon to learn that his son, along with two of his friends that he thought of like brothers and sunghoon thought of like sons, ravaged her to the brink of being unrecognizable.

had sunghoon held control over the situation, he wouldn’t have cared what happened to her and would have even permitted them to go to town. but what happened was somehow darker. when he got a call from the professor late that day, hearing her broken sobs over the phone, he told her to meet him at his house.

that was his first mistake.

it wasn’t that she didn’t come. she made it there, hopeful to confide in sunghoon about the nightmare that tore her apart, but it was jake that opened the front door. and when she entered, there was no hope out of her coming out breathing.

jake had been a downward spiral ever since a month ago when he stumbled upon the tape of his mother. ever since he was a boy, jake watched every tape he could find of his father’s dark life, even sharing them with his friends as if they were movies and not snuff.

but this was not like those. this was his mother. and watching her suffer, listening to her final request before her untimely death, broke jake in ways which he would never recover.

jake had known since he was little that his mother was dead and his father was to blame, but his understanding of what happened to her was skewed. if he’d known eighteen years ago what he knew today, when sunghoon had his own son aid him in his mother’s demise, none of it would have ever happened.

to say nothing of the fact that what sunghoon had jake do was only a mere fraction of his mother’s suffering. jake would fetch things from the other side of the cabin he vaguely remembered visiting every now and then for three months. when he was not there, which was often, he would lie to his neighbors about her whereabouts.

even though when she died he was only a kid being taken advantage of, jake hated himself for letting it happen right under his nose. he wished he would’ve told his neighbors the truth. maybe if he had, his mother would still be alive and kicking, and he would know the only woman he ever cared for.

that was why he went after his professor that he knew his father had also been eyeing closely and having an affair with. her fate was obvious. sunghoon would entertain her for a while, somehow charm and woo his way into her pants like he did every other woman, kidnap her and keep her downstairs for three months, then kill her and identify the next victim.

but sunghoon’s liking of her was also hopelessly discernable. she was living too long. and that was a telltale sign that sunghoon took a special interest in his son’s professor, something that jake feared would rival the affection (if it existed) for his mother.

jake was not keen on having his mother replaced. the last time it happened, he snapped and maimed his stepmother. and he was not afraid of doing so again.

when jake exacted revenge, it felt like nothing he had ever done before. vengeance tasted like heaven. his professor tasted elysian. and he had never felt so good about himself, but then the high wore off, comparable to the fading release sunghoon got after strangling his victims, and familiar pain seared through him once further.

vindictiveness was a lethal venom, festering quickly upon injection. after jake got what he wanted, there was a greed to replicate that feeling, in spite of the fact that nothing would compare to that first blow. in his own way, unlike his father’s but similar nonetheless, he was pivoting towards release.

jake was on the brink of something like psychosis when he heard those knocks on his front door. and when he peered outside, spotting the professor, his recklessness got the better of him.

she was dead before she even stepped inside the house. jake yanked her inside, brought her downstairs, and forced himself onto her for a second time that day. when she wept for sunghoon, wishing he would come home, jake almost pitied her naïveté.

if jake hadn’t killed her, wrapping his hands around her throat the way that he knew his father had been yearning to, sunghoon would have.

the look on his professor’s face was pitiful. “sorry,” jake said, though he clasped his hands around her throat harder. “but i have to make a statement.”

it was not particularly a difficult thing to do, at least not to stomach, but killing her was merely just a means to an end. he didn’t get off to it like his father would’ve, jake’s interest lay inflicting psychological damage, but he did it because he knew how much it pleasured sunghoon to squeeze the life out of his victims.

and if jake couldn’t have what he wanted, then as long as he lived, neither would his dad for tearing it away.

sunghoon came home moments too late. jake left his professor in the cellar for his father to find, eyes wide and face pale.

sunghoon glanced around. he saw her car parked outside, but no sign of her. when jake came from his bedroom on the upper floor, a creeping feeling of deja vu flooded sunghoon’s chest, but he asked, “where is she?”

jake’s face was expressionless. “she’s dead,” he replied, confident. “i mean it this time.”

sunghoon shook his head. “you killed her?”

“wasn’t it you that said you were going to teach me the proper way to dispose of a woman when i’m sick of her?” jake asked, approaching his father as he crept down the stairs.

though sunghoon wasn’t pleased, he willed himself to calm down. “did you strangle her?”

“yes.”

sunghoon figured, from the lack of blood staining his house this time around. “will you tell me about it?”

that caught jake off-guard. he expected his father to be angry, to let loose. he had to have been dreaming of choking her since the day he laid eyes on her. “you sick fuck,” jake sneered.

sunghoon snickered, unbothered. that’s rich. “who do you think you got it from?”

obviously, from the face jake was making, he didn’t like that. his nonchalant attitude dissipated. “i’m not like you!”

“keep telling yourself that. maybe one day you’ll delude yourself into believing it,” sunghoon replied, hanging his coat on the rack in spite of knowing he would be leaving again soon.

“i’m not like you - i mean that.”

sunghoon, miffed, rolled his eyes and said, “come on, son. you think i don’t know you and your friends have been watching my tapes for the past decade and then some like they’re cartoons?”

“but not mom’s,” jake spat, loathing fizzing in his stare.

sunghoon froze, then spun around. “is that what this is all about?”

jake nodded, pleased his father was finally getting the picture. “i found it in your study. you hid it more carefully than the others, because she was special or you didn’t want me to find it, i don’t know.”

sunghoon heaved a breath. “you were never supposed to see that.”

“but i did,” jake replied. “and i’ve suffered every day for the past month because of that.”

sunghoon shot without hesitation, “a suffering you brought upon yourself. nobody asked you to go snooping around in my things.”

jake’s lips were twisted into the meanest snarl sunghoon had ever seen. emotion wrecked through him in its totality. “is that what’s important to you? i shouldn’t be surprised. you couldn’t even spare your own son’s mother from your heartlessness.”

sunghoon massaged his temple, summoning all of his willpower. “please,” he groaned, sensing an incoming headache. “women are weak, cheating whores. just look at your professor. maybe your mother wasn’t, but she was a liability.”

if that was supposed to console jake, it had the complete opposite effect. “are you saying she deserved it?”

“i’m saying that you’ve always been too soft,” sunghoon said, not bothering to sugarcoat his chastising. “just like your mother. even when you were a child. that’s why i had you help me, i hoped you would harden up a little.”

jake scoffed. “unbelievable.”

“your mother went quietly. she didn’t even fight it, jake. so, why are you?”

“because of that,” jake told him, vitriol in his voice. “she didn’t ask you to stop one time. she just asked you to get it over with.”

sunghoon tipped his head back. “ah, yes. she really was perfect, wasn’t she?”

that was all it took to kindle an unforgiving rage within jake and in a moment of fury, flickering through him in a flash, jake lifted his hand to smack his father.

sunghoon caught his wrist, as if this weren’t the first time this had happened and it was wholeheartedly expected. his voice lowered to a mere hiss, “i’ve never laid a hand on you. ever in your life. don’t make today be the day i start.”

jake glared, but wrested his way out of his father’s grip and backed away.

sunghoon smoothed down his shirt and headed for the kitchen, knowing jake would follow. this conversation was far from over. “now, if you excuse me, i have to clean up your mess,” he said, pulling a burner phone out of a drawer. “if you don’t mind.”

“i can clean up my own mess,” jake replied, scowling.

setting the phone on the counter, sunghoon reached for a glass. “no, you can’t. not without digging your own grave. unless you want to go to prison, pack your shit, ask one of your buddies if you can stay with them for a few days, and take the tapes with you. hide them.”

jake made a face. “what are you talking about?”

sunghoon sighed. “we can’t get away with this one, son. her car’s parked outside. there’s too many loose ends.”

“we can get rid of the car. you don’t have to go to jail!” jake shouted.

“it’s either you or me. frankly, i’m doing you a favor. you wouldn’t last two seconds behind bars,” sunghoon hissed. he grabbed another glass, sliding it across the counter, then said, “now, wine? you know, to celebrate your old man going away? i believe that’s what you want.”

jake shook his head. never in his life had he been so conflicted. his father that he’d been so bent on despising until he the day he died was voluntarily confessing to a crime he didn’t commit, just so that his son wouldn’t have to suffer in prison.

“why are you doing this?” jake asked, bristling with emotion.

sunghoon sighed. “because i love you, son. even if you don’t think so. and because your mother would be turning in her grave if she knew you were in prison.”

jake blew out a breath. then, after a moment of reluctance, he grabbed the glass on the counter and reached for the wine bottle.

sunghoon snickered. “atta boy.”

“i wonder how your son reacted when he learned you were going to prison for murder,” you said, pondering. “you live in the same house. i wonder how he didn’t know.”

sunghoon lied, “he was at a friend’s house when i killed her. doesn’t like that it was his favorite professor.”

you nodded along, buying his lies. “that is a lot to take in. i mean, imagine your dad was having an affair with your favorite science professor. then, he kills her, like how he killed your mom.”

sunghoon shrugged his shoulders. “have you never heard the phrase ‘the heart wants what it wants?’”

“i have,” you replied. “and i guess your heart wanted to stop the function of others.”

sunghoon laughed at his own expense. “oh, please. you give me too much credit. you shouldn’t make me out to be more romantic than i am.”

you shook your head in disappointment. “you make these women want you, and then you undo everything. that has to be part of the amusement to you.”

“it gets a chuckle or two out of me.”

your lips were tempted to curl into a frown for the umpteenth time that day alone. “why?”

sunghoon leaned up in his chair, exclaiming, “because it’s fun!”

you were going to say something, but he didn’t give you the chance.

sunghoon continued, “everyday, as adults, we do the same job for hours and come home. people want excitement in their lives. women get exhausted of coming home to their husbands or nobody at all.”

your stare was blank. “and your point is?”

“i didn’t just make those women want me, baby. i made them need me,” sunghoon told you smugly. “i brought a spark to their lives, and i took it away just as fast. and i do it… because i can.”

“because you could,” you corrected, confident he would never be free of this place for as long as he lived. “you’re going to be in here a very, very long time.”

sunghoon grinned. “i wouldn’t be so sure.”

you cocked your brow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“wouldn’t you like to know?” sunghoon teased. you hated the smugness in his tone. like he knew something that you didn’t.

the door opened, and the guard from earlier returned. “i hate to interrupt, but it’s time for the count,” he said, coming behind sunghoon to undo his cuffs.

it all happened in a blink. sunghoon’s weight was pressed flush against yours, roughly thrusting you into the table. your body screamed, agony spreading through your side, but your gun was in a lockbox outside the room.

sunghoon knew from your conversations alone that you weren’t the type to go quietly. your first instinct was to fight back. naturally, you struggled against his hold, refusing to bend to his will even as panic shot through your chest. your whole body was on guard, aiming for survival.

but to your misfortune, your might was no match for sunghoon’s. you glanced to the guard for assistance, but when he only stood there as if he was waiting for it to end, the most unsettling feeling of realization washed over you.

“don’t fight him,” the guard said, arms crossed. “you won’t win.”

sunghoon snickered when he noticed your eyes widen in shock. you hadn’t seen that coming. though you tried to resist, it was over once his slender fingers came to your throat, and you genuinely feared for your life.

you didn’t realize how good you had it just being able to breathe until you couldn’t anymore. your breaths wouldn’t come. it felt as if your bones were being crushed. your whole body was on fight mode, but it was like sunghoon had the reins, shutting down your senses one by one.

“you put up a good fight, detective,” sunghoon whispered darkly in your ear, admiring your struggle.

your lips parted, but you couldn’t speak no matter how hard you tried. your self-preservation instincts were no match against him. all you could do was meet sunghoon’s stare. the pressure on your neck was too much to handle, and in seconds, you were out.

“lights out,” sunghoon said. he released your throat, having no intention of killing you and leading you for dead, but knowing that you would likely regain consciousness in a matter of seconds, he grabbed you by the hair, smashing your head flat against the table to subdue you.

heeseung winced, but he did nothing to step in. “poor girl,” he mumbled under his breath, pitying you. “had enough?”

“for now,” sunghoon replied. “let’s go.”

heeseung gave sunghoon a uniform to wear so that he would blend in amongst the uniforms like heeseung had and when he was ready, the two of them fled before they could be deterred.

when they had successfully gotten away, heeseung asked with his hand on a steering wheel, “you know that i don’t agree with this, right?”

sunghoon snickered. it had absolutely been said. “you haven’t agreed with my lifestyle for the past twenty-five years, yet you still help me. why?”

heeseung frowned. sometimes, he asked himself the same question, but deep down inside, he knew the answer. “because we may not share blood, but we’re brothers,” heeseung replied. “and for my brother, i’ll do anything you need.”

sunghoon quipped, “like smuggle me across the border?”

“like smuggle you across the border,” heeseung said, chuckling. “when we get there, there’s gonna be this dude named sunoo. he’s gonna help you out. i’ll be in touch.”

sunghoon nodded. “i can’t thank you enough, man.”

“just lay low and stay out of trouble,” heeseung said, shaking his head.

sunghoon grinned with mischief. he was already thinking about all of the beautiful women he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. “no promises,” he answered, sighing contentedly.

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darinawrites · 15 days ago

Text

౨ৎ— A sweet treat —౨ৎ

Pairing: Salesman x implied f!reader

Summary: losing everything you have, having countless hungry nights, a mysterious man is suddenly there to satiate the rumbling of your belly everyday with a little game. His gaze dwelling on yours far too long every time

Content: fluff (there is only smut of my poor man, I had to give the fluff lovers something), idiots in love, mentions of being kicked out, homeless reader, implied stalking

A/n: like said before, this man ONLY gets smut, had to give him something. I again tried to shorten the fic since I know people rather like a shorter fic (from my knowledge). Just know I was giggling and kicking my feet at 2 am writing this

Word count: 2k

---------------------------------------------ᣟ݂ ✩͏⚹︎-----

Your body was stiff against the soft grass you laid on, groaning as sunlight hit your eyes the moment your eyelids opened. A thin blanket, supposed to serve you warmth did anything but that. Laying pathetically on your body, coldness seeping trough it.

Groggily opening your eyes, accepting the sunlight as you tried to get used to it. Stirring as you gently sat up, the cloth slipping down your body. Body sore from the uneven dirt, belly rumbling from yet another hungry night. All uncomfortable yet familiar feelings.

What was even the point of standing up now? It was late in the day, most of your other fellows outside of the park, begging on the streets. You never joined them. It made you feel even more pathetic, if that was possible. Your poignant figure would get you enough money to eat, but you couldn't bring yourself to. Being depended on wealthy people, whimpering beneath their feet for any change. You'd rather keep your dignity.

Finally adjusting to the sunlight, you fully sat up, massaging your forehead to relieve some pressure. What to do now? You could take a walk, but your sore muscle are crying not to. Talk with the other few presences beside you? You're good on that. Their attitude is quite coarse, you'd rather not. Besides, your aloofness would stop you either way.

Your entertainment usually consisted of brawls amongst you, just like high school kids surrounding a fight in the halls. Luckily (sadly) there weren't any to watch with them out in the streets now.

So, with one option left, your focus now shifting your focus on the nature surrounding you. Thoughts of all kind were running trough your head, but the soft delicate flowers made it bearable. This was your sad excuse of a life. No entertainment to keep your mind out of the gutter. No money for drugs or alcohol, anything that could also keep your mind away. This was it, petals of lilies being your only comfort, brushing against your hand.

You never wanted this. It wasn't your fault. Or was it? You could never decipher how it went to this situation. And that bothered you, deeply. Having such hazy memories of when it led to this hellhole you were stuck in now, you just needed to know.

All these questions whirling inside your head as you kept your gaze at a soft white flower beside you, taking note of a new figure entering from the corner your eyesight. The mysterious figure came closer, you now seeing that it was a man, a rich and opulent looking man. A nice suit, presentable hair and a couple of bags in his hands.

It was a peculiar sight to see. While this park was beautiful, there were a bunch of homeless people surrounding it, making the snobby rich turn their head away in disgust. Not coming near it. Weird that he was here.

Even weirder to see the well put man seemingly walk in your direction. Now that got your attention, focus leaving the small flower, now set on the tall man nearing your frame.

And you were right, his footsteps gradually more audible, the sunlight bouncing on his polished black shoe, he was going in your direction...why?

This made you feel uneasy. You've never had respect for the rich, jealousy? A little. But its the way they're always the same. Snobby, petulant and endearing. The money making them share the small braincell left of them, apparently. You didn't know this mans intention, and with a higher 'worth' than you, you weren't excited to know it.

Eyesight at the ground, you could now see a pair of legs, looking up to meet a charming face.

The contrast between you two was sad. Well made hair and a nice suit in comparison to your tangled hair and shirt with holes in it. Expensive cologne mixing in with the smell of musk. Two sides of the world.

"Hello, miss. Seeing as you have no hope for the future," he sharply started. Making you furrow your eyebrows as your gaze turned into a glare. "I have brought a gift for you." ending with a hopeful ending, it made your brows furrow in confusion this time. Does he have good intentions or not?

Putting down the bags he held, he reached down and pulled out something in each hand. A lottery ticket and bread.

"You're only allowed to pick one."

Was this some type of sick joke? What the rich do in the free time, tormenting the poor? Or seemingly some type of sadist joy. Both options were ones you weren't fond of.

Hesitantly staring up at the man, the charming smile still plastered on his face. You knew your choice from the start, being the bread. Your stomach was practically begging to grow arms and grab it itself. But the matter of trust is what made you cautious. Are you really going to play into this twisted game?

Apparently, yes. Hands reaching without approval, grabbing the packaged bread, all while letting your glare intensify.

Your antics making the man chuckle, smirk intensifying, his gaze dwelling on you before walking. Only once you couldn't see him did you take out the bread and demolish it.

It made you sick how he played you, but you couldn't focus on that, the satiating of your tummy overwhelming the sickness with pleasure. Its been days of the rumbling, days of sleepless night. This simple bread tasting like heaven, mouth not waiting to swallow before taking another bite.

Your ears catched on commotion around you, that douchebag asking more homeless people the same question he offered you. Knowing your mates, you knew they'd pick gamble. But you couldn't bring yourself to care about him anymore, finishing your food with one last bite.

Gosh, it really wasn't that filling, but it felt like a 5 star meal. Yet, your blissful trance was broken with a man yelling out to not waste good food.

Your eyes staring up, now finding that strange man dumping the rest of the bread on the floor. Berating everyone that this was your fault, aggressively stomping on the bread and flattening it.

What the fuck? Is this guy okay??And just like that, he left, not before giving you a quick glance though. Asshole.

It made your blood boil, everything that has happened in a span of a few minutes made your hatred even worse, your mellow mood long gone.

Later, when some of your friends came back, you started to incessantly ramble about the interaction, the smugness, the bread, the waisting. Yet all they got from that was 'free food'. Gosh, it was irritating how they don't understand anything. But it's fine, not letting them ruin your mood further as you laid down to sleep again, the day ending fast.

But this time, sleeping came with ease. Your hunger silent and behaved. It was nice, real nice. The one good thing coming out of today.

Groaning the next day once again, feeling a hand softly shake your shoulders. This time, the birds melody didn't wake you up, but a rough, yet somehow soft big hand did. Squinting your eyes, your ears revealing the hands that woke you up as a familiar voice rang through.

"Hello, miss. Care for another gift?" this just had to be a nightmare, right? Or maybe a joke? Heck, your imagination even. Sadly, it was none of the above. Your eyes, once used to the light, staring up at that same smug smile.

This time, you practically snatched it out of his hand, showing off more petulant behavior. A smirk was seen on his face, reaching down in the bags again. Taking out another piece of bread, his soft hands brushing against your roughened ones as he placed it on your palm, leaving with no words exchanged.

You were pleasantly surprised. Why would he do that? You didn't think about it clearly though, letting the bread fill your mouth again.

He carried out what he did yesterday, asking each individual before pouring the bread down on the floor again.

"This better not become a routine.." you sighed, his shiny shoes stomping the bread beyond repair. Again, glancing at you before finally leaving. It just felt surreal, hoping this was the last time.

But, your hopes were clearly ignored as he came back the next morning and even the next day. Again and again coming back, adding a piece of bread each time you saw him. His features getting softer, his words less snarky. Flattening the bread and letting his eyes lingering on you everytime, way too much for comfort, before going away.

You really couldn't tell if you hate him or love him.

This day though, you woke up relatively early. Earlier than the man, which really was a relief. And with all the energy the food gave you over the days, you decided to go for a walk, an activity you've always enjoyed but your body hated.

Striding down the streets, getting a few glares, some things really don't change. And that was oddly comforting.

Looking around the city, it really was beautiful. Shops lighting up with all kinds of colours, a few people running early in the morning to stay fit. Yet your favourite was the smell of pastries. Specifically the traditional french bakery you've come across now.

You loved them as a kid, your little taste buds exploding each time. Even now, as you've come across it, you stood still for a good amount of time. Letting the smell fill your nose up completely. It really holds so many memories.

Your eyes now turning to the small shop, wanting to look at the baked goods you can only dream of tasting.

But, as you looked trough the glass, you let out a small gasp.

Him.

Seeing his slicked back hair from a mile away, bags in his hand as he payed for a piece of cake. You wanted to walk away, but sadly it was in vain.

"Oh, hello miss. Coincidence seeing you here." he started, his voice ringing behind you.

"Yeah...what a coincidence." awkwardly talking back, you never actually had a conversation with him. Only mumbles of a thanks and a 'have a nice day'.

You turned now to meet him, not wanting to be seen as rude in the streets. And this time, he had a charming smile plastered on his face.

"Well, that makes my job much easier, here, I believe this is for you." reaching out the small pink cake slice out to you, shoving it in your hand before you could protest. Your stunned features scrunching up. Is he really being this nice?

As you looked down at the strawberry cake, surprisingly your favourite one, you couldn't help a small blush escaping, cheeks warming up at his gesture. You could see him fiddling with something in his jacket as you bowed down for his gratitude, something you usually hated doing.

"Here, before I forget. Have a nice day, lovely" he gave you written white paper before turning his back and letting his pace quicken.

He knew he shouldn't have given you that. Neither the cake nor the paper, his hand now fiddling with the brown card in his jacket. The one he was supposed to give to you.

He just couldn't bring himself to. How could he let someone as weak as you join the games? Instead, he gave you a disgustingly sweet letter, his (fake) adresse written on the bottom to give you a place to sleep. Showing he isn't the irascible person you made him out to be, seemingly getting joy from stepping on the bread, when his joy stemmed from you.

The moment he met you from afar, months ago, he became obsessed. The pragmatic way was to simply ask you for a date, but he just couldn't. His job conflicting it, his emotions quite a mess. He simply hopes one day to have you. Hoping your coarse hand can hold his one day.

Hoping for you.

#squid game s2 #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #squid game #the salesman #the salesman x reader #the salesman x you #squid game salesman #the recruiter #squid game x you #salesman x you #salesman x reader #squid game fic #squid game fanfic #gong yoo #gong yoo x reader

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blushweddinggowns · 1 month ago

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Eddie was wide awake for the fourth night in a row while Steve’s voice streamed through the walls. Every passing second had his pathetic crush on the man dissolving more and more. The last bastion between Steve and Eddie telling him to fuck off.

It took one last laugh for him to finally snap. He couldn’t take it for another second. He threw the covers back, marching out of his room to start pounding at Steve’s door.

He didn’t have to wait long. He could hear Steve scramble to open the door, tripping over himself before finally getting it open.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked immediately, clearly concerned, “Are you okay?”

The reaction took Eddie aback. He didn’t- how did he not know what he was here for?

Eddie barrelled right past it, his anger winning over his confusion, “Dude, you gotta shut the fuck up at night.”

Steve frowned at him, “What?”

“You gotta shut the fuck up at night,” Eddie repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. If he wanted to fight with him on this, Eddie was more than ready to play ball, “I can hear every goddamn word and I’m sick of it.”

Steve’s eyes widened, a blush crawling up his neck as he tried to stutter, “I-I-I didn’t-”

Whatever reaction Eddie had been expecting, it wasn’t this. But now that he started, he couldn’t stop. His brain refusing to catch up with the expression on Steve’s face, “And the showers at thee something? That’s gotta stop too. Can you not hear yourself? What’s your problem?”

“I-I didn’t think you could hear me!” Steve stuttered out, “I didn’t- oh god, you could hear everything?”

“Everything,” Eddie confirmed, his anger slowing down at Steve’s panic, “It’s not like I can recite your conversations but it’s enough to make sure I can’t fucking sleep.”

He could see Steve visibly relax at his words. Which was… suspicious. Maybe he should have been listening in at night instead of seething from exhaustion.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, “I didn’t- I could never hear you! So I thought that you wouldn’t be able to hear me. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I,” Eddie sighed, “What? You’ve never had shitty walls before?”

“Not for this price,” Steve shrugged, cringing at the look Eddie gave him, “Not that I’m complaining! You didn’t design the building.”

He looked sincere but Eddie’s lack of sleep had his filter evaporating. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hating that he was about to go full RA. But this wasn’t going to happen for another night, “So who keeps you up all night anyway?”

“It’s my job!” Steve rushed out to say, “And my best friend. She’s studying in France and we’re obsessed with each other. It’s the only time our schedules line up to talk. I didn’t even realize how loud I was being.”

Great. Now Eddie was starting to feel bad. But he wasn’t ready to admit it yet, “You really didn’t know how loud the shower is? Don’t you hear that shit in the morning?”

Steve shrugged, “I’m a heavy sleeper.”

“Is your job like, sweat-inducing?” Eddie tried, “Or can a shower wait until before work?”

“The former,” Steve said quietly, shifting foot to foot, “It’s… a lot of movement.”

Eddie squinted at him, confused at what that could mean. Until it hit him. The cash, the late hours, his stupidly pretty face. The question spilled out of Eddie’s mouth before he could stop it, “You’re a stripper?”

Steve cringed at the wording, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m a dancer.”

“At a strip club?”

“At a gay club,” Steve mumbled, clearly getting more uncomfortable by the second.

Eddie didn’t notice. Too shocked at what he’d heard. He felt like his world had just been flipped on its head. Steve wasn’t supposed to- he wasn’t an option. Right?

“I didn’t think you were the gay for pay type,” Eddie said dumbly, cringing at the glare that earned him. Holy fuck he needed some sleep. Or a muzzle.

Steve stood a little straighter, his embarrassment replaced with an anger Eddie wasn’t prepared for, “First of all, I don’t fuck for money. Secondly, I’m not straight. I didn’t think that was something you’d have a problem with.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Eddie was fucking this up something fierce, gaping at Steve like a fish. He hadn’t been ready for him to turn the tables like this. He was supposed to be the dick here, not the other way around.

Steve stared at him, clearly unimpressed with his lack of response, “Is that it? Because I’d like this conversation to be over now. Good night.”

from the first chapter of this fic (my holiday exchange fic! To be completed by the 14th deadline but I wanted to start posting whilst in the editing phase!)

also tag list for the official fic link! @faery-god @the-fatal-lozenge @nyeddleblog @my-love-of-books

(btw I only tagged who specifically asked for it because I don't wanna be annoying. But if you implied it and I missed you my bad! I'm just paranoid! Thank you everyone who has had an interest <3)

#fic preview #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #steddieholidayexchange #title is up for debate and may be changed lol #rapid fire posting for this one in the next two days #but I wanted to get the start out

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holllandtrash · 2 years ago

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fragile line | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader

You and I walk a fragile line I have known it all this time But I never thought I'd live to see it break

what happens when the driver daniel falls in love with, ends up being the one who brings his career to a screeching halt? word count: 7.7k (im so sorry) warnings/tags: fluff-ish, plot with implied/very little smut, angst, mclaren danny, zak brown (gross), some incorrect f2 stats but whatever, time jumps, really just a lot of angst, its a rollercoaster

“What do you know?”

“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you, the emphasis making it clear as day that you both carried the same career-altering information.

His signature grin and comforting optimism were nowhere to be seen. Instead, Daniel’s expression could be described in a variety of ways. Solemn, disappointed, hurt.

“What was I supposed to do?” You asked, going straight to the defensive. You couldn’t be helpful in this scenario, you just needed to explain yourself. He wouldn’t understand it from your perspective, but you had to try.

“Not take the seat,” he offered a solution, as if it was that simple. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”

“For the sake of the team,” you corrected. You had no say in this. McLaren had plenty of driver options for the 2023 season. There were rumours of Daniel’s contract coming to an end a year early anyway, everyone heard them, everyone ignored them. The only thing that remained uncertain for a while was who would replace him should the rumours be true.

You.

“You don’t even like McLaren.” You told him, voice raising a little as if that helped get the point across. “You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”

“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”

Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Daniel noticed the way your bottom lip quivered. He caught the way your eyes dropped from his, even just for a split second. There was something unspoken between you, something that weighed on your mind and Daniel stepped forward, wanting to know what exactly it was.

“Zak-” you started, reluctant to even say this. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”

Here meaning Daniel’s flat in Monaco. The place you spent more nights at than your own. You played it off by saying his view was better but that was such a bullshit answer. Daniel’s flat always felt more like home than yours ever did.

You had formally met the Australian driver a few years ago, but god did time fly. It was at a race in Monza. You could pretend you didn’t know the date but of course you did, you had it memorised. September 3rd, 2020. There was no way you could forget the day your life changed for the better.

Or possibly, for the worse. It was up in the air at this point.

You were new to the Formula 2 series. The only female driver on the grid as you raced with Prema alongside Mick Schumacher. F3 proved to be quite a successful stint for you and you had your eyes set on the coveted Formula 1 series. You wanted to be in the big leagues.

Daniel saw that. He saw how determined you were to not only make waves in Motorsport, but to make something of yourself. You trained just as hard, if not harder than the other drivers in the junior series and Daniel had seen that for a while. He was often surprised to see you at the hotel gym, already working up a sweat when he walked in at a little after 6am. He would be even more surprised when he saw you there in the evening when other drivers went and called it a night or even went and celebrated.

Your race weekends were the same as F1 weekends, but you just had limited ones. It was a shorter season, less intense, but whenever you were there. Daniel saw you. He saw you and he paid attention. He even rooted for you, very publicly as well whenever he could, despite the two of you never having exchanged a word.

The first time you heard about Daniel cheering you on was after the Monaco race, quite early on into your first season. You qualified 7th, not ideal for a track like Monaco where the opportunities to overtake were far and few between, but somehow you did it. And then you did it again. And you could say it was luck but it was really smart strategy and an insane amount of driver skill that had you finishing fifth. In Monaco.

Those were Daniel’s words. He was asked pre-race if he watched the F2 run and he said of course. He said he “wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” wanting to see what you could do this weekend.

“It’s not luck, she’s incredibly talented,” Daniel had told the Sky Sports reporter. “She’s doing big things in the series, and I’m rooting for her. Truly. It’s rare a driver comes around with such raw natural talent, where you look at them and you know racing’s just in their blood, but it’s in hers. I would love to see her in Formula 1 one day.”

You watched that interview clip about twenty times. Daniel Ricciardo, the Daniel Ricciardo who had won Monaco a few years back, was complimenting you. He was rooting for you.

It wasn’t until Monza, nearing the end of your season that he finally approached you.

“I want to work with you,” Daniel said, straight to the point. You were in the middle of stretching in the hotel's fitness centre. It was only Thursday, the race weekend itself had barely started but Daniel knew he’d find you in there.

You pulled your airpods out and looked up at him in the mirror, “You what?”

“I want to work with you,” Daniel repeated, this time sitting down on the floor next to you. He kept your stare in the reflection. “I’m not a trainer by any means, but I want to work with you. I want to see you in Formula 1.”

You were flattered, honoured really, but you didn’t know what that entailed. “Work with me how?”

“Well, regular fitness training for starters,” he said. “But managing, really. I want to help you with everything that it takes to move up. Media training, mental preparedness, finding sponsors, getting you in touch with the right people. Let me help you, Y/N.”

You weren’t sure what brought this on. Part of you was convinced it was because he knew this would look good on his behalf. If you did make it to Formula 1 and Daniel’s name was attached to yours, he’d look like a genius. A hero. He would be known as the first person from F1 to publicly support you.

But that wasn’t what it was at all. When you agreed and accepted his help, you soon came to learn that Daniel didn’t want to be in your spotlight at all. He found the opportunities that you needed and then stepped back. He didn’t mention to the media at all that he was helping you, he didn’t see a need to. He saw your potential and he truly wanted to help you make something off.

So there he was during the off season, meeting you in London where you resided. He trained with you, set you up with the right people, did weekly check-ins, he really was like a sort of manager.

He was there during pre-season testing the following year, literally. He stood in the Prema garage like he was just another member of the team. No one really questioned it, not when you said he was acting as a mentor to you. Everyone loved Daniel’s presence there and he was told he was welcome whenever.

He was there during race weekends whenever he could find time in his own busy schedule. He was never there during the actual race, needing that time to prepare for his own, but he always watched from his drivers room or had someone in his ear updating where you were and what was happening.

He was there in Silverstone, when you crashed during Saturday's Sprint Race.

It was one of the last sessions of the day, Daniel had already finished qualifying and he was standing in the back of your garage, arms crossed over his chest, eyes glued to the screen.

He was the first voice you heard when you spun, losing the breaks in mere seconds and all you could do was brace yourself for the impact of the barriers.

“Tell me you’re okay.” Daniel’s voice came through your radio. Not your engineer, not your team principal. Daniel. “Say something, sweets, tell me you're okay.”

Sweets, he called you. But only ever in private, or in front of close friends. What started as a joke when you complained about him not having any sweets in his flat the first time you visited in Monaco, stuck.

But everyone had access to the team radios. It could be heard by other engineers, other teams, fans even and those watching at home should F1TV choose to broadcast it.

Of course they did. They aired the exchange for everyone to hear and it spread like wildfire. It was all anyone on social media could talk about.

“Say something, sweets. Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you sputtered out, hands shaking as you unclenched them. It was an instinct to pull them off the steering wheel and tuck your arms to your chest, physically bracing where you could.

“Good,” Daniel breathed out a very obvious sigh of relief. “Good.” He paused, and then with a quiet chuckle added, “What the fuck was that then?”

You laughed in response, needing the humour at such a traumatic time. You had crashed before, but this was a bad one. You didn’t even need to step out of the vehicle to know you were lucky to not feel any immediate injuries, but there was a ringing in your ear and the adrenaline was preventing you from really understanding the damage your body had sustained.

It wouldn’t have helped, though, to have gotten an earful, not like it was your fault anyway. It also wouldn’t have helped if you were asked again and again if you were okay. The more people asked, the more stressed you would grow. Daniel knew you needed a bit of lightheartedness at this time.

“No brakes, Danny,” you answered through a soft laugh.

“That just sounds like an excuse to me,” he muttered, the sarcasm evident even through the crackling radio.

“Are you going to continue to question my driving abilities or are you going to send medical out here to help me?”

That whole interaction went viral. From the radio message, to the clips of Daniel accompanying you to the medical centre, to the photos of the two of you smiling in the paddock despite the bruising on your body, the concussion you were diagnosed with and the instruction from the doctor that you were not stable enough to race on Sunday.

Which sucked, to put it plainly. But you were with Daniel. He made the situation bearable. With his arm around your shoulder, he walked you to the car at the end of the day, having waited with you the whole time.

People speculated, of course. Questions were asked.

Why was Daniel Ricciardo paying such close attention to you? Why did he get over the radio when he crashed? Why did it sound so flirty? Had he been in your garages the whole time and no one noticed? Was he a mentor? A friend? More?

You had put out a statement when you got to the hotel, thanking everyone for the kind words and well wishes. You shared that you would not be driving on Sunday and you also shared that you were thankful for the support of Daniel Ricciardo, your mentor, who reminded you that even the best of the best crash out sometimes.

Mentor, you publicly called him That’s what he was, right? Or trainer. Or Manager. Or friend, really. There were a lot of words to describe his relationship to you.

People online didn’t believe it. They thought there was more because, who looks at each other like that if they’re not fucking?

But you weren’t. Honest to god, that line with Daniel was never crossed. You never even considered it. Always content with his companionship and his advice, you didn’t want anything physical or romantic.

At least, you thought you didn’t.

Daniel dragged you into his room instead of letting you go up to yours because you were under strict instructions to not be left alone for the next twelve hours should the concussion worsen.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, handing you a glass of water. “I know I joked over the radio, but I was worried. It wasn’t a pretty crash.”

“Are any crashes pretty?”

He sat down next to you, closer than normal considering when he rested his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers were within the distance needed to play with the strands of your hair.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, “I guess it depends on the driver. I make the crashes pretty.”

The comedic gasp you let out as you clenched your chest had him laughing.

“Daniel Ricciardo, are you calling me ugly?”

“Don’t twist my words!” He exclaimed, eyes squinting as his smile widened. “I said I was pretty.”

You hummed, “You pretty much said I made the crush ugly.”

“I didn’t say you were ugly,” Daniel playfully tugged on a strand of your hair. “You’re not- I mean, you-”

And then the humour faded. He met your eyes, his hand fell to your shoulder. He was still smiling but it was the sort of gentle smile one wears when they figure out the answer to a question that had been eating at them for a while.

Something clicked for Daniel. At this very moment.

He wasn’t going to let it escape him.

“Pretty doesn’t do you justice,” Daniel told you, voice lowering. “You’re breaktaking, Y/N. On the racetrack, at home, at events, you put everyone around you to shame. And it’s not- it isn’t just your appearance, it’s you. Everything about you. Your heart, your charisma, the way your eyes light up when you smile but only if you’re talking to people you like,” he chuckled, having experienced it first hand and having seen the way you don’t look nearly as pleased when someone you dislike approaches you.

You were speechless, though. Frozen where you sat as this admission came out of seemingly nowhere.

And Daniel was attractive, that was an undeniable fact, he was everything anyone could ever want in a man. But you never allowed yourself to look at him the way other people would. He was your trainer, manager, mentor, friend.

You had no words to explain the way he was staring at you now. Nor could you explain why it made you feel more alive than driving a racecar at inhumane speeds ever could.

Daniel took another breath, eyes never leaving yours. “You are unlike anyone I have ever come across and I know, in my lifetime, I will never find someone who could ever compare to even a fraction of who you are.”

There was no way you could continue to be just friends after those words passed his lips.

You kissed him. You had to. It wasn’t like there was anything you could say that would match what he had already said, nor could you even find the words.

You kissed him and Daniel pulled you onto his laps, your legs moving to straddle either side of his hips. His hands roamed your body, sliding up the Prema shirt you still had on as your tongue roamed every possible inch of his mouth.

His hand gripped your waist, rolling you over top of him so you could feel in a matter of seconds how this conversation had now taken a turn. His cock started to harden, constricted by his pants, but you still felt it underneath you each time he shifted, each time you grinded against him.

When you reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, Daniel leaned back, both of you taking that second to catch your breath and question if you were really going to do this.

“Is this a mistake?” You whispered, your thumb gently tracing over his lips. Your working relationship was perfect. This could ruin everything. You had fears, doubts, worries. One night could lead to dozens of complications.

But Daniel shook his head and all of those thoughts vanished.

“No,” he said, sounding so sure of himself with that one syllable. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life but you are not one of them.”

That was the only validation you needed. You kissed him again, more lust, more passion, than before as Daniel stood up, carrying you towards the bed at the back of the room. He dropped you down on the edge of it, smiling at the squeal that escaped your lips.

Daniel wanted to worship you every way he could. He was gentle with you, with your body, as he dipped his head between your thighs, making you feel a wave of euphoria that no one had ever brought you too before.

It wasn’t until you were begging for more did Daniel realise he didn’t need to be gentle the entire night. He slid two fingers past your folds, lifting his head and hovering his body over yours, wanting to feel your desperate breaths hit his face as he rapidly thrusted his digits in and out of you, your walls clenching around him.

When he attached his lips to that spot on your neck, his teeth pressing against your skin, you saw stars. Daniel’s motions didn’t let up as you came around his fingers, loving the way your legs shook and how you dragged your hand through the hair on the back of his head.

He was cautious about doing anything else, knowing you were injured, he didn’t want to overstimulate you or cause any more pain.

But you needed him. You reached for the zipper of his pants and tugged it down, telling Daniel you wanted this, as if the way you looked up at him didn’t already make that perfectly clear.

He was careful when he entered you, patient. The tip of his cock slid past your folds slowly and he kissed your collarbone so gently you almost didn’t feel it as you adjusted to his size, quiet moans emitting from the back of your throat.

He had praised you before, but only ever at the race track, so there was something so familiar yet so foreign about the way he whispered against your skin. It lit a fire within you.

“You take me so well, sweets,” he fought back a groan as your walls tightened around him when you clenched your legs. “So good for me.”

It was safe to say the dynamic between you two changed after that night.

Daniel adored you already, admired you greatly for your achievements and growth in the sport. But now he fought with himself every weekend, knowing that he couldn’t touch you how he wanted. He couldn’t show you the attention he so desperately wanted. He couldn’t kiss you when you got that podium in Belgium, despite finding a way to sneak out of the pre-race duties for a second to run to the barrier to be there for you with the rest of the Prema team.

Whatever was going on between you, it was unlabelled and it was private. The rest of the world didn’t need to know you were sleeping with the man you looked up to, the one who helped you become a great athlete in such a short period of time.

People continued to speculate. You were private, sure, but you weren’t overly careful.

You were seen landing in Monaco over the summer. You were spotted hanging out with Daniel on plenty of occasions. Even though you kept your hands off of each other and refused to act like anything more than friends out in public, you were different when you returned after the break. You both were. Everyone noticed.

Daniel was, if it was even possible, happier. And you were less stressed it seemed. While you were still fighting a constant battle of being the only female in F2, it no longer seemed as heavy because the weight of it wasn’t just on your shoulders anymore. Daniel was there too.

It wasn’t just physical, what you had. The emotional connection you shared was undeniable. Daniel was always there for you, and you, him. During the bad days, the good ones, and everyday in between.

When you finished the season 5th in the drivers championship, the only person you wanted to celebrate with was Daniel. He was so proud of you. He watched you go from finishing 13th last year to 5th. He played a huge part in that, but when you tried to tell him that, he only brushed it off, saying that it was all you, he was just happy to be there for the ride.

It was his idea for you to test drive for McLaren at the end of the year, too. ‘We’ll get you in a real F1 car’ he said. And you didn’t question it when the offer was brought forward to participate in a few practice sessions. It was exhilarating and terrifying and you cried tears of joy when you stepped out of his car because this was what you dreamed of. Driving a Formula 1 car.

Now you just needed a permanent seat and Daniel wanted that for you too. He was your biggest supporter, and you only grew closer as the days went on.

You met his family over the holidays. He spent New Years Eve in London with you.

When the season started again, he spent more time with you and Prema. When there were no scheduled F2 races during F1 weekends, you accompanied him in the McLaren garage.

At this point, quite a few people knew you were together, or at least they assumed it.

You didn’t post about it, you didn’t want to, you didn’t need to. Daniel didn’t need to show you off, nor did you feel obligated to let everyone know you were with him. What you had was private, it was sacred, it was only for the two of you.

But of course whenever you had a good performance, whether it be from a practice session, qualifying or a race, he’d share your celebration picture to his Instagram story.

“Would you ever do a shoey?” Daniel asked you one Tuesday night, zooming in on a photo of you, more specifically on the smile on your face as you clenched your second place trophy from Imola on Sunday.

You rolled your eyes but the smile was impossible to hide as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you into his chest.

“Next time you win,” Daniel suggested with a laugh. “I expect a shoey.”

“I’m not Australian.”

“You’re dating one, sweets.”

You never actually discussed what you were. The term boyfriend-girlfriend seemed so childish. Dating was, in a sense, accurate, but again, there were no labels. He had your heart, you had his. That was the only thing that mattered.

“The world doesn’t know that,” you pointed out.

“They kind of do,” Daniel kissed your cheek, giving your side a squeeze as he stepped aside to help you prepare dinner.

You weren’t even sure when you fell into such a domestic lifestyle but there you were, practically moved into Daniel’s place in Monaco at this point and he was at your side, chopping carrots for the salad while you prepared the chicken breasts.

“A shoey would confirm it,” you glanced up at him, but the smile on his face told you he wasn’t completely against the idea.

Daniel stepped behind you, fingers playfully pinching your waist, “Just think about it. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I just reckon it would be entertaining for everyone.”

He didn’t bring it up again, not even when you got third in Spain and didn’t do it. It was your first time getting a back to back podium since you started racing and of course it was something to celebrate, but the idea of a shoey made your stomach churn. You weren’t sure if you were ready for the world to know about your commitment to Daniel.

You walked a thin line, being with him. And while you enjoyed every possible minute spent with him, you knew the world was cruel. The second you officially went public, you’d lose respect in the motorsport industry.

The only female F2 driver dating an F1 driver? How scandalous.

Despite the rumours, the correct rumours, you were still in a bubble with him. You could pretend you were just friends, close friends. The tabloids had nothing to go off except your polite interactions and maybe a little too friendly smiles and so what if you were there in the McLaren garage cheering him on?

You were his biggest supporter and he was yours.

But it didn’t help that while your performance was improving, his was rapidly declining. While you had less races than his, already your stats were better. You qualified in the top 5 for the first three races. You finished second in Imola, third in Spain, already better than how you started the season last year.

Monaco was next. Daniel loved Monaco, you both did. Everyone did, it was the pinnacle of Formula 1.

It was unfortunate that your weekends ended up so drastically different.

Daniel qualified 14th and then finished 13th. He wasn’t proud of it, but he did his best to hide his disappointment for you, especially since you were starting on the front row, P2, for the feature race.

And somehow, you won.

After trailing behind Drugovich for the majority of the race, you were starting to believe you would finish behind him too. And you probably would have, had there not been a safety car almost six laps after he boxed for fresh tyres, giving you the advantage of newer tyres and less wasted time. It was a strategy your team was banking on, waiting for a safety car. It was risky, but it paid off. Overtaking was nearly impossible with Formula 1 cars, but you had a better chance in your series and somehow, by the grace of god, you did it. You pulled ahead and swiped the lead from Felipe.

You made history that weekend. The first female F2 driver to not only podium, but to win at Monaco. You gripped that first place trophy so tight your hand turned red.

Usually, F2 didn’t draw nearly as big of a crowd, but this weekend was different. Everyone was a fan of the series after that performance, a fan of you. You saw people in the crowd wearing Red Bull gear, Ferrari merch, McLaren hats, and they were all applauding you.

Of course, you were blown away by the support. Hearing your national anthem play was an incredible sound. There were tears in your eyes and your entire body was trembling, yet somehow you managed to find Daniel. Right in front, with your team.

He was so proud of you.

Despite his shitty qualifying, despite knowing he had such a low shot at earning points at his race that was in just under an hour, he was there for you. You couldn’t tell if he was cheering the loudest, or if you were just so prone to finding him in a crowd that you couldn’t process anything or anyone else.

You weren’t sure what came over you, but once you grabbed the champagne bottle, you found yourself taking your shoe off as well. As Felipe and Théo started spraying their bottles in celebration, you poured the bubbly liquid into the sole of your racing shoe and lifted it up to your lips, pointing directly at Daniel who couldn’t believe what he was watching.

It was rancid, as you figured it would. It was champagne out of a sweaty shoe, you knew it wouldn’t taste good, but it was a shoey and it was for Daniel. Felipe patted your back, laughing at your reaction and muttering something about how Daniel would get a kick out of that.

He was right, but Daniel wasn’t the only one who found it entertaining.

Your name was once again trending following the Monaco Grand Prix. Not Checo’s, even though he won the F1 race. Your name.

Not that you really cared that night. How could you care about what the internet was saying when the man you were with told you that he loved you for the first time? Nothing online mattered, not when Daniel took your face in his hands and told you he was madly in love with you. He was proud, he was happy, he was in love.

And you knew you loved him too. You had known this for a while. Monaco was just the perfect time to say it.

After going about as public as you could without physically coming out and saying you were dating the Australian driver, Monaco was the perfect place to tell him you loved him. You were on cloud 9, you were making history, you were in love.

You continued to deny, or at least ignore, the rumours that followed, still. You both did. You were in love with each other, not the whole world. Things would get complicated if you announced you were dating. You were vying for a Formula 1 seat and you wanted it without Daniels’ influence.

But at the following race in Baku you were asked similar questions.

“Your shoey last week, did that have anything to do with Daniel Ricciardo being there to cheer you on? You two have gotten pretty close in the last few months, he’s one of your mentors, isn’t he?”

You shifted your weight to one leg, wondering what the fuck kind of post-qualifying question that was. You had just completed three back to back podiums, you were on a hot streak now, starting third at this next race and the reporter only cared about what happened at the podium celebration last weekend.

“Sorry, did you have a question about this week's race?” You asked, and when he stammered over his words, you just nodded and walked away, a tight smile on your face.

Daniel’s conversation went a bit differently.

“Y/N’s shoey last week, we all saw it. Was that your influence?”

“Yeah I never thought she’d actually do it, it was sweet,” Daniel laughed. “It was great though, I happily pass the tradition onto her.”

“She’s really come along in Formula 2 since she started back in 2020, do you think she has what it takes to be Formula 1’s first full-time female driver?”

“Absolutely,” there wasn’t a shred of doubt or hesitation. He was happy to talk about you, to explain to the rest of the world why you were up and coming and should be taken seriously as a real contender for a Formula 1 seat. He probably would have continued on if his PR rep hadn’t pulled him away, reminding him of other duties.

The next few races were similar to your first ones. A couple more podiums, some outstanding qualifying sessions, more history being made. Your phone was blowing up weekly, everybody wanted to talk to you now and you knew Daniel had something to do with it. Him constantly sharing the faith he had in you did wonders for your reputation.

You might have been on top of the world, but you were well aware you were alone up there.

Daniels’ performances were anything but newsworthy. He had gotten a few points in Austria and France, but nothing to be extremely proud of, especially when he compared his 9th place finish at the Red Bull Ring to your first place podium, making it your second one this season.

He never let his disappointment for himself and McLaren stand in the way of your achievements. In fact, you didn’t often speak about the races when you were together. You were aware Daniel was having issues with the team, with Zak, with the car, but he didn’t want to weigh you down with his own problems, even though you assured him time and time again you could handle it.

Really, if Daniel had come to you with his struggles, you would have thought twice when Zak Brown approached you prior to the Hungarian Grand Prix. You probably would have slammed the door to your drivers room in his face if you knew how Daniel was being treated at McLaren.

But Daniel held his cards close to his chest while Zak laid his all out on the table.

“If a spot opened up for you,” he said, after spending the last ten minutes talking about the rich history of the team and praising your accolades. “Would you consider it?”

It wasn’t an official contract, just the start of a conversation that could lead to one.

Of course you thought of Daniel. And Lando, having grown close with him simply through Daniel.

“For 2024?” You asked, knowing both of them were set to continue driving through to at least the end of 2023.

“No,” Zak shook his head. You didn’t like how harsh his tone had turned, having no remorse for what he was about to say. “Daniel’s contract would be ending early.”

You leaned back in your chair, fingers tapping the table as you tried to recall Daniel ever telling you that he was leaving McLaren. “Is he- he wants out?”

“It’s mutual,” Zak assured you. “He knows we can’t give him the car he wants and unfortunately, he’s not delivering what we need. We had high hopes with Daniel, but the working relationship isn’t what any of us thought it would be.”

It’s mutual. Those two words was all it took to convince you that Zak Brown and Daniel had already had a conversation about this, about terminating the contract a year early.

It didn’t help that Zak brought up your test sessions in the McLaren from last year, pointing out that you had better times than Lando, even. He went on to praise what you were doing this year at Prema and said, multiple times, that you would be an asset to McLaren should you choose to go that route.

And who were you to turn that down?

A team principal of a Formula 1 team wanted to sign you. Was it unfortunate that it was Daniel’s seat? Yes, obviously this situation was less than ideal, but he wanted out. You were convinced he wanted out, that he was done with McLaren. A 45 minute conversation with Zak Brown convinced you of that.

You should have been wary when at the end of the conversation he said, “Don’t tell anyone about this, yet. You know how the public can be, let’s just keep this to ourselves for the meantime.”

“But I can talk to Dan, right?” You asked.

Zak knew you were dating Daniel, it was a little harder to hide that from his team than it was the rest of the world. Maybe that’s why hesitated before answering, knowing that keeping a secret, something as big as this, from a partner had the potential to cause chaos.

But he shook his head, “Between us, yeah?”

And you listened to him. You wanted that Formula 1 seat so of course you followed orders.

You desperately wanted to talk to Daniel about it, but you knew you couldn’t. And either he sensed that something was off, or he was dealing with his own problems again and wouldn’t share, you really couldn’t tell when the summer break started and things just seemed…different.

You didn’t go to Monaco for starters, even though Daniel invited you to. But there were so many meetings with Zak and the board at McLaren that it made more sense for you to stay in London for the start of the break.

Daniel didn’t call as often and you wanted to give him space, knowing that this break was probably needed for him. You expected he was out with friends, letting loose, getting the weight of a horrible season off his back even if just temporarily.

The plan was to go to Monaco for the last week and a half and then travel to Belgium together. You had to delay that plan, however, when Zak called you and said it was official.

The 2023 seat was yours.

You wanted to celebrate, with Daniel, but how could you celebrate with the person you were replacing?

It was strange that Daniel had said nothing to you about leaving the team during the summer break, especially since Zak had said time and time again they were on the same page, that Daniel was ready to leave. The only thing that crossed your mind was he was given strict instructions to not say anything to anyone either, at least until McLaren went public with the news.

But with it being official, with you having just signed on the dotted line, you were tired of keeping it to yourself. You may not have been able to share the news with anyone else, but you had a right to have a conversation with Daniel about it.

You didn’t know how he would react. Surely he’d be happy for you, right? You were getting a seat in Formula 1, something that both of you desperately wanted to happen. And again, you were under the impression the departure from McLaren was mutual. He would be happy that someone he loved was taking his seat, right?

Right?

You had to tell yourself that the entire ride over to his place. You unlocked the front door to his building and took the elevator up to the fourth level. You didn’t think to knock, knowing he never locked it when he was home so you pushed open the door and stepped in, your suitcase trailing behind you.

You were happy to see him. He was always a breath of fresh air, despite the odd distance between you, you still loved him. You always would. He muted whatever was playing on the screen and stood up from the couch when he heard you walk in.

Usually, Daniel would greet you with a kiss.

Usually, he’d be smiling so hard his jaw would be hurting.

Usually, he was happy to see you.

You left the suitcase by the door and met him halfway, only he stopped walking when there was about a foot of space between your bodies. To you, it felt like you were still miles apart.

“Do you have something you want to tell me?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Your heart sank.

You had convinced yourself, Zak had convinced you, the whole back of house team had convinced you, that Daniel was aware of this upcoming change. That the termination was mutual. You taking his seat might have been a surprise, but it was never supposed to be a blindside.

“What do you know?” you asked.

“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you.

You were both fully aware of the exact same information. Daniel was leaving. You were taking his seat. Only, you had been informed this much earlier than he had.

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Not take the seat,” he scoffed. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”

“For the sake of the team,” you said and then added, “You don’t even like McLaren. You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”

“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”

Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”

“Zak-” you started, finding it difficult to hold his stare. This wasn’t the Daniel you knew. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”

He rubbed his hands over his face, taking a few steps away from you. It hurt, watching as he tried to physically distance himself from you. Like being in too close of proximity would set him off.

“I struggled with the team, yes, but I’m not ready to give up racing. You have now left me without a seat.”

It was easy for Daniel to blame you, you were standing right in front of him. You were quite literally the driver set to replace him.

But the real villain was Zak, for not having opened up this line of communication earlier. For making you believe everyone was on the same page. It was Zak’s fault for rushing to end the contract with Daniel instead of putting in the effort to work with him. He saw the shiny new toy that was you, that Daniel helped create, and he wasn’t going to let someone else take it first.

Daniel wanted to blame himself too, but he wouldn’t let himself think about that until much later. He was the one who did everything he could to help you grow in this sport. He was the one who introduced you to Zak and the rest of the McLaren team. He was the one who got you in the car for the practice sessions, his car. Foreshadowing at its finest.

“You are unbelievable,” Daniel spoke quietly, heated with anger but his words were like ice as they sunk deep into you. “After everything I’ve done to help you for you to betray me like this, I just- I don’t think-”

You knew where this was going and you wanted to put a pin in it before he could finish any of his thoughts.

“Don’t finish that sentence, Daniel,” you whispered. “Please. Please, we can figure something out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” his mind was made up. “You took my seat.”

“Wouldn’t you rather it me than someone you don’t know? Someone you don’t trust?” You tried to turn this around, have him look at the positives, if there were any. “Daniel, everyone on the grid loves you, you’ll find a new team. One that helps you grow and get to where you want. McLaren isn’t that, we both know it.”

“I think you should go,” was his only response.

“If I hadn’t signed that contact, someone else would have,” you pointed out, grasping at straws here, painfully honest straws, but straws nonetheless. “Piastri, O’Ward…McLaren had options, Dan. Aren’t you at least happy for me that I out-qualified all of those guys?”

Daniel actually laughed, “You want me to be happy for you? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Dan-”

“Leave.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You need to,” he was stern. He was angry. He was done. With you, with the team, with everything he used to love and cherish. He was done.

You thought you knew Daniel. You thought you knew how this conversation would play out. You figured it would still be rocky, but god you now realised how naive you were to believe you could still make things work.

“I love you,” you told him, because what else could you say except remind him that you were so hopelessly in love with him, that he was all you would ever want in life.

Except, that wasn’t exactly true, was it?

You wanted a seat in Formula 1 too. You just never thought you’d have to sacrifice one dream for the other.

Daniel’s stare was cold. He only looked away for a second to nod his head towards the door behind you, “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have done this.”

You stepped forward, desperate at this point because how could he do this? How could he throw away what you had, over a seat?

Or was it you, who had ultimately thrown away what you had when you sat down with Zak Brown all those weeks ago?

It pained you to think about the strong possibility of that being the case.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, because you were. You were sorry about how this turned out, how he was betrayed, how this was coming to an end. You grabbed hold of your suitcase and nodded, backing up towards the door, “I really am sorry, Dan.”

He didn’t believe you. Why would he? In his eyes, Formula 1 was more important to you than he was. A career decision that benefited you, but ruined him, mattered more than your relationship. It was a bold move, a cold move, one that you didn’t think would lead to this.

Neither of you could have predicted this. On September 3rd, 2020, when Daniel first said he wanted to work with you, neither of you thought it would end like this.

Just as you grabbed the handle of the door, Daniel opened his mouth, wanting to get the final word in. And you really wished he hadn’t because those final words destroyed you.

“I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, but I never thought you would turn out to be one of them.”

You said nothing. You walked out of that Monaco flat with your head low and your heart even lower. You couldn’t even be excited about the next season, or the remainder of this one where you had the potential to finish in the top three.

You weren't happy, you were empty, you were defeated. And painfully so, you were also still in love.

Despite what was said, you knew it would take a while to get over Daniel. He was your rock for so long, he was always there for you and even though he could disappear without so much as a second thought, your feelings couldn’t, the memories couldn’t. It would take a long time until you felt whole again.

You didn’t know it yet, but the decision to take that McLaren seat would haunt you as you moved forward in your career.

This was not going to be the last time you ever saw Daniel.

part 2 haunted

#daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo one shot #danny ric #dr3 #f1 one shot #f1 fics #formula 1 x you #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo au

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itsgivingmami · 2 months ago

Text

Her Altar- Rhea Ripley

Warning: religious based homophobia

Practice what you practice, love who you love.

Growing up had been nothing special. School during the week, riding your bike with friends on Saturdays and stuffing yourself into clothes you dreaded for church on Sunday.

You had never really liked church but at a young age it hadn't occurred to you exactly what it was. You didn't like to do it the same way you dreaded math tests and asparagus but it wasn’t exactly an optional occurrence. As a young child you'd found the grain in the back of the pew you'd sat behind more interesting than whatever the pastor was groaning on about.

For your seventh birthday your parents had gifted you a simple gold cross necklace and had hung it around you like a totem before you could tell them you weren't particularly fond of it. Or church.

As you got older you learned very quickly that your opinion of faith was null and despite the fact that you were real, tangible and god (presumably) wasn't didn't matter. The laws of the bible did. By the time you were thirteen you knew you were attracted to women, the constant reminder that being gay was a sin had only served as education on the subject. the constant reminder to stay quiet about how you felt kept you safe and you learned to repress school crushes on other girls. Growing up in a prejudice environment masked in faith had took its toll,

Then along came Rhea,

Hiding your feelings for her made you feel more guilty than betraying the faith you were supposed to have. Every time you two hung out you felt like you were lying to her, you felt dishonest when you two linked arms walking through the mall and when she fell asleep next to you in the same bed during sleep overs. You started to avoid her under the guise of protecting her, believing that she was better off without you pining after her.

"Why are you avoiding me?" She had caught you at your locker, trapping you between her body and cold metal.

"I'm not.." you laugh off avoiding her gaze and you try and find a way under her arm.

"We have talked everyday for the last god knows how long and suddenly radio silence," you shake your head as if she's wrong, but you know she's not. "I watched you make eye contact with me and run down the hall the other direction and did you think I wouldn't notice that you haven't been to a single one of my games in weeks?" You didn't, you figured she wouldn't notice your absence on the sideline and that she'd have no issues finding someone else to talk with. "What gives? I miss you,"

You keep your eyes on her shoes, a familiar pair of dirty black chucks, your doodles covering the toes and you remember the day you two had spent ditching class on the bleachers with her legs thrown over your lap. Your parents had berated you for skipping but you hardly heard it, deeming the time you got to spend with Rhea worth it.

"I'm sorry," you spoke quietly before biting the inside of your cheek, trying to will you ears to stop tearing,

"Don't apologise just tell me what I did so I don't do it again and-" the hand she's gesturing with falls to her side, "let me have my friend back,"

It's too much, the combination of her blaming and the way she calls you her friend makes you feel overwhelmed by guilt. You feel exasperated by the inner conflict and you want her to understand that you can't give her back her friend, because you don't feel at all friendly about her but telling her means really telling her the truth and your not ready to fully loose her either.

"It's not you," you rasp as you quickly duck under her arm and run from her not bothering to close your locker door. It's selfish, but you can't have her too close and you can't loose her entirely. So without explaining yourself you flee and continue to keep her at arm's length. Rhea stands frozen staring at the spot you were just in, sighs and closes her eyes before gently shutting your locker for you.

For the first time in years you go to confession after safely making it out the building sure Rhea wasn't going to come after you. Pulling open the door you don't remember walking here at all.

You see the shadow of the priest through the lattice as you sit on the bench. It takes you a moment before you realise your supposed to greet him.

"Sorry uh-," you shake your head and bring your hand up to cross your heart, your necklace feels like it's burning your skin as you speak. "Bless me father, for I have sinned?" It comes out as more of a question and you swallow thickly already regretting this decision. "It clearly has been a long time since my last confession," You hear a hum from the other side,

"You are here now," its sounds empty, like he's said it too many times today and you're sure he has. "Why?"

"I think I love someone," you tell him, it's the first time you admit it and hearing it out loud makes your chest thump.

"How do you know you love him?" He asks you and you wince, him. Everything inside you is screaming at you to run, but you stay planted. Faith and whatnot right?

"My heart races and I would do anything for," you hesitate, "this person, I can't imagine hurting the person I love, so much so I would hurt myself before I ever could," tears start to fall as you talk about it for the first time, "I can't live without her but I would if she asked me too,"

When you walk through the door your parents are waiting, scowling and deep down you know; they know. Weren’t confessionals supposed to be private? A bag lands in front of your feet with a thud.

"There will be no sinners living under our roof," your mother spits, you look to your dad you refuses to meet your eyes. You throw the strap over your shoulder and swallow thickly before straightening your posture. A shaky hand reaches up to your necklace and rip it off tossing it at their feet before leaving.

Rhea has a cd playing quietly so she can listen to the thunder as she watches the rain our outside, she still can't figure out what she did to upset you and it's driving her nuts. Deciding to skip soccer practice and head home after you'd run from her again. She runs a hand through her hair at the memory and blinks back tears. It was bad enough she had cowered out of telling you about her feelings so many times, now you wouldn't even talk to her at all.

Maybe you had caught on to her clingy-ness, she hated to think that she didn't at least get the chance to confess that she loved you in a way that might not freak you out. Her dim computer screen on her desk remains on her aim, countless unanswered messages on your part.

"Rhea!!" Her mom's voice snaps her out of her thoughts as she quickly gets up and heads downstairs. She freezes on the last step when she spots you, soaked through, shaking, red eyed and her mother trying to wrap you in a blanket. She spots your dripping bags near the front door and she feels her body flash with heat as a rage bubbles up.

"What happened?" Rhea questions as she comes towards you, making quick work of pulling her hoodie over her head using it wipe water from your face. You simply let out a sob in response as you jerk forward, she steps closer and pulls you against her.

"They kicked me out," you sputter between breaths, "I didn't know where to go,"

"Here," she answers and her mom hands her another blanket which she lays gently over your shaking body, "always here," She holds you while you cry into her collar and makes eye contact with her mom who simply nods before grabbing your bag to put whatever she can in the dryer.

"We gotta getcha warm baby," she whispers to you softly, the endearment comes out naturally and you let out a soft cry at how kind she's being despite the fact that you've been avoiding her for weeks. "Let's go to my room yeah?"

She holds your waist as she guides you upstairs, the front of your head is starting to hurt from crying and your face feels fuzzy. You enter the familiar space, greeted by pictures and posters you helped hang. Rhea sits you gently on her unmade bed and flips on the desk lamp, a soft yellow light illuminates the room.

"You need dry clothes," she speaks as she's opening drawers in her dresser and rifling through unfolded piles. "Sweatpants or shorts? Tee or sweater," she rambles half to you half to herself. As you watch her grab things for you and mumble to herself you make a decision.

"Rhea," you watch her turn to you "I have something I need to tell you,"

"Whatcha doing baby?" Your wife's voice makes your memory fade as the window comes back into view, the patter of rain drops against it and the occasional clap of thunder. Strong inked arms come to wrap around your middle and you lean back into her.

"Thinking," you tease, reaching up to scratch her jaw with your nails and she growls into your palm at your answer. "You know me well enough to know,"

"Mmmmm," she hums as her chin rests on your shoulder. She does know exactly what storms remind you of, which is why she'd abandoned her workout in the garage to find you. Usually you'd be in the basement trying to drown out the sound but she had found you in the master bedroom in-front of the glass balcony doors. Your silhouette illuminated by snaps of lighting. “I love you,"

“I love you more “ you tilt your head back to look at her, you tell her you love her all the time but you gaze into her eyes trying to tell her how much you mean it each time. She places gentle kisses on your neck as her hands slide down to your front, you feel her warm palms press against your hips, pushing you further against her body.

“I love you most, I win,” she growls into your nape and you let out a soft breath at the feeling, a pleasant warmth swells in your chest. Her strong hands grip at your hip bones and it sends lighting straight to your core. You turn to face her and the loving gaze she’s holding you with. “Hi pretty girl,” she rasps to you.

“Hi,” you respond and smile before her lips are on yours and her tongues in your mouth. You let out a satisfied hum as her hand comes up to thread through your hair, holding you tightly against her. You’re both overwhelmed by emotions as your kiss gets messier, thinking about the days when you hadn’t been out and married to the love of your life. You gently separate from her mouth, “I need you,” you tell her, your lips brushing against hers as you beg for her. You feel the tell tale sign of her gripping at your waist band and you lift onto your toes and she pulls you to wrap around her body.

“God you’re beautiful,” Rhea admires you, your foreheads pressed together as your breaths mingle. You brush her bangs away from her face and she stares at you above her, she watches you like you’re the stars.

“Take me to bed,” you ask her and although you cannot be closer you need more, you need to be the place that’s always been the safest; enclosed by Rheas body.

“Did somebody forget who’s in charge?” She teases and she nibbles your ear lobe, you whine and squirm in protest which gets you a light slap to your ass but you feel Rhea start to move towards the bed anyway. Your back hits the soft mattress and your wife crawls over to join you.

“I let that last one go,” she tells you as her fingers running under the hem of your shirt and up the side of your ribs, her gaze flicks back out the window. She wants you to know that you’re okay, she understands it’s a hard night for you, “but act like a brat again and I’ll treat ya like one,” she gently slaps the bottom of your thigh a couple times before you bend it and her strong grip holds you.

“Rhea,” you gasp as her teeth hit your collarbone followed by the soothing of her tongue. She chuckles lowly and pulls your tank top up over your stomach, you sit up quickly helping her rip it off.

“There’s my good girl,” Rhea praises your obedience and you melt a little more, your body pliant as she pressed you back down to the mattress. Her mouth is warm as she sucks marks onto your bare chest before taking a hardened bud, you throw your head backwards as you let out a moan.

The memories of your past fade a little more each time she teaches you true worship and only with her do you start to believe the priest who outed you might’ve actually been divine intervention. In the morning when you wake up next to her you’re certain angels exist, they simply must with one laying in front of you and in the night before you fall asleep you find your faith kneeling at her altar. You aren’t afraid that your love would cast you to hell, not when the goddess above you brings you pure bliss that you swear it must be what heaven really is.

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callalillywrites · 2 months ago

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A Stuck Zipper

This story is actually a longer, spin-off version of an older post response. It was meant to be a Christmas/Wintery story, but I missed that mark a little bit. It's okay though because I had a lot of fun writing this. I'm sure I can come up with something for Steve (and a couple others before the end of the year). I do hope you enjoy this story as much as I did writing it.

Relationship: Steve Rogers x Wife!Reader

Word Count: ~2100

Summary: It's the night of the biggest party of the year. You've been working alongside Pepper and Nat to ensure this party goes well. What you don't count on is a stuck zipper. At least, you're married to a man with a plan who's never failed to let you down.

Warnings: mostly fluff

A/N: This is my first fic since melting down last month, so please be kind to me as I try to get back into the swing of things again. I do hope this is the first of many more stories to come along with some older ones to join its ranks once more as well.

I do not give permission to have my works copied, translated, reposted, or fed into an AI machine.

****

“It’s stuck.”

You tried to turn around at Nat’s words, but she stopped you before you could wrench the tiny zipper from her hands.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t heard the smallest shreds as the zipper caught the delicate fabric and refused to let go. It’s just that this couldn’t be the thing that went wrong tonight. Of all your planning with Nat and Pepper to make this event the talk of the year, you couldn’t afford to be brought low because of a measly zipper on one of the most expensive gowns you’ve ever owned.

“How bad is it?” you asked though you couldn’t be sure you wanted to know.

Nat didn’t immediately answer, which was answer enough.

“Can we pin it or something?”

A glance at Nat’s pinched features in the mirror sent a shiver of dread down your spine.

The party would start any minute. Not only would your dress keep you from your duties, you would miss out on seeing the one person you’ve been wanting to see the past few weeks. Oh, you’d missed him something fierce while he’d been away, and now you couldn’t be certain you’d have the reunion you wanted with him.

This was supposed to be one of your biggest nights, too.

How were you going to explain your absence? How could you leave Nat and Pepper to fend for themselves? Then again, how were you supposed to help if your dress’s darn zipper was stuck halfway up your back.

In your current self-pitying state, you almost missed the way Nat’s face smoothed. Her hand had gone to the small ear comm she wore, holding it as she listened to Pepper on the other end.

You had one, too, but you’d taken it out after it started bugging you. The intention had been to replace it after you’d gotten dressed and had no more time for yourself before the party started. That had fallen by the wayside when your dress had pulled its dirty trick and kept you standing in front of your mirror debating your options.

Whatever Pepper told Nat soon tugged her signature smirk over her features, replacing her previous frown.

“Pepper is sending us reinforcements,” she said after a moment, her hand dropping from the comm.

The smirk remained as the two of you waited for whoever Pepper had sent to save the day.

Within minutes, said savior arrived.

You couldn’t help the gasp that slipped past your lips as you took in the only man that’s held your attention and your heart for so many years.

His new suit fit him to perfection, but then, you had no doubt it would after sending his measurements to the best tailor New York City had to offer. The dark navy made his blue eyes pop while the silver vest beneath his jacket brought out the sparkle you so adored whenever he glanced at you.

“Hello, sweetheart,” his deep voice echoed softly through the room. “I heard you could use my expertise.”

Nat, not at all offended at being ignored, deepened her smirk as she moved toward the open doorway. It didn’t seem to matter how much your man filled it, blocking her. Having fought at his side longer than you have, it didn’t take much for her to slip past him. Then again, that could be her spy training more than her comfort at being one of his Avenger coworkers.

As if her disappearance gave him further permission, he stepped into the room, quickly closing the distance. He didn’t stop until only a mere foot separated you. His slacks brushed the outer layers of your dress’s full skirt.

“You look ravishing, sweetheart,” he murmured, his gaze missing nothing of the silver dress you wore with the navy lace creating intricate snowflake patterns.

Putting up a hand to keep him at bay, you raised a brow. “And you, Mr. Rogers, have been hanging out with Sam and Bucky too much if you’re using ‘ravishing’ as a word to compliment me. You’re going to behave until after this party is over. Do we understand each other?”

“You are married to Captain America, sweetheart. I’m the very beacon of honor and virtue.” He held up his hand as though he were a Boy Scout though his gaze continued to twinkle. His lips twitched with the amusement he wasn’t trying too hard to conceal.

You simply shook your head. “No, I married Steven Grant Rogers. You’re the epitome of a punk from Brooklyn just as your best friend has always claimed. Never back down from a fight even when you should and have a mouth that could make a sailor blush on a good day.”

“Is that so?”

It was his turn to raise his brows though his amusement remained.

Knowing what he wanted to hear next, you sent him a softer smile, indulging him. After all, you two have done this little dance since not long after the two of you fell in love. Reaching out, you rested your hand over the small pocket of his suit jacket. His heart beat steadily beneath your palm, relaxing you as it always did.

Even as you nodded in affirmation, you added, “Yet, you’re also the man with a heart of pure gold and always help your friends and family whenever they need you. I didn’t marry the perfect soldier the U.S. Army wanted, but the good man you are and will always be. My life has been better for knowing you, and I fall more in love with you every day.”

His amusement melted into such warmth and affection that you knew he’d behave for at least a little while.

“What do you need, Mrs. Rogers?”

Pressing the softest kiss you could to his lips and not mess up your pristine makeup, you flashed him a grin before turning around to show him your dilemma.

“It’s stuck. I can’t see the problem, and Nat’s face told me pinning wouldn’t work.”

Steve’s warm fingers brushed against your skin as he inspected the ornery zipper. He tugged gently, but the stubborn slider refused to budge. Another tiny rip of the delicate fabric reached your ears a moment before Steve raised apologetic eyes to yours in the mirror in front of you.

“Nat’s probably right, sweetheart, but…”

His brows knitted together as he continued to stare at your current predicament.

After several seconds, his brows smoothed and his gaze met yours once more. Inspiration had hit him in a way that never fails to take your breath away. Always the man with a plan, he didn’t hesitate in coming up with some unique solutions to even the most basic of problems.

“You still have your emergency sewing kit in your purse?”

You nodded.

He stepped away and picked up your purse. His gaze met yours for permission before he opened up the main flap. Always the gentleman. His hand felt around the few contents until it encountered the little tin he sought. The same little tin you inherited from your grandmother after she passed a few years ago. You never failed to update the kit with threads for whatever outfit you and Steve wore that day from your rather vast collection of sewing threads.

As he held up the little tin with a small triumphant grin, you thanked whatever gods were listening that you’d remembered to update it that morning with what you’d need for your evening attire as well.

“Stay perfectly still for me, sweetheart,” he murmured after threading the needle with the necessary thread and stepped behind you again.

You did as he asked. It took everything in you not to peek over your shoulder to see exactly what he was doing. Instead, you had to settle with feeling his fingers brush against you now and then, sending delicious shivers down your spine even as he worked diligently at your dress.

After what felt like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than five minutes, he tied off the thread and snapped the extra with little effort. Turning you so your back faced the mirror, he nodded towards his work. “What do you think?”

It took a bit to get the right angle and see what he’d done.

When you did, you couldn’t help the gasp that slipped past your lips. The stuck zipper remained in place, but the rest of your dress had been perfectly and almost seamlessly stitched closed. Only some nosy person would notice the zipper wasn’t all the way up with the way Steve had stitched your dress closed. You could barely make out the stitches he placed.

Meeting his gaze in the mirror, you blurted, “Where did you learn to sew? How did I not know this about you after all these years?”

Steve’s cheeks flushed at the awe in your voice.

“We didn’t have a lot of clothing options back then as there are today. My ma worked hard to provide me with what she could. I used to watch her doctor clothes for my smaller frame whenever she could afford to get me something new.”

His gaze took on a wistful expression as he remembered his old life and his mother.

You turned so you could rest your hands on his chest, offering him what comfort you could. He didn’t talk about his past as often as you thought he should, but you never pushed him, either. Not wanting to miss out on this new opportunity, you remained quiet.

A small grin spread across his features as he indeed continued.

“Well, I wasn’t one to take precautions with my clothes, either. Most of us boys didn’t. I probably should’ve for my ma’s sake, but I always got myself into one scuffle or another as you’re aware. Most often, I’d end up with a rip in either my shirt or pants. Sometimes, both. Not wanting to upset my ma, I used the little bit of knowledge I’d gained by watching her to start mending my clothes myself. It was better than asking her to do more for me when she was already doing so much.”

His grin softened as more memories seemed to surface.

“My first attempts were awful, but then, boys didn’t typically do what they considered girl chores back then. I got better over time. I even helped Bucky out a time or two when he needed it. Some way, I guess, to repay him for always looking out for me, too. It was better than the tongue lashing he would’ve gotten from his own ma for getting me out yet another bind.”

Unable to resist the desire, you rose up and pressed another soft kiss to his lips.

“What was that for?” he asked though his eyes glowed with warmth and a mirrored desire.

You brought one of your hands up to cup his cheek as you whispered, “Just because you’re you.”

As you moved to lower yourself, Steve followed you until he leaned into your space and took a swift but no less chaste kiss for himself.

“I love you, too, Mrs. Rogers.”

The two of you gathered up the rest of your items for the evening, including the masks you had made to match your outfits.

After all, the party was a masquerade. Tony had declared it so when he announced wanting to throw a holiday party for the Avengers and other important guests. At least, he left you, Pepper, and Nat to work out all the other details to make this night a spectacular one. It would certainly be one to remember after all your hard work and theirs.

As the two of you walked towards the elevators, a thought struck you.

Turning your head to look at your husband, you asked low enough so any others wouldn’t overhear, “How exactly am I getting out of this dress later?”

The smirk you’ve come to know and love appeared on Steve’s face. He helped you onto the elevator as the doors opened. His arm came around you as he held you close to his side. Only as the doors were closing did he bend down to whisper, “Don’t worry about that, sweetheart. I’ve got a plan that will not only get you out of that dress but will satisfy us both before the sun comes up tomorrow.”

His lips skimmed along your neck until he reached the spot where it met your shoulder. A slight stinging nip of his teeth sent a tingling shiver down your spine. The promise clear in his action as his hand tightened at your waist.

The party, while an amazing success of your hard work, paled in comparison to the hours after where Steve lived up to his sensual promise in the elevator. It would be a night you wouldn’t soon forget.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #x female reader #wife reader #steve rogers fanfiction #callalillys story #a stuck zipper #mcu #marvel #fluff #natasha romanoff

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angelltheninth · 24 days ago

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The Heroic Build

Pairing: Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, banter, awkward flirting, secret crush, working out, sweet!Clark Kent, himbo!Clark Kent

Word count: 1k

Ao3

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: He would make for a great, but distracting, gym buddy.

Going jogging and going to the gym were never about you wanting to impress anyone, just doing what made you feel good. Until... you noticed that he was taking the same route as you. Clark Kent, one of your new co-workers. You only talked to him a few times but he always seemed like a very sweet guy, if a little on the clumsy side. And from what you saw he was very well built. Just your type.

Hopefully some day soon you'll be able to ask him out on a date.

That day was not supposed to be today. Today you were on your usual run, minding your own business when a mountain of red appeared next to you. "Good morning!" Clarks soft, happy voice made your heart skip a beat, which really wasn't good when you're working out.

"Good morning Clark. Is this your route too?" What a stupid question, damn why do you get like this around him? It's just a crush! You've had those before.

Clark didn't seem to notice your flustered state and if he did he politely chose not to say anything, "It's on the way to the gym I go to so yeah. Plus it passes by my favorite store and I can't say no to their donuts. I uh... you could say I'm drawn to all things sweet." You swore you saw his eyes lower to your lips just then before he straightened his head forward. "What about you? I saw you running the same route a few times."

No way, could you really be... "I run this route to the gym too. Its a good warmup."

Clark's eyes lit up, you actually swore you saw them flash for a moment, must be a trick of the light and glasses, "Awesome! If you want maybe, we can go together. To the gym that is! And then also maybe get something sweet after? As a treat. My treat! I mean I will treat you to something sweet!" His face was as red as his shirt by the time he made himself stop talking.

Damn it, why was he so cute?!

"I'd love to go with you. You look like you could use a good partner. Gym partner that is." You don't know why but you found yourself winking to him all the same, which made Clark gape at you and slow down to process that wink.

As was the case almost everywhere he went Clark's cute puppydog energy seemed to make people like him. When you arrived at the gym both of you were greeted by the owners and a few other people there, although Clark seemed more like the social butterfly, or rather he let people talk and offered them the kindest possible smile and reassurance when they seemed to need it.

In fact from what you observed Clark didn't really need to go to the gym judging from his build. When that hoodie came off and you saw all that toned muscle you found yourself staring, "Oh wow." You thought you were pretty quiet but Clark heard you, somehow. "Sorry, I just didn't know you were so... buff. I knew you were big but- I mean tall, you're very tall!"

"Oh well I grew up on my parents farm so I had to bulk up and help them out." He seemed a tiny bit flustered by you looking and scratched the back of his head, which made his biceps flex and bulge. Oh this was a big mistake on your part. "I really like being in shape so I figured joining a gym would be my best option. Er... are you okay?"

"Hot. Uh, I mean, I'm a little hot from warming up and all, but I could help you out if you want. I noticed you didn't get much done, running around helping others all the time." A soft smile flew across Clark's face. He seemed happy to be acknowledged.

"I like helping others." There was so much conviction in his statement, like its his true calling. It was so admirable it made your already bad crush escalate.

"So what do you need help with? What do you normally do?"

"Well today I was gonna be lifting some weights. You can count if you want." He smiled and pointed towards one of the empty powerlift benches. A part of you wanted to say that judging by his arms he didn't need that but you also wanted to see how many he could do. When you saw how many weights he packed on there you were... a little worried.

Clark though laid back with full confidence, grabbed hold of the bar with full confidence and with a tiny grunt lifted it all the way up. "Holy shit. You actually did it." If he could keep lifting those with relative ease he could for sure lift you too. "One." Clark smirked at the awestruck confidence boost he got and lowered it all the way to his chest, then up again. He was past the 20th and not even breaking a sweat. "You got the heroic build."

"Huh?" His arms faltered, a look of both surprise and horror on his face as the bar and weights almost crashed onto him, "Fuck!" Clark wheezed as he put the bar back into its place and sat up, now very out of breath, back muscles rising and falling with every breath.

"That has to be the first time I've heard you swear." It was almost funny really. You rounded up to face him and offered him a bottle of water, "You okay? That could have ended badly." Others seemed to think so too seeing as there were a few people looking your way.

"I'm fine!" Clark informed, more them then you, "Might have overdone it a little. I..." He scratched his pink-tinted cheek, "I may have wanted to impress you."

"Oh." Instead of complimenting him you flicked his forehead. It actually hurt a little, he was very hard-headed, literally, "Well you don't have to get hurt trying. I'm already impressed." The moment of silence between you seemed to stretch out forever, "I-I'm gonna go shower. Meet me at the front later, we still need to get something sweet." But first you needed to get all the frustrations and dirty thoughts out of your system.

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revehae · 1 year ago

Text

indulgence

pairing ↠ killer!johnny × (f) detective reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, graphic depictions of murder, graphic depictions of violence, noncon, mentions of pregnancy, johnny is 43

summary ↠ you're an accomplished detective in the detroit area and johnny suh is a prolific serial killer. when your department sends you on its behalf to pull back his layers, you attempt to convince johnny to recount his experiences and unravel the mystery once and for all.

wc ↠ 10.3k

a/n ↠ this is a repost. it is connected to do you like it, dr. lee? but can be read as a standalone story. this fic is somewhat darker than my usual fics and i encourage readers to proceed with caution and heed the warnings; you have been advised.

don’t like it, don’t read.

the deepest prick of unease settled through you and you shuddered from its nipping cold.

killers were your forte, but none like this. never in your life had you ever met a killer who’d been at their craft for over a decade. they typically got sloppy after the first half, which insinuated that this johnny suh guy, whoever he was, was far from an amateur.

“gate twelve,” came the guard’s voice, speaking into a transmitter. he was to escort you to johnny’s holding room.

“good luck with this guy. officers tried to get him to budge. he didn’t take the fifth, but the bastard’s damn good at talking in circles,” the guard whispered in your ear.

“duly noted,” you replied quietly, stepping further and taking the seat across from johnny.

the guard left you to your devices, shutting the door behind you and leaving through the passage that led to the gate. complete and total privacy was the only way johnny agreed to talk. your department initially refused, insisting there should at least be one or two other officers monitoring the interview, but you let him have his way.

if you wanted to get this man to talk, that was your only option.

“hello, johnny. i’m detective ___ from the detroit police department,” you introduced yourself coolly, cloaking your nerves with confidence. never would you show a guy like this any fear.

johnny hadn’t stopped grinning since he made eye contact with you. you’d seen pictures at most and he was devilishly handsome, even more so in person, but it didn’t compensate for his unsettling aura. “that’s a beautiful name, detective.”

“flattery will get you nowhere, suh.”

“it’s gotten me here,” johnny quipped.

“yes, it has. and i suppose you already know why i’m here.”

“yes, i do,” johnny said, pleasant thus far. “you want me to tell you about the murders.”

you bobbed your head. “i do. you see, you’re an enigma to me, johnny. you turn yourself in, get fingerprinted, and all of the sudden our database’s going off because your prints are connected to three other crimes over the past twenty-five years.”

johnny feigned surprise. “wow, it’s been that long?”

“it has,” you replied, in spite of knowing he couldn’t have not been aware. “martina mortes in 1998, sabrina lee in 2005, christine dalton in 2013, and the college professor this year.”

johnny leaned back in his chair. “i’m familiar with those names.”

“you should be. you sexually assaulted and murdered these women,” you spat, none too tender. “except for martina mortes. you only strangled her. do you want to tell me why that it is?”

“what’s the weather like today? i haven’t been outside, but summer has been kind to detroit.”

ignoring him, you persisted, “let me guess. she was your first victim and that kill, unlike the others, was spontaneous. her being dead defeated the purpose of the sex act, didn’t it?”

“well, do you like your partners warm or cold, detective?” johnny asked, deflecting.

as if he was disinterested, johnny glanced to the side and yawned.

the audacity on this guy was astounding. “am i boring you, suh?”

johnny replied with total indifference, “if you think you know everything, then why are we here?”

you answered without hesitation, “because i think you’ve wanted to tell someone about what you’ve done for a long time, johnny. but you realize that you’re not like other people. i’m giving you the opportunity to get it all off of your chest.”

johnny cocked his head to the side, as if he was contemplating your offer. his face was borderline inscrutable. it was difficult, if not impossible, to decipher what he was thinking.

“four.” johnny’s answer was quick, automatic. like he didn’t even have to think about it for a second.

johnny cocked a brow. “but?”

“but there’s no way someone like you could’ve resisted your urges between four kills over the past two decades and then some.”

there was no point in denying the four victims, because you already had substantial proof. nor did johnny deny that martina was his first victim, because given the decomposition of the bodies, she died long before the other three. admitting that she wasn’t would be admitting that there were unfound others.

and johnny had no intention of implicating himself more than he already had. the only reason he turned himself in was because he didn’t want to prolong the inevitable, for whatever reason. he pulled his lips into a mock frown. “your assumptions about my self-restraint are hurtful,” he replied.

whatever, moron, you thought irritability. “i think they’re more than just assumptions.”

johnny teased, “then, let me know when you know something.”

“you make me sound like an addict,” johnny remarked, pretending to be offended.

“you can believe what you want, detective. i didn’t kill anyone else,” johnny lied, not that you ever needed to know.

you surrendered. it was obvious johnny was intelligent and he wouldn’t be easily tricked into confessing. “okay, fine. let’s talk about the victims we know of. tell me about martina mortes.”

“what is there to tell?” johnny asked, brow cocked. “we met in junior high. then, in eleventh grade, we got together.”

“tell me about why you killed her,” you insisted, painfully curious. “it happened in chicago, before you moved to detroit over the summer. you killed her in the heat of the moment.”

johnny gave the impression that he would take a minute to crack, so you were surprised when he said in response to your prodding, “we got into a wrangle, if you will.”

that much was obvious. “what kind of wrangle?”

the garage was hot and the air was stuffy, making it difficult to breathe. to say nothing of the frustration scorching johnny’s skin, his face tensed into an irritated glower.

martina was bristling. “you always fucking do this, johnny.”

johnny heaved a breath, sighing, “what - what do i always do, martina?”

“you trivialize everything i go through. you make me feel like i’m overreacting when i’m not, you just refuse to hold yourself accountable,” she spat.

“martina, we’re about to go to college, for fuck’s sake! you can’t focus on your academics and a goddamn child. i don’t get why you won’t just have an abortion and call it a day,” johnny roared, heating up a thousand degrees.

“god, do you listen to a word that comes out of my mouth? my parents will kill me, johnny. if not for being pregnant at eighteen, then for killing it.”

johnny sighed. “i don’t see the part where that’s my problem.”

tears blurred martina’s eyes. she came up to him, shattered by his careless and embraced by isolation, and bellowed, “you want to know what your problem is? your problem is that you’re an incompetent bastard with no regard for other people!”

johnny’s body was engulfed in flames but his shoulders were cold, and he lost control of his emotions, grabbing martina by the throat. he effortlessly lifted her with a single hand and smashed her against the closest wall none too gently, watching her eyes wince closed.

“you wanna say that again?” johnny asked, nothing short of belligerent.

“i didn’t even realize how long i spent standing there, until she felt… empty, and i knew she was gone,” johnny confessed, but his tone was far from sympathetic. “she scratched me. you know, when she was trying to pry my hands off. i didn’t know until hours later.”

you shook your head, disdainful. “you killed your pregnant girlfriend?”

johnny groaned, “oh, please. i was eighteen. i would’ve been a terrible father.”

“i would be slightly more inclined to accept that as an excuse if it weren’t for the fact that you had a son by sabrina lee only two years later,” you said viciously.

“a lot can change in two years.”

if johnny could’ve raised his hands, he would’ve. “your words, not mine.”

you leaned over the table, unrelenting. “tell me about it, johnny. how did it feel when you strangled her with your bare hands? what was it like?”

johnny chuckled. “is that what you wanna hear?”

you nodded.

johnny leaned in too, getting closer to you, and whispered in your ear, “i squeezed every last breath out of her, one by one, until there was nothing left for her brain and she went slack in my arms. and when i was done, i felt elated. i felt free. it woke up this dormant sensation inside of me that i swore to never repress again, because it made me feel alive.”

your lungs started to feel shallower, like no breath could reach the bottom, and you sensed your heart come to a halt for a minute. johnny pulled back, grinning from ear to ear, as if he was proud of himself.

“detective, did i startle you?” johnny asked, tilting his head ever so slightly.

your face hardened. “why would you ever think that?”

“you’re not as good at feigning indifference as you think you are, detective. full offense,” he mimicked, mocking.

johnny ignored you, at least for a little. he was taking a liking to making you feel uneasy around him. “has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?” he asked out of nowhere.

“you aren’t my type. i don’t fool around with serial killers,” you replied sharply.

johnny didn’t seem to be offended, but you didn’t expect him to. “really now? it feels like we’re on a date right now. after all, we are getting to know each other.”

you asked, “have you always had such a distorted perception of normal human interaction?”

johnny shot with no hesitation, “have you always had such a sharp mouth?”

you pulled yourself together. the only way you would get anywhere with this guy was by establishing that you were the one in control. “okay, enough. this is my interview, suh. you answer my questions, not vice versa.”

“that’s not any fair,” johnny told you, that unnerving smile still on his lips. “i don’t have to tell you anything, you know. and without me, you lose the only key to those answers you want so badly.”

“you shutting up doesn’t make much of a difference, considering you’re already dodging my questions,” you replied.

“let’s play a game,” johnny suggested.

you weren’t in the mood for any games, but that was johnny’s method of operation. “i don’t like games.”

“you’ll like this one,” johnny insisted, laughing. “twenty questions.”

your shoulders dropped. “am i supposed to be guessing something?”

johnny shook his head, something sinister about him. “no, it’s much easier than that. we take turns asking each other questions until i’ve answered ten and you’ve answered ten.”

johnny slightly lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “yes, ma’am.”

“okay,” you started. “what made you move from illinois to michigan?”

“i was kicked out of the house. didn’t have anywhere else to go. but i had a buddy here whose family took me in,” johnny answered frankly.

you pondered those words, wondering if his aforementioned buddy knew about his secret indulgences. or if he asked why johnny’s parents kicked him out of their home. it would’ve been the question scratching at your mind, itching to be answered.

johnny’s lips parted. “what kind of perfume are you wearing - honey lavender?”

that piqued your curiosity. “what did you write about?”

“wait your turn,” johnny sang. “your hair smells just as lovely as the rest of you. do you match scents all the time?”

you were mildly uncomfortable, but given the type of dude he was, you stifled it. “yes. you don’t have to be such a pervert all the time, you know?”

again, johnny rolled his shoulders, chirping, “you call it perverse. i call it amusing.”

you almost cursed under your breath when you realize you’d asked him a question. “wait, i didn’t mean to ask…”

johnny cut you off, “that’s too bad. it’s my turn again. do you like necklaces?”

johnny snickered. “i’ll admit that was funny.”

you pressed, “what did you write about in the journal?”

“do you think your eyes are pretty?”

“nothing was enough for that man. i had the top grades in my class and the highest gpa, and he took my door off its hinges and seized my privacy,” johnny told you, words harsh, but his tone plain. “he was obsessed with being the perfect family, something that was ruined the second my mother destroyed everything, and rather than embrace me, he turned me away.”

your eyes flickered. there was something about his language that stood out to you. courtesy of the research you’d done on him beforehand, you were aware that his father was divorced then remarried his stepmother, who already had a daughter johnny’s age. but rather than describe his parent’s separation as a divorce, he said his mother destroyed everything.

what a hostile view towards women, you mused, repulsed. but given the nature of his crimes, it adds up. and it might’ve been the origin of his hatred.

you blinked when johnny leaned, craning his face towards yours, and snapped out of your reverie when you jolted back.

“there you are,” johnny said, chuckling at your surprise. it was all over your face. “i’ve been talking to myself all this time. you must’ve been thinking about me.”

“no, not really. i was wondering if i forgot to feed my dog last night.” it was an obvious lie, but you would never encourage this guy to feel more important than he was.

amusement gleamed in johnny’s eyes. he was having a wonderful time, truth be told. had you not been so pretty, he would’ve clamped up like a crab, but you were so pleasing to the eye that he didn’t mind confessing a couple of truths. “a dog. that’s interesting. i myself have always wanted a pet - a snake. the constricting kind are my favorite.”

“you don’t say,” you droned, voice dripping with crisp irony.

your sarcasm was chucklesome to johnny, but his words were the truth. he remembered, all those years ago, asking his father for a pet snake. and when he refused, johnny, in turn, killed the family dog. he added, “they don’t just suffocate their prey. they coil around them, almost like a straitjacket, and cut off its blood supply.”

you replied, “yeah, but animals hunt to survive. you hunted because you had nothing better to do with your life.”

“in my humble opinion, we’re all animals of nature, and creatures of sin,” johnny told you in a whisper, as if he were telling you a secret of some kind. “anyways, it’s my turn now.”

you resisted a disgruntled exhale.

like his questions couldn’t get any more absurd and strangely perverse, johnny asked, “when you shower, what do you use - a washcloth or a loofah?”

“that’s not a yes or no question,” you replied with total disinterest.

“it’s hardly any less simple.”

johnny smiled at the mention of his son’s mother, but the grin on his lips was distinguishable from the others. like he didn’t even realize he was smiling. “she was special. i loved her.”

“no, you didn’t. you don’t hurt people that you love.”

“maybe that’s true for you, but you’ve called me everything but a child of god and it’s clear you don’t think you and i are alike,” johnny said. “i don’t miss her, though, because she left a better print on this world. a world that was never made for her in the first place.”

“you’re very strongly opinionated,” johnny responded, ever so unbothered. maybe some decades ago, it would’ve irked him to the point of breaking, but he was much more in charge of his impulses now.

you lifted your shoulders, gazing at him with the most discerning of eyes. all he could think about was how nice it would’ve been to seize you by the throat and watch the light dull from them.

to your surprise, johnny’s next question was not as a deviant as you assumed it would be, asking, “what made you decide you wanted to become a detective?”

“because of the people i used to know that aren’t around to tell you why,” you answered distantly, before pressing, “how was sabrina different, johnny?”

johnny perched over the table again, an uncomfortable distance close to you, made worse by his whispers. “because unlike the others, she didn’t beg me to stop - she begged me to finish. for it to be over. and when i wouldn’t, she begged me to kill her.”

the mental picture you got was cruel. your heart hurt for these women that had no idea what hit them until it was too late.

“i put these women out of their misery,” johnny continued.

you spat in a heartbeat, “the misery that you forced them to endure.”

johnny winced. “no, these women were miserable long before they met me. they were just ignorant of it. impressionability is a weakness.”

“either you have one hell of a god complex or you are working overtime to justify your sick actions.”

johnny merely shrugged, vicious and ominous and everything in between. there was something so dark about his spirit. you could feel it just from sitting within a couple of feet of him.

johnny’s memories were triggered. he was reminiscing about the times he shared with his son’s mother, how perfect she was. there were no other women like her. she was his favorite victim, someone he took his sweet time with, while the others were disposed of in a few months time.

midnight loomed, riding on the tail of dusk. johnny was counting down the minutes until the clock struck twelve, a self-imposed rule to gauge his willpower. the second the hour came, he bolted from the crackling sound of the cabin’s fireplace to a bedroom, anticipation like a stimulant.

the wooden floorboards creaked the closer johnny crept to the door. save for himself and the woman chained to the bedpost, the cabin was void of life. it belonged to the parents of a close friend who ensured it was vacant whenever johnny needed a place to indulge his twisted fantasies.

which was basically all of the time.

the chains were used likewise. when johnny was not there, the restraints kept her prisoner. johnny, reckless as he could be back then, was many things and stupid was not one of them. the chains stretched long enough to reach the bathroom but no further and he had his loyal friend help him test it after each victim.

“can you go further?” johnny called out.

jaehyun’s lower limbs were shackled, ceasing his footsteps just shy of the hallway as he came to a total standstill. “not if i want my legs to follow me,” he’d retorted.

johnny had snickered. “good.”

had johnny been there, though, he would take the chains off. none of this was fair, even johnny didn’t believe that, but not giving them the chance to fight was too unfair. he needed not to chain them when he had the gift of his big, burly arms.

johnny waltzed over with a lighthearted and carefree gait, as if this was just another wednesday afternoon to him. and in some sick, despicable way, that wasn’t too far from the truth. he ripped the tape from sabrina’s lips, watching her face tense with pain.

“johnny,” sabrina rasped, voice croaking. he could tell from her flushed face and misty eyes that she’d been crying. “i’m thirsty.”

johnny cocked a brow, glancing to his hand. he had an irritating knack for playing dumb. it used to be endearing. now, with everything she knew to be true torn from her bare hands, sabrina didn’t know what to think. “what - you want this?”

sabrina nodded.

“yeah?” he popped off the top, throwing back a few gulps just before releasing a satisfied, “ah.”

sabrina’s lips trembled. “please.”

had she been anybody else, johnny probably would’ve dangled the water in her face just to snatch it away, but there was something about sabrina that made him gravitate towards her. in a rare moment of benevolence, johnny handed her the water, letting her drink.

johnny set the drink aside before returning to her, unshackling her limbs. sabrina’s breath quickened the moment the chains clacked harshly against the floor and nearly stilled when he brought his hand to her flushed face, tracing her chapped lips with a calloused thumb.

his thoughts rushed with unbridled exhilaration, ablaze with suspense, but he slowed for a moment to marvel at her loveliness. johnny’s hand touched her hair, touch tender in ways it would never be again, because he would never again know a woman as great as her.

he brought his lips to her ear, nibbling at the shell before asking, “do you know what i want you to do?”

sabrina bobbed her head, starting to halfheartedly peel off her clothes without needing to be told. with so many days held prisoner in this hell hole, it became routine. like she’d already resigned herself to her fate and knew johnny getting his way was inevitable. he always got what he wanted.

it had to have been months ago, although sabrina couldn’t have been sure how many. everyday started to bleed into the static hopelessness of another. sometimes johnny wouldn’t show for days, leaving her to live antsily, dreading his unavoidable return. other times, he would spend a day or two in the cabin, fucking her into kingdom come.

as if she couldn’t be any more faultless. johnny smirked. “smart girl,” he purred. he would never deny her wit, given that she’d caught onto him, but her lack of strength was her only vice.

johnny restlessly tossed his own shirt over his naked shoulder and came to step out of his boxers. there was mischief on his plush lips. he knew something sabrina only knew from the unkind churn of her gut.

“down,” johnny told her, tone dark and stern.

she pliantly did as told, bare back meeting the mattress. johnny crept over her, hard cock twitching at the sight of her so meek. typically, he liked when they put up a fight, but sabrina knew better.

johnny could tell she was fighting back tears, willing herself not to cry with a stabilized breath, but her endeavors were in vain the second he started to force his way inside her. they escaped her eyes and dampened her cheeks, unable to overlook the agony of the stretch.

“shh, baby,” johnny crooned in her ear, the weight of his body bearing down onto hers. “what’s the matter? you used to beg me to fuck you.”

sabrina shook her head, silently pleading for a mercy she knew deep down that johnny wasn’t capable of. “please make it quick.”

johnny’s tone was almost sweet. “but baby, you told me you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, remember?”

johnny knew that his words weren’t reassuring and he didn’t intend for them to be. there was a reason why he loved how she tried to hold herself together. he got to push her limits, find her breaking point. in the end, she would get her wish, and in a way, johnny thought that that was love.

her walls were just as tight and vice-like as they’d been all those times he’d taken her before. if johnny got close enough to her, let his hands wander and tease as they never not had done, sabrina would still involuntarily gush around his cock. like her body knew she was forever a slave to his touch.

and she orgasmed the same way, johnny remembered. back when things were normal between them, when she begged for him to fuck her, as he called it, her release was marked by a volatile shudder, but a silent cry of ecstasy.

johnny pushed sabrina’s lips into an upward curling with his thumb and index finger. “smile for the camera, sabrina,” he whispered.

sabrina’s brows furrowed, painfully oblivious to the camera tracking her every emote. johnny couldn’t not document his deeds. there was something about being able to play them over, immersing himself back in that moment over and over, even when the life itself could not be so easily brought back.

but for johnny, they could be. when he rewatched these videos again and again, it was like he could feel their pulses thump in their neck, resuscitating.

johnny’s hands were everywhere, fingertips traipsing towards sabrina’s neck where marks lingered from all the times he’d strangled her, only to slacken his grip when she was just shy of passing out. the bruises were different colors, indicative of different healing stages. sabrina tensed, startled, and wondered when it would all be over.

“johnny.” sabrina was overcome with defeat. her voice cracked as she asked, “johnny, please just cum.”

johnny’s face tensed with pleasure. “fuck, babe, when you say it like that…”

“you want me to finish?”

sabrina nodded.

johnny chuckled darkly. “then, in that case, it’s time for you to get your wish, baby.”

johnny lifted his hands, bringing them to sabrina’s face, but before he could touch her, she exclaimed, “wait, johnny!”

his brow cocked.

sabrina’s lips trembled. “can you tell me what today is? please?”

“wednesday,” johnny replied, holding his hands around her neck, but keeping his grip slack. for now.

“wednesday,” sabrina said, pulling her lips into the faintest of smiles as tears blurred her vision. “will you tell haechan that i hope he has an amazing thursday?”

“that can be arranged,” johnny said, grinning.

those were her last words. because when johnny tightened his grip at her throat, almost like tightening a noose, he couldn’t bring himself to stop in spite of the agonized gleam in her stare. and then her stare was empty, and johnny had already emptied his load inside of her.

it would always return, sometimes as soon as the next day, but for a minute, johnny was whole and no drug could replicate that kind of contentedness.

johnny did tell haechan what sabrina said. he wasn’t all too sure why, maybe it was because she was his mother and haechan was her son that they’d created together, and johnny would never have it any other way. for her to be the one to give him a child, he couldn’t imagine any other woman in her place.

it was almost unfortunate that she had to go so soon. even johnny thought that her demise was premature. had she not grown so suspicious of him, johnny could imagine making her his wife, maybe even spending the rest of his life with her.

their marriage wouldn’t have been without his secret dark life, but sabrina wouldn’t’ve been a victim. alas, loose ends needed to be tied. johnny couldn’t trust that she would’ve kept quiet, and even then, she was in a much more fitting place for an angel like herself.

there was much of this memory that would be abridged. never would johnny reveal anything about the cabin or the dear friend that helped him commit his indulgences, or even the existence of the tapes. if they found those videos, that was proof of murder with a grand total of 106 women.

the air around you was heavy and the words you’d just been fed weren’t easily take in. “what you’ve just told me is really sad.”

but johnny didn’t look sad. whether or not he ever truly cared for sabrina would perpetually be a mystery. “maybe,” he started. “but tell me that you wouldn’t hurt the person you loved most if it was what was best for them.”

“i did. but what i had to do is different from what you were.”

johnny’s interest was piqued. “how come?”

“not that interesting of a story,” johnny said. “she wasn’t sabrina, i got tired of her, here we are.”

“and yet she wasn’t a one-off like martina mortes.”

“had she been a one-off, my body count would be one number higher. that was a favor,” johnny told you, grinning as if you actually had something to be grateful for.

you didn’t waste a second to accuse, “because you need to keep your victims to extract all the relief that you can from them, right?”

“i’m afraid it’s not your turn to ask questions,” johnny replied tauntingly. “what was your sister like - did she have long hair? what color were her eyes? how long were her lashes?”

sick son of a bitch, bellowed the voice in your head, though you willed yourself to remain composed. it was plain on his face that johnny didn’t want an answer - he wanted a reaction. and as furious as that made you, you couldn’t let him provoke you. “that’s none of your business,” you said, but there was a loophole. “but she was beloved.”

that qualified as an answer. johnny glanced at you in a way that made you feel see-through, as if he knew that you were threatening to come apart at the seams and didn’t buy your nonchalance for a minute.

sated, he went on to feed you bullshit about his ex-wife’s death, though there were only four people who knew what truly happened to her and one of them was dead.

johnny remembered that day like it happened yesterday. it was a thursday evening when he’d come home from work. christine had picked haechan up from school hours ago and johnny wholly expected to come home to her in the kitchen.

it was dark outside. the moon was a mere sliver and the stars were duller than they typically were, almost like they had witnessed something that drained their spirits. johnny remembered struggling to identify his house key, trying each of them until the door clicked open.

“i’m home,” johnny’s voice thundered as he turned to lock the door.

there were quick footsteps from upstairs. haechan, johnny thought, more than familiarized with the sound. but there was none of christine’s usual voice.

“dad, i’m hungry,” came haechan’s voice from the stairs, coming down them one by one.

that in itself should’ve been suspicious, but instead, all johnny could think about was how sabrina would’ve already fed her son. “hasn’t christine made dinner by now?” johnny asked, irritated.

haechan shook his head, though johnny couldn’t see. he was hanging his coat on the rack, like he always did after he locked the door. “she can’t right now.”

“why not?”

“because i think she’s dead,” haechan replied, nonchalant as ever.

that was the very second that johnny turned around and noticed that haechan was stained with blood. it was all over his face and the spots would probably never come out of his clothes, not that they would be kept.

for half a minute, johnny was genuinely stunned.

haechan didn’t say what happened, and there was no need to. “the blood won’t come off,” was all he said, showing his father the pair of hands that he’d washed with vigor.

johnny heaved a breath. he should’ve seen this coming. haechan took after his father and he never liked christine. to say the least, johnny couldn’t blame him. “where is she?”

“where they all go,” haechan replied, as if it was the most normal and natural thing in the world to him.

johnny headed for the basement with quick footsteps, haechan following behind. if somebody were to come down there, they wouldn’t suspect a thing. not only was it decorated to look like one, but it was used as a man cave. behind a soundproof wall, though, was a dungeon for his prisoners.

in this case, there was a trail of blood leading to the wall, proof that haechan had somehow brought christine there after he hurt her. johnny entered the cell and saw her there behind the bars, coming to her side to check her pulse.

pressing his thumb to her wrist and neck, johnny sensed a pulse, though it was weakening. “she’s not dead,” he said, wresting his phone out of his pocket.

haechan didn’t look so relieved, but he didn’t voice his dissatisfaction. “are you mad?”

johnny glanced down at christine. haechan had used a kitchen knife, attacking her in the heat of the moment. she was butchered and blood-splattered, on the verge of slaughter, and yet johnny couldn’t find it in him to offer any compassion. “that you hurt her? no. that you made a mess? a little.”

now that was a relief. to haechan, at least back then, his dad was the coolest guy that he knew.

there was quite the scene in front of him and johnny didn’t have a thing for blood. he shook his head in reproach, chastising, “i’m going to teach you the right way to get rid of a woman when you’re sick of her.”

that piqued haechan’s curiosity.

johnny was quick to dial jaehyun’s number. he had medical experience and that was what he needed right now. when the call connected, he said, “i’m in calling in a favor.”

jaehyun patched her up again. at least for a few months, johnny still needed her breathing. they scrubbed the floors free of blood, burned haechan’s bloodied clothes, and it was as if nothing ever happened.

what johnny had told you was only a fraction of the truth, but still enough to make you want to grimace. it bemused you how he got away with murdering his ex-wife and nobody thought to suspect her husband with a track record of disappearing partners.

johnny looked proud of himself. had it not been for haechan, he probably would’ve never been caught. “sabrina never told anyone that we dated, or that she had a baby by me. her parents wanted her to focus on her education. if they knew she’d gotten pregnant, she would’ve been the black sheep.”

“and you took advantage of that,” you hissed.

“so what if i did?” johnny asked, careless. “not to mention that dozens of teenage girls in chicago were going missing at the time. they added martina to that number and called it a day. is that sad? maybe. but that’s how it works.”

“and as for your co-worker?” you asked sharply. the boldness of his crimes astounded you. “her husband grieves her. were you having an affair?”

the thought of her made johnny chuckle. oh, were we, he reminisced. it was a misfortune that he didn’t get the chance to have his way with her the way that he wanted. and for that reason, he couldn’t regale you in a truthful account of her death.

what happened that day, the day his co-worker died, challenged his fate and was the reason that he only now knew the imprisonment he thrusted upon others.

johnny knew when he spotted her that he would revel in her vulnerability. married, but she hardly wore her ring. her kind was the most naive - the kind that believed ecstasy was without costly sin. one way or another, she had to reap what she sowed.

he worked his way inside her pants, but it was hardly any work; she was on a desperate pursuit for pleasure and when johnny promised it to her, offering content on a silver platter, she thought less with her brain and more with the throbbing between her legs.

for months, johnny slept with her, which was far from typical. if she were anybody else, johnny would have pursued her for a couple of weeks time, then banished her to the underground prison. though considering he already had a victim down there at the time, he had some time to spare.

it was no secret that she had grown fond of johnny in ways she hadn’t been of her husband in a very long time, and though johnny found her to be special, in a way, he could not reciprocate her feelings. when johnny saw her, all he felt was the overwhelming urge to use her without a lick of remorse, and squeeze those panting breaths out of her.

it was a shame that he never got the opportunity. johnny already tested the bounds of his self-restraint when it came to her, each of their encounters consensual with her oblivious to his deepest, darkest desires. sometimes, his fingers would wander to her neck, but even that was wanted.

what was not wanted was the tyranny over her body that preceded her death. it bemused johnny to learn that his son, along with two of his friends that he thought of like brothers and johnny thought of like sons, ravaged her to the brink of being unrecognizable.

had johnny held control over the situation, he wouldn’t have cared what happened to her and would have even permitted them to go to town. but what happened was somehow darker. when he got a call from the professor late that day, hearing her broken sobs over the phone, he told her to meet him at his house.

that was his first mistake.

it wasn’t that she didn’t come. she made it there, hopeful to confide in johnny about the nightmare that tore her apart, but it was haechan that opened the front door. and when she entered, there was no hope out of her coming out breathing.

haechan had been a downward spiral ever since a month ago when he stumbled upon the tape of his mother. ever since he was a boy, haechan watched every tape he could find of his father’s dark life, even sharing them with his friends as if they were movies and not snuff.

but this was not like those. this was his mother. and watching her suffer, listening to her final request before her untimely death, broke haechan in ways which he would never recover.

haechan had known since he was little that his mother was dead and his father was to blame, but his understanding of what happened to her was skewed. if he’d known eighteen years ago what he knew today, when johnny had his own son aid him in his mother’s demise, none of it would have ever happened.

to say nothing of the fact that what johnny had haechan do was only a mere fraction of his mother’s suffering. haechan would fetch things from the other side of the cabin he vaguely remembered visiting every now and then for three months. when he was not there, which was often, he would lie to his neighbors about her whereabouts.

even though when she died he was only a kid being taken advantage of, haechan hated himself for letting it happen right under his nose. he wished he would’ve told his neighbors the truth. maybe if he had, his mother would still be alive and kicking, and he would know the only woman he ever cared for.

that was why he went after his professor that he knew his father had also been eyeing closely and having an affair with. her fate was obvious. johnny would entertain her for a while, somehow charm and woo his way into her pants like he did every other woman, kidnap her and keep her downstairs for three months, then kill her and identify the next victim.

but johnny’s liking of her was also hopelessly discernable. she was living too long. and that was a telltale sign that johnny took a special interest in his son’s professor, something that haechan feared would rival the affection (if it existed) for his mother.

haechan was not keen on having his mother replaced. the last time it happened, he snapped and maimed his stepmother. and he was not afraid of doing so again.

when haechan exacted revenge, it felt like nothing he had ever done before. vengeance tasted like heaven. his professor tasted elysian. and he had never felt so good about himself, but then the high wore off, comparable to the fading release johnny got after strangling his victims, and familiar pain seared through him once further.

vindictiveness was a lethal venom, festering quickly upon injection. after haechan got what he wanted, there was a greed to replicate that feeling, in spite of the fact that nothing would compare to that first blow. in his own way, unlike his father’s but similar nonetheless, he was pivoting towards release.

haechan was on the brink of something like psychosis when he heard those knocks on his front door. and when he peered outside, spotting the professor, his recklessness got the better of him.

she was dead before she even stepped inside the house. haechan yanked her inside, brought her downstairs, and forced himself onto her for a second time that day. when she wept for johnny, wishing he would come home, haechan almost pitied her naïveté.

if haechan hadn’t killed her, wrapping his hands around her throat the way that he knew his father had been yearning to, johnny would have.

the look on his professor’s face was pitiful. “sorry,” haechan said, though he clasped his hands around her throat harder. “but i have to make a statement.”

it was not particularly a difficult thing to do, at least not to stomach, but killing her was merely just a means to an end. he didn’t get off to it like his father would’ve. haechan’s interest lay in inflicting psychological damage, but he did it because he knew how much it pleasured johnny to squeeze the life out of his victims.

and if haechan couldn’t have what he wanted, then as long as he lived, neither would his dad for tearing it away.

johnny came home moments too late. haechan left his professor in the cellar for his father to find, eyes wide and face pale.

johnny glanced around. he saw her car parked outside, but no sign of her. when haechan came from his bedroom on the upper floor, a creeping feeling of deja vu flooded johnny’s chest, but he asked, “where is she?”

haechan’s face was expressionless. “she’s dead,” he replied, confident. “i mean it this time.”

johnny shook his head. “you killed her?”

“wasn’t it you that said you were going to teach me the proper way to dispose of a woman when i’m sick of her?” haechan asked, approaching his father as he crept down the stairs.

though johnny wasn’t pleased, he willed himself to calm down. “did you strangle her?”

“yes.”

johnny figured, from the lack of blood staining his house this time around. “will you tell me about it?”

that caught haechan off-guard. he expected his father to be angry, to let loose. he had to have been dreaming of choking her since the day he laid eyes on her. “you sick fuck,” haechan sneered.

johnny snickered, unbothered. that’s rich. “who do you think you got it from?”

obviously, from the face haechan was making, he didn’t like that. his nonchalant attitude dissipated. “i’m not like you!”

“keep telling yourself that. maybe one day you’ll delude yourself into believing it,” johnny replied, hanging his coat on the rack in spite of knowing he would be leaving again soon.

“i’m not like you - i mean that.”

johnny, miffed, rolled his eyes and said, “come on, son. you think i don’t know you and your friends have been watching my tapes for the past decade and then some like they’re cartoons?”

“but not mom’s,” haechan spat, loathing fizzing in his stare.

johnny froze, then spun around. “is that what this is all about?”

haechan nodded, pleased his father was finally getting the picture. “i found it in your study. you hid it more carefully than the others, because she was special or you didn’t want me to find it, i don’t know.”

johnny heaved a breath. “you were never supposed to see that.”

“but i did,” haechan replied. “and i’ve suffered every day for the past month because of that.”

johnny shot without hesitation, “a suffering you brought upon yourself. nobody asked you to go snooping around in my things.”

haechan’s lips were twisted into the meanest snarl johnny had ever seen. emotion wrecked through him in its totality. “is that what’s important to you? i shouldn’t be surprised. you couldn’t even spare your own son’s mother from your heartlessness.”

johnny massaged his temple, summoning all of his willpower. “please,” he groaned, sensing an incoming headache. “women are weak, cheating whores. just look at your professor. maybe your mother wasn’t, but she was a liability.”

if that was supposed to console haechan, it had the complete opposite effect. “are you saying she deserved it?”

“i’m saying that you’ve always been too soft,” johnny said, not bothering to sugarcoat his chastising. “just like your mother. even when you were a child. that’s why i had you help me, i hoped you would harden up a little.”

haechan scoffed. “unbelievable.”

“your mother went quietly. she didn’t even fight it, haechan. so, why are you?”

“because of that,” haechan told him, vitriol in his voice. “she didn’t ask you to stop one time. she just asked you to get it over with.”

johnny tipped his head back. “ah, yes. she really was perfect, wasn’t she?”

that was all it took to kindle an unforgiving rage within haechan and in a moment of fury, flickering through him in a flash, haechan lifted his hand to smack his father.

johnny caught his wrist, as if this weren’t the first time this had happened and it was wholeheartedly expected. his voice lowered to a mere hiss, “i’ve never laid a hand on you. ever in your life. don’t make today be the day i start.”

haechan glared, but wrested his way out of his father’s grip and backed away.

johnny smoothed down his shirt and headed for the kitchen, knowing haechan would follow. this conversation was far from over. “now, if you excuse me, i have to clean up your mess,” he said, pulling a burner phone out of a drawer. “if you don’t mind.”

“i can clean up my own mess,” haechan replied, scowling.

setting the phone on the counter, johnny reached for a glass. “no, you can’t. not without digging your own grave. unless you want to go to prison, pack your shit, ask one of your buddies if you can stay with them for a few days, and take the tapes with you. hide them.”

haechan made a face. “what are you talking about?”

johnny sighed. “we can’t get away with this one, son. her car’s parked outside. there’s too many loose ends.”

“we can get rid of the car. you don’t have to go to jail!” haechan shouted.

“it’s either you or me. frankly, i’m doing you a favor. you wouldn’t last two seconds behind bars,” johnny hissed. he grabbed another glass, sliding it across the counter, then said, “now, wine? you know, to celebrate your old man going away? i believe that’s what you want.”

haechan shook his head. never in his life had he been so conflicted. his father that he’d been so bent on despising until the day he died was voluntarily confessing to a crime he didn’t commit, just so that his son wouldn’t have to suffer in prison.

“why are you doing this?” haechan asked, bristling with emotion.

johnny sighed. “because i love you, son. even if you don’t think so. and because your mother would be turning in her grave if she knew you were in prison.”

haechan blew out a breath. then, after a moment of reluctance, he grabbed the glass on the counter and reached for the wine bottle.

johnny snickered. “atta boy.”

“i wonder how your son reacted when he learned you were going to prison for murder,” you said, pondering. “you live in the same house. i wonder how he didn’t know.”

johnny lied, “he was at a friend’s house when i killed her. doesn’t like that it was his favorite professor.”

you nodded along, buying his lies. “that is a lot to take in. i mean, imagine your dad was having an affair with your favorite science professor. then, he kills her, like how he killed your mom.”

johnny shrugged his shoulders. “have you never heard the phrase ‘the heart wants what it wants?’”

“i have,” you replied. “and i guess your heart wanted to stop the function of others.”

johnny laughed at his own expense. “oh, please. you give me too much credit. you shouldn’t make me out to be more romantic than i am.”

you shook your head in disappointment. “you make these women want you, and then you undo everything. that has to be part of the amusement to you.”

“it gets a chuckle or two out of me.”

your lips were tempted to curl into a frown for the umpteenth time that day alone. “why?”

johnny leaned up in his chair, exclaiming, “because it’s fun!”

you were going to say something, but he didn’t give you the chance.

johnny continued, “everyday, as adults, we do the same job for hours and come home. people want excitement in their lives. women get exhausted of coming home to their husbands or nobody at all.”

your stare was blank. “and your point is?”

“i didn’t just make those women want me, baby. i made them need me,” johnny told you smugly. “i brought a spark to their lives, and i took it away just as fast. and i do it… because i can.”

“because you could,” you corrected, confident he would never be free of this place for as long as he lived. “you’re going to be in here a very, very long time.”

johnny grinned. “i wouldn’t be so sure.”

you cocked your brow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“wouldn’t you like to know?” johnny teased. you hated the smugness in his tone. like he knew something that you didn’t.

the door opened, and the guard from earlier returned. “i hate to interrupt, but it’s time for the count,” he said, coming behind johnny to undo his cuffs.

it all happened in a blink. johnny’s weight was pressed flush against yours, roughly thrusting you into the table. your body screamed, agony spreading through your side, but your gun was in a lockbox outside the room.

johnny knew from your conversations alone that you weren’t the type to go quietly. your first instinct was to fight back. naturally, you struggled against his hold, refusing to bend to his will even as panic shot through your chest. your whole body was on guard, aiming for survival.

but to your misfortune, your might was no match for johnny’s. you glanced to the guard for assistance, but when he only stood there as if he was waiting for it to end, the most unsettling feeling of realization washed over you.

“don’t fight him,” the guard said, arms crossed. “you won’t win.”

johnny snickered when he noticed your eyes widen in shock. you hadn’t seen that coming. though you tried to resist, it was over once his slender fingers came to your throat, and you genuinely feared for your life.

you didn’t realize how good you had it just being able to breathe until you couldn’t anymore. your breaths wouldn’t come. it felt as if your bones were being crushed. your whole body was on fight mode, but it was like johnny had the reins, shutting down your senses one by one.

“you put up a good fight, detective,” johnny whispered darkly in your ear, admiring your struggle.

your lips parted, but you couldn’t speak no matter how hard you tried. your self-preservation instincts were no match against him. all you could do was meet johnny’s stare. the pressure on your neck was too much to handle, and in seconds, you were out.

“lights out,” johnny said. he released your throat, having no intention of killing you and leading you for dead, but knowing that you would likely regain consciousness in a matter of seconds, he grabbed you by the hair, smashing your head flat against the table to subdue you.

jaehyun winced, but he did nothing to step in. “poor girl,” he mumbled under his breath, pitying you. “had enough?”

“for now,” johnny replied. “let’s go.”

jaehyun gave johnny a uniform to wear so that he would blend in amongst the uniforms like jaehyun had and when he was ready, the two of them fled before they could be deterred.

when they had successfully gotten away, jaehyun asked with his hand on a steering wheel, “you know that i don’t agree with this, right?”

johnny snickered. it had absolutely been said. “you haven’t agreed with my lifestyle for the past twenty-five years, yet you still help me. why?”

jaehyun frowned. sometimes, he asked himself the same question, but deep down inside, he knew the answer. “because we may not share blood, but we’re brothers,” jaehyun replied. “and for my brother, i’ll do anything you need.”

johnny quipped, “like smuggle me across the border?”

“like smuggle you across the border,” jaehyun said, chuckling. “when we get there, there’s gonna be this dude named mark. he’s gonna help you out. i’ll be in touch.”

johnny nodded. “i can’t thank you enough, man.”

“just lay low and stay out of trouble,” jaehyun said, shaking his head.

johnny grinned with mischief. he was already thinking about all of the beautiful women he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. “no promises,” he answered, sighing contentedly.

#johnny suh smut #nct 127 smut #johnny smut #nct x reader #nct 127 #nct 127 x reader #johnny suh x reader #johnny suh scenarios #nct smut #tw: noncon #tw: murder #revehae fics

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kiarastromboli · 10 months ago

Text

𝕭𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖊𝖘

𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘹 𝘺𝘯

★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤: smut, unprotected sex (DON’T DO THAT), alcohol consumption, mention of dangerous driving choking, adrenaline, mean!Matt, rough sex.

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: After a disappointing discovery in the middle of the night, y/n turns to her last resort to get home—her worst enemy, Matt. But things will take a different turn that night.

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Sorry if the ending isn't amazing; I didn't know how to finish it. It's been sitting in my drafts for weeks.

★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★

Here I am at my ex's place, again.

As if the four previous betrayals weren't enough, I had to fall back into his arms, again.

It was 3 a.m. We had just come back from a random party, and when he went to shower, I couldn't help but snoop through his phone.

It wasn't new; trust clearly never existed in our relationship, and I was too drunk to stop myself from going further.

Unsurprisingly, while snooping through his phone, I saw that he had continued talking to the girl he had cheated on me with the week before.

I thought he had truly changed this time and that tonight we would be able to have fun in bed! What a fool I was.

Tears didn't even come this time; I was too accustomed to this situation. I simply got up, silently grabbed my things, and grabbed a cheap bottle of vodka from his bar. What? I needed it more than him, and anyway, he probably won't miss it given its price! Then I stumbled out.

"Oh my fucking god!" I sighed as I took a big gulp from the vodka bottle.

I grabbed my phone from my pocket to order an Uber, only to realize that at this hour, the prices were exorbitant.

"Fuck!" I groaned, tossing my head back before straightening up and fixing my hair.

My heels were killing my feet, and my dress was far too revealing for me to hitchhike or even consider walking home.

I went through my contacts and called all my friends, more or less close, who had their driver's licenses, hoping that one of them would be awake. Of course, none of them were.

I took a deep breath, trying not to lose patience and throw my phone on the ground. What the fuck am I supposed to do right now??

I took another gulp; this time, I almost fell to the ground because of the amount of alcohol in my blood.

In reality, I had one option left, one person I didn't want to call. Matt.

I don't even know how I have his number in my phone; this guy is clearly the last person I want to talk to.

I turned back towards my ex's apartment for a moment, sarcastically thinking maybe it's not so bad anyway. It wouldn't be the first time I went straight back to him after he cheated on me.

Then my eyes returned to my screen, where it said ‘Matt’ in my contacts. I owe it to myself to have a little more respect than that.

I sighed before dialing the number; maybe he was sleeping too, maybe he wouldn't even answer, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't want to come pick me up.

I let the phone ring for a few seconds before telling myself that this was all ridiculous and hanging up.

Oh well, anyway, in both situations, I was dissatisfied, so I might as well turn to something I'm used to!

I started walking back towards his apartment when my phone started ringing.

I didn't waste a second to answer, hoping it was one of my friends who had seen my call, but of course, it wasn't.

"Why the fuck are you calling at 3 am, y/n," I heard Matt's raspy voice say, with the muffled sound of music behind him.

"I need you to do me a favor," I said, rolling my eyes, and he started laughing.

"Yeah, sure, bye," he began to say before I cut him off.

"No, Matt! Please, I'm serious!" I said, desperate.

I heard him sigh as if annoyed, but he didn't say anything more.

"Come on, you know I wouldn't have asked you if I had any other option, please," I added, biting my lip.

"It must be something really important for you to beg me like this," he said in a provocative tone, what an asshole.

"I'm not begging you, asshole," I said, getting annoyed. The insult came out on its own, and I can't even blame it on the alcohol because I really wanted to say it.

"Insult me one more time and I'll hang up. You're lucky I even had the decency to call you back," he said condescendingly.

I sighed, gosh, why did I call him?

"What do you want?" he added.

"I need you to come pick me up," I started to say before he burst into laughter.

"I'm busy right now, y/n, I'm not your damn taxi. Aren't you old enough to call an Uber?" he said.

"Do you see the time? It's way too expensive right now!" I complained.

"Well, that's not my problem, so figure it out!" he said, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. It must have pleased him to know I was in this situation.

"Matt, come on!" I said, grumbling.

"And what do I get out of it?" he replied.

"I don't know, whatever you want, I just want to go home!" I told him.

"God, you're really annoying, y/n," he said, sighing, and I smiled, understanding what that meant. "Where are you?"

"At Ben's," I replied.

"Y/n, are you fucking kidding me? He lives on the other side of town!" he said, getting annoyed.

"You're a fucking liar, Matt, you live barely 15 minutes from here!" I said, furrowing my brows.

"I told you I'm busy, I'm at a party. You're making me go out of my way to take you home!" he said, still angry.

"You know what, Matt? Go fuck yourself if you're going to leave a completely drunk girl in the street in the middle of the night," I snapped, furious, before hanging up. What a fucking asshole! I hate him so much!

I kicked a rock lying there, feeling anger bubbling up even more.

I brought the bottle to my lips again, this time taking three big swallows. If I had to go back to Ben's, I'd need a lot more alcohol than this.

I was about to start walking back to my ex's apartment when I felt my phone vibrate again. It was Matt, again.

"Matt—" I started to say before being cut off by his voice.

"Don't move from where you are, I'm coming," he said, sternly, before hanging up.

"I—" I started to say before realizing he had hung up, then I sighed.

Ultimately, I didn't even know if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

I stumbled over to the bench across the street and sat down.

"What did I do to deserve this?" I sighed, looking up at the sky before taking another drink.

At this point, I'd even prefer to go into an alcohol-induced coma! It might sound exaggerated to you, but believe me, it's not!

As far back as I can remember, the relationship I had with Matt was contentious.

It all started in high school when I met Nick, who quickly became a close friend of mine. Then I met Chris and Matt, his brothers.

At first, everything seemed fine until Matt decided to start hating me overnight for no reason.

Anyway, since then, he became cold and distant, which really hurt me, especially since at that time, I had a crush on him. So, I quickly started to dislike him, and since then, nothing has changed; we've remained ‘best enemies.’

After waiting for about 30 minutes, I saw Matt arrive in his car and park right in front of me.

"I thought you were on the other side of town?" I said without moving from where I was.

"I hurried; I wasn't going to leave a drunk girl alone on the street," he replied, referencing what I had told him earlier.

"Mmhm, feeling guilty, huh?" I said with a smirk.

"Shut the fuck up and get in the damn car, y/n," he said, getting annoyed.

"Fuck you," I said, squinting.

Let's just say the amount of alcohol I had consumed in the meantime hadn't made me any nicer.

"Okay, that's enough; figure it out yourself, y/n," he said, starting the car again.

"No! Okay, I'm kidding! God, you take everything too seriously!" I said, chuckling, and quickly got up to reach his car.

Once I reached the door, I tried to open it, but it was locked. "Matt, open up."

"Ask me nicely, and we'll see," he said.

"Don't be a pain; just unlock the door for me!" I said, continuing to try to open it.

He didn't say anything and simply crossed his arms, looking at me, waiting for my response.

I sighed before saying what he wanted to hear, "Please, Matt, open the door for me."

"See, wasn't that hard," he said with a smirk before unlocking the car.

I opened the door and got in.

"Nice accessory," he said judgmentally, referring to my half-empty bottle.

I just gave him a dark look.

"So, what is it this time? Wait, let me guess, he cheated on you again, right?" he said amused.

"Go fuck yourself, Matt," I said, crossing my arms and looking outside.

"It was with who this time, one of your friends again?" he said, chuckling, and I didn't respond.

"No, it's his neighbor, isn't it? He slept with his neighbor? What’s her name again?" he said with that damn smirk.

"Can you please start your fucking car? We're not going to stay here all night, damn it!" I snapped.

"Hmm," he simply hummed, starting the car. "Anyway, I'll end up finding out because you always end up crying in Nick's arms," he said, shrugging.

After that, I didn't want to open my mouth again; he had already annoyed me enough. I just kept my gaze out the window in silence, hoping the journey would pass quickly. And indeed, it was going to pass quickly considering the speed at which he was driving.

"Matt!" I said, gripping the handle of my door when he took a very tight turn at a dangerous speed.

He didn't respond. "You're drunk," I said, looking at him.

"I'm not," he replied without looking at me.

"Yes, you are," I said, frowning.

He didn't respond, so I continued, "You always drive like this when you're drunk."

"Y/n, I told you I was at a party. Yes, I had a drink or two; otherwise, I would never have agreed to come pick you up," he said, scoffing.

"That's bad," I said.

"What, because you're sober right now?" he said, laughing, looking at the bottle on my lap.

"But I'm not driving," I said, raising my voice.

"Can't you be a little grateful for once in your fucking life, y/n," he said, hitting his steering wheel.

I flinched when he did that and stayed speechless, looking at him.

"It's not like you had any other options, did you?" he said, looking at me sharply, then accelerating.

"Matt, you should keep your eyes on the road!" I said, starting to panic.

But for some reason, maybe it was the alcohol, but I couldn't help but find it exciting, this mix of adrenaline and anger. It was like a Molotov cocktail with alcohol added.

"Why, what's wrong?" he said, maintaining his speed, and I looked at him, not knowing what to say.

"Are you scared?" he said, smiling.

"Matt!" I yelled as we narrowly missed a car while passing it.

"Does it scare you?" he continued.

I felt the tears welling up; I was lost, I was scared, but I liked it.

"Answer me, y/n!" he said, accelerating even more, the situation becoming more than dangerous.

"Yes!" I screamed, closing my eyes. "Yes, I'm scared!" I said, feeling a tear run down before opening my eyes again.

"But you love it, look at you, you can't help but watch," he said amusedly.

His eyes slid over my thighs, which were pressed together, and it made him smile.

"You really like this, don't you?" he said, slowing down when we arrived in front of my house.

The adrenaline still hadn't subsided; it was too much for me. I broke down in tears before opening the door and quickly getting out of the car; I felt like I was suffocating.

He stayed in his car for a moment, seeming hesitant, but he eventually turned off the engine and got out.

I immediately started walking towards my house, and he followed me, shouting, "y/n! y/n, stop!"

I didn't listen to him and hurried to grab my keys. "y/n, I'm sorry! Please!" he said, running towards me.

I opened the door, and he reached my side at that moment. "y/n, come on—"

I turned around, and without thinking, I kissed him.

I had been dying to do it.

And even though it killed me to admit it, I had been dying to do it for so long.

He didn't disconnect our lips; on the contrary, he deepened our kiss, leading us into the house backward.

Our tongues battled for dominance for a long moment, our teeth clashing. Without paying attention, my back collided with the wall of my living room, causing me to groan in pain, which allowed him to win our dominance battle and slip his tongue into my mouth.

I quickly forgot the pain when he grabbed my throat with his hand and pressed the lower part of his body against mine.

His lips left mine to place open-mouthed kisses on my jawline while applying pressure on my neck to keep me pinned against the wall.

"I knew you'd like that. I wonder how wet you are right now," he whispered in my ear, making me sigh with pleasure.

It would have been weird if I weren't drunk, I mean, I’m making out in my living room with the guy I like the least on earth, and honestly, it seems even more exciting this way.

"Ouch, fuck!" I moaned when he dug his teeth into my neck to leave his mark.

He reconnected our lips in an even more ravenous kiss after that, and I rushed to remove his clothes, starting with his top.

I slid my hands down his stomach to his belt to remove it. I was about to take off his pants too, but I was caught off guard and distracted when he slid his hand between my legs to feel the wet spot on my panties.

"So fucking wet, I knew it," he said with a smile before starting to massage my clit through my panties.

I moaned and dropped my head against his chest when he slid his hand under my panties to make direct contact with my pussy, making me shiver and grab his arm for support.

He wasted no time inserting two fingers into me and massaging my clit with his thumb.

"Fuck," I whimpered against his chest at all this sudden stimulation.

"Look me in the eyes, y/n," he ordered, but I was so lost in my pleasure that I didn't respond.

He increased the pace and grabbed me by the throat with his free hand this time. "I told you to look me in the eyes when I fuck you with my finger, y/n," he said firmly, and I moaned at the force with which he squeezed my neck and the speed at which his other hand moved between my legs.

"Mmph," I whined, struggling to keep my eyes open, and he seemed to love it judging by the smirk on his lips.

"You're such a slut for letting me do all this to you when you claim to hate me every day," he said, pressing against my ear to degrade me, and it only turned me on even more.

My legs started to weaken, and I felt my orgasm approaching. Without meaning to, I clenched my legs around his hand.

"Keep your fucking legs open, slut," he ordered, tightening his grip around my throat.

"Matt, I'm going to come," I told him, my face contorted with intense pleasure.

"No, you're not," he said, removing his fingers from me and releasing his hold on my throat, causing me to almost fall forward and moan at the lack of stimulation.

I looked at him confused, and he knelt in front of me, slowly removing my panties without breaking eye contact.

He then began kissing the bottom of my thigh, slowly and gently moving up towards my pussy. "I want you to come on my face," he said before burying his head between my legs under my dress.

I gasped in surprise as he did so, gripping onto his hair before letting my head fall back against the wall behind me.

He circled my clit with his lips and immediately started sucking, causing me to cry out in pleasure. I was already extremely close to the edge, but I've always been very sensitive.

"Oh my god," I whispered, placing my hand over my mouth when I realized how loud I was moaning.

And it seemed to amuse him because I felt him chuckle between my legs.

He shook his head between my legs, teasing my sensitive clit with his tongue. Just the sight of his head like that under my dress was enough to push me over the edge.

"Fuck, I'm going to come, Matt, I—oh god," I moaned again, and he slightly lifted my dress to watch me. That was the last straw for me; when I saw his piercing blue eyes, I immediately came on his face, letting out a string of curses and moans.

He then straightened up, and I threw myself at him to kiss him.

He took a step forward, slamming me violently back against the wall, and it would be a lie to say that I didn't love it.

This time, uninterrupted, I ran my hand over his pants to feel him through his jeans.

And he intensified our kiss as I started unbuttoning his jeans and lowering the zipper.

Then I separated our lips, and he looked at me confused.

I looked at him, biting my lip, and began to kneel down, but before my knees could reach the floor, he suddenly grabbed my throat, making me gasp in surprise. "Matt—" I struggled to say because he was squeezing so tightly that I couldn't breathe.

"I can't wait, y/n. I want to feel you around me now," he said, releasing my throat, and I took a breath.

"Do you have a condom?" he asked, moaning as I continued to feel him through his pants.

"No, but... I want it inside..." I said timidly, and he widened his eyes.

"Please, I—" I started to say before he grabbed me by the hips and turned me against the wall, making me sigh in surprise.

"You're going to make me come before you even touch me if you keep that up, baby," he said in my ear, starting to unzip my dress from behind, but it got caught in the seam.

He didn't seem to have much patience because right after that, he ripped my dress off my body, tearing it, and I sighed in surprise at the force of his action.

"Matt!" I said, still facing away from him but turning my head toward him, and I saw him smile.

"Oh, it's okay, darling, I'll buy you another one," he said, slapping my ass and leaving a kiss on my shoulder as he removed his pants and boxers.

He trailed his lips up to my neck, leaving hot kisses, all the while taking his member and rubbing it against my entrance, causing me to let out small moans.

"I'm going to fuck you so well that I promise to make you forget about your ex," he whispered as he gradually inserted his member into me.

My jaw dropped, and my brows immediately furrowed at the burning sensation; he was much larger than Ben, without a doubt. "Ngh—Matt," I moaned when he hit the depth.

"That's right, say my name, get used to screaming it because this definitely won't be the last time I fuck this pretty pussy," he said, groaning in turn before starting to move inside me.

He gripped my hips with his hands, digging his fingers into my skin, and when he began to pick up the pace, I arched even more, hungry to feel him even deeper inside me than he already was.

"Fuck, I knew your pussy would be perfect for me," he said, slapping my ass before thrusting a bit harder.

"God, Matt—Oh—" I cried out as he started hitting that sensitive spot inside me, making me see stars.

He chuckled at my moans before grabbing my hair to pull it and turn my head so I could look at him.

"You look so pretty just like that, all for me," he whispered before kissing me and wrapping his arms around my waist to hold me in place and go even faster.

Our kiss was really messy because he was fucking me so well that I struggled to concentrate and not moan.

"Fuck, I need to see your face!" he said, separating our lips and pulling out abruptly, making me moan at the lack of contact.

Before I could react or understand what was happening, he turned me to face him again before placing his hands behind my thighs to lift me up and insert his cock into me again, and I moaned at the new angle.

"I've never tried this position before; let's see how long we can hold it like this," he said, chuckling before resting my back against the wall behind me.

I chuckled too before wrapping my legs around his hips, and he resumed his pelvic movements, making me roll my eyes and let my head fall back, driven by my pleasure.

He took the opportunity to bury his head in my neck and kiss me, so I lost my hands in his hair, playing with it and pulling on it.

"You smell so fucking good," he whispered against the skin of my neck, and I moaned.

"Matt," I said in a high-pitched moan, and he looked up at me.

"Mh?" he said, continuing to abuse my pussy with his deep thrusts.

"MmmMmmh-" I hummed with my eyes closed, unable to form a coherent sentence due to the overwhelming pleasure engulfing me.

He licked his lips, chuckling, "I'm fucking you dumb, huh?" he said proudly, and I didn't respond, so he started thrusting harder and more brutally.

I opened my eyes, feeling my orgasm approaching, and lowered my head towards him, grabbing his face with both hands. My mouth was open, emitting only sinful moans.

His eyes locked with mine, and he realized what was happening, so he increased the pace even more.

"Matt!" I screamed louder than before.

"Come! I know you want to come for me, y/n!" he said breathlessly. I could feel him twitching inside me; he wasn't far behind.

"F-fuck! Mphh Matt-" I moaned before tightening my pussy around his cock and climaxing, dropping my head forward.

He grabbed my face with one hand to kiss me before he also climaxed after a few more thrusts.

He then rested his head on my shoulder without letting go of the back of my thighs, and I wrapped my arms around his neck.

We were both out of breath.

He gently let my feet touch the ground, and I kept my arms around his neck to support myself.

"Bath?" I asked him, smiling.

"Only if there's a second round," he said, chuckling before kissing me.

★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★

#matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #best enemies

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starsxblazing · 1 year ago

Note

Im sitting in the dentist office and my brain just thought of an azriel x reader fic / alternate universe where he and Elain have a baby or child and reader is the nanny. Its azriels pov mostly as he falls for reader while elain is still debating about lucien. And reader well shes totally oblivious of azriels attraction towards her.

Oblivious Attraction

You sat in front of your vanity while debating on how exactly you should present yourself. It felt as if the bar was set far too high for you to reach but you never turned down a challenge. There were so many different options but decided on a business casual outfit. You decided on a cobalt blue collared shirt paired black slacks and slip ons. As you began your work to form the loose curls, you ran through every possible word or conversation.

Your resume with great references made you a top choice for employment. Children were your passion and being a nanny was a perfect job for you. The hours were long but it never mattered to you even though it left hardly no time for a social life. That wasn’t a big issue either in your opinion because you felt fulfilled in life.

The drive through the nice neighborhood had you enamored with the beautiful homes with matching or complimentary to the others. It was nicer than you had originally thought and it made it a bit intimidating.

You took a deep breath as you parked your car, muttering prayers to whatever force was above to be on your side.

Azriel watched as Elain flitted around the kitchen to get the remnants of breakfast cleaned up before leaving. An interview with yet another possible nanny would be happening within the next ten minutes and he was ready to get it over with. All three candidates had great resumes as they required but the first two hadn’t felt right in their opinion

It was important to the both of them to have the perfect person to care for their daughter while they worked so having someone that they felt that they could trust was imperative. His work hours were long and whereas the mother of his child’s was shorter, she usually spent her time elsewhere when she got off. It grated a nerve that the female was absent from the home so often but he had stopped complaining.

What was supposed to be a one night stand had turned into weekly occurrences that ended up with her pregnant. For that simple fact alone, he had moved her into his home in hopes that something more would form other than physical attraction. It hadn’t gone as he had hoped but they comfortably coexisted for the sake of their two year old.

He knew that her attention was torn between him and another male, a fact that he had only learned by accidental chance. Even though it hurt a piece of his heart, he always felt as if he couldn’t fault her for it. She deserved more, especially when he wasn’t able to give her the time and effort that she obviously needed.

A knock on the door had him pushing the thought of Elain and Lucien out of his mind, feeling hopeful that their last contestant would be the one. They truly did need the help and time was of the essence. He was shocked when he opened the door, the beauty of you taking his breath away. Their last two prospects had been older but he wasn’t expecting a beautiful female around his age to be standing on his threshold.

“Oh, you’re early!” Elain exclaimed happily with Sophie following close behind. “Hello!”

Azriel glanced at the clock and you were five minutes early. Confidence emitted from every fiber of you, especially when Sophie looked up at you with a smile. His own hope began to cement when the girl’s smile was returned with a gentle one that set the room at ease.

Elain guided you to the couch in the living room where they held their previous interviews. His daughter climbed up beside you, talking the best that she could at her young age. It was something that Sophie hadn’t done with the previous two so Elain and himself waited patiently while watching you engage with her.

“We’re so glad to have you here,” Elain started with a smile. “She seems to like you already.”

“She’s a delight,” you laughed, gazing at the girl momentarily with a tender smile on your face.

“Your resume is impeccable.” He gauged your reaction but your confident expression as you held his gaze and found nothing negative about you. “It is rare to find someone so young with extensive experience and references.”

“I’ve always loved children.” Your voice didn’t shake and you didn’t cower under both of their watchful gazes. “I started babysitting at sixteen and I found my first job as a nanny at eighteen once I graduated.”

“You have extensive education.” Elain scanned through the classes that you had completed in college. “Early childhood education, special needs education, First Aid and CPR certifications, and multiple language classes. You were also in the top five of all of them.”

“All of said classes coincide with your first nanny job.”

He had memorized your entire career timeline that also paired with your education. You still didn’t shrink from the question and he noted the hint of pride in your eyes. If what he was assuming was true, you had every right to feel that way about yourself.

“With my first official nanny job, I took classes online and then night classes for the ones that required me to be physically present.”

“Did that affect your job?” Elain countered, a small frown pulling at her lips.

“Not at all.” You shook your head as if in disbelief that you would be questioned about it. “I loved the two children that I was caring for and it was completely my pleasure to have every moment with them.”

Your answer was so genuine that he knew that calling the parents wouldn’t be needed. He also didn’t need to question your love and passion. Not when his daughter placed herself in your lap in contentment. The air around them was so light and it was a feeling that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Do you have any concerns with the cameras within our home?” He watched your reaction carefully to see how you would react. “Some have had concerns about them.”

“Why would I be bothered by that?” you asked, your brows furrowing. “I don’t see why it would ever be a problem for a parent to not be concerned enough about their child’s welfare to check in when a stranger is keeping them.”

To him, that was answer enough for him. Even as Elain continued to ask you questions, he kept his eyes on you with a hint of adoration filling him at the sight of you and his daughter.

Once the interview was over, you spent the rest of the day bonding with Sophie. Elain had left shortly after the interview had wrapped up and you were left alone with Azriel. You knew that he was watching you carefully and you didn’t mind because you would have done the same thing.

“We never did go over all of the requirements for my job,” you started as you sat beside him at the table while Sophie ate her lunch. “I want to be sure that everyone is happy with the work that I do.”

“Well, she will be starting school soon so it would be beneficial to be sure that she is on track with the other children,” he replied thoughtfully. “Along with housework and errands that we are unable to do ourselves when needed.”

“That’s more than reasonable but with the agreed upon salary, I was expecting more,” you mused, more to yourself than him.

“Believe me when I say that with Sophie alone, you will have your hands full,” he chuckled, his hazel eyes shining with amusement.

“I wholeheartedly look forward to it.”

You grinned at him and he only gave a small smile in return. The day was relatively simple and you were relieved that he didn’t constantly hover. He would come into his daughter’s room every so often to see how the both of you were getting along and seemed content.

By the time that you got home, you were exhausted enough that you didn’t bother with anything other than falling into bed.

Azriel had taken the previous day off of work simply to see how you were with his daughter. He was confident that they made the right decision and his daughter listened to you better than she did her own parents most of the time. You appeared a bit hesitant to leave when it was Sophie’s bedtime but left without a fuss.

Two hours had passed after his daughter had been in bed when Elain finally came home. A hint of cologne was on her but he said nothing as usual. He wished that she would make up her mind if she wanted to truly be with him instead of them being in this inbetween state in their relationship. The fact that the mother of his child was still entertaining her ex had once been somewhat of a sore spot that was now numb.

A month passed without any issues with you and Sophie was so smitten to the point that she hardly asked about why her mother always got home so late. He was always so exhausted when he came home but you never failed to have a hot meal waiting for him. It was something that he had never had and your eyes lit up every time that he thanked you. A spot in him warmed every single time that he saw that beautiful smile on your face just as it did seeing you interact with his daughter.

The slow feeling of longing began to form around that time and he got off of work as early as possible whenever he could just to be around you more. You always greeted him warmly in a way that he hadn’t felt from Elain since the first month of their ‘relationship’, leaving him craving more and more each day.

He stopped caring about what hour that Elain came home, enjoying your company more than he ever had hers. Small touches were exchanged every so often, a small brush of his arm against yours in passing or a gentle brush of his fingers over yours. No matter the subtle signs that he tried to give, you seemed completely oblivious.

“How was your day?” you asked as the three of you ate the food that you had prepared that afternoon.

“A bit stressful as usual,” he admitted, adoring the small frown that formed due to the fact that you cared about his well being. “But overall, it went well.”

“I much prefer dealing with children,” you laughed, glancing at Sophie who was focused on eating. “Corporate jobs just don’t sound appealing.”

“They aren’t,” he agreed before nodding to his daughter “It gives her the life that she deserves.”

You hummed in agreement, the sound running through him and causing a small smile on his face that you missed.

You were content with your job and utterly happy that you could do what you loved. Azriel was great company but a spot in you hurt for him when you noticed that he wasn’t used to having food already made for him. You rarely saw Elain and you wondered if she had taken longer hours with her job. The weekends were the only time that all three of you had any time off so you assumed that the mother made up for it then.

It didn’t help though that you were bored during those two days. You were so used to getting up early and arriving at their home at six each morning. By the time that you had spent six months with them, you were still with Azriel and was present to put Sophie to bed yourself while her father caught up on extra work. You couldn’t lie that you loved it because the girl was the best child that you had ever had the pleasure of working with.

“Running late this morning?” she asked Azriel when he opened the door on a Friday morning.

“Just a bit,” he admitted, his voice still laced with sleep while Sophie was crying upstairs.

“Go ahead and get ready.”

You didn’t wait for a response before running towards the girl’s room.

Azriel had stayed up longer than he usually did the night before and he barely had time to throw on his business suit, the tie tied haphazardly around his neck. It had taken his mind a moment to realize why there was a knock on his door so early in the morning. Through his sleep filled brain, the sight of you and then your worried expression over his appearance sent his heart racing. Love was beginning to bloom within him for you but he was never sure if he should express it.

He did as you told him to do and by the time that he was fully ready, Elain was gone to her own job and you had Sophie at the table eating breakfast. It always amazed him how easily you were able to calm his daughter even though Elain and himself always had trouble doing so.

“Do you have time for me to finish making you a proper breakfast?” you asked, looking him up and down.

“No.” He did the same to you, enjoying the sight that was you before him. “I appreciate the offer.”

“Is that everything that I need to accomplish today?”

You pointed to the list that Elain had made the night before. He nodded, feeling somewhat bad that you had more to do than usual today all while doing so with a now three year old in tow. You simply nodded with a smile and he had to force himself to leave his home.

His stormy Friday workday felt as if it dragged by longer than usual. He usually watched the cameras in the home every so often just so he could see you but you were out running errands.. Not only was the normal hours of his work day long but so was the later hours that he had no choice but to stay late.

By the time that he rushed home, he found you asleep on the couch with Sophie curled up contently on your chest. It was a beautiful sight to behold and he didn’t have the heart to disturb either of you. His daughter loved you just as much as he was beginning to. He took a deep breath when his heart began to race when he gently pushed a piece of hair out of your face.

It was yet another form of the gentle touches that were exchanged between the both of you but a part of his heart hurt whenever you began to address him as a friend. He wanted so much more than that but knew that it would be inappropriate. It didn’t stop his longing but he didn’t have the opportunity to ponder long before the front door opened again.

Elain was home early for a change and the close of the door had you shooting up in a panic. Your eyes were wide as you held a still sleeping Sophie to your chest protectively. He didn’t think you had any means of protecting his daughter and yourself but it was admirable either way.

“I am so, so sor-”

“It’s alright.” He gave you a small smile even though your eyes darted between the both of them. “You have had a long day.”

“I still didn’t-”

“It really is okay,” Elain assured, picking Sophie up gently to take her to bed. “Go home and get some rest.”

You nodded and stood on slightly shaky legs before giving him an apologetic smile. He escorted you to the door as he always did and his heart picked up his pace whenever you held his eye contact. The way that you looked at him had him hopeful but he walked to the window to be sure that you got out of his line of sight safely.

He frowned when your headlights came on but instantly went out again and the sound of your car starting didn’t reach his ears. You sat in your car for five minutes in the hard downpour before you finally raced back to his front door where he was waiting for you.

“Car trouble?

“It won’t start,” you whined quietly. “I don’t know anything about cars.”

“Would you like a ride home?”

Surprise filled your face for a moment before you nodded shyly. He had to use all of his willpower to stop the laugh that wanted to leave him and used the excuse of retrieving his keys to doing so. By the time you were sitting in his passenger seat, you were both completely soaked and a pout was on your face.

“Does a little bit of rain bother you?” he asked in a teasing tone.

“Sugar melts in the rain,” you quipped and this time he wasn’t able to stop his laugh.

During the ride home, you told him about the busy day that you had while he listened intently. Mental images filled his mind with each story, the ones of you taking his daughter for ice cream being his favorite. Both of your arms were touching on the armrest and he wanted nothing more than to wrap his hand around yours. It was a strong testament to his willpower to not do so.

When he pulled up to the home that was smaller than he had imagined, you made no move to instantly jump out. He knew that you enjoyed being around him but he also knew that you were oblivious to how he felt.

“It doesn’t look like it’s going to let up,” you muttered while leaning up to look out of the windshield.

“According to the report, it’s supposed to be that way for the rest of the night.”

“Well at least I can immediately jump into the shower.”

He chuckled but when you looked at him, he realized that he had moved closer to you out of what felt like instinct. You didn’t break his gaze, even when his eyes darted to your mouth and then back to your eyes. His breath caught in his throat when there were mere inches between your mouths. Once you realized what was happening, you pulled back and jumped out of his vehicle without so much as a goodbye.

It was then that he realized that he was completely and utterly fucked.

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#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel acotar #acotar

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