Summary: in which you are forced to admit your feelings for the Doctor, even if you think he will leave you for it
A/N: For the absolute love of my life and favorite beta, thanks for dealing with me talking about this more than I wrote it
The Doctor poked his head out of the TARDIS, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. After a few good inhales, he popped back inside the ship, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
You waited by the ship's console, your hands planted firmly on your hips. The Doctor had promised you a beach vacation, and judging by his face, this wasn’t a beach. Sometimes you wondered how much control the Doctor actually had over the ship, considering it only landed in the places he intended about 25% of the time.
“We’re not at a beach are we?”
The Doctor ignored your question and moved over to the console, grabbing one of the many oddly shaped screens attached to the control panel. He pulled his glasses out of his suit pocket, perching the spectacles on the bridge of his nose.
“Interesting…” He hummed, more to himself than you.
“Where did we end up this time?” You asked, opening the door to peek outside. You knew better than to walk off without the Doctor, but a little look had never hurt you.
The minute you opened the door you were met with the bustling noise of a street. All kinds of aliens walked by you, each one unique in their own way.
“It would appear we landed on the planet Phact, but I’m not sure why.”
You continued to stare out of the TARDIS wide-eyed, taking in all of the strange creatures before you. Your eyes followed an individual who walked by, a series of tentacles hanging out of his mouth.
“Is it safe?” you asked as an afterthought.
“As far as I know,” the Doctor shrugged, putting his glasses back in his pocket. He moved away from the console to stand at your side by the door.
You looked over at him, debating if you should tell him that wasn’t exactly a reassuring thought.
“Since we’re here…” he smiled cheekily, inclining his head toward the door. You laughed and rolled your eyes. The Doctor never could resist a good adventure.
You followed him out the door, waiting momentarily as he locked the TARDIS up.
“Remember that time you forgot to tell me it was rude to wear less than three layers on Titan 4?” you ask, watching him slip the key back into his endless coat pockets.
The Doctor shrugs, pushing his hands into his pockets and leaning toward you. “Yeah, what about it?”
“Is there anything I should know about this planet?” you raise your eyebrows questioningly.
The Doctor’s brow wrinkled as he thought about it, trying to remember his limited knowledge about Phact.
“I don’t think so,” he shrugged again, smiling softly.
You scrunched your nose slightly, not sure you believed him. Still, you followed him.
The Doctor talked excitedly as the two of you walked through the city streets. Most of the time, you only understood half of the words he was saying. Frankly, you just enjoyed listening to him talk.
As you walked your eyes took in everything around you. It didn’t matter how long you traveled with the Doctor, it always seemed like there was more for you to learn and discover.
The Doctor continued talking, waving his hands about in the air. Abruptly, he stopped to look at a nearby poster. You followed him, trying to peek over his shoulder to see what he was looking at. The Doctor shifted to the side so you could read the sign too, the TARDIS translation circuit making the writing legible to you.
“The 998th Olympic games?” you read aloud, your eyebrows furrowed.
“That would explain all of the species here!” he smiled brightly, looking at the diverse crowd around you.
You nodded in agreement, following his gaze. There really did appear to be all kinds of species from around the galaxy.
“Want to go?” He whispered to you, raising his eyebrows mischievously.
“We don’t have tickets. Or money.”
The Doctor wiggled his eyebrows again, pulling the psychic paper out of his pocket. He shook it at you with a mischievous grin.
A smile took over your own face as you nodded, “alright then,” you said excitedly. You’d never been to the Olympics, let alone the space Olympics.
The Doctor guided you through the crowd towards the giant area, holding your hand tightly so as not to lose you. You tried not to focus too much on the feeling of his hand wrapped around yours. He just didn’t want you to wander off, there wasn’t much else to it, right?
“Y’know I carried the Olympic torch once,” he smirked back at you, still guiding you through the crowds.
“Why am I not surprised?”
“What?” the Doctor asked, not catching your comment over the chatter of the crowd. You smiled softly and shook your head, deciding it was best not to repeat yourself.
The Doctor led you to the ticket line, waiting patiently for the guards to check your tickets and let you in. He bounced slightly on his feet, unable to stand still for too long.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” you asked anxiously, eyeing the copious amounts of security surrounding the arena.
“Of course!” the Doctor smiled brightly, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. The movement made both of you realize he was still holding your hand, even if he didn’t need to. With a small, hardly discernible blush, the Doctor slid his hand from yours.
The line moved forward and the guard asked for your tickets. The Doctor winked at you before handing the psychic paper over with a confident smile.
“Are you serious, mate?” The guard laughed dryly, looking between you and the Doctor.
“Most of the time,” the Doctor’s confident smile didn’t waver.
The guard sighed and leaned into his walkie-talkie, chattering softly to someone on the other end. You looked up at the Doctor with wide eyes, urging him to explain.
“Probably getting us a special escort or something,” he shrugged, turning the paper around to see what your fake tickets said. When his eyes landed on the paper his face instantly turned ghostly white.
“Doctor…” you growled softly.
“W-we should probably run now,” he whispered back. Before you could react, the security guard pulled the two of you firmly to the side.
“Doctor, what is going on?” You whispered as the guard led the two of you to a police car. At least, you assumed it was a police car. Unless flashing red and blue lights meant something else on other planets, it was definitely a police car.
“I’m sorry,” the Doctor winced softly as the security guard guided the two of you to an officer. The cop looked you up and down before guiding you inside of the car.
“I would feel a lot better if you told me why.”
You weren’t necessarily mad about the police car, it wasn’t the first time you had gotten arrested on the Doctor’s behalf. Usually, he was able to get you out of it. You were more frustrated that he wasn’t telling you what was happening.
“Remember Titan 4?” he winced.
“Doctor!” you snapped angrily, “I specifically asked you if I needed to know anything about this planet!”
“Right, I know I’m sorry, I forgot,” he whispered, shaking his head softly.
“How bad is it?” you sighed, looking down at your lap.
“They’re not gonna kill us,” he shrugged with a sad smile.
“What did we even do?”
“You can’t lie on Phact.”
“Like, physically?”
The Doctor grimaced, thinking the question through, “not exactly,” he offered. You waited for him to further explain.
“They can tell telepathically if you lie and that ability extends to psychic paper.”
“I gathered as such,” you sighed, “but that still doesn't explain why we’re in a cop car”
“It’s illegal to lie.”
“Seriously?” you gaped, “any kind of lie?”
The Doctor nodded.
“Even if you tell your friend she looks fine when she really looks a mess 'cause you want to spare her feelings?”
The Doctor frowned but nodded again, more tentatively this time.
“That’s a horrible idea.”
“Don’t tell them that.”
You sighed softly in agreement.
“I really am sorry,” he looked at you with those big, sad brown eyes of his. It was very, very hard to stay mad at him when he looked at you like that. It was your weakness.
“It’s fine,” you shook your head. “What are they going to do?”
Before the Doctor could answer, the car stopped and a cop came around to help you out of the car. The officer led you inside a very space-looking police station to a very Earth-looking interrogation room. You sat next to the Doctor in metal fold-out chairs, a table separating you and the officer. At least they didn’t cuff you.
“Names,” the officer groaned, clicking his pen and hovering it over a yellow legal pad. He had the kind of face and demeanor that told you he would rather be anywhere else.
“The Doctor.”
“Really funny, what’s your actual name?” the officer frowned.
“That’s my name,” the Doctor pouted, offended that someone would think it wasn’t. You smiled softly to yourself, finding the Doctor’s disappointed frown adorable.
“Fine,” the officer groaned, scribbling it down on his paper. “Age?”
“904,” he said without blinking. You hid your widening smile with your hand. You were starting to feel a little bad for the police officer.
“You’re how old?”
“904.”
“Species?”
“Gallifreyan.”
“Never heard of them,” the officer shook his head, writing it down on his paper. “You lot must age differently,” he grumbled, more towards his paper than the two of you.
“Right, and you?” the officer asked, tilting his head in your direction.
The Doctor nodded softly at you, urging you to comply with the officer’s wishes. You sighed and answered the same questions. The officer just seemed relieved to write down something less ridiculous.
“Alright,” he slid the paper pad away from him before leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed “You have been charged with a first-class felony of deception. You will not be fined or executed. To be released from custody you must provide your biggest secret”
“That’s it?” you asked, it seemed a little too simple. The officer nodded, clearly fed up with you and the Doctor.
“Look, folks, let’s just make this easier for all of us and get on with it?”
The Doctor nodded his agreement, casting a nervous look over at you. You nodded back, trying to think of something you could say. You knew easily what your biggest secret was, but you knew you couldn’t say it out loud. Especially not in front of the Doctor.
“I’m terrified of hospitals,” the Doctor said with a small frown.
“That’s ironic,” you chuckled, assuming he was making a joke. The officer stared at him for a few minutes, probably thinking the same thing.
“Checks out,” the officer sighed, writing “scared of hospitals” next to his other notes on the Doctor. “Weird secret, mate,” he added before turning his attention to you.
You fiddled anxiously before leaning back in your seat, your eyes trained on your hands.
“Does he have to be here for it?” you asked softly. The Doctor looked at you confused, wondering what was so bad you didn’t want him to know.
“I just admitted I'm terrified of hospitals as a doctor, it can't get worse than that,” he laughed.
“Does he?” you asked the officer, ignoring the Doctor. The cop looked between the two of you; the Doctor staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at you, and you trying to act like he wasn’t there.
“Yes,” the officer challenged, leaning back in his seat again. You narrowed your eyes at him, wondering if he only said that to see how things would play out.
“So, what’s your secret?” he smirked, confirming your suspicions. “I’ll know if you’re lying”
You sighed, trying to steady your racing heart. You wanted to scream, maybe even cry. You wanted to blame the Doctor, even if it wasn’t really his fault. Even more, you wanted to wipe that stupid, smug smile off of the officer’s face.
You took one last look at the Doctor, smiling sadly at him. He looked back at you with confusion, unsure why you were looking at him as if it was the last time you’d ever see him. To you, it felt like it would be. He could never look at you the same, not after this.
“I’m in love with this idiot,” you sighed, cocking your head towards the Doctor. The silence that followed was deafening. While the Doctor’s brain struggled to process your words the officer sized you up, searching for any falsities in your statement.
“What a strange pair,” the officer shook his head, leaning forward to write on his pad again. “In love with the other one”
You looked at those words scribbled on the thin, crappy paper and felt your heart clench. It was out there now, the Doctor knew. At the moment, you couldn’t think of anything worse. You would rather spend your entire life in prison than have had to admit that.
“You’re free to go,” the officer waved you off, more preoccupied with writing more things on his paper pad. It seemed so simple, yet one little secret had turned your world upside down.
You nodded solemnly and stood up, heading out the door. The Doctor wasn’t far behind you.
The walk back to the TARDIS was really quiet, a stark contrast from a few short hours ago. You tried not to sulk too much as you walked through the busy streets back to the ship.
The Doctor unlocked the doors without a word, holding them open for you. You walked inside the ship for what you assumed was the last time. The Doctor followed, heading over to the console to mess with a few buttons.
“I’ll pack my things,” you whispered, more to the floor than the Doctor. You moved towards the hallway that led to your room but the Doctor cut you off.
“What?”
“I’ll pack up,” your eyes remained trained on the floor, not wanting to look into his. You knew the Doctor wasn’t going to keep you around after this. It was glaringly clear that he didn’t have those feelings for you, that he couldn’t.
“Why would you do that?” he frowned, moving away from the console.
“You’re kicking me out.”
“I think I would know if I was.” He moved so he was standing in front of you, tilting his head down in an attempt to catch your eye.
“It’s ok,” you shook your head, your eyes trained on your shoes, “I know you don’t want me around anymore.”
“Is this about the whole secret thing?” the Doctor asked gently.
“I know you don’t feel the same, I never expected you to,” you shook your head, averting your gaze again. “I’d understand if you just wanted to drop me back at home.”
“Is that what you want?”
You shook your head, clearing your throat, “It’s not exactly about what I want is it?”
The Doctor remained silent, his mind working for the right thing to say. He didn’t fully comprehend what was happening.
“You’re under the assumption that I’m going to drop you because you love me?” He said softly, still trying to catch your eye.
“Is that not what’s happening right now?” You frowned, confused.
The Doctor laughed softly, moving away from you with one long stride. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the spiky strands. You continued to frown at him, confused by his demeanor.
“I can establish a psychic block,” he explained, waving his hands about as he talked. You frowned, confused as to why he was talking about this now. “I told the officer a secret, but I didn’t tell him my greatest secret.”
He had the kind of look on his face he got when he was trying, and failing, to figure something out. It was a look you knew well at this point, you had just never been the cause of it.
“There’s so much of you in my head,” he groaned, waving his hands by the sides of his face, “which is saying a lot 'cause I have more in my head than you will ever experience in your entire life.”
You gaped at him, unsure what you were supposed to say in this scenario. Was this his secret?
“You take up so much space,” he emphasized exasperatedly, repeatedly running his hands through his hair. “Even when you’re not here I’m constantly thinking about you!” He leaned his hands against the console, hanging his head as he continued rambling.
You stared at him like he had grown a second head. No, three extra heads. And a tail.
“I’m sorry, what?” you asked.
The Doctor moved back over to you, reaching out to cradle your face in his hands. He cupped your cheeks gently and bent his head forward so your foreheads connected.
“You take up so much space,” he whispered, his breath fanning across your face. “And the fact that you can’t see that kills me, it really kills me.”
“Doctor-” you whispered in shock. In your mind, there was only ever one way that the Doctor could react to your feelings, and this certainly wasn’t it. “Are you saying what I think you are?”
The Doctor laughed sharply, shaking his head against yours, “You’re clueless, y’know that?”
“You’re not much better,” you frowned back. “But that doesn’t answer my question.” Your heart thudded against your chest, threatening to beat right out of your body. The mere implication that the Doctor could have even a shred of feelings for you was sending your senses into overdrive.
“Yes, I am,” he whispered. That was all you needed. You knew it was hard for him to say things like this. He wasn’t exactly the “I love you” type. The fact that he had said this much already was a wonder.
You didn’t really think about it, you just kissed him. His lips fit against yours perfectly and the kiss was over much sooner than either of you had wanted.
Your face was still cradled in his hands as the Doctor bent down to press another, quicker kiss against your lips, returning the act of affection. You smiled happily as he pulled back, looking up at him with pure adoration.
“Are you really afraid of hospitals though?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowed.
warning(s): murder, injuries, mentions and descriptions of violence, mentions of blood, reader is tad bit questionable, (ahem slight dirty thoughts…), etc.
a/n: I was inspire by the quiet small town (grungy?) neighborhood atmosphere and the eerie sense of after blood being spilled. I wanted to make this out to be chapter story and had settle on an imagine for now. Not the kind I would suspect to write for ten, and somehow dig it a little. Btw no use of y/n!
You stood there almost half awake. The days have been leaning more into this quiet ease, easing you back and reminiscing your once normal life before the Doctor. By now, the company was the warm street lights and crickets that croak underneath dying grass; while you were smeared in dried blood.
The chest of yours heave in the flush sweat and adrenaline, eyes that have a mind of their own, and feet that tremble the longer you stood outside of the sudden cold of a summer's night.
There was no one out. The street was empty and too quiet for there to be no loud barking dogs; or neighbors caught in late night movies though the flaps of curtains to peek in.
The buzzing of the AC sat on the windowsill. It was behind you and the standing, looming house.
You could hear the dying breaths of the AC inside of the home.
A ball begin to slowly form inside of your throat and fingers on the sides of you had tremble: all for two pair of hands appear and yank you from behind.
The nature of your instincts kicked in and you started to push off whoever was behind, even screech a little and dig your dirty fingernails through the cloth of sleeves of a trench coat.
They pushed you off and hissed under their breath, and you spun around with raised hands covered in spill of blood.
The Doctor stares at you.
His expression slowly unraveled. His eyes took the sight of the open cut on your arm, that’s gushing small amounts of blood that drip over your limbs. Your jeans that had your knees cover in dark patches and a white top that smeared all your guilty conscious of this side of the road to see.
If there was any guilty conscious.
The Doctor slowly meets your eyes; his breathes fastening inside of him, shaken and holding out the assumption of what horrid thing had just occurred inside of the home while he was gone.
You shook your head and begin to mutter out a ramble, stepping like some zombie.
"No, no. It's not--it's not what it looks like, please--"
"Don't you dare speak," the Doctor sneer and stepped in. It causes you to take a step back and almost stumble.
You continue to walk backwards and the Doctor follows right in front of you. You couldn't make out his face in the street and slowly shake.
"I--it happened so fast!" You reasoned. "It got to him before I could get him out of it and he just stare at me so—"
"Don't lie to me right now."
"How could I lie to you!?"
"And how could I trust you?"
"It's me," your voice whimper and it sounded as if a cry, of the sweat and evidence on you. "It's me, it's me. You know me!"
The Doctor doesn't say a word. Only this stare he has glued on your face and the awful realization of the scene inside the house. A scene all made by hands and fingerprints of yours. Enough for a human to be slammed onto the wooden floor, creating a split right through, and just as the knife repeatedly went through the chest.
You raised your hands up to your head, clutching through the threads of your hair and tugging them to gain some ounce of punishment.
"It happened all so fast," you voice out. "He just--he just ran at me and I…he was different, so different. He was someone else."
"Did you see anyone or anything in there?"
"No," you shook your head and glance to the house, the doorway closed and blinds open for it be dark inside.
"I mean it, tell me the truth--"
"I am telling the truth!" You screamed. "What's the use of me lying when I have his blood on myself!"
The Doctor grabs your wrist to pull you away from the out open sidewalk. Your hand was nearly limp as he took hold of it, and instead, he had place both of his hands on your shoulders—pushing you to the outside wall of the house.
Your back physically hit a hard blow and you let a pained yelled. You had squirm under his grasp and let out dying pants to push off his weight, with your already weakened arms that were aching of sores and pains.
You manage to free your hand but he disarms you quick, pinning it to the wall and making you halt all at once.
The Doctor's eyes became clear: fully engross and enraged. They were wide and hardened, never once leaving you out of your sight. He shove you to wall as if you weren't already up against it.
"He was just like you, he was just wanting to help. All he ever wanted was to get rid of what was inside of there!" The Doctor yelled and tighten his grip on you. "You think you any better? After doing something like that?"
"He would've killed you, just as he would've done to me if I weren't quick enough to get out of there."
"Oh, I can manage myself and get out of situation than be a coward and take someone's life. It was something else inside of him, not him! And you knew that!"
"And do what, huh? Let him take my life as well, he would've done it the chance he got me."
"You don't know that."
"Neither do you!"
The Doctor holds you tighter against the wall, and by now you didn't even bat an eye to the growing pain on your lower back.
"Where's it?"
"What?"
"Weapon. Where is it?
He grabs the bottom of your jaw and forces you to tilt your face to his, his fingers wanting to spear through your skin and only restraining to keep of what is left of his composure. The Doctor holds no weight for any man or woman to kill another, especially the kind who's selfish enough to still believe they're the victim.
He knew the set of consequences of what is left to be stuck with a strange creature in a locked house. The kind to be unpredictable and clearly wasn't civil enough to cooperate. He believed there was chance of stripping it away, gaining a man to return to his normalcy.
And here you were, fucking it up without a given chance from the vulnerable fear for your life.
The Doctor wants to blame you, and somehow goes longer to stare and think of what to do with you.
A dead body stuck inside a house with lost keys and no lights on to keep away company. While all under, the wooden floors of edges and scratches; all sinking slowly with pools of blood to weigh the whole house down.
You gulped down your scratchy throat, eyes prickling and darting off all directions around his face, later settling on his eyes.
"Please, don't."
"The weapon, where is it—tell me, now."
"You think I'm horrible."
"It doesn't matter what I think anymore, there's blood all around for it to not be decided by me."
"I don't care that, I care enough that you won't leave!"
"You killed someone," the Doctor states, all cold like. "A breathing, functioning person—"
"He was no longer a person after he was possessed. Not anymore, not like that."
"And we could've saved him, in what part of that you can't seem to understand that?"
"You know you wouldn't been able to--"
"Not enough to decide to become a killer, I would've tried!" The Doctor growled.
A Time Lord gaining his high moral ground, as if his isn't already twisted in his gray complexities.
Your strength came back to you in a second from anger, shoving and stepping him off.
"You're blaming me? You're gonna blame after you suddenly had enough courage and guts out from your blue box, to wind up here to get critical on me?"
The Doctor visibly tightens his eyes and steps in.
"I didn't make the choice of taking someone's life in under five minutes. I'm not being critical. I'm telling you the truth and what you've truly done, because in no way in shape or form I would ever let you lie for murder."
"Lie? We all have lie tonight, just as Mike had lie back there. He knew the danger he was to us being in that same house as him."
"And you? Am I risking myself being near you?"
"No, of course not. I wouldn't had done it if it weren't for you!"
All for a short second, the Doctor froze. Your voice that had sounded almost pathetic and full of prickling despair, had made the Doctor all stress for how his heart and body had ache.
Recognizing in the dark he was still inch away from you and still here in your vicinity, while you stood with blood on yourself that stench off from your clothes. Not enough to even scare him off—only to steer him back closer.
Your breath was caught and you eye at him silently, for him to stare back a second longer.
The Doctor steps away from you. You no longer can see his face. He turn his back and seems to lower his head, his hands that were trembling and his converses shuffling away to the driveway of the house.
You were there behind him, almost holding tears that were mist in your eyes. Soon it was gonna hit you, preparing you for how longer he can look at you with such horror in his eyes. And only thing you can do now is stand; loathing in dirty clothes and remembering when there was nothing but once care in his eyes.
Your chest was in pain from the mere thought of it.
A dog begin to bark, behind a rattling barbed wired fence of a neighbors yard.
The barking continue and you can hear its paws hitting the fence multiple times, and you manage to glance where the dog was. The thoughts and emotions somehow sank away, and the reaching numbness had settle inside for your hands to fall asleep beside you.
Your lips twitch and you were close to speaking.
The Doctor suddenly moves.
So quick that it had made you flinch all together. He made long strides on the concrete and push open the door for it to creak.
You didn't make a single inch in your spot, only breathing heavy and glancing back and forth; from barking dogs and the Doctor inside the humid house.
"Doctor," you called out in middle of barking, voice tired and scratch. "Doctor?"
There was no respond from inside. You took subtle steps and linger outside of the open doorway.
It was dark inside. Some filter light that came from blinds drawn open. Light that play almost as figurines of shadows and hallway all bask in darkness.
There was nothing.
Nothing at all.
"Doctor—Doctor!" Your patience was wavering and off nerves return to the pit inside your stomach.
There was no response again and you slowly inch close inside, shoes scuffed and amount of weight carried on your lungs.
Your memories became haywire and the plunge you had felt as the knife had enter inside, and your drive pushing further as you kept going again and again. All for your muscles to contract and eyes dilate.
"I mean it, Doctor. Get out of there! The entity can be in there get--"
Your voice slipped off as you gaze on the wooden floor. A smear, or more of a streak had appeared there. A crimson color kind and one that smell iron the longer it sweep across the floor.
The concrete scrape against your shoes as you took a step back. Your eyes widen and you inhale sharply from the sight.
From back of the house, something had clatter to the floor. Soon, the Doctor walk out of the house and you physically step away with choked breaths.
He carry your personal bag in his hand and a brown parchment bag on the other. The Doctor catches your glance and stuffs the brown bag inside of the trench coat.
He stepped out of the house and close the door.
"…is he--"
"In the kitchen. I didn't move him," The Doctor pats himself down and grabs his sonic screwdriver, a slight buzz on the door knob and it was securely locked.
"Is he really gone?"
He pauses a short moment and moves his head to the side, not really glancing at you.
"He's gone."
You didn't say anything.
He continue to move the knob and make sure it was lock. By then, the Doctor turn back to you and hand your bag back to you.
You flicker your eyes to the bag and him, reaching out to grab it.
"Did you have anything else in there?"
"No," you murmured and shook your head, "just this and…the knife."
"I got it."
He move past you and walk around the perimeter of the house. You stood there and caught him in and out of the backyard, slowly closing gates and making sure no window was left open.
The Doctor returns back to you, and watches the daze stare you have on the house. He was eyeing at your clothes and how the wound on your arm, and how awful he was to leave alone there for a couple minutes.
He shouldn't have thought so much to leave you there, not even for a second knowing what was in there.
Yet, there was no reason for you to kill that man.
Just how there's no reason for him to stay here with you.
"The TARDIS isn't here."
You blinked and glance at him: "Why not?"
The Doctor stares for a bit and tilts his head, looking at the wound still on your arm.
"It's better it's not here. Besides, your car is here."
"Someone could see us."
"Not with me around," the Doctor meets his eyes to yours and didn't so much as blink, unwavering of his odd composure and tad bit of protectiveness. "New car. New plate. New everything."
Your eyes begin to trail down and fall on the pocket of his coat. You can see the bag peeking out.
"…what about the knife?"
The Doctor continue to stare even when your eyes weren't on his and hands slightly wanting to reach to you.
"Taking it to the TARDIS. Got something to handle for it."
"For a murder weapon?"
"Again, the TARDIS will handle it," the Doctor repeated himself. "The entity is locked inside of the house and be stuck to its foreign surroundings, soon it will adapt it all of it and be consume by the end of it as there will be no one entering a murder house for a good reason."
"…we--we can't just let it be stuck in there forever."
The Doctor surprises you by raising an eyebrow, almost expressionless. "And let you kill again out of human instincts?”
Somewhere in your face muscles had jump a twitch, and you nearly felt a scowl form on your lips.
In some way you thought he wanted some response out of you, so you went against it and didn't peep so much of a word.
Just as the Doctor had stare at you with same old brown eyes of his and eyes that went unscathed the longer he stared of you.
While some sick part of him had wanted put his mouth on yours and rub away all the blood remain on your skin with his hands. All clutch to your brain and flesh for all of it to go away.
Making you pant all those fears away and allowing him to swallow them up with his greedy mouth.
The Doctor finally quirks his head off to the car parked on the other side of the road; your car under the large tree shadowing it.
He was tight on casualness and still withdrawn in frustration of the kind of mess you've committed.
And somehow the Doctor offer his hand to you and felt your hand accept it with timidness wrapped in your limp body. A thumb rubbing off a droplet of blood on the back of your palm.
"C'mon," he almost murmurs and tugging you to the direction where he was face to, "car is over there."
You wanted to say something to get a raise out of him and backpedal all of it to see the kind of person you were.
Yet, from the grasp of your hand and making a dash to your car with bag up knife in his pocket—there was no escape, not even from the Doctor.
He was tightening you up only to his hand
You glance back to the house and hearing the running AC. Falling short and looking below to your shoes crossing the road, and peeking over to his.
The Doctor kept his pace with yours, with splats and dots of crimson color.
Warnings: canon divergence, angst, fluff, smut. I have a love-hate relationship with the John Smith episode.
The first time you saw the fear in his eyes, real, cold, hunted fear, you knew this was different.
“They can find me anywhere by my scent,” the Doctor said, hands flying over the TARDIS console with a frantic energy that set you on edge. The central column wheezed and groaned, the ship shuddering through the vortex as alarms you’d never heard before blared in discordant tones. “Every time I set foot outside, every time I even think about running, they lock onto my biodata. Time Lord biology. It’s like a beacon.”
“So we don’t run,” you said, gripping the railing as the TARDIS lurched. “We fight. We always fight.”
He stopped then, hands stilling on a lever, and looked at you across the glowing console. His brown eyes, usually so bright with manic energy, were grave. Haunted. “Not this time. If we fight, people die. Innocent people. They don’t want conquest. They don’t want resources. They want me. The last of the Time Lords. They want to be immortal. And they will tear through anything, anyone, to get what they want.”
You swallowed hard. “What are you saying?”
He straightened, tugging at his tie in that nervous way he had, then ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “I’m saying I need to stop being the Doctor.”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Completely serious.” He was already moving again, circling the console, pulling up holographic schematics you couldn’t begin to understand. “The TARDIS can do it. Rewrite my biology on a fundamental level. Suppress every memory, every scrap of Time Lord knowledge, every regeneration. Make me human. Properly, genuinely human. One heart, one life, one unremarkable biological signature the Family of Blood can’t track.”
Your heart was pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. “And your memories?”
“Gone. Locked away. Not destroyed, I’ll need a way back if things go wrong, but buried so deep even a psychic probe wouldn’t find them.” He paused, fingers hovering over a crystalline interface. “There’s a catch, though.”
“Of course there is.”
His mouth quirked, just slightly, a ghost of his usual smile. “The process needs an anchor. Someone to hold the key. The TARDIS can create a biodata module, a fob watch, something innocuous, that holds my Time Lord essence. But it needs to be kept safe. And I need someone to watch over the human me, make sure they don’t find me, and…” He hesitated. “And if they do, if it all goes wrong, someone who can bring me back.”
The weight of what he was asking settled over you like a shroud. “You want me to be that someone.”
“You’re the only one I trust.” He said it simply, without artifice, without the usual theatrical flourishes. “I know it’s a lot to ask. I know it’s not fair. But...”
“Yes.”
He blinked. “You haven’t heard the rest of it. The human me won’t know you. Won’t remember anything about our travels, about who I was, about any of it. You’ll have to start from scratch. You’ll have to lie, every day, to someone wearing my face. And it could be years. Decades, even, before it’s safe.”
“I said yes.” Your voice was steadier than you felt. “Tell me what I need to do.”
He stared at you for a long moment, something raw and unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then he pulled you into a crushing hug, his face buried in your hair.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
You held on tight, memorizing the feel of him, the lean strength of his frame, the double beat of his hearts against your chest, the faint scent of ozone and tea that clung to his suit. You didn’t know if you’d ever feel it again.
When he pulled back, his eyes were suspiciously bright. “Right. No time to waste. There’s a few things you need.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his sonic screwdriver, pressing it into your palm. Your fingers closed around the cool metal automatically.
“Keep this safe,” he said. “It won’t work for the human me, well, it might, if he’s clever enough, but he won’t know what it is. You’ll need it if…when the time comes. And this.”
From another pocket, he produced a simple silver fob watch, unadorned except for delicate circular Gallifreyan script etched into the casing. It felt warm in your hand, almost alive, pulsing with a faint rhythm that matched the Doctor’s hearts.
“My essence. My memories. Everything I am.” His voice was carefully controlled, but you could hear the terror underneath. “When the process is complete, I’ll just be a man. An ordinary man with an ordinary life. The TARDIS will create false memories, a background, a history. She’ll choose somewhere safe, somewhere quiet, somewhere no one would ever think to look for a Time Lord.”
“Where?”
He smiled, properly this time, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Knowing her? Somewhere spectacularly boring.”
The TARDIS materialized in a narrow alley between a bookshop and a bakery, the scent of fresh bread and old paper wafting through the doors when you opened them. Outside, a typical English street stretched in either direction, all red brick and gray sky, bicycles chained to lampposts and a postbox on the corner.
The Doctor, no, not the Doctor anymore, not really, stepped out beside you, blinking in the watery sunlight. One moment he’d been standing at the TARDIS console, the fob watch open in his hand, golden light pouring from his eyes and mouth. The next, he’d crumpled to the floor, and when he woke, the watch was closed, and the man looking up at you had only confusion in his brown eyes.
“Where am I?” he’d asked, and your heart had broken clean in two.
Now, standing in the alley with a bewildered expression on his face, he looked so ordinary it hurt. The same sharp features, the same lanky frame, the same ridiculous hair, but the weight was gone. The centuries of grief and guilt and impossible knowledge that had always lurked behind his smile had vanished, leaving behind something lighter.
“I think I’m supposed to be here,” he said slowly, patting his pockets. He pulled out a wallet, flipping through it with growing confusion. “John Smith. That’s my name. I’m…I’m a librarian? Apparently I have a job interview at the local library this afternoon.”
“That’s nice,” you managed, your voice coming out strangled.
He looked at you properly then, and something shifted in his expression. The confusion didn’t exactly fade, but it was joined by something else. Recognition, almost. Like he was trying to place you and couldn’t quite manage it, but knew, somehow, that you were important.
“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture so achingly familiar that you had to look away. “This is going to sound mad, but…do I know you?”
Your fingers tightened around the sonic screwdriver in your coat pocket. The fob watch was nestled beside it. “Not exactly. We’re…I’m new in town too.”
“Oh.” He smiled then, a shy, tentative thing that was nothing like the Doctor’s manic grins, and your heart did something complicated in your chest. “Well, that’s a coincidence. Or maybe not. I can’t really remember how I got here, to be honest. Everything’s a bit fuzzy.”
“You hit your head,” you said, the lie sliding off your tongue with practiced ease. You’d rehearsed it with the Doctor before the transformation. “On the train. Concussion, the doctors said. You might have some memory issues for a while.”
“Right. Right, that makes sense.” He nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation. Then his gaze drifted back to you, and that strange, searching look returned. “I don’t suppose you’d want to…I mean, I know we’ve just met, technically, but I feel like…” He trailed off, flushing slightly. “This is going to sound completely insane, but I feel like I know you. Like I’m supposed to know you. Is that mad?”
“No,” you said quietly. “It’s not mad at all.”
The first year was the hardest because of the sheer, grinding normality of it all.
John Smith got the librarian job. He rented a small flat, all creaky floorboards and windows and a tiny kitchen that always smelled faintly of cabbage. He bought secondhand furniture and started wearing cardigans and joined a local book club that met every Thursday evening in the back room of the local pub.
And you, tasked with keeping him safe, had to build a life beside him.
You found a job at the bakery next to the alley where the TARDIS still sat, hidden behind a perception filter that made it look like an old police box that had been decommissioned years ago. You rented a flat of your own, two streets over, and learned to bake sourdough and make small talk with customers and pretend that you weren’t a time-traveling companion of a centuries-old alien who was now shelving books and recommending Agatha Christie novels to pensioners.
It should have been unbearable. It was, in many ways. But there were also moments that caught you off guard, moments that made the lie feel almost worth it.
Like the first time John asked you to dinner.
“It’s not a date,” he’d said quickly, his ears going pink in a way the Doctor’s never had. “I mean, unless you want it to be. Which you probably don’t. We’ve only known each other a few weeks. But I was going to make pasta, and I always make too much, and you mentioned you don’t cook much, and I thought...”
“John.” You’d touched his arm to stop the ramble, and he’d gone very still under your hand. “I’d love to have dinner with you.”
The smile that broke across his face was like sunrise.
It was nothing like the Doctor’s smiles, which always held a hint of darkness, of secrets, of the terrible knowledge of all the things he’d seen and done. John Smith’s smile was just a smile, and somehow that made it devastating in an entirely different way.
Dinner was pasta with a slightly burnt sauce and cheap wine from the corner shop and conversation that meandered through books and music and childhood memories that had been fabricated by the TARDIS but felt real enough to John that he told them with genuine fondness. He asked about your life, and you spun half-truths from the fragments you could safely share, and when you left that night with a container of leftovers and a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the wine, you knew you were in trouble.
He asked you out properly a week later. A film at the little independent cinema two towns over. Then dinner again. Then a walk along the river, where he’d reached for your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world and held it like he was afraid you might disappear.
“I know this is fast,” he’d said, his thumb tracing circles on your knuckles. “And I know I’m not…I mean, I’m just a librarian. I’m not exciting or adventurous or anything particularly special. But being with you feels right. It feels like the most right thing in the world. Does that make sense?”
You’d looked at him, at this gentle, earnest, utterly human man who wore the Doctor’s face and spoke with the Doctor’s voice but held none of the Doctor’s impossible weight, and felt your heart splinter into a thousand pieces.
“It makes perfect sense,” you’d whispered, and when he kissed you, soft and sweet and trembling slightly, you let yourself pretend, just for a moment, that this could last.
The second year was easier. Routine set in like weather, predictable and comforting. You saw John nearly every day: lunch at the bakery, dinner at his flat or yours, weekends spent exploring the countryside or curled up on his sofa reading books he’d brought home from the library. He’d read passages aloud to you, doing voices for the characters, and you’d laugh until your sides hurt, and then he’d look at you with such open adoration that you’d have to excuse yourself to the bathroom to pull yourself together.
The TARDIS sat in its alley, untouched. You visited it sometimes, late at night when you couldn’t sleep, running your fingers over the weathered blue wood and feeling the faint hum of life still pulsing within. The fob watch you kept in a locked box under your bed, wrapped in velvet, its warmth a constant reminder of what you were guarding. Of who you were waiting for.
Some nights you took it out and held it in your palm, watching the Gallifreyan script gleam in the darkness, and wondered if the Doctor was still in there. If he could feel the passage of time. If he knew what you were doing, what you were becoming to the man he’d made himself into.
Some nights, lying in John’s arms while he slept peacefully beside you, his single heart beating steady and slow against your back, you wondered if you even wanted the Doctor to come back at all.
Because John Smith was good. John Smith was kind. John Smith brought you tea in bed and remembered how you liked your toast and left little notes in library books he thought you’d enjoy. He had nightmares sometimes: fragments of the Time War bleeding through in dreams he couldn’t understand, images of fire and screaming and a red desert under an orange sky, and you’d hold him until he stopped shaking, murmuring nonsense reassurances until he drifted back to sleep.
“I feel like there’s something I’ve forgotten,” he told you once, in the gray light of early morning. “Something important. Something terrible.” His brow furrowed, and for just a moment, he looked so much like the Doctor that your breath caught. “Does that sound mad?”
“No,” you said, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “Everyone has things they’d rather forget.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he turned to you, propping himself up on one elbow, his expression soft and searching. “Whatever it is, I don’t think I want to remember it. I like this. I like my life. I like…” He trailed off, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
You’d known it was coming. You’d seen it building for months, in every look and touch and unguarded moment. But hearing it aloud, in his quiet, earnest voice, still hit you like a physical blow.
“I know,” you whispered.
“You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to know.” He smiled, that gentle, uncomplicated smile that still undid you every time. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
You didn’t say it back. Not then. You kissed him instead, pouring everything you couldn’t say into the press of your lips against his, and when he pulled you closer with a surprised, pleased sound, you let yourself fall into the warmth of him and tried very, very hard not to think about the fob watch ticking away under your bed.
But eventually, you said it. Of course you did. You’d loved the Doctor for years, silently, hopelessly, watching him flirt and charm his way across the universe while you stood in his shadow. Loving John Smith was different, easier in some ways, impossibly harder in others, but it was still love. Still real, still yours.
And he was so happy when you finally said the words. So incandescently, transparently joyful that you almost, almost convinced yourself it could be enough.
The proposal came at the end of the second year.
It wasn’t grand or dramatic. John wasn’t grand or dramatic. He took you to the riverbank where you’d first held hands, spread out a blanket, and produced a picnic basket filled with slightly lopsided sandwiches and a bottle of wine that was far nicer than anything he usually bought.
“What’s the occasion?” you asked, amused.
“Do I need an occasion?” But his ears had gone pink again, and he was fidgeting with the edge of the blanket in a way that made your heart stutter.
Halfway through the meal, he set down his sandwich, took a deep breath, and turned to face you fully. His brown eyes were bright with nerves and hope and something that looked terrifyingly like certainty.
“I know we’ve only known each other a couple of years,” he said, his voice slightly unsteady. “And I know I’m not…I mean, I don’t have much to offer. I’m a librarian. My furniture is secondhand and my cooking is mediocre at best.” He let out a shaky laugh. “I’m not exactly a catch.”
“John...”
“Let me finish, please, or I’ll lose my nerve.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. “The thing is, every good thing in my life, every happy moment I can remember, has you in it. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. And I know it’s fast, and I know it’s probably mad, but I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to waste a single moment we could have together.”
He opened the box. Inside was a simple silver ring, set with a small, glittering stone that caught the afternoon light and scattered it into rainbows.
“Will you marry me?”
The world stopped.
For one long, crystalline moment, you let yourself imagine it. Saying yes. Marrying him. Building a life in this sleepy little town, growing old together, surrounded by books and bad cooking and the quiet, steady love he offered so freely. You could do it. You could lock the fob watch away forever, let the Doctor sleep for the rest of John Smith’s mortal life, and take this happiness for yourself.
It would be so easy. So terribly, temptingly easy.
But even as the fantasy bloomed in your mind, you felt the weight of the sonic screwdriver in your bag, the ghost of the fob watch’s warmth against your skin. You remembered the Doctor’s face, grave and trusting, as he handed you his entire existence. You remembered the aliens, still out there, still hunting. And you remembered that this man, this sweet, gentle, ordinary man, wasn’t yours to keep.
“John.” Your voice came out cracked, barely a whisper. “I can’t. Not yet.”
The hope in his eyes flickered, but didn’t go out. “Is it too soon? I know it’s only been two years...”
“It’s not that.” You reached out, cupping his face in your hands, memorizing the lines of him. “I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me. But there are things…things about my past, things I haven’t told you…”
“I don’t care about your past,” he said fiercely. “Whatever it is, whatever you’ve done or been through, it doesn’t matter to me.”
“It matters to me.” You stroked your thumb across his cheekbone, feeling the faint stubble, the warmth of his skin. “Just…give me time. Ask me again. Not now, but someday. Ask me again.”
He searched your face for a long moment, and you saw the exact instant he decided to trust you. It was in the softening of his jaw, the release of tension in his shoulders, the way his hand came up to cover yours.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “I’ll wait. As long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
He tucked the ring box back into his pocket and pulled you into a kiss instead, and you let yourself melt into him, hating yourself just a little for the tears that slipped down your cheeks. He mistook them for happiness, or maybe just emotion, and kissed them away with a tenderness that made your heart feel like it was being wrung out like a dishcloth.
That night, alone in your flat, you took out the fob watch and held it in your trembling hands.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered to it. To him. To both of them. “I’m so sorry.”
The watch said nothing. It just kept ticking, marking out the seconds of a borrowed life, waiting for the moment it would all come crashing down.
The moment came on an ordinary Tuesday in spring.
You were closing up the bakery, wiping down the counters and trying to decide what to make for dinner, when the bell above the door chimed. You looked up with your customer-service smile already in place, and felt the blood freeze in your veins.
Three people had entered. They looked human, two men and a woman, all dressed in unremarkable clothing, all wearing pleasant, unremarkable expressions. But their eyes were wrong. Flat. Cold. Empty of anything resembling genuine emotion.
And they moved wrong, too. Too smoothly. Too precisely. Like puppets being operated by someone who hadn’t quite mastered the strings.
“We’re closed,” you said, your voice remarkably steady given the terror clawing at your throat.
The woman smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. “We’re not here for baked goods.”
“We’re looking for someone,” one of the men added. His head tilted at an angle that was just slightly too sharp to be natural. “A very particular someone. We’ve been searching for a very long time.”
“Sorry.” You gripped the edge of the counter, your knuckles going white. “Can’t help you.”
“Oh, we think you can.” The woman took a step forward, and you caught a flicker of something beneath her skin, a ripple of wrongness, like something was moving underneath the surface. “You see, we can’t find our quarry. We’ve searched every corner of this galaxy, every dimension, every timeline. And then it occurred to us, perhaps our quarry isn’t our quarry anymore. Perhaps he’s become something else. Something…human.”
Your heart was pounding so hard you could barely hear them over the rush of blood in your ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” The second man spoke this time, his voice a flat monotone. “You’ve been here two years. You arrived at precisely the same time our quarry disappeared. And you spend an extraordinary amount of time with a man who, according to all records, didn’t exist until that exact moment.”
“Coincidence,” you managed.
“There are no coincidences.” The woman’s smile widened, “Not where the Doctor is concerned.”
They knew. They knew, and they’d found you, and John was probably at the library right now, shelving books and humming to himself, utterly unaware that death had come to his quiet little town wearing human skin.
“We’ll find him eventually,” the woman continued, as if reading your thoughts. “We can sense him, faintly. The trace of what he was, buried deep. It’s only a matter of time. But it would be so much easier if you simply told us where he is.”
“Never.”
The word tore out of you before you could stop it, and the woman’s expression flickered into something that might have been satisfaction.
“Loyal,” she observed. “Touching. But loyalty can be…painful.”
You stumbled backward, reaching blindly for anything you could use as a weapon, and your hand closed around the handle of a rolling pin.
“I wouldn’t,” said the woman, almost gently. “It won’t do you any good.”
“Maybe not.” You lifted your chin, meeting her flat, dead eyes with as much defiance as you could muster. “But I’ll make sure it hurts.”
For a long, suspended moment, no one moved. Then the woman laughed.
“We’re not going to kill you,” she said. “Not yet. You’re going to bring him to us. Tomorrow, sunset, at the old church on the hill. Make sure he hands us his essence of immortality. If you don’t… well.” She smiled again. “This town is full of fragile little humans. It would be a shame if something happened to them.”
She turned and walked out, the two men following in perfect synchronization. The bell chimed cheerfully as the door swung shut behind them, and you stood there in the empty bakery, clutching a rolling pin and shaking so hard you could barely stand.
You didn’t go home that night. You went straight to the TARDIS.
The old police box was still there. You pressed your palm against the wood and tried to think.
They’d found you, and they’d find John sooner or later, and when they did, they would tear him apart. There was no running this time. No clever escape. The only option was the one you’d been dreading for two years.
You had to bring the Doctor back.
The fob watch was in your bag, along with the sonic screwdriver. Now you pulled out the watch and held it in your palm, watching the Gallifreyan script pulse with soft golden light.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, for what felt like the hundredth time. “I’m so sorry, John.”
Then you squared your shoulders, wiped your eyes, and went to find the man you loved to destroy him.
John was at his flat, as you’d known he would be. He opened the door with a smile that faltered the moment he saw your face.
“What’s wrong?” He pulled you inside immediately, his hands gentle on your shoulders. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Come in, sit down, I’ll make tea...”
“John.” You caught his hands, holding them still. “We need to talk.”
He went very still. “That’s never a good sentence.”
“Please. Just…come with me. There’s something I need to show you.”
You led him through the darkening streets to the alley where the TARDIS stood.
“What is that?” He stared at the blue box, his brow furrowing in confusion that was rapidly becoming distress. “I’ve walked past this alley a hundred times, I’ve never seen…why have I never seen…?”
“Because you weren’t supposed to.” You pulled out the sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the TARDIS doors, which swung open with a familiar wheezing groan. “Come inside.”
He followed you in a daze, his eyes darting around the impossibly large interior. The central column glowed softly, a slow, sleepy pulse that spoke of deep hibernation. The Doctor had programmed the TARDIS to maintain basic functions but nothing more, keeping her hidden and dormant until she was needed again.
“This is…” John turned in a slow circle, his face a mask of bewilderment. “This isn’t possible. This is…”
“It’s a spaceship,” you said quietly. “It’s also a time machine. And it belongs to you.”
He laughed incredulously. “That’s mad. That’s completely mad. I’m a librarian. I’ve never even been on a plane.”
“You’re not a librarian.” The words tasted like ashes in your mouth. “You’re not even human. Not really.”
And you told him. Everything. The Doctor, the transformation, the two years of lies. You spoke until your voice went hoarse, and through it all, John stood motionless, his face slowly draining of colour.
When you finished, he was silent for a long moment. Then he whispered, “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“This isn’t a joke, or a prank, or…or some kind of nervous breakdown?”
“No.”
He turned away from you, his shoulders hunched, his hands shoved deep into his pockets in a gesture that was so Doctor-like that you had to look away. “Two years. Two years, and everything I remember, everything I thought I was…”
“Some of it was real.” Your voice cracked. “We were real. We are real.”
“Were we?” He spun back to face you, and there were tears in his eyes, bright and angry and devastated. “You’ve been lying to me since the day we met. Every moment, every conversation, every...” His voice broke. “Every ‘I love you.’ Was any of it true?”
“All of it.” You stepped toward him, reaching for his hands. He let you take them, though his fingers remained stiff and unresponsive. “I know it doesn’t make sense. I know it’s not fair. But I loved the Doctor, and then I met you, and I loved you too, and I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“The Doctor.” He said the name like he was tasting it, trying to find himself in the syllables. “That’s who I am. Who I was. Some kind of...alien hero?”
“The last of the Time Lords. He’s saved countless worlds. Countless lives.” You squeezed his hands. “And right now, he’s the only one who can stop the alien parasites from destroying this town and everyone in it.”
He looked at you then with devastation in his eyes. “What happens to me? If he comes back, what happens to me?”
You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t tell him the truth, that John Smith would cease to exist, absorbed back into the vast, ancient consciousness of the Doctor like a drop of water into an ocean. That the gentle, ordinary man you’d spent two years loving would become nothing more than a dream, a footnote, a brief flicker of humanity in an impossibly long life.
But he saw the answer in your silence, and his face crumpled.
“No.” He pulled his hands from yours, backing away. “No. I don’t want this. I don’t want to be him. I want to be me. I want to be John Smith, the librarian, who burns pasta sauce and loves you more than anything in the world. Doesn’t that matter? Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“It means everything,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “But they are here. They’ll kill you, and everyone else, unless the Doctor comes back. I don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” His voice cracked on the words. “Please. Please, don’t make me do this. We can run. We can hide. We can find another way.”
“There is no other way.” You pulled out the fob watch, holding it up between you. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, John. But I made a promise.”
He stared at the watch, and you saw the moment understanding truly hit him. The moment he realized that the thing in your hand contained everything he’d been, everything he really was, and that opening it would mean the end of everything he’d become.
“I love you,” he said, and it sounded like a goodbye. “Whatever else was a lie, that wasn’t. I love you, and I was happy. For two years, I was so happy.”
“I know.” You stepped closer, reaching up to cup his face, memorizing the lines of it one last time. “I was happy too. And I love you. Both of you. All of you. The Doctor, and John Smith, and every version of you that’s ever existed or ever will.”
He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. A tear slipped down his cheek, warm against your fingers. “Will he remember? The Doctor? Will he remember us?”
“I don’t know.” It was the most honest thing you’d said all night.
“I hope he does.” John opened his eyes, and there was something almost like acceptance in them now. “I hope he remembers that he was loved. That he was happy. That he was a good man.”
“You were a good man,” you said fiercely. “You are a good man. The best man I’ve ever known.”
He kissed you then: soft, desperate, trembling with all the fear and love and grief of a man saying goodbye to his entire existence. You kissed him back with everything you had, pouring two years of stolen happiness into the press of your lips, trying to make him understand without words how much he’d meant to you.
When you finally pulled apart, he was crying openly, and so were you.
“Do it,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Before I lose my nerve.”
You opened the fob watch.
Golden light exploded outward, filling the TARDIS, filling John, filling you. He arched backward, his mouth opening in a silent scream, and you watched as two years of false memories were stripped away, replaced by centuries of impossible knowledge. You watched John Smith dissolve into the vast, ancient, terrible consciousness of the Doctor.
And then the light faded, and the Doctor opened his eyes.
They were the same brown eyes. The same face, the same body, the same hands that had held yours a thousand times. But the expression in them was different. Older. Harder. A universe of grief and fury and cold, calculating rage. “Where are they?”
“Old church on the hill,” you said, your voice hollow. “Sunset tomorrow. They’re wearing human skin.”
He nodded once, sharply, and strode past you to the TARDIS console. His hands flew across the controls with the practiced ease of centuries, waking systems that had been dormant for two years. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t acknowledge the tears still wet on your cheeks, or the way your hands were shaking, or the shattered expression on your face.
“Doctor?” you asked hesitantly.
“Not now.” His voice was clipped, distracted. “I need to think. These are dangerous, but they’re predictable. If they’ve taken human form, they’ll be vulnerable. I can work with that.”
And just like that, John Smith was gone. The Doctor was back. And you were standing in the middle of the TARDIS, clutching an empty fob watch, feeling like your heart had been ripped out of your chest.
The Doctor dealt with the Family of Blood.
You didn’t see him do it. He told you to stay in the TARDIS, and you did, because you couldn’t bear to watch him be the Doctor, cold and brilliant and terrifying, when all you could see was the ghost of the man you’d lost.
He came back three hours later, his suit slightly rumpled, his expression grimly satisfied.
“It’s done,” he said. “They’re in three separate eternal prisons, scattered across three separate dimensions. They won’t be bothering anyone ever again.”
“Good.” You were sitting on the jump seat, still holding the empty fob watch. You hadn’t moved since he left.
He looked at you then uncertainly. “The danger’s passed. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m not going with you.”
The words came out before you’d consciously decided to say them, and once they were out, you knew they were true. You couldn’t go back. You couldn’t climb into the TARDIS and fly off to new adventures and pretend that the last two years hadn’t happened. That you hadn’t fallen in love with a man who no longer existed.
The Doctor went utterly still. “What?”
“I need time.” You set the fob watch down on the console, your fingers lingering on the cool metal. “I need to…pack up my flat. Say goodbye. I’ve been here two years. I have a life here. I can’t just leave.”
“You don’t have a life here,” he said, and there was an edge to his voice now. “You had a cover story. A role to play. The role is over.”
“It wasn’t just a role.” You stood up, finally meeting his eyes. “I worked in that bakery for two years. I made friends. I built a life. And I loved John Smith, and he loved me, and now he’s dead, and I need to grieve him. Can you understand that?”
Something crossed his face, too fast to read, there and gone in an instant. “I remember it,” he said, and his voice was quieter now. “The transformation. Two years of memories, all at once. I remember everything.”
“Then you know why I can’t come with you tonight.”
He didn’t argue. He just stood there, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable, and watched you walk out of the TARDIS and into the darkening evening.
Your flat was exactly as you’d left it. The half-finished cup of tea on the counter. The pile of library books on the coffee table. The photograph of you and John at the riverbank, taken last summer, his arm around your shoulders and his smile so wide and bright and happy.
You sat on the edge of your bed and finally, finally let yourself cry.
You cried for John Smith, the gentle librarian who had loved you simply and completely. You cried for the Doctor, who had trusted you with his entire existence and come back to find that you’d fallen in love with a version of him that no longer existed. And you cried for yourself, for the impossible situation you’d been put in, for the love you’d found and lost and would never quite get over.
At some point, exhaustion overtook you, and you fell into a fitful sleep, still fully clothed, still clutching the photograph.
You woke to the sound of the TARDIS materializing in your living room.
The wheezing groan was unmistakable, and you bolted upright, your heart pounding. The blue box solidified in the corner of your flat, looking utterly incongruous next to your secondhand bookshelf and the potted plant you’d been nursing for eighteen months.
The door opened, and the Doctor stepped out.
He looked…different. Still the same body, the same suit, the same ridiculous hair. But some of the coldness had gone from his eyes. Some of the fury had ebbed. He looked at you, and for just a moment, you saw something that might have been vulnerability.
“You didn’t come back,” he said.
“I told you I needed time.”
“It’s been three days.”
You blinked. “It’s been one night.”
“Time moves differently in the TARDIS. You know that.” He took a step toward you, then stopped, as if unsure of his welcome. “I waited. Outside your flat, at first, and then inside, when you didn’t come out. And then I…I started thinking.”
“That’s usually where the trouble begins.”
His mouth quirked, just slightly. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was closer than anything you’d seen since he’d come back. “You said something. Before you left. You said you loved John Smith, and you loved me. Both of us.”
You looked away. “I was emotional. I didn’t mean...”
“Yes, you did.” He crossed the room, stopping just in front of you. Close enough that you could smell the familiar scent of him. “You meant every word. I know you did. Because I remember. I remember everything, and I remember how you looked when you said it.”
“Doctor...”
“I’m not him.” The words came out harsh, almost angry. “I’m not John Smith. I’m not gentle or simple or uncomplicated. I’ve done terrible things. I’ve made choices that would horrify him. I carry the weight of a billion billion lives, and it’s made me hard, and cold, and sometimes cruel.” He reached out and caught your chin, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “But I am not a different person. I’m just…more. Everything he was, I am. Everything he felt, I feel. And I am tired of pretending that’s not true.”
Your breath caught. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying…” He paused, struggling with the words in a way the Doctor rarely did. “John Smith was a simpler version of me. Unburdened. Free. He could tell you he loved you without the weight of centuries pressing down on him. He could ask you to marry him without hearing the screams of everyone he’s ever failed.” His grip on your chin gentled, his thumb brushing across your cheek. “I can’t be him. I can’t be that unburdened. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel what he felt.”
You stared at him, barely daring to breathe. “You remember loving me.”
“I remember everything.” His voice dropped, rougher now. “Every moment. Every touch. Every word. It’s all in here...” he tapped his temple “...and it’s not just memories. It’s not just data. It’s real. It’s as real as anything I’ve ever felt. And I have lived a very, very long time.”
“Then why did you...”
“Push you away?” He laughed, a short, humorless sound. “Because I’m an idiot. Because I was furious at my enemies and terrified of what I’d put you through and convinced that you couldn’t possibly want me...the real me, the whole impossible mess of me, when you’d had him.”
“John Smith was you,” you said, your voice breaking. “Just you. Without the pain. Without the weight. But still you.”
“And you loved him.”
“I loved you.”
Something shattered in his expression. The cold mask cracked, and underneath it was everything you’d been searching for, the Doctor, raw and open and terrified, his ancient eyes bright with something that looked very much like hope.
“Then come back,” he said. “Come back to the TARDIS. Come back to me. We can figure out the rest as we go.”
You didn’t answer with words. You reached up, grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, and pulled him down into a kiss.
It wasn’t like kissing John Smith. John had been gentle, hesitant. The Doctor kissed like he did everything else: with intensity, with focus, with the barely contained energy of a man who had lived too long and felt too much and didn’t know how to be gentle even when he wanted to be.
He made a sound against your mouth, something between a groan and a growl, and his hands slid into your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss. When you gasped, he took advantage, his tongue sliding against yours, and the taste of him was familiar and alien all at once.
“I’ve got two years of memories,” he murmured against your lips, “and two years of wanting. Do you have any idea what that’s like? To remember wanting someone and not being able to touch them?”
“I think I have some idea,” you breathed.
He pulled back just far enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, his breathing ragged. “This isn’t going to be gentle. I’m not…I can’t be gentle. Not right now. I've too much burning in my head.”
“I don’t need gentle.”
Something dark and hungry flashed in his eyes. “Good.”
He kissed you again, harder this time, and walked you backward until your shoulders hit the wall. His body pressed against yours, lean and solid, and you could feel the double beat of his hearts thundering against your chest. His hands left your hair to trail down your sides, gripping your hips with a force that would probably leave bruises.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, his mouth moving to your jaw, your throat, the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Tell me to slow down. Tell me you need time.”
“Don’t stop.”
He made a sound that was almost a snarl and hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The wall was cold against your back, but he was warm, so warm, warmer than a human should be, his body temperature running high with Time Lord biology and barely restrained desire.
Clothes became an impediment. Buttons were undone with frustrating slowness, fabric pushed aside rather than removed entirely. His mouth was everywhere: your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, and his hands were everywhere too, mapping your body with an intensity that bordered on desperation.
“I remember,” he kept saying, the words pressed into your skin like prayers. “I remember everything. Every moment I wanted to touch you like this. Every night I lay beside you.”
“I know.” You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth back to yours. “I know. I was there.”
He laughed, a real laugh, surprised and almost giddy, and kissed you again, and this time there was no more talking.
He took you against the wall, then on the floor, then finally in your bed, the TARDIS abandoned in the corner. He wasn’t gentle. His hands gripped hard enough to leave marks, his teeth scraped against sensitive skin, his rhythm was demanding and relentless and utterly, impossibly him. But there was tenderness too, in the way he whispered your name, in the way he paused to check that you were alright, in the way he held you afterward like you were the most precious thing in the universe.
You lay tangled together in the wreckage of your sheets, the Doctor’s arm wrapped around your waist, his face buried in your hair.
“I’m still not him,” the Doctor said quietly, after a long silence. “I can’t be. I can’t give you the simple life, the quiet happiness, the white picket fence.”
“I don’t want a white picket fence.”
“You wanted him.”
You turned in his arms, facing him. His expression was guarded, but his eyes gave him away, ancient and afraid. “I wanted you,” you said firmly. “Every version of you. John Smith, the Doctor, whoever you are tomorrow and the day after that. I didn’t fall in love with a librarian. I fell in love with you. The impossible, infuriating, brilliant, broken, wonderful you.”
He stared at you for a long moment. Then he smiled, a real smile, not the manic grin he used as armor, but something softer. Something that looked almost like John Smith’s smile, but deeper, older, more complicated.
“I don’t deserve you,” he said.
“Probably not. But you’re stuck with me anyway.”
He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because I’m never doing that again. The transformation. The forgetting. I’m never giving you up. Not for anything.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” His arms tightened around you. “Now get some sleep. We’ve got a universe to explore in the morning.”
You closed your eyes, listening to the steady double rhythm of his hearts, and let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you could have both, the Doctor and John Smith, the adventure and the love, the impossible and the real.
a/n: Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated. <3
a/n: You can donate on Ko-fi, your support helps me write more: https://ko-fi.com/catbayunthestoryteller <3
The rain hits the windows of your modest home like a thousand tiny fists, mirroring the storm raging inside you.
It was a night you'd never forget, thirteen years ago, when Sarah was just three months, her tiny form curled up in her crib upstairs, oblivious to the shattering of her world. Your husband, even now, the word tastes bitter, had stormed out after another screaming match.
The usual accusations flew 'You're too dreamy, too lost in your books and fantasies. Grow up! This isn't some fairy tale!'
You'd collapsed onto the living room floor, tears streaming, clutching a worn copy of The Labyrinth, that old storybook Sarah adored.
The words blurred on the page, but in your desperation, they whispered promises of escape. "I wish... I wish the Goblin King would come and take me away," you sobbed, the words tumbling out like a spell you didn't believe in. "Right now!"
The clock struck midnight. A chill wind snaked through the cracks in the walls, carrying the faint jingle of bells.
You looked up, heart pounding, and there he was, framed in the doorway like a shadow given form.
Jareth, the Goblin King, his eyes lightening up with mischievous delight under a cascade of wild blond hair, his leather-gloved hand extended, a crystal orb glowing in his palm.
"Did you call for me, my lady?" His voice was gentle and charming, laced with that intoxicating mix of mockery and hunger.
Before you could back away, and before sanity could claw its way back, he seized your wrist.
When the spinning stopped, you were in his kingdom, a labyrinth of twisted hedges, crumbling castles, and skies that bled eternal twilight.
Jareth's grip on you was ironclad, his body pressing close as he pulled you through corridors of stone that shifted like living things.
"You've wished yourself to me," he whispered against your ear, his breath hot and spiced with something otherworldly.
"And now, you're mine. No take-backs, darling. The old laws bind you."
"I have a husband and a daughter!"
"Your husband is more of a disadvantage and your daughter will grow up to forget you."
You fought at first, screaming, clawing at his arms, demanding he send you back. But Jareth was patient in his obsession and possession of you.
He showered you with gifts, gowns of silk that perfectly hugged your body, and even books and trinkets he got for you from the human world.
Also, he held balls and feasts in your honour to make your imprisonment feel less suffocating.
Sixteen years passed like a blur, in it you became the queen of the Labyrinth and slowly but painfully ended up warming up to Jareth and accepting your fate as his wife.
But it was strange and confusing when Jareth one day returned back from one of his errands, holding a baby in his arms, telling you that his sister wished him away.
Feeling pity, you took care of Toby, treating him kindly just like you used to do with your daughter.
When the gates of the Labyrinth opened once more, you never expected to see the girl stepping through, eyes bright, defiant, a familiar determination burning in her expression.
Sarah.
You froze, the world tipping beneath your feet as memories flooded back, her giggles, her tiny hands gripping yours, the scent of rain the night you lost everything.
"...Mom?" she breathed, voice trembling between disbelief and hope.
Indeed, it's you, the beautiful woman from the only picture she owns of you.
You barely managed to nod before she ran into your arms. The years melted away in an instant, she clung to you like a child again, and you buried your face in her hair, tears slipping free.
"I thought you were gone," she explained, shaking.
"Dad said...He said you left us."
You pulled back, cupping her face gently.
"I didn't leave, sweetheart. I wished myself away and the wish was heard.”
Behind you, a soft laugh broke the moment, that teasing tone you had come to know too well.
Jareth stepped forward from the shadows, crystal in hand, his eyes shining with quiet triumph.
"And now, my dear Sarah, you see it wasn't all for nothing."
Sarah turned sharply, her body tensing.
"You! You put me through that, the Labyrinth, the riddles, all of it!"
He only smiled, tilting his head.
"You took the first step and wished your baby brother away, and your mother is happily married to me."
"You expect me to believe that?" she spat.
Jareth's gaze softened slightly, not mockery, but something deeper, weary, almost human.
"Believe what you wish, little girl. But I offer you a choice: stay here, with her, where no time can touch you, or return to your world, where she will fade again into memory."
Sarah turned to you, conflict written across her face. "I can’t lose you again," she said with worry.
You smiled sadly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
"And you won't. Not this time."
Your idea had formed long ago, a wish of your own.
You looked to Jareth, whose expression darkened with a hint of wary curiosity.
"I want us to go with her," you said firmly.
"You said wishes bind by old laws. Then grant me this one. Let us live together, in the mortal world.”
He blinked, clearly startled, then a slow grin spread across his face. "You would cage the Goblin King in the mortal realm?"
You stepped closer, fingers finding his gloved hand. "Maybe it’s time you see what a home feels like."
For a long, silent moment, he searched your eyes, seeing you stare pleadingly at him.
Then, with a low, resigned chuckle,
"As you wish."
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
Six Months Later
The new house was comfortable, with a garden that was slowly becoming less wild under your care. You were tending to the roses, while watching Sarah and her stepfather circled each other with plastic swords.
"En garde!" Sarah laughed, lunging forward.
Jareth parried with theatrical flair, his wild hair now more tamed, his leather replaced with jeans and a simple shirt. He looked almost human, though his eyes still held that otherworldly gleam.
"Your form is improving," he conceded, "though you still telegraph your strikes."
"Maybe you're just getting old," Sarah teased.
Your ex-husband was shocked when you returned home with Sarah and Toby, you told him everything and both of you agreed that Sarah stays with you.
"I yield!" Jareth declared suddenly, dropping his sword. "Your mother's roses need tending, and I find myself drawn to more pleasant company."
Sarah rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "I will be inside. Don't be too disgustingly romantic, you two."
You laughed as she bounded toward the house, and then Jareth was walking toward you, his movements still holding that inhuman grace despite his mortal appearance.
He knelt beside you in the grass, uncaring of the dirt, and gently took the shears from your hands.
"Do you ever regret it?" you asked softly.
"Everything you gave up?"
His fingers found yours, intertwining with a tenderness that still surprised you. "I gave up nothing," he murmured, bringing your hand to his lips.
"I ruled a Kingdom , but I was alone. Here, with you, with Sarah, this is what I have been searching for across centuries."
"Even with the mortgage and the broken dishwasher?"
He laughed, the sound rich and warm.
"Even with those." His other hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek.
"You wished for escape that night, and I took you. But you gave me something far more precious, you taught me what it means to choose love over power."
The Labyrinth still existed, waiting in the spaces between worlds, but Jareth had chosen something more precious: a family, a home, a life built on honest ground.
He leaned in, kissing you soft, and you thought of that desperate wish you had made years ago.
The Goblin King had come and taken you away.
But in the end, you had both found your way home.
After pulling away from him, you smile.
"please remember this afternoon we have to attend our neighbour's funeral, the poor man fell off the stairs while changing a light bulb."
"How unfortunate."
Indeed, how unfortunate that Jareth is the one who pushed him off.
includes heavier topics that don't fit in my main, fluffier masterlist and aren't full-out dark fics.
Frenzy: He’d have to force himself to stop feeding; he wasn’t an animal after all. (Taehyung, vampire au)
Cicada: Something was changing around you, you could feel it. You weren’t sure what was happening, but something had changed. (Namjoon, mental health, breakups)
bts - dark content
includes darker topics like yandere aus, heavier mental health talk, stalking, violence, religious themes, etc.
Fawn: Hadn't your mother already warned you about men like him? ( Yoongi, 18+, age gap(reader is 18), corruption, praise, humiliation, dirty talk, alcoholism, some religious themes/talk, very vague mentions of familial abuse
Sweet Thing: Sweet thing; mourning lamb. Believe him good or evil, or somewhere in between. He doesn’t care, what’s done is done. (Yoongi, cults, religious themes, abuse of power, sex, corruption kink, manipulation, coercion, dead animals)
Scrap: “You’ll always be trash to be thrown away; but not to me.” (Hoseok, pseudo-incest, obsession, manipulation, degradation, light smut, light mentions of neglect and depression)
Worm: Even a worm will turn. (Hoseok, yandere, slight violence, implied kidnapping)
Garden: “I’ll plant thousands just for you.” (Jimin, yandere, stepbrother Jimin, murder, very minor descriptions of violence, fluff)
Grin and Bear it: (Taehyung) part one(Mentioned stalking and violence, fear, reader is yandere, Tae is some kind of otherworldly being or something.part two(Fear, tears, blood, minor descriptions of sex, Yandere otherworldly Tae, degradation(?)
Stalker: He wanted you alone, but now that he's got you where he wants, Jungkook can't help but act. (JK, andere, stalking)
Angel: He caught an angel, kept her locked in his basement. (JK, yandere, angst, murder, kidnapping)
I’m Not Human At All: Something seems rotten in him, gross and morbid, and it’s starting to spread. (Stepbrother Jungkook, yandere, descriptions of violence, angsty, disturbing thoughts)
Lamb: Saw you love you, want you, love you (Jungkook, werewolves, yandere, blood/injury, kidnapping)
Untitled smut (18 +, yandere JK, jealousy, possessiveness, minor talk of violence/fighting (not towards reader), implied fighting, hair pulling, name-calling, degradation, spit, finger sucking, some blood)
Hound: What did a suffering lamb even accomplish? Who did it save, when would it end? (serial killer/yandere JK, kidnapping, religious themes, death)
Requests are open, desperately in need of some more Yandere/dark requests <3
my masterlist for these kinds of fics
Summary: Sweet thing; mourning lamb. Believe him good or evil, or somewhere in between. He doesn’t care, what’s done is done.
warnings: dark yoongi, cults, religious themes, abuse of power, sex, mentions of virginity, corruption kink, mentions of mental health, manipulation, coercion, dead animals, blood, carcass. Can you tell I love a good sacrificial lamb theme
fic playlist for vibes
note: Requested by an anon, I hope you like it <3
You covered your mouth with your hands, your stomach churning and your dinner threatening to come back up.
You didn’t mind the role you played here, enjoyed it even. Until it was time to clean up the mess left behind. Why make the ones who raise the lamb clean its remains? You looked at the table, watching the slow drip of blood fall onto the floor. The room is empty and dark; earlier it had been filled to the brim and bustling with followers. Everyone seemed to like watching the sacrifice, listening to the father rant and rave all night.
You swallowed, filling tears threatening to brim your eyes as you forced your body to approach the animal’s body.
You loved taking care of the animals. It was your job, along with a few of the other young girls and older women. Everyone had a job. Everyone in the father’s flock contributed. It was one of the many rules you had been presented when coming into their group. You had only been a part of the flock for about a year now, maybe a little less. It was hard to keep track without phones: no television, no internet, and no socializing with the outside world. Only the trusted members of father’s council could. There was a man that ran the organization's webpage, he had the only computer in the compound. The rest of the men that Father surrounded himself with also had phones, allowance to leave, and other perks for being more devoted, you supposed?
All you really knew was that you didn’t, and likely never would have those kinds of gifts here. You were new, too young, and didn’t know enough about father’s words. You weren’t sure if you ever would. You liked it here, but it was confusing sometimes. Maybe you just needed to pay more attention.
You hadn’t been looking for the word of father at the time. You had been heading home after another failed job interview. Anxiously waiting for the train home, watching the crowds of city goers weave around each other.
You didn’t attend college, and your marks in school had never been the best. It was getting harder to find jobs to apply to now. No one wanted you. Not educated enough, and seemed to demure and slow to think in your interviews. At least, that’s what one particularly rude man had told you at the end of one. You didn’t even want to work, your family was pushing you. You couldn’t make them understand what was happening inside you. You couldn’t even explain it to yourself, let alone articulate the abstract happening in your head.
Your train was running late, you looked down at the folded flier in your hand. A man had practically forced you to take it from him. You were used to seeing it; crazy people out this time of night trying to recruit people to their schemes.
You unfold it, looking at the paper that spared little information on their group. Not a cult, they insisted with a laugh. An organization for those who felt lost, and needed help and guidance.
“We take care of each other, we’re family.”
There was a code hidden on the flier, if you could solve it you would gain access to their website. You went home that night, and two days later you had solved it. Not long after you found yourself wandering out to meet with them. The rest had unfolded so fast, so smoothly. You pretend, as we often do. You were pretending to be an ignorant cynic. Terrified of waiting, or wanting something that you may never get. Daring to dream for anything more than what was on the platter life presented to you at birth. You hardly noticed the change, and soon the remnants of your old life faded. Father’s words set in, rooted inside your being. You liked him, and everyone here. You had never heard of Father’s God, but you didn’t mind turning to him just to have someone to take care of you.
You closed your eyes and scooped up the lamb, setting it in your wagon. You turned back to the blood smeared over the stone table and began to scrub.
It took a long time. Your arms felt like jelly and your back hurt from hunching over. It was washed and dry for the most part, but the past stains of blood remained. Faint traces left over from years of the same ceremony. You looked around the empty, dark room. Everyone else had left by now; your tasks always took the longest. The windows here were stained so dark even during daylight you couldn’t tell if it was light or dark out. It was late though. Most of the candles stacked around the room had burnt out, a few stays remained flickering.
You stood up, giving a big stretch and turning back to the lamb's body. When you saw the dead little lamb you could feel yourself starting to cry again. Too wrapped up in your woes, you hardly noticed the gentle click of the room’s door closing. Soft footsteps slowly make their way towards you. A comforting hand brushed against your back, murmuring slowly about how your tears should be of joy. Their sacrifice would make your life better, this would lay yet another small stepping stone to the future Father was building for everyone here.
The voice, so smooth and quiet, you recognized. Min Yoongi, a man you had never spoken to before about a month ago. He seemed to be good friends with father and was one of the higher-ranking members of the organization. He had taken notice of you on one of his many walks through the meadows you and the other girls watched over the lamb. He had come, snaking through the thick grass and wildflower, stopping just to look down at you. Asked about how much you liked the animals, made small talk, and came back every day afterward to keep talking.
It was odd at first. You were never sure of what to say or do in his presence. He seemed a bit untouchable during the rare moments you caught sight of him. Standing up there with father, and six other men. Men who felt like gods at his side. But he was persistent, and he liked you.
“We’ve talked about this” he smiled at you, his thumb tracing your cheek to push the tears aside. You nodded, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Did you miss me?” He asks, his smile a bit cheeky as he waits for you to nod. You do. You missed him the past few days and have grown used to his presence. You weren’t sure about the feelings you held for him though. It was confusing, as was everything else in your head. But you liked him, liked the way he would kiss you just out of sight of everyone else. How he would guide you to his room some nights and spend hours basking upon you.
Yoongi moves in to kiss you, to which you meet him and return it. He smiles again, “have you thought about what I said the last time we met?”
You hesitantly nod. “I’m just not sure…I mean, father wouldn’t be happy if we were caught, right?”
Yoongi scoffs, laughing a bit as he looks around. “Baby, he doesn’t care what I do.”
“And what about what I do?” You frown. You hated the way Yoongi could insinuate that he was above everyone else. Maybe he was, maybe father didn’t care what he and the other higher ranks did. Maybe they were favored, you just didn't want to think about it. But there were rules. Rules everyone here was expected to follow. Did father rules apply to him, you wondered for another moment. He would decide who got together for marriage; God would tell him. But, did it matter if it was him? Did it matter to who he chose to be close to?
Would Yoongi marry you?
You looked up at him when he stood, peering through your eyelashes nervously. You liked Yoongi, he made it hard not to like him.
“Just lay down here, come on.” He coaxed. Yoongi wet his lips, his eyes fixed on you. He wanted you. Wanted more than kissing and holding you, he was getting bored of it. He wanted you to lay back for him, let his hands roam your body, peel back your clothing, and trace every soft inch of your skin.
Your will tetters and grows tighter as you lay back for him, finally snapping when he gives you one last reassuring smile. You try to relax, ignore the faint stain of lamb blood under you. “Exciting, right?” He asked and you nodded, your stomach swirled with excitement for him and anxiety for the room surrounding you. You wanted him, you had never felt such an urge for someone before in your life. Guys never looked at you before, and when you joined Father’s word it was far from everyone’s mind here. But Yoongi had been trying, peeling away every reserved and anxious layer on your body. He poked and prodded, his interest was never a secret.
He got close and kissed your cheek rather than your lips again. Then your jaw, just under your ear, then your neck. The way he moved, feverish but restrained, his breath hot and lips tracing your neck. He would stop and peck, and bite. It felt like he was trying to get to your throat, bite it open to listen to your secrets and hushed words spill out. Everything goes blurry when you experience him, you aren’t sure why or how. You wanted him, but here? Your eyes scan the room again. A sacred place like this, laying on the same table the pierced lamb on. Yoongi wanted it to be here, were you his lamb now?
You unbutton your blouse for him, growing meek under his hard stare. His hands are cold as they run up your ribs, stopping just at your breast.
Yoongi's breath hitched in excitement. How long had it been since he’d been with someone? A few months maybe. While you, he knew, had never been with anyone. He wouldn't admit aloud that that was what attracted him to you. The meek, reserved vibe you gave off. He liked women like that, he liked walking the fields and searching for his next.
He loved it. Watching you shrink under him, turn away, try to cover yourself up in embarrassment under his hungry eye. The noises you made, noises you likely hadn’t made before. Your legs around him, pulling him closer. His hips pressed against yours, how eager you are, how you would look back at him.
“Thank me for picking you. Come on say it again, thank me.” His breath hitched hearing your voice. So perfect for him at this moment.
“Thank you” you managed to get out between breathy moans. Your arms around him, tight and desperate to hold on. His face pressed into the crook of your neck. Teeth sinking into your skin, soft violent marks left in his wake.
Was it poetic in some odd way to be taken on an altar of sacrifice? You’re head lulled back, your throat exposed for him to press hot kisses to and nip at. You looked up at the ceiling. The same stained panes of glass circled above you. The faint spears of moonlight leak in. The candles burned out as the seconds passed.
“My sweet lamb.” He hissed, “So perfect for me.” His body dropped closer to yours. His mouth latched to your shoulder sucking marks onto it. “You’ve been waiting for me to come, right?” His fingertips press into your hips, kneading the soft flesh, nails pricking your skin.
Was that all you were? An animal, standing alone in a clearing waiting for its mother to return. Fawns do that. A young doe placed among flowers to wait for her mother, or anyone really to return for it. Placid and waiting, like now. Waiting for him, or someone else? Your mother, when was the last you had seen her? Talked to her, was she waiting still? Did she know about you, what you were up to? Had she left or had someone taken you, you couldn’t tell anymore. Your memories were blurry. How have you found your way here again?
What had you thought when you first met the recruiters? You couldn’t remember. And when you were sentenced to the farm, slaving away for the lamb. Was that better than your old life at home? What had been your old life anyway? And him; what of him? When he walked the fields until finding you. You looked at him, and you knew he wasn’t the one you were waiting on. But everything was cold, and warmth was warmth. Had you been left there, but by who? God? Fathers God, or God himself? What had he done to find you; why had you sat patiently waiting.
“Sweet thing, little lamb” Yoongi’s breathless, eyes clouded as he looked down at you. Your chest rising and falling, your breath still trying to find you again. He gets off of you, but you take a second to lay there to soak up the feeling. Yoongi, how good he had felt, yet how much anxiety weighed your stomach. You could feel him on you, sticky against your inner thighs. Dripping from you, onto the altar. Thick and sticky, you would have to scrub the table off once more tonight.
Yoongi finishes fixing himself up and moves back to you. Standing over you, eyes piercing your being once again. He twirls a piece of your hair gently between his fingers. “Sweet thing” he grinned, more to himself than you. “Finish up here, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You feel him tilt your head towards him. His lips pressed against yours one last time. You watch him go, and the stark silence of the room rings in your ears.
What fear a man like him, and those around him brings upon those like you. A woman like you and the unfortunate circumstances thrust upon you in early childhood. You didn’t want him to look at you anymore, and he could see it. In your eyes, he keeps looking. Eyes so dark, yet bright. You can see them, even through the thick darkness of the room. He was there when you spilled your first blood, and now your second. Standing, looking. No good, no evil, he was simply him; man, being, animal, serpent- whatever he was and would continue to be well after you.
welcome to my blog - my name's quae. this is my main blog. trivia-yandere is my yandere blog. my ao3 is explicit_tae warning: majority - if not all -of my writings will be considered nsfw and suitable for those 18+. they will (sometimes) contain graphic smut scenes, yandere/dark moments, etc.
please do not translate, repost or use any of my writing without permission.
The Feeling of Being Stared At: You and your friends are targets of a masked killer who terrorizes each of you before they make their move on massacring. Your instincts tell you that the call is coming from inside the home, and maybe the killer is closer than you think. W.I.P
Insatiable: You noticed your Junior Year of High School that Kim Taehyung, Senior, didn’t like you. It didn’t get too far, however, just verbal teasing and taunts. But, now that you were a sophomore in University he decided he had enough. Maybe he was a changed man - or maybe because he seen that tight skirt you wore with those lace panties peeking through. one | two
Starring Role: Jungkook regrets introducing Jimin to your content. You're his favorite camgirl (and the only one he watches rigorously) and he would've never thought he would be head-to-head with his best friend. The contest? Win a night with you. completed
Public Enemy (Part 6/7): You’re a young doctor - an intern fresh out of medical school - and begin your career at the best Hospital in South Korea. You would’ve been swimming in student loan debt if it wasn’t for your boyfriend of 1 year, Shin, paying it off in full. You were shocked at the action and questioned where such money came from. You got you answer when your boyfriend himself comes rushing through the hospital doors with a bullet through him. completed
Public Enemy (Part 7 of 7): Your elder sister was not one to disappear. After quitting her job, she fought and worked hard for years in, you knew something was wrong - even when everyone insisted there wasn’t foul play involved. So, you go on your own investigation to find the truth of what just happened to your elder sister. completed
Contagious: An alternate world in which at the age of 25, your true soulmate is revealed. Some choose to defy the soulmate tie - but you refuse; especially when it’s revealed to be your sister's boyfriend. completed
Carnal Desire: The last person you expected to see was an ‘old friend’ from nearly a decade ago, but you’re determined to show the man that you’re no longer the little girl he use to know. One | Two | Three
Public Enemy (Part 5/7): You wonder where Hoseok goes off to when his work phone calls at all times of the day and night. It’s a bother - especially when the two of you are on a date. You suspect he’s cheating on you and decide one night to follow him and witness just where he scurries of to. completed
Bound: Jimin has tried everything in his power for you - one of his closest friends - to get laid. He realizes that your kinks don't match with just any man besides one; another friend of his - Jung Hoseok. You've met Hoseok many times and don't think your masochism can be satiated by someone as bright and sunny as him. completed
Moral Dilemma: Your morality is tested at a monthly family dinner that gets interrupted by two masked men. completed
Love You (Just A Little Too Much): You're brought down memory lane and come face to face with someone you've completely forgotten about. completed
10/10: Neither you or Hosoek can contain the sexual tension that’a been building up for months. completed
Public Enemy (Part 3/7): Your life was going great. You’ve been promoted from police officer to detective - something you’ve worked hard for. Your first case was to solve a murder of a local drug dealer brought to the hospital who you suspect foul play from. completed
Forbidden Fruit - Kim Namjoon is a new professor at a local University that has all the girls swooning over him. He becomes entangled with one student - you being far too persistent for his own good. Professors are strictly forbidden to have any form of relationship with their students - but the forbidden fruit always tastes the best. completed
One Time Thing: Namjoon was the whole package - tall, dark hair with an amazing physique. Let's not forget the personality and the intelligence that was an added bonus. Too bad he was your friend's boyfriend - even if he did appear a little too infatuated with you. completed
Public Enemy (Part 2/7): After the sudden death of your boyfriend, Shin, of 2 years - by the hands of what you assume was a rival of his - you find yourself in deep shit. He assisted in paying your college tuition and other expenses you needed for school. Once the bill runs high and you’re threatened expulsion, you need money fast. Your decision to work as a camgirl wasn’t your first option, however, now it may be your only one. completed
Public Enemy (Part 4/7): You’ve been with your boyfriend, Shin, for 3 years. The relationship wasn’t perfect and the two of you butted heads often which resulted in him buying whatever designer items to get back in your good graces. For the last few months, you begin to notice a slip in his character and question just what he does when he isn’t with you. completed
Unusual Suspects: You were always told that the internet wasn't a safe space and to be careful who you were talking to. Namjoon, your crush of years, was someone you thought was a safe haven - until you realized he wasn't the man you adored but instead a catfish pretending to be him. Now, said catfish is determined to ruin your life and the life of your childhood best friend, Taehyung, for their own sick pleasure. completed
V-Day Special: You ask your ex - who you're still close with - if he's willing to come on your cam-show for a valentine's day special. completed
Nefarious [Prequel]: A look back in your and Jungkook’s relationship, prior to the marriage, kids and detachment. completed
Repent: Adventures of Jeon Jungkook and the new girl who attends the church retreat - and who is also determined to fuck him. one | two | three | four
B.A.S: You knew you weren't shit, but you still gave your boyfriend 10 minutes to respond before you went to be a hoe. Luckily for you, Jungkook wasn't shit either. completed
Sweet Serial Killer: The city is shaken up by the sudden murders going around - all by a man who claims he is doing so in the name of justice. People are divided - those who agree with the mysterious serial killer to do what the justice system has not; and those who disagree and want him captured and sent to prison. (Part 1 to Lethal Lovers) one | two
Public Enemy (Part 1/7): You don’t ask many questions when your boyfriend - a High School sweetheart of 4 years by the name of Shin - splurges his money on you and other luxuries. However, you know well enough that he works for one of the biggest mafia leaders of South Korea. completed
One Way or Another: You recant the horrible story of how you met Jeon Jungkook - a now ex-boyfriend of yours - to your therapist. You opened up about the obsessive and toxic behavior that has you constantly looking over your shoulder for the man you've been running from for years. One | Two
Peepshow: You were Jungkook's favorite person to watch when he was outside your window. This time, he's determined to have a closer look. completed
Lick Back: Realizing that your boyfriend has become a completely different person & being malicious towards you could only mean that he’s being nice to someone else. completed
Not Until I Say So: That time you got caught masturbating in your professor's classroom after hours. completed
When Did You Get Hot?: It’s a shock to see Jeon Jungkook, the once cute doe-eyed boy you once tutored, grow into a hot tattooed slick-mouth man.
WARNING: 18+ content . NO MINORS. All my fics are yandere, I don’t condone this behavior or think any of the members display these characteristics. This is purely fiction and entertainment, if you are uncomfortable with these themes , please do not read. Thank you.
Please tell me if have something dark and crazy fic or something you recommend. Something like Hannibal, or maybe not that sounded wrong. Like Beast of Busan eh 😏 I read all of the your fics, I can’t nothing else like yours
hii :3 i haven’t read anything as of recently since im (silently) writing, but i do have a few fics on my mind to recommend! (though i dont know how dark & crazy you want to go so ill just recommend at random 💀)
predator series, solar eclipse, 10 series, the reaper, run little red, etc by @deepdarkdelights are some (matter of fact just read the whole masterlist)
polarity, graveyard shift, darknets, etc by @darkestcorners
obsesión by @thvlouvre
sweet ruin, a dangerous game, when the chips are down, suga, we’re going down, baby mine, end game, etc by @chaoticpuff17
every breath you take, candelit nightmare, the seance by @junqkook (really just read the whole masterlist lol)
his pet, for the love of the game, all bark no bite, polar night, etc
by @amoc94 plus she also has a yandere masterlist full of great fics!
beneath him, in his mercy, the more you struggle, the tighter i hold by @horchatakoo
Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Obsession, Fear, Non-Consensual Touching, Symptoms of Panic/Anxiety, Stalking, Murder, Lots of Blood, Attempted Sexual Assault (Not By Jungkook), Mild Smut, Dub-Con, Cunnilingus, Decapitation, Throats are Slit, Wolf Attacks
I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.
Preview: “With your skirts drawn up over your thighs, the skin raised with goosebumps from the cool spring air, his hand retreated only to return with what looked like a stamp but where the rubber should have been, there were instead tiny needles all coated with bright red ink. Before you could begin to squirm again he quickly pressed it against the side of your thigh pulling a pained cry from your throat.
When he removed the faux stamp beads of blood rose to the surface of your skin, blending with the red ink that has been left behind. But the image imprinted on your skin was clear as day, a symbol your town had come to associate with fear: a skull pierced by a sword and ensnared by a snake. It was the mark of the reaper.
You had been marked for death.”
A/N: Here I am at almost three in the morning again lol. This is super UNEDITED but I will edit it tomorrow so please bear with me when it comes to any grammatical errors. I HUSTLED to get this done before classes start Monday so hopefully the quality did not suffer. This also ended up being 4-6k longer than intended. Very on brand. Anyways, I hope you enjoy and I can’t wait to see you in my inbox and the comments, love you 💜💜💜
It was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but your stomach was twisted in knots.
You were one of the lucky ones, at least that was what your father had told you when he excitedly grabbed hold of your hands with a winning smile.
“A diamond in the rough,” He had whispered in awe, “How lucky I am to have had such a beautiful daughter born out of this village.”
It is true that none of us have a say as to what family we are born into, and that couldn’t be any more true for you. You were born into a poor family in a dilapidated village in the woods, you had been destined to live a destitute life like everyone else who had come before you. But you were happy. You enjoyed your spring days running barefoot through the Brooke, the lingering heat of summer nights beneath the stars, the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot, and the bite of cold winter wind against your cheeks. You adored the simplicity of the only life you had ever known and you never wanted for more.
But oftentimes, parents desired more for their children, more than they ever had. And that was why your father had jumped at the chance to marry you off to a visiting lord.
Had you not entered the forest that day to forage, maybe you would not have ended up in this situation. But you had so there was no point in dwelling on the alternate possibilities of what could have come to pass rather than what actually had.
Warnings: 18+, (Soft-ish) Yandere, Vampire Yoongi, Stalking, Obsession, Blood (Lots of it), Gore, Fear, Panic/Anxiety, Depictions of dead bodies, Devious Intentions, Mourning, Self Harm, Murder, Isolation, Existentialism, Talks of Religion, Talks of Life and Death, Serious Illness
I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.
Preview: Yoongi wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot what had happened in that alleyway, the monster usually remembered it all for him and locked it away in the darkest corners of his mind. But he did know there would be one thing he would remember after this, and that was that he was willing to kill for you. It didn’t matter who it was, if they tried to harm you or get in his way he would tear them down without a thought or a shadow of remorse.
A/N: Hehe, surprise everyone! That’s right, the next series takes place in the Predator Universe! I got so inspired (specifically by Yoongi) to turn this into a series. I already have ideas for Jimin and Tae as well. Now, I hope you enjoy and I can’t wait to see you in the comments and my inbox 💜💜💜
A life without meaning is as good as being dead.
In the darkness of his room, Yoongi laid with his arm thrown over his eyes and his other hand resting limply on his chest.
Beneath the frigid skin of his palm, there was nothing. In his chest, he held a black heart that no longer beat a rhythm that had once been familiar to him.
He felt like nothing.
Life had not been kind to Min Yoongi when it still held him in its clutches. As a young man in the 1600’s of Salem, he was damned.
He had done everything right, he had been the perfect church boy, god-fearing and worshipping all the same. He had attended services, prayed every day, and attempted to avoid the calls of sin. He had done everything perfectly, and still, it had not been enough.
Especially when he unknowingly consorted with the Devil.
jungkook is the epitome of a boyfriend. he’s tender, protective and utterly devoted. women tend to fall for men that are obsessed, and are willing to kill for them. so when the truth begins to unravel, you’re forced to confront a terrifying question, what if the man who’d kill for you… already has?
genre : dark romance, obsession, angst, dom!jungkook x sub!oc
warnings : koo is so whipped for oc it’s unhealthy, murderer!jungkook, stalking & obsessive behaviour ( but he is not controlling of what she does ), unprotected sex, creampie, heavy dirty talk, breeding kink, oc is easily manipulated, description of slight gore scenes, he cums inside her.
ps : can you tell I watch a lot of cop tv shows?… my all time fav show is Brooklyn-99 hehe.
the city outside was heavier than usual, as droplets of water fall onto the window beside you, inside the little bookstore café, it was warm. almost too warm.
the scent of old pages and cinnamon filled the air, and your cup of lavender tea rested gently beneath your fingers.
“god, it’s pouring,” mina said, brushing rain from her coat as she slid into the seat across from you. “girl, i swear the sky’s been crying like all week.”
you chuckle lightly, swirling your tea. “the city’s probably going through a breakup or something.”
mina scoffed. “or maybe it’s just cursed.” she leaned in. “so… are you seeing him tonight?”
you didn’t answer right away. your gaze flickered toward the window, “probably. he said he might pick me up, but im pretty sure he’s with his friends right now.”
“might? girl, that man would literally burn the world to walk you across the street.”
you just laugh quietly. “hey! he’s just… attentive.”
“attentive?” mina raised an eyebrow. “you told me he showed up outside your work at midnight. you weren’t even on shift.”
you shrugged, feeling a sudden warmth rise to your cheeks. “he said i wasn’t answering the phone and he didn’t know that i was already home, he just thought i was still working. he’s sweet, mina. intense? yeah, sure. but sweet.”
“babe…sweet is flowers. a little clingy. not ‘i tracked your phone just to see your smile’ sweet.”
you opened your mouth to protest, but something shifted behind the glass.
mina stopped talking when she noticed a tall figure enter the lively café.
he dressed in black from collar to cuff, damp hair curling softly where it brushed his cheekbones. the darkness of his clothes stood out in the brown and beige themed café.
he didn’t even glance at mina.
“you’re late,” you teased gently as he reached your table.
“i’m never late to you,” jungkook said, voice low and warm, wrapping around you like silk.
he leaned down, brushing his lips over your temple. “you looked so pretty sitting here baby, i almost didn’t want to interrupt.”
you smiled, cheeks turning a light shade of pink. a shade that nobody would notice on you, but he did. he always did.
“it’s okay. we were just talking—”
he finally looked at mina. the smile in his eyes vanished.
mina shifted under his stare. “hey.”
jungkook nodded once. nothing more.
“well, i should get going then. it’s pouring and i wouldn’t want jake to worry.” mina muttered, grabbing her umbrella. “call me later, okay?”
you blinked, nodding. “oh! no yeah— get home safe, babe. text me once you’re home!”
jungkook watched her go until the door swung closed behind her. then, like a switch flipped, he turned back to you with a softness that made your chest ache.
“everything okay?” you asked.
he took your hand across the table, fingers cold from the rain. “mm. missed you… but now that i’m here, yeah. everything’s perfect.”
“i missed you too.”
your fingers delicately brush his jaw as your lips perfectly mould into his for a gentle kiss.
“well, today morning was kind of slow,” you said, gently twirling the spoon between your fingers.
“we had this customer come in and ask if we sold perfume, at a bookstore. like hello? i literally stopped, looked down at the pile of books i was restocking and then back up at him. and he still didn’t get the hint.”
jungkook gave a soft laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. the comedic detail in the story becoming unfunny the moment you made it known that the customer was a male.
“did you talk to him for long?”
you blinked. “the customer?”
“yeah.” his thumb rubbed small circles into the back of your hand, perfectly casual if not for the slight pressure behind it.
“not really,” you said with a little frown. “i just pointed him to the perfume shop down the street after. why?”
“nothing, baby.” he smiled, that dimpled grin that always made your stomach flip. “i just like hearing about your day.”
“well, i also alphabetized the horror section again,” you continued, trying to lighten the mood.
“someone keeps putting stephen king under ‘z.’ i think it’s an act of rebellion at this point. either that or they’re purely rage-baiting me, and it’s working.”
jungkook tilted his head. “yeah? maybe they’re just trying to get your attention.”
“good luck to them, then,” you said, grinning. “because my attention span ends at the letter ‘h.’”
his smile lingered, but his grip on your hand didn’t loosen.
“did anyone else try to get your attention today?”
you gave him a puzzled look. “huh? you mean like… flirt with me?”
“maybe.”
you snorted, slightly. “baby, me and mina both wear matching pyjama shirts with jeans to work everyday…i think i’m safe.”
“you’re not,” he said so softly it was almost lost under the hum of the café, caressing your soft skin.
“what?”
“you’re never safe,” he repeated, eyes darkening slightly as he leaned in. “not out there. not without me.”
the words should have chilled you. but the way he said them —with such devotion, such certainty. it sent a strange heat curling down your spine.
“i’m fine, though,” you said gently.
“i made it here on my own, didn’t i?”
“you didn’t see the man who followed you three blocks.”
you froze.
“…what?”
jungkook’s smile returned. “don’t worry, hm? he stopped when i got close. i don’t think he’ll be a problem anymore.”
you stared at him. “are you serious?”
you wondered if he was just joking. but then again, the look in his eyes and the way he sat next to you as if he’d pounce on someone if they were in your vicinity was hard to believe he was.
“do you think i would let anyone hurt you?”
his voice was low. intimate. possessive.
something about the way he said it made your breath catch, somewhere between fear and fascination.
“jungkook…. how do you even know he was following me?”
he lifted your hand and pressed his lips to your knuckles.
“i just happened to be there, baby. that’s all. i promise.”
jungkook had always had eyes on his girl. he refused to let you out of his sight even when you weren’t physically with him.
camera. bugs. wires. location trackers. everything and anything, so he knew that you were safe. it started off with him getting anxious about your whereabouts, and then four years later, it ended up with him following your every move.
he wasn’t being controlling, he was perfectly fine with you having your alone time with your friends. girl, friends. but he never knew what could happen on the way home, or even when you leave to go to the toilet for a few minutes.
whenever a man dared to look at her in the wrong way, he'd take action. he didn’t care, he just wanted her all to himself. she was for him to see, for him to touch.
he moved to the window and opened it an inch,
he lit a cigarette and took a long breath, eyes flicking to the building across the street.
fourth floor. left window. lights were currently off.
good.
‘that fucker had finally learned.’ he thought.
jungkook’s jaw clenched as he exhaled, thinking about the situation.
just two nights ago, he’d seen the man watching her — watching her from that window like he had the fucking right.
like he had the fucking right to look at what was his, and only god knew what that guy was envisioning when he was looking at you. that thought alone made jungkook go feral.
so, jungkook had knocked on his door half an hour later, he was calm, friendly even.
when the door creaked open, he hadn’t said a word.
just smiled.
and then he’d stepped inside.
he’d returned to your apartment an hour later, hands clean, smile playing on his face. you were asleep by then, soft music playing from your phone. you’d left a blanket out for him.
you always did, even when you didn’t know where he went. and you never bothered to spam text and call him whenever he didn’t tell you where he was at late at night.
that was love. trust, that you had in him.
and he would do anything to protect it.
the rain had returned a week later, slightly killing the mood, again. but inside the apartment, it was all warmth and comfort.
you were curled into jungkook’s lap, your head rested against his chest, ear pressed right over his heartbeat.
the beat rhythm was steady, comforting, and so very his.
you were wrapped in the thinnest piece of clothing, a pink silk night wear that barely covered your ass, and the v-neck cutting was plunged deep.
your bare legs tangled with his as you reached blindly for a piece of popcorn from the bowl resting near his thigh.
“baby, you keep eating all the caramel ones,” jungkook murmured against your hair, pouting slightly.
you smiled, giggling slightly without looking up. “you’re just too slow.”
“i’m just letting you win.”
“no, you’re not.”
“no,” he agreed, amused. “i’m not.”
you looked up at him, eyes sparkling from the tv’s glow, and tilted your face toward his. “you love me anyway, though.”
his hand slid up your thigh in a lazy, lingering caress. “i do. more than anything. you know that.”
you shifted, climbing into his lap more fully now, straddling him. you pressed your forehead against his, your smile softening. “sometimes i think you love me too much.”
his fingers dug gently into her hips. “that’s not a thing.”
you kissed him then, slowly.
he responded quickly, the feeling of your lips on his had his chest pounding, his arms winded around your waist, pulling you tighter against him.
your hands found his jaw, then slid into his hair, curling into the soft strands at the nape of his neck.
his lips parted for yours, deepening the kiss, tongue meeting hers with a hunger that always lingered just below the surface of him.
he tasted like… need. he needed you. more than anything.
he let his fingers flex on her thighs, holding you still even as you shifted closer, needing more, needing all of him.
your breath hitched when he tilted you back slightly, your mouth trailing from your lips to your jaw, then down your neck, grazing just above your collarbone.
“tell me what you want, angel.” he whispered.
you opened your mouth to speak against his lips softly when—
ding. ding. ding
you stilled.
the phone on the coffee table lit up again.
ding.
jungkook sighed, pulling back slightly, visibly irritated by the interruption. you blinked yourself out of the trance and reached for your phone.
unknown number:
you looked so pretty tonight.
mm and that hat hoodie doesn’t hide much.
i saw you laughing…. he doesn’t deserve you.
why don’t you smile like that when you’re alone?
your stomach dropped.
you froze, reading each line again and again.
“baby? what is it?”
you slowly handed him the phone, fingers shaking. “i—i don’t know who that is. i’ve never—jungkook, is someone watching me?”
his eyes scanned the messages. stillness overtook him. his hand tightened around the phone.
“how long has this been happening?” he asked, too calm.
“this is the first time. i swear. i don’t—how would they know i was wearing your hoodie? we didn’t even go out today, i just—” your voice cracked.
you looked around, suddenly paranoid. the windows. the blinds. “is someone outside? is someone watching right now?”
jungkook gently lifted you off his lap, stood, and set the phone down.
“jungkook—wait, where are you going?”
he didn’t answer.
he crossed the room in three long strides, closed the blinds, and checked the front door’s lock—twice.
then he moved to the bedroom, returned with something you couldn’t see in his hand, and walked quietly to the kitchen window.
you stood there, frozen, arms hugging yourself tightly.
when he finally came back, he didn’t speak right away. he walked straight to you and wrapped you in his arms.
“c’mere.”
his heart was racing. really racing now.
you pressed your face deep into his chest. “who would—why would someone—?”
“shh,” he whispered into your hair. “dont cry, angel. i’ve got you. no one’s going to hurt you.”
“but they saw me,” you whispered. “they said you don’t deserve me. they’ve been watching.”
“they’re wrong.” his voice was sharp now.
“i’m the only one who gets to see you like this. touch you like this. they know it. that’s why they’re hiding.”
“what if they come here?”
“they won’t.” a pause. then he murmured so quietly, you almost didn’t hear it: “they wouldn’t dare.”
you looked up at him, eyes wet. “how can you be so sure?”
jungkook held your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. he kissed your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. gentle. reassuring.
“you just sit pretty angel. you don’t need to worry, they’ll disappear. i’ll make sure of it,” he said, smiling softly.
you blinked.
then he kissed you again, deeper this time, and you didn’t ask what he meant.
you didn’t want to.
you just held onto him tighter.
that night you weren’t able to sleep. you felt like the world was waiting, waiting to attack you.
you felt like a target all of a sudden, and you hated it. hated the fact that someone was watching you, and probably is right now.
it was almost 8 in the morning now, you’re sat and curled slightly at the edge of the bed, staring out the window as if looking for an answer.
“baby? i didn’t know you were awake.” you hear a groggy voice behind you, his fingertips slightly brushing your upper thigh.
“i couldn’t sleep,” you said softly.
jungkook turned fully immediately. “why didn’t you wake me?”
“you needed rest too.”
he crossed the space and knelt in front of you. his hands found yours, gently tugging the sleeves down.
“angel,” he murmured, eyes searching your face.
“you don’t need to be brave right now.”
you looked down. “i keep thinking someone’s out there. watching. i keep checking the windows and listening for things. i—i know it sounds crazy.”
“it doesn’t.”
“you believe me?”
“i always believe you.”
he kissed your knuckles, holding them to his lips for a long moment.
you closed your eyes, breathing slightly.
but you failed to nice a shift in his posture his shoulders were tighter, his eyes were sharper, more alert.
“i have to go out for a few hours,” he said, too casually.
your eyes shot open. “what? no.”
“i just need to take care of a few things, baby. i’ll be back before you even notice i’m gone.”
your fingers curled around his tighter. “no. please, don’t. not now.”
he hesitated.
you reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt, holding on like he might disappear if you let go.
“jungkook, please don’t leave me alone. i can’t—what if they come back? what if they’re watching again?”
he cupped your cheek, slightly shaky. he’s never seen you like this before. so scared, so vulnerable.
oh he fucking hated it. his pupils moved rapidly as his eyes burned into yours, speaking back.
“they won’t get to you. i promise.”
“that’s not enough,” you whispered. “you’re the only reason i feel safe. please, koo.”
his jaw tightened slightly as he exhaled. “okay, angel. i’ll stay.”
relief bloomed in your chest, and you practically melted into his arms. he caught you easily, pulling you into his lap as you pressed your face into his neck. his hands roamed your back in slow, calming circles.
“you don’t have to be scared anymore, hm?” he murmured. “i’m here.”
you nodded against him, body sinking deeper into the comfort only he could offer.
the hours passed in a haze. you tried to eat, tried to watch something with him, but your mind wandered constantly. the blinds stayed shut.
the door remained a constant target your eyes darted to every few minutes. every little sound outside made you jump.
eventually, jungkook coaxed you into the bedroom.
“you need rest,” he said softly, brushing your hair from your face as you lay beneath the sheets.
“just a little. i’ll be right here, okay?”
“you promise?”
“i promise,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “sleep, angel.”
you fell asleep with your hand wrapped around his wrist.
he waited until he was sure you were asleep. then, slowly, carefully, he slid his hand free.
in the dark, he moved like a ghost.
first. the front door. he installed a deadbolt he’d brought from his apartment. the one where only yours or his fingerprint could open. no one would open it from the outside.
then, the windows. he reinforced the latches, taped the blinds shut with black tape, he made sure not a single ray of light would pass through, at least not after dawn.
he moved like this for nearly an hour, careful not to make a sound.
you hadn’t moved, you were soundly asleep.
you looked so small in his bed. so trusting.
he crouched beside you, watching you sleep the way he always did, like you were his favorite sin.
his most prized possession.
he pressed one last kiss to your temple.
then slipped out the door without a sound.
he had to do something, his blood was boiling, his eyes turned a blood-like red the moment he stepped out from the apartment.
he made his way to his warehouse, the place all of his deeds take place in.
it smelt awful, the smell of dried up blood and decay flooded throughout the building.
there was a table present with multiple screens. grainy footage various areas in the city. some showed sidewalks, others showed you.
the same ones jungkook had already seen. the ones that had made his jaw lock and his vision go red.
one of his partners, jimin leaned against the table, arms crossed.
his other partner, taehyung was seated nearby, tapping a pocket knife against his thigh in a slow, rhythmic pattern.
they looked up the moment jungkook entered.
jimin handed him a tablet. “alright kook, thats your guy. name’s ryu. mid-thirties. some typa tech geek. obsessive online presence. he started tracking her a few months ago through her socials.”
“he worked at a security firm,” taehyung added, “had access to cctv networks near your neighbourhood and wired her apartment building, probably planted something physical too.”
jungkook stared at the image on the screen, eyes dark.
“where is he now?” jungkook asked, voice dead calm.
“somewhere south,” jimin said. “we tracked him to an abandoned unit near the old lake.“
jungkook handed back the tablet and rolled up his sleeves. his hands were steady.
taehyung watched him with a knowing grin. “so. you want him alive, or...?”
“alive for now.”
“copy that.”
twenty minutes later.
the door crashed open loudly.
ryu couldn’t scream before he was pulled from his chair, the desk and monitors falling. jungkook didn’t speak, just dragged him by the collar into the concrete room, with jimin and taehyung on either side like wolves.
they tied him to a chair. fastened the rope tight.
blood from a split lip already trickled down ryu’s chin. his breath stuttered when jungkook knelt in front of him.
“the girl you’re stalking. do you know who she is to me?”
ryu didn’t answer.
jungkook backhanded him hard enough to send spit flying.
“answer the fucking question.”
“i—i didn’t touch her, i swear—”
“that’s not what i asked.”
“i just watched. i was just watching. i didn’t mean anything by it, i was just—just curious—“
jungkook smiled.
“let me tell you what i see,” he whispered, leaning closer. “you watched her like she was prey. you messaged her, tried to scare her. you thought she was alone. you thought she was yours to study. like she wasn’t mine.”
“please—”
“but she’s not alone,” jungkook continued, tone so gentle it sent chills down jimin’s spine. “she has me. and i will tear the world apart before i let someone like you breathe in her direction again.”
ryu began to cry.
but it didn’t matter.
not when the love of his life was sat at home terrified, and unable to sleep.
jungkook stood. “break his fucking fingers.”
the scream echoed loud and long across the empty corridors of the building.
two hours later.
ryu was no longer crying. he wasn’t speaking at all. just slumped in the chair, breathing shallowly, broken in a dozen places.
jungkook stood in the center of the room, hands bloodstained, eyes unreadable.
“he’s not going to walk out of here, is he?” jimin asked quietly.
jungkook shook his head once. “no.”
“want us to finish it?”
“no,” jungkook said. he walked to the far wall, picked up a small flash drive from the desk, and pocketed it. “make it look like an overdose or some shit. just put him back where you found him, and scatter pills around his desk.”
taehyung cracked his neck. “i’ll handle it.”
jungkook turned to the door but paused. “i don’t want this traced. not a whisper. not a rumor. if anyone else so much as thinks about her—”
“they won’t,” jimin said firmly. “we’ll make sure of it.”
“she can’t know,” he said finally.
“she won’t,” jimin promised.
jungkook left without another word.
back at home, the rain was still falling outside
the first thing you noticed when you woke up was the cold.
not just the sheets, but the air. the emptiness.
you sat bolt upright in bed, your heart was racing.
the other side of the bed was empty. you scanned the room, eyes wide, breath catching in your throat.
“jungkook?”
nothing.
you threw the blankets back and stumbled out of bed, toes hitting the cold floor. your fingers trembled as you pulled open the bedroom door and stepped into the living room.
it was silent.
your eyes immediately scanned the revamped apartment.
the curtains were taped shut.
a new lock shining on the door.
your stomach flipped.
“j-jungkook,” you called again, louder this time. your voice cracked.
still no answer.
you checked the kitchen. the bathroom. the hallway.
nothing.
panicking now. you picked up your phone, hands shaking, and dialed his number.
voicemail.
again. straight to voicemail.
your knees hit the couch and you clutched the pillow. your thoughts spiraled fast and brutal.
what if he left? what if he lied? what if he’s not who you think he is?
tears pricked your eyes. your body was tight with anxiety, breath shallow, heart galloping.
he’d promised.
‘you’re not alone.’
‘i’ll be right here.’
‘sleep, angel.’
you curled into yourself, breath hitching, waiting, hoping—
until— the lock turned.
your head shot up.
the door opened with a slow, soft creak. and there he was.
jungkook stepped inside, hoodie damp slightly. his hair a mess.
“baby?” he blinked, clearly surprised. “you’re up.”
you were already off the couch and running into his arms.
“what the— where the fuck were you?!” you cried, voice shaking as you collided with him.
“you said you wouldn’t leave—i woke up and you were just—gone!”
jungkook staggered slightly at the force of you, but his arms wrapped around you immediately, protectively, pulling you tight against his chest.
“hey, hey, angel, shhh—” he murmured, one hand stroking your hair, the other clutching your back. “i’m here. i’m right here. i’m sorry.”
you gripped his hoodie like it was all that tethered you to the ground.
“i thought—i thought something happened. or—or that you—” you couldn’t even say it. your voice cracked against him.
jungkook held you tighter, rocking you slightly. “i just stepped out to grab breakfast. you were sleeping so peacefully, i didn’t want to wake you. i didn’t think you’d panic like that—i’m sorry, baby.”
you buried your face in his chest. your tears slowed. your breathing evened. but your mind didn’t.
you pulled back slightly and looked up at him, eyes still glassy but sharp now. searching.
“you taped the blinds.”
his hand stilled on your back.
“i noticed them gapping last night,” he said calmly, “didn’t want you waking up anxious again. figured this would help.”
“and the lock?”
“just extra precaution. just something to help you sleep better.” he smiled softly. “i want you to feel safe, that’s all.”
your eyebrows furrowed. “but… you didn’t mention it before.”
“i didn’t want to worry you,” he said gently, brushing a tear from your cheek. “i had the tools with me. it took like five minutes.”
it all made sense. his voice was soft. steady. he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.
so why did your skin still have goosebumps?
you didn’t pull away from him. you clung tighter.
because despite the doubt, you needed him.
needed him so badly it made your bones ache.
“i was really scared,” you whispered.
“i know, baby,”he replied, lips brushing your temple.
“and i’ll never let you feel that way again. ever.”
you nodded slowly. letting yourself believe him.
since then nothing had quite clicked back into place. day by day passed. and by each day, the atmosphere turned more intense. you had already developed a suspicion, but the acts done by the day only made them grow more.
one day, you wake in the middle of the night.
the apartment is dark and silent, but as you walk to the kitchen, you notice the guest room door, usually closed, is cracked open.
you push it gently. curiosity getting the best of you.
inside was a computer setup you’ve never seen before. monitors. files. surveillance footage.
and photos of… you.
hundreds. candid. some from years ago. some from last week. some from… before you even met him.
“baby?” you suddenly hear jungkook’s voice calls from behind you. sleepy. innocent.
you turn, heart jackhammering in your chest.
“i thought i heard something,” you lie.
he tilts his head. then smiles softly. “come back to bed.”
you do.
but you don’t sleep.
the day went on fine, you think.
the sun was finally setting, but you hadn’t noticed.
you’d been sitting in the living room for hours, curled into a blanket with your legs tucked to your chest, a cup of untouched tea in your hands.
your eyes kept drifting toward the guest room door. closed again. locked.
you knew what you saw.
you weren’t crazy. right?
those photos. your face. over and over again.
your fingers tightened around the mug.
the door creaked open behind you.
“hey, angel,” jungkook’s voice was soft, “you’ve been quiet all day.”
you swallowed.
he walked into the room and sat beside you on the couch.
“you okay?” he asked, brushing hair behind your ear. “still shaken from the other night?”
you turned to face him slowly.
you set the mug down on the coffee table with trembling hands. “i just— want to ask you something.”
jungkook’s eyes didn’t blink. “okay.”
“i’m not… accusing you. i’m not upset. i just…”
your voice dropped. “i need you to tell me the truth. please.”
he stared at you for a little too long. then smiled gently. “the truth about what, baby?”
you hesitated. your throat felt tight. “about… everything. the locks. the cameras. the guest room. my phone not working. jungkook—why are you watching me?”
his smile faded, just slightly.
your heart beat faster.
“if something’s wrong… if there’s something you’re protecting me from… i deserve to know. i’m not mad. i just—” you inhaled shakily. “i love you. and i’m scared. i want you to talk to me.”
he didn’t answer right away.
instead, he reached for your hand, lifting it slowly and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
“you’re scared?” he murmured, “of me?”
your breath caught. “i’m scared because i don’t understand. and i want to.”
he turned your hand in his, “you said you love me,” he said.
you nodded slowly. “i do.”
“then trust me.”
you tried to keep your voice steady. “i’m trying. that’s why i’m asking.”
jungkook finally looked up. his eyes were deep and unreadable. “you don’t need to worry about what’s in the guest room. or the cameras. or anything else.”
“why not?”
“because i’ve taken care of it.”
you froze. “taken care of what?”
“the man who was texting you. the one who thought he could follow you home. he won’t be a problem anymore.”
your lips parted. “jungkook…”
“i told you,” he said, quiet and firm, “i would never let anyone hurt you.”
you were trembling now. but not pulling away.
“and the cameras?” you asked. “the locks? the phone?”
his thumb stroked your palm. “i need to protect you.”
“but you didn’t tell me.”
“because you’d be scared. like you are now.”
there was no apology in his voice. just calm certainty.
“you don’t need to know everything, y/n,” he said gently. “you just need to be safe. and with me? you always will be.”
silence.
you stared at him, heart breaking open in your chest.
because somewhere deep down… you believed him.
and that terrified you more than anything else.
you just made your way into the bedroom, to think.
you needed to clear your head, needed space. so you sat curled on the bedroom floor, your back against the bedframe, knees hugged tight to your chest.
your thoughts looped endlessly, he did it for you. he lied to protect you. he’d kill for you. he already has.
you didn’t know how long you sat there. maybe an hour. maybe three.
the house was silent. but you felt him on the other side of the door.
waiting.
when it finally opened, you didn’t flinch.
jungkook stood there, barefoot and shirtless.
“y/n…baby…” his voice cracked.
you looked up at him, eyes rimmed red but dry.
“i can’t do this anymore,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “the silence. the waiting. i’ll tell you everything— i need to tell you everything.”
you didn’t speak.
so he sank to his knees in front of you.
his hands found yours, gently, like you might vanish if he moved too fast.
“i love you.” his voice trembled.
“i know that sounds twisted coming from me right now, but i swear— i have never loved anyone like i love you.”
you kept staring. listening.
“when we met, i thought i was just lucky. that somehow, i’d stumbled into something pure. but the more i got to know you, the more i realized—i couldn’t lose you. i couldn’t let the world touch you. not in the way it touched me.”
“i watched you. i memorized you. and yeah— maybe that was wrong. i know it was wrong. but it didn’t feel that way. it felt like devotion.”
you blinked slowly.
“i never meant to scare you,” he whispered. “but i’d burn the world to the ground if it meant you’d never have to be afraid again.”
silence bloomed between the both of you.
he looked at you like he was preparing to be shattered. like he knew you were going to leave him.
but instead, you leaned forward, and pressed your mouth to his.
it wasn’t rushed. or messy. it was soft, understanding.
when you finally pulled away, your voice was barely a whisper. “i understand.”
his eyes widened.
“i don’t agree with everything,” you continued, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “and i need time to figure out what this means for us. but right now... all i feel is how much i love you.”
jungkook let out a breath like he’d been
drowning.
“you’re mine,” he whispered.
“i’ve always been yours.”
that broke something in him.
and then he kissed you like he’d been starved for centuries.
your bodies tangled fast, his hands roaming your waist, lifting you into his lap as he pressed your back against the edge of the bed.
your breath hitched, soft moans escaping between kisses, as your fingers tugged on his soft hair.
“you’re so perfect,” he whispered against your throat. “so fucking perfect.”
“then show me,” you whispered back.
“i’ll— i’ll give you the world baby.” he stuttered.
but you knew he meant it, literally.
hjs hands left your waist, moving to unbutton your shirt slowly. his knuckles brushed against your skin with each movement, leaving your skin feeling like fire.
as he reached the last button, he spread the shirt open, revealing your bare chest. he leaned down, pressing open mouthed kisses to your collarbone, tracing the bone with his tongue.
his lips traveled lower, dragging across your
sternum, taking his time like he wanted to memorize every curve. when his mouth found your nipple, you gasped sharply, your back arching off the bed.
"so sensitive," he murmured against your skin, swirling his tongue before taking you into his mouth.
your hips jerked involuntarily, fingers tightening in his hair.
he smiled around your nipple, the vibration sending another shockwave through you.
one hand moved to palm your other breast, squeezing and playing with the sensitive flesh while his mouth continued its delicious torture.
his other hand trailed down your stomach, popping open the button of your shorts with ease.
he kissed lower, hot and wet against your quivering stomach, tugging your shorts and panties down in one fluid motion.
the cool air hit your cunt, but it was instantly replaced by his warm mouth, just his tongue dragging through your folds like he was starved.
you cried out, hips bucking up into his face.
your hands gripped the sheets, knees falling open wider as he ate at your pussy skillfully.
his fingers dug into your thighs, keeping you open for him as he sucked your clit into his mouth, flicking it rapidly with his tongue.
"fuck, baby," he mumbled against your clit, the vibrations sending electric shocks straight to your core.
"you taste so fucking sweet—mm. i could eat you all day long." his tongue delved deeper inside you, fucking you slowly with it.
“this— pussy’s all— f’ me, right?”
your whimpers grew louder, more desperate as he tongue fucked you leisurely, one hand reaching up to cover your breast and squeeze possessively.
he'd occasionally pull back, circling your clit with his tongue before sucking it hard into his mouth and drawing it between his lips.
"look at you," he groaned, releasing your clit with a soft pop. "so wet and messy for me. your pussy is leaking all over my face."
he pressed a kiss to your swollen lips, pushing his tongue inside to fuck you again. "god, i love it."
"please—i can't—" your voice broke, head thrashing against the mattress.
"can't what, baby?" he grinned up at you, breath hot between your thighs.
"can't take it? because i think you can." he hooked your legs over his shoulders, pushing his face deeper between your folds. "my girl."
he continued sucking, licking, and fingering you mercilessly. his free hand reached up to pinch and pull at your nipple, the dual sensations overwhelming you.
your legs trembled violently around his head as he curled his fingers inside you, hitting that spot that made you see stars.
"that's it... right there..." he murmured against your pussy, fingers curling deeper and faster, tongue lashing your clit in relentless circles.
his other hand moved to your throat, applying gentle pressure as he watched you fall apart beneath him. "cum for me, baby."
your cry was loud and broken as you came, your pussy tightening around his fingers, your hips bucking wildly against his face.
he didn't stop, didn't slow down. he kept sucking and finger fucking you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you were trembling and soaked.
only then did he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. he looked up at you with a smug grin, your juices glistening on his face.
"look at you," he said softly, pushing his fingers inside you again. "so sensitive f’ me. all— for me.”
you whimpered at his touch, your body hypersensitive from the intense orgasm.
he chuckled darkly, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you. "shh," he soothed, leaning up to kiss you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
he broke the kiss suddenly, standing up to quickly strip off his own clothes.
you watched through heavy eyes, his thick, throbbing cock standing between his legs. he crawled back onto the bed between your thighs.
"you want this cock baby?" he murmured, guiding his tip to your entrance, rubbing it teasingly against your swollen, wet folds. "you want me to bury myself inside you?"
your only response was a desperate nod, your hands reaching for him.
"good girl." he pushed in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size.
"fuck, you feel— ahh— amazing," he groaned once he was fully inside you. he didn't move immediately, just stayed still, letting you feel every inch of him stretching you perfectly. your pussy pulsed around him, still sensitive from the orgasm.
"look at me," he commanded, hands gripping your hips possessively. when your eyes met his, he started to move, slow, deep thrusts that hit every perfect spot inside you. "you're so tight. so fucking tight around me."
he leaned down, mouths barely touching. "i'm never letting you go."
"never," you agreed breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper.
his pace picked up, hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency.
the sound of skin hitting skin filled the room, mingling with your desperate moans. his forehead pressed against yours, both of you gasping for air as he fucked into you relentlessly.
"mine. mine. mine,"
"y-yes—" your voice cracked, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. your walls clenched around him, threatening to push you over the edge again. "i'm yours. only yours."
he captured your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as he changed the angle, hitting that spot deep inside that made you see stars.
“mm— please! right— there!”
"right here?" he panted against your mouth, knowing exactly what that angle did to you.
"you like it when i hit it here?."
he adjusted again, pulling your legs over his shoulders and tilting your hips upward. he sank even deeper, the new angle making you gasp and claw at his back. "this is where you fucking—mm— belong," he grunted, fucking you steadily now.
“under me. on me. in me. connected. forever." each word punctuated by a deep thrust that made your eyes roll back.
“koo! i’m— i’m gonna cum!”
“milk my cock baby, please. show me you’re mine. need you to show me. please.” he begged, voice cracking suddenly.
and when you both finally finish together, you feel the world stop for a second. you feel his warm cum fill you up, as his cock twitches inside of of you.
he collapses onto you before he pulls you close, tight. afraid that you’ll slip away in the middle of the night.
his cock stays buried inside of of you the whole night, refusing to let his product leak out of you.
he was utterly devoted to you, and maybe after tonight… you were utterly devoted to him too.
the next morning felt different, the storm had softened overnight, and the sky seemed a lighter shade of grey.
you stirred awake first.
you blinked up at the ceiling, breath still slow, body warm under the weight of the duvet, and him.
jungkook’s arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand resting protectively against your stomach. his legs were tangled with yours, face pressed to the crook of your neck. his breath was warm and even. still asleep.
you didn’t move.
you didn’t want to.
instead, you turned just enough to look at him.
he looked... different in the morning.
softer. his lips parted just slightly. skin still flushed from last night.
and god, he was beautiful.
your fingers moved before you could stop them, reaching to trace the edge of his jaw.
you felt the faint scrape of stubble. the delicate shape of his cheekbone. the tattooed vines that wrapped around his arm.
fuck.
memories of last night flash in front of you.
you bit your lip.
your heart ached, but not from pain. from possession.
“mine.”
you kissed his forehead gently, nose brushing his temple.
“you’re not going anywhere,” you whispered. “i won’t let you.”
you see a soft smile curve on his lips suddenly.
his voice, still rough from sleep, “ wasn’t plan on going anywhere, baby.”
you jumped a little. “you’re awake?”
“wasn’t,” he said, blinking open one eye. “but your voice... kinda made it hard to stay asleep.”
you flushed. “i didn’t mean to wake you.”
he stretched, groaning softly, before dragging you closer.
“best way to wake up,” he murmured. “with you right here. watching me like i’m your favorite thing in the world.”
“you are.”
he paused at that, just for a second.
something flickered behind his eyes. not shock. not fear.
“careful, you’re dangerous when you say things like that,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear.
you smiled. “‘mm, you like it.”
“i do.”
your foreheads pressed together.
you weren’t just falling for him.
you were beginning to mirror him.
and that?
that was more dangerous than anything.
later, jungkook sat on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, palms resting on his knees. he hadn’t looked at you in ten minutes.
you stood across the room, barefoot in one of his shirts, watching him silently.
“angel. i need to tell you something,” he said finally, voice rough.
you didn’t speak. just nodded once.
his eyes didn’t meet yours.
“i didn’t fall in love with you when we met.” a breath. “i already loved you. before that. long before.”
your breath caught, not from surprise. from the weight of it.
“i saw you on the train,” he said. “you were smiling at someone. just a stranger. and it ruined me.”
“i followed you. watched you. found where you worked, where you lived. i memorized the way you walked, the way you laughed, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were focused.”
your heart beat rapidly in your chest. still, you didn’t move.
“i thought it would fade,” he whispered. “but it didn’t. it only got worse. i started getting rid of anything that could hurt you. anyone.”
you swallowed. “who?”
jungkook hesitated.
“mark.”
your eyes widened. “from my job?”
he nodded. “i saw the way he looked at you. touched your arm when you passed. you didn’t see it, but i did. every time.”
a long pause.
“i waited outside his building. he never made it home.”
your eyes widened. your hands curled into the hem of his shirt. your voice barely rose above a whisper.
“you killed him… for me?”
jungkook stood then. slowly. like a man coming undone.
“i would do it again,” he said. “i would burn down cities for you. cut through the world just to make sure you’re safe. i know it’s sick. i know it’s twisted. but i can’t help it. i love you in a way that doesn’t have brakes.”
he stepped closer.
“i love you in a way that ruins things.”
there was silence before you spoke.
“then ruin me.”
jungkook froze.
your eyes burned into his.
“i don’t care what you’ve done,” you whispered.
“i don’t care how it started. i just care that you’re mine.”
you walked to him, slowly, deliberately.
until your chests touched. your hands slid to his jaw. your voice was breathless, desperate.
“i want you. all of you. i want to be tangled in your mess. your violence. your obsession. i want you to lose your mind over me… because— because i’m already losing mine over you.”
he looked at you like you were crazy, and then groaned softly, then kissed you.
not gently.
not slowly.
he kissed you like a man at the edge of a cliff, like he’d die if he didn’t take you with him.
"youre driving me fucking crazy." he groaned into your mouth.
you clung to him, moaning into his mouth, fingers tugging his shirt over his head.
his hands were already at your thighs, lifting you, gripping like he needed bruises as proof that you were real.
you wrapped your legs around him, and he carried you to the bed like you weighed nothing.
his body against yours, his mouth trailing over your neck, your chest, your stomach, worshipping like you were goddess.
you were, his goddess.
you cried out his name, desperate, broken.
“that’s it, baby. let me have all of it.”
“you’re mine. every part. say it.”
“i’m yours,” you gasped. “no one else. only you.”
when he pushed his cock inside you, you felt everything, the way his hands trembled, the way his breath stuttered against your skin.
you moved together, slow at first, then faster, harder, more desperate.
"no one else gets to have you like this, no one gets to look, touch, breathe or fuck you like i do"
"f-uck, koo please."
it wasn’t just sex.
it was claiming.
it was obsession.
“f-fuck— you ruin me,” he groaned into your mouth.
“then let me,” you moaned back, kissing him until your lungs burned.
"let go, cum for me." he groans.
you came together in a mess, lips still touching, hands still holding — like even when it was done, you couldn’t let go. you didn’t want to.
when it was over, he held you close, as if you’d slip away.
he then spoke, softly.
“baby.. do you regret this?”
you smiled. you didn’t even open your eyes.
“no,” you breathed. “i don’t think i’ve ever felt more like myself.”
“i used to be afraid of turning into someone unrecognizable.”
he looked down at you.
“and now?”
you turned your face toward the mirror on the wall beside the bed.
the girl you used to be was gone.
but in her place was a woman full of obsession and devotion. and in his arms, you had never felt more alive.
you stared at your reflection.
“i recognize her now,” you whispered.
“and she loves you more than her own soul.”
jungkook kissed you again. this time, not with urgency. but with certainty.
“i’m scared of how much i love you,” he whispered.
you pulled his face up, eyes pouring into his.
“then don’t fight it,” you whispered. “let it consume us.”
he smiled, wrecked.
and you smiled back.
because there was no going back now.
you were each other’s poison, and neither of you was searching for nor wanted the cure.
a/n : yayyyy! happy Valentine’s Day buns! this fic took a whole month to write & edit and everything and it’s mostly because there was SO much shit that had to be redone… like please one year ago I was lowk all over the place with my writing… you guys do NOT want to see the original draft of this from a year ago.. 😭 I’m so happy it’s out so now I can finally get some rest before finishing up on chap 2 of positions! and also it’s 3a.m rn so I’m just going to publish this and then go to SLEEP because I have work tomorrow..! ignore any mistakes because my eyes are heavy so my proofreading may not be perfect atm BUTT ofc lmk what you guys thought! also it has been long since I’ve written a sort of serious..? fic so do be kind! but pleaseee I do wanna hear everything hehe! <3 🤍
name: quae | she/her
main account:explicit-tae
taglist | fic recs
all of the works here will contain: (either or/sometimes both) smut, yandere themes and overall dark content that are only suitable for those who are 18+. all of the work will have warnings - if anything is uncomfortable, please click off. it's understandable that sometimes what is written can be triggering to some user - this is the first warning.
request are appreciated just please allow time for it to be posted.
please do not translate, reposts or use any content written from this blog without permission.
head-cannons
baby daddy jungkook
yandere cop jungkook
and they were roomates... taekook
“he wasn’t man enough” w/ ex boyfriend jungkook
ot7 | multi-member
the one that got away: you should've listened when you were told to stay away from the dark web. completed (taehyung x reader x jimin)
lessons: when jungkook asks namjoon for advice on oral sex, he wasn't expecting his hyung to physically show him - you being on the receiving end of it. completed (jungkook x reader x namjoon)
study partner: an alternate world in which the elites rule the world and have everything at their fingertips. at a top elite college, “Study Partners” - the most desirable sexual partners around the world - are assigned to the top 10% of students with the highest grades. completed
red pill: while partying, you decide to take a mysterious pill called "hell on earth" that's said to take you to a whole different dimension; one of pure ecstasy, lust and pleasure. completed (hoseok x reader x namjoon)
a favor: your life gets even more complicated when your secret with professor kim is found out by two classmates. completed (jungkook x reader x taehyung)
back outside: after an intense argument with your now ex-boyfriend, you text your best friends three words that they’ve been waiting for - “i’m back outside”. coming soon…
jeon | jungkook
visions: you’re convinced by your friends to go to a party and let go of the memories of your ex just for one night. unfortunately for you, jungkook doesn’t want to be let go. completed
the other woman: jungkook decides it's time to take matters into his own hands and figure out how to get you - his sweet, innocent girlfriend, to fuck him. completed
paid in full: (part 1) (part 2) "all debts must be paid in full." says jungkook with a mischievous glint in his eyes. he wouldn't tell your mother of you going against her wishes and sneaking out if you allowed him to have you the way he desired.
nefarious: you knew who jungkook was prior to having his children and marrying him, so you serving him with divorce papers wasn't going to do anything but anger him. part one | prequel
test your morality: jungkook's morality is tested when he's woken from his unconscious state to find you - his best friend - bound before him. completed
best friends!: jungkook doesn't like the idea of you wanting to loose your virginity to anyone that isn't him. completed
seonbaenim!: (idol version of best friends!) your group decides they want to shed the “good girl” image for your next comeback & you confide in your seonbae, Jungkook, in helping you do so. One | Two
sibling rivalry: you visit your dad for a week for christmas and come face to face with your step-brother - who you've managed to avoid - again.
what are you willing to do?: After managing to dodge your property manager out of rent for two months, you're left in a vulnerable position when he finally comes looking for you. one | two
off limits: he’s a 10 but…he’s your brother’s best friend & completely off limits. one | two | three
m.i.l.f: "there are HOT MILFS in your area waiting for YOU to FUCK THEM!" the ad said, though jungkook wasn't expecting to come face to face with you; who also happens to be his best friends mother. one | two | three | four | five | ½ | six | seven | eight
ecstasy: you were offered the opportunity to test out an unreleased game, not realizing that you and the rest of the testers were the game itself. teaser | play now
starstruck: jungkook, a highly aware-winning actor,has his eyes set on you, an upcoming actress. one | two
kitty: when you're going through a rough heat, who else is there to call besides bunny hybrid jeon jungkook? completed
twisted: jungkook has been getting you out of trouble for as long as he can remember - and he was tired of doing it without anything in return. completed
nerviosa: that time your cousins boyfriend, jeon jungkook; college senior, took a certain interest in you, a college freshman. one | two | ⅓ | ⅔ | ³⁄₃
so persuasive: a look into how you stupidly got involved with jeon jungkook - your new step brother - after attempting to convince him that you weren’t boring. completed
when did you get hot?: jungkook is determined for you to forget the shy, nerdy boy you remember him as and know the man he is today - by any means necessary. one | two
sweet temptation: jungkook, a wealthy ceo, hears of an underground socialite party on christmas eve and attends, unaware of what he was truly getting himself into.
kim | taehyung
two sentence horror story: you ran up to the first person you saw - a man inside his car whose tires screeched upon you jumping in front of it - and screamed how you were kidnapped and blindfolded. completed
fertile: during an annual camping trip with your parents, you venture off deep into the woods and find a man chained to a tree. completed
divine intervention: you'll do anything to have your own baby one day - even to go against your morals and allow a wiccan to help you. completed
stress relief: your job is to simply ease the stress that the military men face while deployed. your client? sergeant kim taehyung. completed
terms & condition: kim taehyung, soap opera star now first-time director who is looking for a fresh new face - someone to give a chance to like jeon jungkook, his now close industry friend, did for him. completed
park | jimin
two sentence horror story: years ago, your best friend, Jimin, and you made a pact that if one of you were single by the age of 26 that the two of you would just marry the other. completed
creep: park jimin had it all. he was loved throughout the world as an idol apart of one of the biggest groups. he had the popularity, respect and adoration - and a few haters; but what idol didn’t? what park jimin wasn’t expecting for was infamous blogger, Creep, to be reporting on him. completed
word is bond: in order to save your kingdom from perishing, you agree to give your body to the demon king - jimin. completed
bad decisions: you're getting married on valentine's day - but somehow, you allow a stripper to fuck you in front of your brides' maids and maid of honor. completed
kim | namjoon
lessons: when jungkook asks namjoon for advice on oral sex, he wasn't expecting his hyung to physically show him - you being on the receiving end of it. completed
with love, k.nj: ever since you and your mother moved into this new apartment, you began receiving notes from an "admirer", all signed initials k.nj. one | two
sentient: you're gifted a high-technology android by an old friend who appears to know everything - even about you. completed
jung | hoseok
ain't no fun: ”Hoseok wouldn’t treat me like this.” is what had Namjoon laughing in your face - because you didn’t know Hoseok like he did. But he’d let you think you did, after all, it ain’t no fun if the homies can’t have none. coming soon...
min | yoongi
dilemma: being single and broke on valentine's day is not what you expected - especially when your dealer is waiting for his payment. completed
a man's world: you've been living in a man's world so long that you forgotten what it was like to be a woman living in it. completed
family matters: somehow, you find yourself back at yoongi's home after an uneventful five months of pregnancy. one | two | two ½ | three
desire: you've encountered an unholy being - an incubus - and you're fully enthralled. completed
kim | seokjin
two sentence horror story: it’s been nearly 5 years since you last saw seokjin. completed
payment plan: your husband and you find yourself bankrupt and dead broke thanks to his gambling problem. his younger brother - successful businessman kim seokjin - offers a helping hand free of charge. unbeknownst to your brother, you would be the one paying seokjin for his charity. completed
autumn of terror: the small town of oakville is being taken over by a serial killer who goes by "the ripper" who uses fear as a tactic to control the town entire. you, an out of town detective, team up with head detective of oakville kim seokjin. completed
a favor: the only way he's willing to give you a passing grade is if you do something for him in return. one | two
hi! if you're still taking requests. can you do a noncon smut with jungkook? with things like forced impregnation / baby trapping 😳
yes we can! thank you for sending a request & being patient with us! please read the tags for what is to come for this one-shot - if you are not comfortable with it please do not proceed!
test your morality (jungkook)
jungkook's morality is tested when he's woken from his unconscious state to find you - his best friend - bound before him.
@sweetempathprunetree @momnomnom @darkuni63 @chimmy-licious
Your tears stream down your face rapidly - so much so that it reminds Jungkook of a streaming river. So hot and fresh and full of emotion.
Jungkook loves you. You & he are best friends. He could date back years - decades - in which you and he had sat side by side.
You were there when he had scraped his knee while playing tag in kindergarten. You wiped his tears away, saying that it was okay for boys to cry after he was being teased for it.
Jungkook had been there for you, as well. You had gained enough courage to attempt to befriend a group of girls just for them to laugh right in your own face - he was scolded for throwing mud on them, but it was worth it.
First crushes, first kisses, homecomings, proms and graduations - you and Jungkook dealt with it all.
The summer after High School graduation was one of his favorites. You two were young and free, having no worries in the world. College began and though you and he couldn’t hang often, you still found time for him just as he did you.
Now you and Jungkook are adults, both the age of 26. You are grown now, having “adult” jobs and responsibilities.
Jungkook loves you - his best friend. He’d do anything for you and he knows you’d do the same for him. Even in such a cruel world, you found someone that you loved and loves you (not as much as he loves you, but it was close enough). As his best friend, you deserved it.
This is why now Jungkook was feeling terrible. It’s a feeling that’s deep in the pits of his stomach - his soul. A feeling that no one should ever know - a dark desire that anyone would keep a secret.
You once told him that to truly know someone, you’d have to know what turns them on - what makes them cum. You were going through a spiritual journey that time and he brushed you off with a nervous laugh.
You were Jungkook’s best friend. He loved you dearly. You didn’t want to know what turns him on or what makes him cum - especially when it had you involved in it.
The feeling is terrible, Jungkook notes. You’re crying, whimpering and twitching. Your throat had to ache - he’s positive of it. Your neck is bright red, veins pulsing as you pant. Your cheeks are puffy as flushed. As you pant, your chest heaves.
You.
You were Jungkook’s best friend.
Jungkook hates himself right now. He hates how tight his jeans feel at the sight of you. He hates how his breathing is increasing along with yours, mouths slightly agape. His eyes dart from your crying, frightened face, to your twitching body.
Jungkook swallows.
The room is bright - not naturally bright, but overwhelmingly. Jungkook panics at first, not recognizing his scenery. The room is completely white, the floors and walls both being tiled. There’s a television in the far corner of the room and beside it a sealed door.
“Kookie…”
Jungkook’s head snaps to the sound of the voice. His blood runs cold.
“Y/N…?”
Jungkook shudders, shaking his head. He stands from his fetal position, trembling.
You are bound across from him on the tiled floor. Your ankles are free, but your wrist aren’t. They’re tied directly behind you.
Your clothing is limited and he notes that it’s something he hasn’t seen before. You’re sporting a plaid skirt that stops directly mid thigh and a button up white shirt, only it exposes entirely too much cleverage.
“What’s going on…?” Jungkook murmurs. He doesn’t remember any moment that would lead the both of you in this room. “Y/N, are you okay-“
“Finally.”
Jungkook flinches at the sudden voice - a staticy robotic tone.
“You two are up. Hello Y/N, Jungkook.” The voice continues. “You two don’t know me and I barely know you. In that case…let’s test your morality.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Jungkook roars. “Let Y/N go-!”
You scream - a high pitch scream filled with anguish and pain. Your eyes are wide, bulging out your eye sockets and instantly, tears drop.
Jungkook racks his mind for what’s going on - then it clicks. Within the last year there’s been a string of unsolved cases. Some were murders of missing people, others were found alive but severely injured and mentally drained. Police wanted to keep the details out of the media so they could focus on finding the person, but what did make it to the media. All of the victims that were alive had stated the person wanted them to “test their morality”.
It was then that Jungkook realized that you were wearing a collar - a shock collar. He feels idiotic for not recognizing it sooner - it’s thick and appears like a belt.
“Repeated shocks can often lead to drastic changes in the heart and respiration rate.” the staticy voice speaks.
Jungkook clenches his fist, swallowing thickly. He forces everything in him to tear his eyes away from you. He inhales and exhales - he recalls the many times he and you would do the breathing exercises. “Count to ten while breathing” you’d tell him.
“What is it that you want?” Jungkook sighs. “Y/N doesn’t deserve this.”
“Doesn’t she?”
There’s silence on both ends. Jungkook slowly turns back to you to find your blurry eyes already on him. His breathing hitches.
“I mean…” the staticy voice comes once more. “...after all, she’s nothing but a whore.”
“No she is not.” Jungkook shakes his head.
“You don’t think that, Junkook.” the voice counters. “I may not know either of you on a deeper level, but I know well enough of how you really feel for her.”
Jungkook feels his heart pound erratically at the choice of words.
“Entertain me, Jungkook. Or can I call you Kookie. Y/N does.” the voice offers a low laugh. “It must be so terrible always being second in her eyes. Women never realize who’s really right in front of them.”
“Shut up.” Jungkook grits his teeth.
“Knowing that you’d been there for her for years and she found another man to satisfy her?”
Jungkook scoffs.
“You should be thanking me, Jungkook. Entertain me now and I’ll let you two leave.”
“You’re sick!” Jungkook hisses.
“And so are you.”
Jungkook flinches when you scream once more, this time your body erratically jerks. Jungkook scurries your way, grasping your shoulders - just as he does your screaming stops. You’re crying once more, the same drastic tears as before.
“How does it feel, Jungkook?” the static voice questions. “To see the woman you love completely helpless for you…crying such lustful tears. Completely bound for you to use.”
No.
No.
Jungkook shakes his head slowly - he doesn’t want to hear your whimpers any more. He doesn’t want to look at your tearstained face - he feels terrible enough about the tightening in his pants.
“I can see the fucked out look on your face. Your eyes are so dark, Jungkook.”
“Shut…up.”
“You look like such a predator.” the static voice begins to laugh again. “Poor Y/N is your prey, isn’t she? So defenseless and submissive for you. Crying for help.”
Jungkook’s hands clench your shoulders gently. He fights everything in him to not look into your eyes, but he caves. You’re silently sobbing, sad eyes on his.
“Y/N is your best friend, right? You love her?”
Jungkook nods his head, his eyes never leaving yours. “I do love you, Y/N.” he murmurs. “I don’t know how to help us right now…”
“Always coming to her defense. You’re like a savior in her eyes.” the static voice speaks. “What are you willing to do to keep her safe, Jungkook?”
Your eyes widen and you shake your head. You begin to cry once more. “P-Please, Kookie!” you sob. “I-I don’t want to feel that pain anymore, I-I-”
“Stop crying, Y/N.” Jungkook places both of his hands upon your cheeks, thumb wiping away your tears.
“I want to test your morality like I do with all my players.”
“What…do you want?” Jungkook grits. He doesn’t want you to be in any more pain than necessary - he doesn’t want to continue to feel the sick pleasure of it. He wishes for whatever Gods above to strike him down right now for such impure thoughts.
“I will let Y/N and you go in about an hour.” The television flashes to a clock as it begins to countdown. “Within that hour, you can either entertain me or…I can use that collar to my advantage. For the entire hour.”
Jungkook shushes you as you begin to cry out for him, trembling.
“E-Entertain you how?” Jungkook sighs in defeat. “Just don’t hurt her anymore!”
The static voice hums. “I want to see just how much you love your friend, Jungkook. I want to see just how much you truly would do anything to protect her - even if it was to use her for your own sick pleasure.”
Jungkook swallows.
“I want…to see what makes you cum, Jungkook.”
Jungkook can hear his heart through his ears. He clenches his eyes shut to try to get rid of your frightened expression - but he cannot.It plagues his mind and he hates himself for it - hates how your screams cause goosebumps onto his skin. How it appears melodic, a beautiful tune for his ears to hear.
“I trust you, Kookie.”
Jungkook snaps his eyes open and it’s as though the room grows silent. He stares at you - did he hear you correctly?
“Y/N…” Jungkook isn’t convinced. He doesn’t trust himself around you right now - or that you know the true meaning of the words you’re telling him.
“I don’t want to be in pain anymore, Kookie.” you cry with a head shake. “I-I can’t-”
There’s another bloodcurdling scream coming from you. Your head shakes from side to side and your back arches.
“Okay, okay, okay!” Jungkook screams, head turning to the large television to the high cameras in the ceiling. “I’ll do it. Just stop hurting her!”
Your head falls back with a low sigh. Your chest rises and falls. You look utterly defeated, babbling incoherent words.
“I’m sure you don’t need any help with getting erect.”
Jungkook can hear the tone in the static voice - it’s teasing him. Taunting him. It’s fueling his point of how sick Jungkook was - even in such a dire time like this. Here you laid bound in pain, begging for him for any form of comfort.
Jungkook shudders.
“It’s getting boring to watch, Kookie.” the voice quips. “The clocks are ticking. If you don’t do something soon…” The threat is empty, but it doesn’t need to be stated. If Jungkook doesn’t continue, you would continue to be shocked. You already appeared to be in between consciousness, in such great pain.
“Y/N?” Jungkook murmurs. He leans close to you, his forehead pressed against yours. “I don’t want you to hate me…I would never hurt you.”
You don’t respond to his words with your own. Your eyes are fluttering, barely able to remain open. You’re groaning and that tells Jungkook that you’re still conscious - not fully succumbing to the harsh treatment of the shock collar.
Jungkook presses a kiss to your forehead. He exhales, allowing his hand to travel from your shoulder to your hips. He swallows. “I promise not to hurt you, Y/N.” he murmurs. He ponders if you can hear him - you don’t appear to be fully coherent.
“Tick. Tock.”
Jungkook looks up at the camera, a glare on his face. He leans away from you with a shake of his head.
What Jungkook is doing is wrong. He doesn’t want to do this to you - not while you’re in between consciousness and dealing with such pain. He doesn’t want this to change the friendship you gained throughout the years. He was able to contain his emotions for you for this long - he was sure he could contain it forever if it meant you’d be safe.
But now you weren’t safe - Jungkook wasn’t able to keep you out of harm's way. You were entangled in such a horrible situation because of his dark fantasies.
The only way Jungkook could bear ever doing this to you was to believe that he was doing this for you - for a good cause.
Jungkook’s hands travel to your skirt, tangling them in the hem of it and he begins to pull them down. His breathing becomes heavy as he does so. It feels scandalous to see you in such a way.
You were always so beautiful to Jungkook. Even as you grew from a girl to a teenager, he made sure to tell you how beautiful you were. When you went through the phase of not loving your body, he assured you that you were amazing the way you were.
It was because Jungkook was your best friend and he loved you.
Your skirt is off, legs falling limp as he removes it fully. His hands gently touch the smooth skin of your legs, admiring how soft to the touch they were.
“You’re still as beautiful as you always are, Y/N.” Jungkook’s pressing kissing to your neck now, holding your body close to him. Only soft grunts are your responses, but Jungkook tells himself that you’re enjoying it - he needs to in order not to feel disgusted with himself.
“I told you I would always protect you…and I promise I’ll do just that.”
Jungkook is now removing your underwear - they were cotton and black, a regular basic pair. They drop besides you, discarded just like your skirt.
Jungkook shudders once more. His mind is screaming that this was wrong - you were his close friend. You trusted him to always keep you safe. If there was someone you trusted, it was Jungkook.
But then there was the devil on Jungkook’s shoulder that screamed at him - that he was doing this for you. He was doing this to keep you safe and out of pain. You would thank him later when you and he survived this. But for now, he had to do this.
Such impure thoughts were what drove him to lick your clit. You aren’t fully unconscious - you react with a strain grunt that excites him. He’s licking and suckling onto your clit, appearing like a lustful fool. His fingernails dig into the skin of your thigh to keep you in place, head bobbing side to side as your juices coat his tongue.
Jungkook’s sanity is slowly losing. There’s no wetter you could be - but yet, he cannot stop himself from spitting on your already swollen clit and lapping it up with his tongue.
Jungkook thinks about the amount of times he had masturbated to you dating back to his teenage years. How he wished it was you when he was with other women; hookups or girlfriends.
Jungkook removes himself from your wet clit and inhales deeply. His eyes are dark and full of sinful lust. You appear more coherent than before, but do not form any words. He lifts himself to look at you fully. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N…baby.” Jungkook fumbles with his pants. “We’ll get through this, right? You’ll still love me after this.”
Jungkook allows his cock to spring from his underwear. His hard and thick, twitching to be inside of you.
“Of course you’ll love me. You’ll always love me.” Jungkook places the tip of his cock and slaps it against your clit. He rubs it, pure ecstasy. “You’re already so wet…I know you love this just as much as I do, baby.”
Jungkook rubs the tip of his cock against your clit, the sight utterly filthy. You’re so wet and warm and willing - so perfect for him. This was a sacred moment for the two of you; two lovers.
Your boyfriend wasn’t someone Jungkook took entirely seriously. You had a few that were never good enough - this current one being the longest relationship. Yet and still, he could never have what you and Jungkook did.
Jungkook enters himself inside of you, head swinging back to loudly groan. You were just as he always imagined. Wet, warm and tight. The two of you connect like a perfect puzzle piece.
Jungkook was becoming far gone. He grasps your thighs and pushes them apart harshly, picking up the pace. Your juices are dripping out of your pussy, coating the floor. The sounds of skin slapping echoes off of the tile walls.
“I waited so long, baby.” Jungkook moans. Your body hits against the cold floor with each thrust, appearing to bring you back to a conscious state slowly. “I know you love it, Y/N. You’re so wet for me.”
Jungkook leans down to wrap his lips in yours. His thrusts only become more rough. His mind flashes for a few moments, replaying your screaming and terrified face as you were being shocked.
Jungkook releases your lips to release a deep groan.
“K-Kookie…”
Jungkook’s eyes widened at the sound of his name. “Y/N, baby…” he grunts. With each thrust he swears he goes deeper. “I love you so much, baby. You don’t understand.”
Your eyes begin to open, but they have a hard time focusing on anything around you.
Jungkook leans back to look at you fully. Your shirt was disheveled, your breast falling out. You were moaning those beautiful moans for him, mouth agape.
“I can have you all to myself now, baby.” Jungkook places his right hand onto your lips, gripping it. Your eyes widen slightly, trying your best to look directly at him instead of past him. “We can be the family we talked about when we were younger.”
Jungkook cracks his hips at an alarming pace. He feels the way you clench around him so heavenly.
“Remember when we were in first grade and I said I’d marry you?” Jungkook chuckles darkly. “That we’d have two kids - a boy and a girl?”
Jungkook releases his hand from your mouth to clench your breast. You begin to heave with the new found air he supplied you.
“Now we can have our baby…”
Jungkook places a thumb upon your clit and rubs. He would allow you to cum - it wasn’t fun if you didn’t cum along with him.
“...and it can be just you and I until then…”
You’re twitching, tears falling down your cheeks. You were overstimulated, but that was okay. Jungkook loves you - he was pleasuring the woman he loves. This was a powerful moment for the both of you, a true bond between two lovers.
“I’m cumming, too, baby.” Jungkook leans down to capture your lips. His thrusts are sloppy but his stamina doesn’t decrease.
With how good you’re clenching around him, Jungkook doesn’t last long. He’s twitching, aggressively groaning into your lips.
The room is quiet once again and it takes Jungkook around five minutes to move away from you. It was as though the dark cloud leaves and the light shines through - the consequences of his actions.
Jungkook eyes you once more. You’re awake, eyes open and now staring right at him. You aren’t speaking, and neither is he. He feels the familiar pit in his stomach - the self pity and hatred.
“Congratulations on surviving…” the staticy voice booms through his ears, but Jungkook cannot take his eyes off of your blank expression. “...I have disabled Y/N’s collar. You are free to remove it.”
You don’t move as Jungkook goes to remove the leather collar. It’s heavy as he drops it beside you. Jungkook places a gentle hand onto your cheek, sad eyes staring into your own. “Y/N…”
“How do you feel, Jungkook?” the voice asks. “Was it worth it?”
“Please let us go.” Jungkook’s voice cracks. “You got the satisfaction you wanted.”
“As did you.” the voice retorts. “Such a passionate scene. The first time I actually saw someone act so lovingly towards a woman.”
Jungkook sniffles. He goes to dress you once more, making sure your shirt is completely covered before he does the same to himself.
Jungkook wraps both arms around you, bringing you close to his chest. He doesn’t want to cry - he has to be strong for you. “Please, Y/N.” he begs. “Don’t be upset with me.”
Jungkook is stiff when he hears quiet sobs. Your shoulders are jerking in his embrace and all he can think to do is hold you tighter.
“The door is open. Always has been.” the voice says. “If you would have checked first, you’d see that there was a key right onto the table outside for her restraints.”
Jungkook’s head snaps to the cameras. “What…w-what the fuck is this?!”
“I wanted to see how far you’re willing to go to live out your fantasies.”
Jungkook holds you tighter. He shakes his head.
Jungkook didn’t know. The voice had to be lying. There was no way the door was unlocked - he was trying to break him. There was no way he would leave you alone in this room while restrained - you were screaming in such agony that he would’ve done anything to relieve you.
Right?
“You can thank me now. Y/N knows how much you love her.” there it was - the same taunting tone in the speaker's voice that mocks him. “You are free to go. Like stated, the door was always unlocked and I am nowhere near you two to do any harm. The key to her restraints are just outside the door. Congratulations again on surviving and allowing me to test your morality, Jungkook.”
(Note: Anyone who would like to make a request for a BTS Dark Short series can submit their request either on Wattpad or here. Please be sure to include a short summary of the type of story you'd like to see.)
SYNOPSIS: You wake up staring at a white ceiling, white walls, the sterile silence pressing in until you realize, you're inside an asylum. Everyone around you looks unhinged, dangerous and according to them, you're no different. That's what they say. That's what he says too. Your therapist. Your doctor. Dr. Min Yoongi.
You want to escape, and he promises he'll help you. He promises he'll fix you. But nothing about him or this place feels right.
You wake up with a jolt, lungs tight, heartbeat thundering in your ears. The first thing you see is white, too much white. A white ceiling. White walls. White sheets. A sterile brightness that stings your eyes. For a moment you think you're dreaming, or dead. But the throbbing pain in your skull makes it painfully clear: you're alive, and something is wrong.
You push yourself up slowly, everything in your body feeling heavy, drugged. Your fingers brush the thin fabric clinging to your skin a white gown, cheap and stiff, nothing you remember ever wearing. Your eyes sweep the room. There's almost nothing inside except the metal bed you're sitting on and a door no, not a door. A grilled gate, like you're in a cage, not a room.
Panic crawls up your throat.
You slide off the bed and stumble toward the bars, gripping them with trembling hands. They're ice-cold, biting into your skin. Outside is a long corridor, too quiet for a place filled with people. Too empty.
What is this place?
Why are you here?
Your breath quickens as you shake the bars. "Hello? Is someone there? Open this!"
The metal rattles loudly, echoing down the hallway, but nothing happens. You tug harder, your voice rising, cracking. "Let me out! Why is this locked?!"
Finally, hurried footsteps echo in your direction. A woman in a pale uniform approaches, her expression already annoyed, like she's dealing with something she has seen a thousand times.
You latch onto hope. "Please- please open this. I think there's been a mistake. I don't know why I'm here." She stops in front of your cell, looks at you like you're something stuck to the bottom of her shoe, and scoffs.
"A mistake?" She raises a brow, almost mocking. "Do I look stupid to you? Why would I open the gate for a murderer? Especially a psychotic one."
Her words crush into you like a punch. Murderer? Psychotic? You feel your pulse spike, confusion flooding you. "I- I'm not- I didn't do anything! I'm not a psychopath and I'm not a murderer. I swear, you're wrong. Please just open it... please." But she only shakes her head like she's heard it too many times before.
"Save it. They all say that." And then she turns away.
"No- wait! WAIT!" you shout, rattling the bars until the metal groans. "Come back! Let me out! I don't belong here!" But her footsteps fade, swallowed by the endless white corridor. Leaving you alone. Locked in. With no answers.
_____
Your throat aches from screaming. From begging. From trying to make anyone hear you. But the only answer you get is silence thick, suffocating silence that settles in your chest like concrete. Tears blur your vision as you press your forehead against the cold bars. Your breaths come out shaky and uneven. It hits you slowly, brutally: they aren't going to open the door. They don't care.
When your eyes finally lift, you notice him.
Across the hallway, directly facing your cell, lies a man on a narrow bed, so still he might as well be dead. He hadn't flinched when you screamed. Hadn't looked your way once. Just lay there with his back turned, like your panic meant nothing. Like he had heard it too many times before.
A chill creeps down your spine.
Before you can call out to him, a harsh sound slices through the corridor shoes scraping, something heavy dragging. You turn quickly.
Two guards are wrestling a girl down the hallway. She laughs, like being manhandled is hilarious. Her hair is wild, her smile manic, her feet barely touching the floor as she lets herself be pulled.
"Gentle, boys~" she purrs, batting her lashes. "Shut up," one guard mutters, tugging harder.
She only giggles, delighted.
You stare, horrified. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with this place? Right. You're in an asylum. And these are the people they think you're the same as.
Your stomach twists.
"Please!" you call out, desperation cracking your voice. "Please listen! They put me here by mistake! I don't belong here- please just check, please just-" But the guards ignore you completely. Not even a glance.
As if you're invisible. As if your words don't matter.
When they disappear around the corner with the giggling girl, the corridor falls eerily quiet again. You step back from the bars, wiping your face, trying to breathe, trying not to fall apart.
And then, you feel it. Eyes on you.
Slowly, you lift your gaze and see him. The man who was motionless minutes ago is now sitting up on his bed. Hair falling over half his face, head tilted slightly, his stare fixed directly on you unblinking, unreadable, too dark.
Your breath catches when you notice the numbers printed on his shirt: 046. Just like the number stamped on your own gown.
"Stop being noisy," he says, voice low and raspy, like he hasn't spoken in days. Not angry just cold. Empty. As if noise annoys him more than your suffering ever could.
A shiver runs through you. You don't know who he is but every instinct in your body screams danger. Without another word, he turns away, curling back into his bed, pulling his knees close like he's done this a thousand times like this place swallowed him long ago. You're left staring at him through the bars, your heart pounding.
You're not alone. But somehow, that feels worse.
--------
Eventually, the fight drains out of you. Your voice cracks into silence. Your fingers slip from the bars. And you sink back onto the narrow bed knees pulled close, hands trembling slightly as the reality settles in like a cold fog.
You stare at the wall, blank and white and merciless. Why are you here?
The question loops in your head until it hurts.
You search your memory dig for anything, anything, but it's like clawing at smoke. Faces blur. Names dissolve. Your past is a locked room and someone threw away the key.
Did you have a family? Did someone love you? Why haven't they come for you? Why aren't they looking for you?
Your heartbeat grows loud in your ears, painful, panicked.
They called you a murderer. But you don't remember killing anyone. You don't remember anything.
Your breath stutters. You want answers. You need answers. Before the panic can rise again, metal clanks sharply, a door unlocking.
A woman steps in, stiff uniform, hair tied back severely. Her eyes scan you like checking an item on a list, not a person.
"047," she calls your number, not your name. "Out. It's time for food."
You hesitate, unsure if this is another trick, but she glares like she'll drag you if she must. So you stand, legs shaky, walking toward the gate as she unlocks it.
As you step out, you freeze.
In front of your cell, the man 046 is already outside. He moves with a strange, lazy grace, tall and broad-shouldered, but with a slouch that makes him unreadable. His hair falls messily over his eyes, hiding most of his expression. But you feel his presence like cold air on your spine.
The male guard beside him gives a rough shove. "Walk."
He obeys without a word, hands tucked in his pockets, head tilted down, but there's tension in his shoulders. Like a quiet wolf forced back into its cage. You follow behind as the guards escort you both down a long hallway.
The corridors stretch endlessly, buzzing lights flickering overhead, echoing with distant screams, laughter, and whispers you can't make out. Every sound reminds you this place is wrong, you don't belong here.
046 walks a few steps ahead of you, silent, but you can't help glancing at him. There's something about him unsettling. Heavy. Like he's seen too much. Or done too much and yet somehow, you feel his presence more sharply than anyone else's here.
You arrive at a wide cafeteria room sterile, loud, chaotic. People like you broken, lost, dangerous sit at long metal tables. Some rocking, some laughing to themselves, some staring empty-eyed at the walls. The smell of disinfectant and cheap food hits you hard. The guards shove trays into your hands.
---
They seat you beside him. He doesn't look at you, not once as he picks up the metal spoon and begins eating with slow, controlled movements. No twitching, no muttering, no erratic behavior like the others around you.
To your left, a woman giggles while smearing mashed potatoes across the table. To your right, someone rocks back and forth, whispering into their sleeves. Another patient sobs quietly in the corner, ignored by everyone.
But 046. He's calm. Too calm.
You watch him from the corner of your eye. Maybe he's dangerous. Maybe he's worse than the rest. But something about that quietness, that stillness feels almost safe compared to the chaos around you. When the guards walk away to patrol the far end of the room, you swallow, gathering whatever courage you have left.
"Hey..." you whisper tentatively. "Can you- can you tell me where we are? Or why we-" He doesn't respond. He doesn't even glance at you. He just scoops another spoonful mechanically, jaw working steadily like you don't exist.
You try again, a little louder this time. "046?" Nothing. You take a breath, nerves buzzing. "What's your name?"
This time he pauses. Slowly, he turns his head until his eyes dark, unreadable, heavy lock onto yours. For a moment, you forget how to breathe. His voice is low. Flat. Emotionless. "Taehyung," he says. "Kim Taehyung."
"Oh." Your voice cracks slightly. "Nice to meet you... I guess."
His gaze sharpens, and then unexpectedly his lips curl just barely, not a smile but something like annoyance twisting at the edges. "You should stop sitting near me," he says calmly. Too calmly. "And stop being so noisy." Your eyebrows shoot up. "Rude," you mutter before you can stop yourself. "I was just trying to talk."
"I don't care," he responds, already going back to his food. "Don't try to know me." His indifference stings more than you expect. You look down at your untouched tray, fists tightening around the edges.
"I just..." you whisper, "wanted to know someone here." He stops chewing again. Looks at you briefly. Not with kindness. Not with anger.
Just, blank. As if he's analyzing something. But the moment passes, and he turns away again, uninterested. You inhale shakily. You want to tell him your name too. It feels right, normal even comforting.
But the words don't come. Because you don't remember. Your breath halts as panic prickles up your spine.
'What is my name?'
How do you forget something like that? You press a hand to your chest, trying to breathe through the sudden nausea. Something is wrong with you. Something big. Something missing. And Taehyung? He watches your reaction out of the corner of his eye. Just for a second.
-------
After lunch, the guards escort everyone back to their rooms. You don't fight. You don't even bother trying anymore. You quietly return to your narrow cot, your gaze following the peeling paint on the walls, thinking of nothing yet thinking of everything. You tell yourself you just need the right moment, the right person, someone who can finally explain why the hell you're here.
Minutes blur together. Silence. Footsteps. Then.
Clang.
Your door swings open again. Two guards walk in without a word. Their hands grip your arms, too firmly as they pull you up from the bed. "Where are we going?" you ask, your voice small, tired.
They don't answer. The hallway feels colder today. Longer. You're marched down it, past doors with metal plates, past muttering voices, past screams that rise then vanish like ghosts. Finally, they shove you into a large room. A single bright light illuminates a table and behind that table sits a man.
Tall. Neatly dressed. Smiling. Too politely. Too warmly. As if he rehearsed it. "Y/n," he greets you, voice smooth. "It's finally nice to meet you."
You stop breathing.
Y/n? That... that was your name?
Your thoughts twist violently. How did he know? Why didn't you know? The guards force you into the chair opposite him. Cold metal cuffs clamp around your wrists, locking you to the table. You jerk in surprise.
"H-Hey- why are you doing that?!" you snap at them. "I didn't do anything!" They again give no reply. They simply step back like shadows obediently returning to the walls.
You turn back to the man. His smile never changes.
"Who are you?" you ask slowly. He places a hand on the table, calm. "Kim Woobin. You may call me Doctor Woobin if that makes you comfortable."
"Nothing about this is comfortable," you hiss. "Why am I here? Why do people keep calling me a murderer? I didn't murder anyone. I'm not a psychopath. So stop treating me like one!" Woobin only tilts his head, studying you like something under a microscope.
"I know," he says softly. "You're not a psychopath."
You blink, confused.
"But..." His smile widens just a fraction. "There is something inside you. A monster you're not aware of yet."
You laugh. You actually laugh a short, bitter sound. "Okay, great. So you're insane too. Everyone here is insane."
"Oh, Y/n," he murmurs, almost pitying, "you don't remember most of the things you've done." Your breath catches.
"How do you know I don't remember?"
"You don't even remember your own name," he says simply. Before you can respond, a voice rises from the shadows behind you deep, familiar, unsettlingly calm.
"She doesn't remember because she can't." You twist around in your seat. A figure steps out from the darkness. Hands in pockets. Dark hair falling over steady, unreadable eyes. His presence alone changes the air colder, heavier.
"Now who the hell are you?" you demand. His lips curl into a faint smirk, the kind that knows you more than you know yourself.
"Yoongi," he says. "Min Yoongi." He steps closer until you can see him clearly under the light.
"It's been a while," he adds, almost gently. "I was wondering when you'd finally wake up." Your heartbeat stutters.
Wake up? Wake up from what?
The room feels too small. Too bright. Too dangerous and for the first time, you begin to fear that the answers you want, might not be the ones you can survive.
-------
"Let's keep this session simple, Y/n," Woobin says gently, folding his hands on the table as though this is a friendly conversation, not an interrogation. Yoongi silently takes the empty chair beside him. The two of them look too calm, too comfortable, like they've done this a hundred times. Like you've sat here a hundred times.
Your eyes linger on Yoongi. There's something about him something old, something familiar like a face pulled from a dream you can't fully remember. It bothers you. Everything in this place bothers you. The walls feel too close, the light too bright, the air too thin.
You just want to leave.
You want to breathe somewhere that isn't painted white. "I would like you to-" Woobin begins, voice steady.
"No." The word rips out of you before you can stop it. "I'm not taking one more word from you." Woobin pauses. Yoongi's gaze flicks to you sharp, unreadable.
"You can't keep me locked up like this," you snap, tugging at the metal cuffs. "I didn't do anything. I don't belong here. I'm not-" You shake your head, breathing hard. "I'm not whatever you think I am." Yoongi leans back slightly, observing you the same way someone would watch a storm forming.
Woobin sighs softly, like he's heard all of this before.
"Y/n... I know how it feels to not remember," he says quietly. "The confusion. The fear. Waking up and not knowing where you came from or who you hurt-"
"I didn't hurt anyone!" you cut in, louder than you meant to. Your voice echoes in the big room, bouncing off the walls like a desperate plea. But they don't look convinced.
Yoongi finally speaks, slow and controlled "We're here to help you."
You shake your head violently. "No. No, you're not helping me- you're manipulating me." Neither of them react. They just watch.
"You're trying to make me believe I'm some kind of... psychopath," you spit the word out like poison. "A murderer. Someone dangerous. But I know myself enough to know I'm not that." Yoongi exhales through his nose, something between irritation and disappointment.
"You think we're framing you?" he asks, tone flat.
"I know you are." Your voice cracks, not with weakness, but with frustration. "All of this- this room, these cuffs, your fake calm voices- you're trying to trap me. Make me doubt myself. Make me think I did something horrible so I'll obey you."
Woobin glances at Yoongi, then back at you with a pitying smile that makes your skin crawl. "You're fighting the wrong people, Y/n," he murmurs.
"No, I'm fighting the only ones I can," you shoot back.
Yoongi looks at the guards and lifts a hand dismissively. "Take her back."
Your breath catches. "Wait- No! I'm not done!"
But the guards are already grabbing you, unlocking the cuffs only to replace them with a tighter grip. You thrash against their hold, feet scraping against the floor as they drag you toward the door.
"Let me go! You can't keep doing this! I'm not who you say I am- I'm NOT—"
The door slams. The hallway swallows your voice as they pull you back to your room. Back to the white walls. Back to the silence. Back to the place where they want you to finally break and start believing the monster they keep insisting lives inside you.
-------
Yoongi studies you like a man watching something fragile crack open. Days, maybe weeks you're not sure anymore, but he has been trying. Trying to pull answers out of you. Trying to make you remember. Trying to make you break and you haven't. Not yet.
His jaw tightens. "I guess this won't work anymore," he murmurs to Woobin. Woobin only nods, expression unreadable. Your heart stutters. You don't like the way they're looking at you now, like you're a problem they've finally decided to fix by force.
"Look, Y/n," Yoongi says, voice chillingly calm, "we don't want to do this to you. But you've left us with no choice." Before you can ask what, he means, Woobin gives a small signal.
The guards grab you.
"No- wait- don't-" Your voice breaks as they strap your arms and legs against the metal chair bolted to the floor. Leather cuffs bite into your skin. Your breath comes fast, too fast.
You shake your head frantically. "Please- I don't know anything! I didn't do anything!" Yoongi steps closer, face expressionless. His fingers flip a switch. A soft, dangerous hum fills the room.
Your stomach drops. "No- NO! Please-!" The first shock hits you like lightning splitting your bones. Your back arches, vision exploding into white static. A sharp cry tears from your throat before you can bite it back. When it stops, you're gasping, trembling, tears blurring your sight.
"April 12th," Yoongi says, voice steady. "Where were you?"
You blink through the ringing in your ears. "I- I don't... I don't know..." The words stumble out, weak and panicked. "I don't remember..."
Another shock slices through you shorter, sharper. Your head slams back against the chair. You swallow a scream but fail; it rips out anyway. When the buzzing fades, Woobin is already leaning closer, studying your face.
"What was your relationship with Yunjin?" he asks softly, almost kindly. Yunjin? The name drops into your mind like a stone falling into dark water.
You try to focus, try to think but your vision keeps warping at the edges, stretching and bending like you're underwater. Woobin's face shifts. For a second he looks closer. Then, farther. Then split into two.
"You're... saying something... I..." Your voice is slurred. You squeeze your eyes shut, but the room keeps tilting. Yoongi's hand rests on the switch again. Your heartbeat stutters in fear.
"I asked you a question, Y/n," Woobin reminds you, tone gentle but sharp. "Yunjin. Who was she to you?"
"I- I don't know!" you cry. "I don't even know who that is! Please I swear, I don't- my head-"
Your vision flickers again. For a moment, only a split second you see something behind Yoongi. A shadow. A girl? A figure? You blink hard. She's gone. Were you... seeing things? Hearing things? Or were they doing something to you?
"Her memory is still resisting," Woobin says quietly to Yoongi, as if you're not even there. "She's disoriented."
"Shock her again," Yoongi says. Your blood runs cold. "No- WAIT- YOONGI- DON'T-" The third shock tears through your entire body. You don't even scream this time, your voice disappears, swallowed by pain so blinding it wipes out sound.
You hang limp in the restraints, chest heaving, tears slipping down your cheeks. Yoongi crouches so he's eye-level with your wrecked, trembling form.
His voice is soft. Too soft. "We're trying to help you remember," he whispers. "But you keep fighting us." You try to speak, your lips barely move. "P-please... I... I'm not a murderer..."
Yoongi tilts his head. "That's what you think," he murmurs, almost tenderly. "But the truth is always harder to accept." He stands.
"Take her back." The guards unstrap you and drag your limp body across the floor. You can barely keep your eyes open. The last thing you see is Yoongi watching you leave calm, patient, like a man waiting for a broken puzzle to finally fit together.
-------
The days blur together, and the nights blur even worse. After each session with Yoongi and Woobin, they drag your trembling body back to your small cell. Sometimes you still feel the shocks in your bones, buzzing under your skin even hours later. Sometimes you wake up gasping, thinking you're drowning in memories that aren't even yours and sometimes you wake from nightmares with a scream, only to slap a hand over your own mouth because you're terrified they'll hear you.
You curl up on your bed, arms wrapped around yourself, your whole body shaking. Across the hall, through the dim light of the corridor, 046 watches.
Taehyung.
At first, he never cared. About anyone. About anything. He hated this place and everything inside it including the people who cried and begged and broke.
But you, He sees you differently.
He sees the way you curl into a small ball at night, flinching at every sound. He sees you tossing in your sleep, whispering "No, please- stop..." as tears slip down your temples. He hears your muffled sobs when the lights go out, the way your breath hitches like your lungs are collapsing on themselves and every time you break a little more, something inside him cracks too.
Because he remembers being exactly like you, Hopeless. Confused. Alone. He watches you at lunch too, sitting alone now. Not next to him like the first week, when you used to ask innocent questions he never answered. Back then you were loud, determined still full of fight. Now you sit with your shoulders caved in, staring at your untouched tray like the food itself hurts you.
It bothers him more than he expected.
So today, he moves. You're sitting at the lonely end of the cafeteria table, pushing a cold spoon through your porridge without tasting anything. You hear footsteps steady, slow and you freeze. Taehyung sits opposite you. Your head snaps up. You weren't expecting him. You weren't expecting anyone. You've been trying so hard to avoid every single person in this place.
His hair hangs low over his eyes, but you still feel his gaze settle on you quiet, heavy, observant.
"Hey," he says simply. You swallow. Your throat aches. You don't answer. You don't trust your voice anymore. He studies your face for a moment, then your trembling fingers.
"I don't know what they've been doing to you," he begins, voice low, controlled, "but... I just hope you don't give up on yourself." That breaks something inside you. Your breath shakes. Your lips part. Your eyes burn.
"They're... they're trying to make me believe I'm a monster..." Your voice splinters apart as you shake your head violently. "I'm not- I'm not a murderer- I don't even remember anything-" You cover your face with your hands before you fall apart completely.
Around you, the cafeteria continues people screaming, laughing, arguing, staring at walls but everything feels far away.
"You're not a monster," Taehyung says, firmer this time. Your hands slowly slide down, and you look at him searching, desperate. He leans in slightly, eyes burning with something dark and familiar.
"Don't fall into their manipulation, Y/n," he murmurs. "People like them... they make us confess to things we never did. They twist us until we can't tell what's real anymore." You blink at him, confused, breath trembling.
"What are you trying to say?" His fingers tap lightly on the metal table. His eyes stay locked onto yours.
"I'm saying," he whispers, "that you're not the only one they tried to break." Your heart skips. His expression darkens painful, distant. "And I'm saying... I won't let them do to you what they did to me."
-------
Lunch is over before you realize it. The guards shout orders, metal chairs scrape patients shuffle back into lines like puppets with broken strings. You stand too, but Taehyung doesn't move yet. He watches the guards walk further away, waits for the noise to rise enough to cover his voice, then leans a little closer.
"Yoongi," he says quietly, like the name itself tastes wrong. "That doctor of yours? He joined this place right after you did." You inhale sharply.
"What... does that mean?" He doesn't blink. Doesn't look away.
"It means he's not what he pretends to be." Your heartbeat jumps.
"How do you know?" Taehyung's jaw tightens, eyes flickering with something dark, something that feels too close to truth.
"I've had sessions with him too," he says, voice low. "Back when he first came. Never liked him. Never trusted him." A humorless scoff leaves his lips.
"He talks sweet. Soft. Calm. Like he's helping you. But underneath-" His eyes narrow. "he enjoys watching people unravel."
Your stomach twists. You want to ask more, what Yoongi did to him, what he saw, what he knows but Taehyung suddenly stops talking. Two guards approach from behind, calling out.
"046, back to your block."
Taehyung straightens, his expression going blank like he locked everything away in a second. One guard grabs your arm. Another grabs Taehyung's. You look at him, panic rising.
"Taehyung, what were you trying to say? Why are you here? What did Yoongi-" He yanks against the guard's grip just enough to get closer to you, his voice a rushed whisper right before they pull you apart.
"You're not alone here, Y/n." The guard drags him away, but he twists his torso to stay facing you for one last moment.
"I'm here," he calls out quiet but firm, like a promise carved into stone. "You're not alone. Not anymore."
Then the guards pull him around the corner and he's gone. Your body trembles not from fear this time, but from the strange, dangerous comfort in his words.
Because for the first time since you woke up in this place. Someone is on your side. Someone sees you. Someone believes you. Even if that someone is 046. Even if he is a danger all on his own. But in a place like this, maybe danger is the closest thing to safety.
-------
The room is colder today. Maybe it's the empty chair beside Yoongi, the one Woobin usually occupies maybe it's just him. Min Yoongi sits across from you, elbows resting lightly on the table, posture relaxed in a way that feels wrong.
Relaxed men don't look at you like they're dissecting every breath.
No Woobin today. Just him and that alone makes your spine stiffen. "Another session," he says, voice smooth, unreadable. You don't answer. You don't want to give him anything not a reaction, not a word, not a crack to slip into. But he smiles anyway. He always smiles like he knows something you don't.
"Today," Yoongi continues, folding his hands, "we're going to talk about you." Your stomach knots. Of course you are. They always want to talk about you, your past, your memories, your identity the parts of yourself you can't reach no matter how hard you try.
"You won't get anything out of me," you say, voice sharp. "I barely remember anything about my past. Thanks to you people." He chuckles. A soft, amused sound, like your anger entertains him.
"Blaming us now?" he asks. Your jaw clenches. He slides something toward you a sheet of white paper, edges neat, untouched and a pen. The pen rolls slightly, stopping at your fingers. You stare at it, then at him.
"What is this supposed to be?" you ask.
"You can draw whatever comes to mind," Yoongi says, tilting his head as if assessing you more closely. "Anything your memory offers. Even fragments." You scoff.
"I'm not playing some child's game," you snap. "Like I'm in kindergarten." He doesn't flinch. Doesn't even blink. "If you remember anything," he says softly, "even the smallest thing... draw it." You push the paper back.
"No. I'm not falling for your tricks." His gaze sharpens for half a second. Then smooths out again. "Tricks," he repeats under his breath, almost amused. "You think that's what this is?" You think of Taehyung. His warning. His voice whispering Don't let them break you.
Your grip tightens on the edge of the table. "I remember nothing," you say firmly. "Stop forcing things on me. Stop trying to make me into something I'm not." Yoongi stands abruptly not aggressive, but swift enough that your heart stutters.
He picks up the paper, folds it once, then places it gently back on the table in front of you. "You can keep it," he says quietly. You look up. He's watching you again too closely, too long, like he's waiting for something inside you to snap.
"It was nice talking to you today, Y/n." Your name leaves his lips too softly. Too familiar. The guards appear behind you. Metal cuffs click around your wrists again. You look away from him, refusing to give him even one more glance.
Because being in this room with Yoongi, It doesn't feel like therapy. It feels like being studied. Like prey being watched by something patient and hungry behind glass and the worst part?
He knows it.
--------
Taehyung walks down the narrow corridor with slow, heavy steps. His wrists still ache. Not from the cuffs but from memory.
The session had ended only minutes ago, yet Dr. Min's voice still echoes in his head, calm and precise, cutting deeper than any blade ever could. Dr. Kim had sat there too, watching, nodding, writing, always writing while Taehyung spoke words that were never his to begin with.
Confessions they taught him to say. Mistakes they told him to own.
He had learned long ago that resistance only prolonged the pain. The shock therapy. The isolation. The endless repetition until truth and lies blurred into the same suffocating fog.
So he had agreed.
He had agreed to a crime that was never his. Agreed to become what they wanted him to be. Because sometimes, survival looks like surrender. As he reaches his cell, his eyes drift without meaning to yours.
You're curled up on the narrow bed, knees pulled tight to your chest, your back turned toward the bars. Your shoulders tremble slightly, like you're trying to make yourself smaller, quieter, invisible. The blanket is clutched in your fists as if it's the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.
Taehyung's chest tightens. He recognizes that posture. He's worn it himself, countless nights spent staring at cracked walls, convincing himself that if he stayed still enough, silent enough, maybe they'd forget about him. One look at you and he knows.
Your session didn't go well.
Dr. Min doesn't break people all at once. He wears them down carefully soft words first, then confusion, then doubt, until you start questioning your own thoughts. Taehyung grips the cold metal bars of his cell.
You haven't given in yet and that both relieves him and terrifies him. Because he knows what comes next for people who don't. The torture grows quieter. Crueler. More convincing. He forces himself to look away before the guards notice his lingering gaze. He steps into his own cell, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, jaw clenched.
Don't break, he thinks not sure if he's saying it to you or to himself. Dinner is still hours away. But he makes a silent promise anyway. Tonight, he'll talk to you.
-------
You sit in the far corner of the cafeteria, the plastic plate resting in your trembling hands. The food looks dull colorless, tasteless, lifeless. You stare at it anyway, as if it might suddenly tell you something about the world outside these walls. You wonder what life was like beyond this place.
Did you have a home? A favorite food? Someone waiting for you?
You don't know. That thought alone makes your chest feel hollow. A soft sigh slips past your lips before you can stop it. Then, you feel it.
A presence. Not threatening. Not loud. Just there. You lift your head slightly, and your eyes meet his. Taehyung. He sits beside you, careful, as if afraid he might startle you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The clatter of trays, distant laughter, and muttered sobs from other patients fill the space between you.
"Are you fine?" he asks quietly, his voice low enough that only you can hear. You hesitate, then nod. Not because it's true, but because it's easier than explaining how broken you feel.
"Good," he murmurs, nodding once as he looks down at his own plate. Another pause.
"I wanted to tell you something," he says after a moment. You turn slightly toward him, your attention fully his now. "I know you barely remember anything from the outside world," he continues, his voice steady but strained, "but whatever they tell you... never give up on yourself."
Your brows knit together in confusion.
"They'll try to twist your thoughts. Make you accept things you never did," he says, his jaw tightening. "Never agree to those things, Y/n. Never."
"I- I don't understand," you whisper. "Manipulate me how?" He exhales slowly, like he's been carrying these words for years and only now letting them go.
"I came here just like you," he says. "I woke up one day, locked behind bars, being called a murderer. A danger. A mentally ill monster." Your grip tightens on your plate.
"I wasn't any of it," he says firmly. "I never killed anyone." Your heart pounds louder.
"That's when I realized something was wrong," he continues. "I overheard Dr. Kim talking one night. He was laughing, laughing about a case he 'successfully buried.'" Taehyung's eyes darken. "I didn't understand at first. So I waited. Watched. Learned their routines."
You swallow as he speaks. "One night, when the guards changed shifts, I followed Dr. Kim. His office was unlocked just for a minute." He lets out a bitter chuckle. "Funny how the people who cage us are so careless." He lowers his voice even further. "I found my file."
Your breath catches. "Every detail of my life was there," he says. "A normal upbringing. No violent history. No mental illness. Nothing." His fingers curl slowly into a fist. "And then I saw it. Another file. A rich man's son. A real crime. A real body." Your stomach twists.
"They needed someone expendable," he says quietly. "Someone poor. Someone alone. Someone no one would fight for." His eyes meet yours. "They chose me." You can barely breathe. "I confronted Dr. Kim," Taehyung continues. "Asked him why my life was written as a lie. You know what he said?"
He lets out a hollow laugh. "He told me I was hallucinating. That my mind was creating false innocence to protect itself."
Your nails dig into your palm.
"I didn't believe him," he says. "So I pushed. Asked again. And again." His voice drops, trembling just slightly. "That night... they took me to the room you don't come back the same from." You've heard the screams from there. Everyone has.
"They shocked me," he says bluntly. "Over and over. Told me I was dangerous. Told me I killed someone. Told me I deserved to be here." Your eyes burn. "By the end," he whispers, "I wasn't sure what was real anymore." He looks down at his hands.
"They won," he admits softly. "I said what they wanted. I believed what they wanted." Then he looks back at you eyes sharp, desperate. "But you don't have to." He leans closer. "You're not alone here, Y/n. No matter what they say. No matter how convincing they sound."
For the first time since waking up in this place, something inside you shifts. Fear is still there.
-------
After Taehyung's words settle deep in your chest, something shifts inside you. A slow, frightening realization. If he was framed, If he was broken into believing lies. Then what does that make you?
You sit once again in the same cold session room. The walls feel closer today, the air heavier. Dr. Kim Woobin is already seated, his expression unreadable, fingers neatly folded. Dr. Min Yoongi stands near the window, arms crossed, watching you like a problem he hasn't solved yet.
"I asked you to make a sketch," Yoongi says calmly, turning toward you. "Did you complete it, Y/n?" You roll your eyes, irritation bubbling over. "No. There was nothing in my mind. And I'm not playing childish games with you, Dr. Min."
Silence stretches. Yoongi hums softly. "Strange. I thought you liked drawing." Your jaw tightens. "You don't know anything about what I like."
Woobin clears his throat, smoothly stepping in. "Alright. Then today, let's talk about your childhood." Your stomach twists. "Do you remember your parents, Y/n?" he asks gently. You stare at the table. The word parents feels hollow, like something you're supposed to understand but don't.
No answer comes. Woobin sighs, not frustrated disappointed. "What about friends? Anyone you were close to as a child?"
"No," you snap, lifting your head. "I don't remember anything. And how would I, when you people are the reason my memories are gone?" Your voice comes out rough, shaking despite yourself. Taehyung's words echo in your mind. They twist things. Yoongi's gaze sharpens.
"We're not the reason, Y/n," he says coolly. "You are." A bitter laugh leaves your lips. "Ridiculous." Yoongi lifts a hand toward Woobin, just a small gesture. Woobin stands without protest and exits the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Your heart starts to pound. Now it's just you and Yoongi.
"I'm trying to help you," Yoongi says, stepping closer. His voice softens, dangerously so.
"I didn't ask for your help," you reply. He ignores that. Instead, he reaches for your hands.
You flinch, but the cuffs stop you from pulling away. His fingers wrap around your wrists, thumbs brushing lightly over your skin as if grounding you. The touch is gentle. Too gentle.
"You need to trust me," he murmurs. Your breath stutters. There's something terrifying about the way he looks at you not like a patient, not like a criminal but like someone who knows you better than you know yourself.
"You're trapping me here," you whisper. Yoongi doesn't deny it. Instead, he releases your hands and slides a glass of water across the table. "Drink," he says. "You need rest." You hesitate. This again. Every session ends the same way.
"You said the cafeteria water isn't filtered," you mutter. "It isn't," he replies smoothly. "This is better for you." Your throat feels dry. Your head aches. Against your better judgment, you lift the glass and drink. The taste is faintly metallic. Unfamiliar. By the time you place it back down, your vision blurs just slightly. Yoongi watches.
Satisfied. "Have a good sleep, Y/n," he says softly. And for the first time, fear creeps in not loud, not panicked but quiet and suffocating.
-------
The gates to the ground open with a heavy metallic sound. For the first time in days, maybe weeks you feel the sun.
It's too bright at first, making you squint as the warmth settles over your skin. The walls are still there, towering and unforgiving, guards posted at every corner with weapons resting against their shoulders. Freedom is only an illusion here. But the air, The air feels different.
Fresh. Alive. The smell of grass hits you, damp and earthy, and you breathe it in without realizing you've been holding your breath for so long. You like it here. Too much. Around you, patients scatter across the ground. Some laugh too loudly, some wander aimlessly as if chasing invisible thoughts. A few sit alone, staring at the sky like it might give them answers.
A sudden shout breaks the calm. Two men get into a fight angry, uncoordinated. Guards rush in instantly, dragging them away while they scream and struggle. The gate slams shut behind them.
A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. You freeze.
Why did you find that funny?
Your smile fades as quickly as it came. You turn your head and find Taehyung sitting near the steps, shoulders leaned back against a pillar, one knee drawn up. The sunlight catches his face, making him look almost, normal. Like he belongs somewhere outside these walls.
You walk toward him slowly. "Do you remember anything from your past?" you ask, breaking the quiet. He gives a small smile, one that doesn't quite reach his eyes, and nods. "There are things I forgot," he says. "And things that came back."
He tilts his head, eyes lifting to the sky. "I miss my childhood." The words hit you harder than you expect. "My grandparents," he continues softly. "My friends." You stare at him. "You remember them?"
He nods again. "Yeah. I had a family." Something twists inside your chest. You have nothing like that. No warmth. No faces. No laughter hiding in your memories.
"You know," he adds, almost smiling now, "there was this tteokbokki place a few blocks from my house. It tasted amazing. I still think about it." He keeps talking little details, ordinary moments. Food. Streets. People. A life and you just sit there, listening, feeling emptier with every word. You don't remember anything good.
Anything at all. "When did you start remembering?" you ask quietly.
"After a few weeks here," he replies. "That's when things didn't add up. That's when I started doubting Dr. Kim." Your fingers curl into your palms. It's been more than two months for you and still, nothing. No flashes. No warmth. No past trying to return. Only white rooms. Cold voices. Needles. Water that tastes wrong.
You look at the grass beneath your feet, at the sun shining down on a place that still feels like a cage.
------
You wake up with a sharp gasp, your chest rising and falling too fast, as if you've been dragged out of something deep and suffocating. The dream clings to you, fragments of images, sounds that don't make sense yet feel painfully familiar. It's midnight. A dull yellow-orange light spills through the bars of your cell, casting long shadows across the walls, making the room feel smaller than it already is.
Your eyes dart around in panic until they land on the paper and sketch pen Dr. Min left behind. Your heart pounds harder. An overwhelming fear grips you, that if you don't get it out now, whatever you saw will disappear again, slipping away like everything else. You grab them with shaking hands and sit up, pressing the paper against your knees.
You don't think. You just draw.
Lines spill across the page, messy and rushed, as your hand struggles to keep up with your mind. Your vision blurs, tears dripping onto the paper, smudging the graphite, but you don't stop. You don't even wipe your face. Whatever this is whatever you saw, it hurts in a way you can't explain, like a wound reopening without you knowing when it was first made. You sob quietly, biting your lip to keep the sound from escaping the cell, your shoulders trembling as the sketch takes shape.
When you finally stop, your fingers ache and your throat burns. You stare down at the drawing, your breath uneven, your heart aching with a grief you don't understand. You pull the paper to your chest, clutching it like it might vanish if you let go, and curl back onto the thin mattress.
As you close your eyes, exhaustion seeps into your bones. The lights outside flicker softly, the shadows sway, and despite the fear still clinging to you, sleep slowly pulls you under once more heavy, quiet, and full of unanswered questions.
------
You wake with a jolt as the sharp clang of metal against metal echoes through the corridor. The lady guard's baton strikes the cold bars of your cell again, the sound harsh and unforgiving. Your heart jumps into your throat as you scramble up, quickly shoving the paper and sketch pen under the bed like a guilty secret. Her eyes rake over you with clear disgust. "Get up and take a bath," she orders. You nod silently, knowing better than to say anything.
Not long after, you're herded into the cafeteria along with the others, your steps heavy, your body still sore from restless sleep. You take your breakfast tray and move forward, the smell of food barely registering. That's when you see him. Taehyung is already seated, and when his eyes meet yours, his face softens into a smile. For a moment, you forget where you are. Even in those dull, lifeless clothes, he looks unreal warm, gentle, painfully human in a place that strips people of that very thing.
You walk toward him and sit down, holding your plate close. "Good morning," he says quietly, and you return the greeting. Something about it feels grounding, like proof that you still exist beyond these walls. You talk softly about how the food tastes like nothing, how every meal feels the same, and he chuckles under his breath. Then he starts talking about his past again small things, harmless things and suddenly something inside you shifts.
Your fingers tighten around the edge of your plate. You lower your voice, leaning closer. "Taehyung... will you help me find my documents?" you ask, your heart pounding as the words leave your mouth. "I want to know more about myself." The need in your voice surprises even you. You're tired of emptiness, tired of not knowing who you are.
He looks at you and you hold your breath, silently hoping he'll say yes hoping you're not alone in this anymore.
-------
Taehyung doesn't answer you immediately. He studies your face, the way hope and fear tangle together in your eyes, and something in him shifts. He knows that look too well, the desperation of being trapped in darkness with no answers, the slow suffocation of not knowing who you are while everyone else claims they do. He exhales quietly and nods. He doesn't want you to end up like him, broken down until you accept lies just to make the pain stop. "I'll help you," he says at last, voice low and firm. "You deserve to know the truth, Y/n. No one should be left like this."
The plan comes together in whispers, careful and dangerous. Taehyung knows this place too well, knows how chaos draws the guards like moths to flame. Minhwa is the key. Everyone knows him, the most volatile among them, a man who only needs the smallest push to explode. During yard time, Taehyung watches, waits, and then plants the spark. A word here, a shove there. It doesn't take long. Minhwa lunges, fists fly, and suddenly the ground is filled with shouting, bodies scrambling back, guards rushing in with batons raised. The noise is deafening, a storm perfectly timed.
At the same time, you're called for your session. Your heart is hammering so hard you think it might give you away, but you step into the room with your head held high. Yoongi and Woobin sit there like they always do, calm, composed, convinced they own you. That's when you snap. Your voice rises, sharp and furious, every word soaked in months of fear and rage. When you pull out the fork, hidden with Taehyung's help the room freezes. Your cuffs aren't on. Woobin's smile falters for the first time as you press the cold metal close, your hands shaking but your eyes blazing. You scream, threaten, spit words you didn't even know you had in you. Guards flood the room, trying to restrain you, shouting orders over one another. All their attention is on you, exactly as planned.
While they're distracted, Taehyung moves. He slips down the hallway like a shadow, heart pounding, every footstep a risk. He reaches Woobin's office first, rifling through drawers, files, folders nothing. Panic claws at his chest, but he doesn't stop. He knows better. Yoongi is careful. Yoongi hides things where no one thinks to look. When Taehyung enters Yoongi's office, the air feels heavier, colder. His hands tremble as he searches until there. A file with your name on it. Y/n. Clear. Real. His breath catches as relief crashes into him so hard it almost hurts. He clutches it to his chest, a small, victorious smile breaking through. He found it. He found you.
And while you're still screaming, still fighting, still pretending to be the monster they want you to believe you are.
--------
Taehyung's fingers tremble as he opens the file, the weight of it suddenly feeling heavier than steel. The first thing he sees is you small, fragile, smiling in a way he has never seen in this place. Childhood photographs spill across the page, your hair neatly tied, your eyes bright with a softness that doesn't exist in the asylum.
His chest tightens as he reads line after line of your history, medical notes written in cold, clinical words that don't match the warmth of the girl in the pictures. His heart begins to pound harder with every page he turns, confusion turning into dread. This isn't what he expected. This isn't the story he built in his head. As he flips further, more reports, more images, more truths stare back at him, and suddenly his hands feel numb, icy. His breath stutters.
No... this can't be right.
He wants to stop reading, wants to shut the file and pretend none of it exists, but the words burn into his mind. You weren't dangerous the way they claimed but you weren't untouched either. You were sick. And not in the way they accused.
A voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, calm and almost gentle. "You finally believe she needs help now, don't you, Taehyung?" His body stiffens as he turns, heart slamming against his ribs. Yoongi stands behind him, expression unreadable, eyes sharp with a knowing that makes Taehyung's stomach drop. "Tell me this is a lie," Taehyung demands, his voice low and shaking, clutching the file as if it might disappear.
"Tell me they made this up too." Yoongi doesn't flinch. He simply sighs, as if he's been waiting for this moment. "It isn't a lie," he says quietly. "And I know what you're thinking. I know you shouldn't be here. You were framed for someone else's crime." Taehyung's eyes widen at that, how did he know? but Yoongi continues before he can speak. "But Y/n... her case is different. She truly needs help."
Taehyung shakes his head, anger and fear twisting together in his chest. "I don't know if I can believe this," he mutters, torn between what he's read and what he feels when he looks at you quiet, broken, terrified, but never cruel. Yoongi watches him carefully, his voice softer now, almost human.
"I'm not asking you to trust me," he says. "And I won't promise to help you escape this place. But Y/n belongs here not as a prisoner, not as a monster, but as someone who needs treatment before she destroys herself without even realizing it."
Taehyung's grip tightens around the file, his heart aching as the truth sinks in. Yoongi steps closer, lowering his voice. "I'll explain her case." Taehyung realizes the truth is far more terrifying than any lie they were ever fed.
--------
FLASHBACK
The psychiatric hospital stood quietly on the edge of the city, surrounded by tall iron gates and long corridors that echoed with footsteps and whispers. To most people, it was an asylum — a place where broken minds were locked away.
But to Yoongi, it was something else. A place where minds could be rebuilt. He had joined only a few weeks ago, newly appointed as a psychiatrist. While most doctors here believed in strict routines, medication, and containment, Yoongi believed in something different, understanding.
Every patient had a story. And every story had a reason. He spent hours talking with them, not like a doctor speaking to a subject, but like a person speaking to another human being. Slowly, some patients began to open up. Some cried. Some remembered things they had buried for years.
Yoongi considered that progress. Until he met you.
Your file was unusually thin.
That alone made him pause.
Name: Y/n
Age: 19
Background: Orphanage resident
Incident: Murder of another orphan girl
Condition: Severe amnesia
No known family. No prior psychological history. Just a single violent act. And then, nothing.
The first session was quiet.
Too quiet.
You sat across from him in the small therapy room, sunlight spilling through the barred window behind you. Your fingers were folded neatly in your lap, your posture calm, your expression almost gentle. Not the face of someone who had taken a life. Yoongi leaned back slightly in his chair, studying you.
“Do you know why you're here?” he asked softly. You shook your head.
“I told them already,” you murmured. “They brought the wrong person.” Your voice was steady. No panic. No guilt.
“I didn't kill anyone.” Yoongi had heard denial before. It was common. But something about the way you said it felt, different. Like you truly believed it.
The next question came carefully. “Do you remember the orphanage?” You frowned slightly.
“Yes.”
“And the girl who died?” Your brows pulled together in confusion.
“No.” Yoongi wrote something down in his notebook.
“Do you remember anything before that?” You hesitated. Then quietly said,
“I have a family.” That made Yoongi stop writing.
“A family?” You nodded quickly, relief flickering across your face like someone finally acknowledging something important.
“Yes. I need to go back to them.”
“Who are they?” You opened your mouth. Then paused. The relief disappeared. Your eyes slowly filled with confusion.
“I… don't know.”
That was the first strange thing. You were certain you had a family. Yet you couldn't remember a single detail about them. Not a name. Not a face. Not even a place. Just the feeling that they existed.
Days turned into weeks. Your sessions continued almost every afternoon. Yoongi tried different approaches, memory triggers, photographs, guided recollection exercises. He asked about the orphanage, the day of the incident, the girl who died.
But your answer never changed.
“I didn't kill anyone.” Or sometimes.
“I think you're confusing me with someone else.” There was never anger. Never fear. Just quiet certainty and every time Yoongi pushed further, your memory would collapse into the same blank wall.
But there was one thing he noticed. You liked to draw. The first time it happened was during a silent session. Yoongi had placed a notebook on the table between you, trying something different.
“Sometimes memories don't come through words,” he explained. “If something comes to mind… try drawing it.” You stared at the pencil for a long time. Then slowly picked it up. Your hand moved cautiously at first. Then faster. Almost instinctively.
-------
Dr. Min Yoongi had stopped trying to force your memories back. At first, he had been determined. Every drawing, every word you said, every pause between your sentences, he had studied them like clues in a puzzle. He believed there had to be something hidden inside your mind that would eventually surface.
A detail. A name. A face. Something that would explain why a quiet girl from an orphanage had been accused of murder. But weeks passed.
Then months. And nothing changed. Sometimes you drew pictures of food, bowls of noodles, slices of cake, fruits arranged carefully on a plate. Other times you drew the sky, filled with drifting clouds or birds flying far away. Occasionally you would just drag the pencil across the paper without meaning, creating meaningless lines that went nowhere.
Random. Disconnected. No pattern. No memories. Eventually, Yoongi began to accept something he had resisted for a long time.
Maybe the past wasn’t the answer. Maybe the best thing he could do for you wasn’t digging through a broken memory, but helping you build a future. A future where you could live like a normal person. Not locked behind iron doors and observation windows.
Not labeled as a dangerous patient. Just, a person.
------
That afternoon, Yoongi had just finished a session with another patient. The corridor outside the therapy wing was quiet, the dull hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence as he walked toward his office. He loosened his tie slightly, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders. Then he noticed footsteps behind him. Light. Unhurried.
He already knew who it was before he even turned around. When Yoongi glanced over his shoulder, there you were, walking a few steps behind him with a small smile on your face, like a child who had been caught following someone.
He stopped. You stopped too. Tilting your head slightly.
“Where are you going?” you asked casually. Yoongi sighed softly. He should have expected this.
Over the months, you had grown unusually comfortable around him. You spent more time with him than most patients did with their doctors, sometimes because of extended therapy sessions, sometimes because you simply appeared near wherever he happened to be.
Not that Yoongi complained. He had always believed trust was the foundation of treatment.
But with you, it was different. “I’m going to have my lunch,” he replied calmly. Your eyes lit up immediately.
“Oh.” You clasped your hands together behind your back and took a few quick steps closer.
“I haven’t had my lunch yet.” The way you said it made the implication painfully obvious.
Yoongi frowned slightly. “They already served lunch in the cafeteria,” he said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “It’s past-”
“I didn’t feel like eating earlier,” you interrupted quickly. Then you added with a small pout,
“So I skipped it.” You looked at him expectantly before finishing the sentence in a softer tone.
“Now I’m hungry… Suga.” The nickname rolled off your tongue naturally.
Yoongi’s eyebrow twitched slightly. You had started calling him that a few weeks ago, claiming his name sounded “too serious” for someone who always looked half-asleep. Normally, doctors discouraged that kind of familiarity. But Yoongi had never corrected you.
For some reason, hearing it from you didn’t bother him. In fact, he had gotten used to it. Still, he studied your expression for a moment. There was something strangely innocent about the way you looked at him, like you had already decided the answer and were just waiting for him to agree. Yoongi exhaled quietly.
“Fine,” he muttered. Your smile instantly widened.
“Really?”
“Yes,” he said, already turning toward his office. “But only because you skipped your meal.” You followed beside him immediately, your steps light as if you had just been given permission to escape a boring class. Together, you walked down the long corridor toward his room.
The halls were mostly empty at this hour, the distant sounds of nurses and metal carts echoing faintly from somewhere deeper in the building. You glanced around curiously as you walked. Then suddenly spoke again.
“You’re nice to me.” Yoongi glanced at you briefly.
“That’s my job.” You shook your head.
“No,” you said softly.
“Other doctors talk to patients like they’re… problems.” Your gaze lifted to him.
“But you talk to me like I’m a person.” Yoongi didn’t respond right away. He simply unlocked the door to his office and pushed it open.
“Sit,” he said. You stepped inside first, immediately settling onto the small couch like you had done it a hundred times before. Yoongi placed his lunch container on the desk before glancing at you again.
“Next time,” he added quietly, “eat when they serve food.” You leaned forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand.
“But then I wouldn’t get to eat with you.” Yoongi paused. Just for a moment. Then he shook his head faintly and opened his lunch box. But something about the way you said it lingered in the air longer than it should have. And Yoongi couldn’t explain why but whenever you were around, the quiet routine of his job suddenly felt a little less predictable.
-------
The cafeteria inside the psychiatric facility was loud that afternoon. Metal trays scraped across tables. Plastic chairs dragged against the tiled floor. Patients laughed, argued, or spoke to themselves in quiet corners while nurses walked between tables with tired expressions. It was the usual chaos.
You walked in slowly, holding your tray with both hands. Rice. Soup. A small piece of bread. Your steps were careful, quiet, almost hesitant.
For a moment, no one noticed you. Then someone did. A chair scraped loudly. A man sitting at the far table leaned back, nudging the person beside him before tilting his head toward you. A smirk slowly spread across his face.
“Well, look who it is.” A few others turned to look. Their eyes followed you as you walked.
“Dr. Min’s favorite little pet,” the man said loudly, his voice dripping with mockery. A few people at his table chuckled. You kept walking. You had heard things like this before. More times than you could count.
“Look at that slut,” another patient added, leaning forward with a grin. “Always hanging around Dr. Min.” The first man snorted.
“She thinks if she keeps pleasing him he'll get her out of here.” Laughter erupted around the table. You kept walking. Your expression didn’t change. Your eyes stayed on the floor. Ignoring them had become a habit.
But they weren’t done. “Hey!” the first man called out suddenly, his voice louder now.
You stopped. Slowly. Your fingers tightened slightly around the tray.
“Come here, girl,” he said, spreading his arms dramatically. “Please me too.” More laughter.
“I can be much better than Dr. Min.” Someone else leaned forward, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“Isn't she the one who killed someone at her orphanage?” A chorus of murmurs spread through the cafeteria.
“Oh yeah…”
“I heard that too.”
“Murderer.”
“No wonder no one adopted her.” The words echoed. Overlapping. Growing louder. You tried to keep walking. But the voices around you were no longer the only ones speaking. Something else was creeping into your head. A voice. Familiar. Cold. Laughing.
No one's going to adopt you, Y/N.
Your breath caught. The tray trembled slightly in your hands. The cafeteria faded for a moment and suddenly. You weren’t there anymore. You were somewhere else.
A small room. Children’s drawings on the walls. Beds lined neatly in rows. And her.
Alysa. Standing in front of you.
Her face blurry but her voice clear. Bright. Cruel.
“I’m getting adopted today, Y/N.” She spun happily in place, holding a small stuffed bear.
“They chose me.” Children around her were whispering. Looking at you. Some giggling.
“You’re still here,” Alysa continued, her smile widening. “Maybe something is wrong with you.” Your younger voice echoed weakly in the memory.
“That’s not true…” But she just laughed louder.
“No one wants you.” The other children laughed with her.
“No one will ever take you.”
The memory shattered. You were back in the cafeteria. Your breathing had become uneven. The tray slipped slightly in your hands. The voices around you blended with the ones inside your head.
“No one adopted her.”
“No one wants you.”
“No one's going to adopt you.”
Your fingers moved slowly. The tray dropped. Food spilled across the floor with a loud clatter. No one cared. They were still laughing. Still watching you. The man who had been mocking you leaned back comfortably in his chair.
“What?” he said mockingly. “Going to cry now?” Something inside your chest twisted. Your hands slowly rose to your head. You pressed your palms against your ears.
“Stop…” you whispered. But the voices only grew louder.
Kill them.
Your eyes widened.
Kill him.
The voice was right beside your ear now. Soft. Encouraging. He’s laughing at you. You looked up slowly. The man was still laughing.
Kill him.
Your fingers curled tightly around the fork lying beside the fallen tray. Your grip tightened. Your knuckles turned white.
Do it. Kill him.
Your feet moved before you even realized. The man barely noticed you approaching. He was still laughing with the others.
“Look,” he chuckled. “The murderer is coming-” The sentence never finished. Your hand moved suddenly. Fast. The fork plunged straight into his neck. A wet choking sound escaped his throat. For a moment, the cafeteria went completely silent. Then chaos erupted. Someone screamed. Blood sprayed across the table as the man collapsed backward. But you didn’t stop. The voices were louder now.
Again. You stabbed him again. And again. And again. Each strike faster than the last. Metal hitting flesh. Wet sounds filling the air. Hands grabbed your arms. Patients shouted. Chairs fell over. But the voices inside your head were stronger than all of them.
Good girl.
Keep going. Your lips moved as you continued stabbing the motionless body beneath you.
“I'll have a family…” Your voice trembled. More hands tried to pull you away. Guards rushed in. Someone shouted your name. But you barely heard them. Your eyes were wide. Unfocused.
“I’m a good girl…” The fork rose and fell again. Blood covered your hands now.
“I’ll soon have a family…” Strong arms finally grabbed you from behind. Dragging you away. The fork slipped from your fingers. Your body struggled violently as the guards restrained you. But your eyes stayed locked on the lifeless body on the floor. Your lips still whispering softly.
“I’m a good girl…”
“I didn’t kill anyone…”
The cafeteria had become a scene of pure horror. And somewhere in the chaos. Standing frozen in the doorway. Dr. Min Yoongi had just witnessed everything.
------
“I didn’t kill anyone.” Your voice came out hoarse, almost childlike, as the guards forced you down the sterile white corridor. Your wrists were restrained now. The fluorescent lights above flickered faintly as they dragged you past patients who stared through the glass panels of their rooms. Some whispered. Some laughed nervously. Others simply watched with empty eyes. Your hands trembled.
“I didn’t kill anyone,” you repeated again, softer this time. Blood had dried on your fingers. You kept staring at them like they belonged to someone else. Like they couldn’t possibly be yours. The guards pushed you into a holding room small, cold, with nothing but a metal chair bolted to the floor. One of them forced you down into it while the other locked the cuffs around the metal ring attached to the table.
The door shut behind them with a heavy click. For a moment, everything was quiet.
Then the door opened again. And you looked up. Your eyes immediately found him.
Dr. Min Yoongi. Your face brightened slightly the moment you saw him. Relief washed over your expression like a child spotting a familiar figure in a crowd.
“Dr. Min,” you whispered. Your voice trembled.
“I haven’t killed anyone.” He stepped inside slowly.
The door shut behind him. For a few seconds, Yoongi simply stood there, looking at you. Your hair was messy. Your hands were stained with blood. Your eyes were wide with confusion. Not guilt. Not satisfaction. Just fear and something inside Yoongi’s chest twisted painfully. He had already reviewed the security footage. He had watched every second of what happened in the cafeteria.
The way you walked toward the man. The way your hand moved. The way you stabbed him again and again while whispering to yourself. There was no doubt about what you had done. But the expression on your face right now. It didn’t belong to a murderer.
“Dr. Min,” you said again, more desperately this time.
“Please tell them.” Your eyes searched his face anxiously.
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
Yoongi slowly walked closer. He pulled a chair across the floor and sat down in front of you. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He had spent months studying your case. Digging into your past. Contacting the orphanage. Reading reports and the deeper he went, the more disturbing the picture became. Your childhood hadn’t just been lonely. It had been cruel. You were the child no one wanted. The child other kids blamed for everything. The child teachers ignored. The girl who watched other children get adopted one by one while you remained behind.
Years of rejection. Years of isolation and somewhere along the way, your mind had started breaking.
Not in the loud, chaotic way people imagined. But quietly. Fragments disappearing. Memories erasing themselves. Creating blank spaces where pain used to be. Your brain wasn’t forgetting by accident. It was protecting you. But the protection had turned dangerous. Because when your memories vanished, your emotions didn’t. They stayed buried.
Waiting.
And sometimes they exploded. Just like they did in the cafeteria.
Yoongi sighed quietly. Then he leaned forward slightly. “I know,” he said softly. Your breathing slowed a little. “I know you’re not a bad person.” Your eyes immediately filled with tears.
“I’ll make sure you get the treatment you need.” You stared at him desperately.
“I don’t want treatment,” you whispered.
“I want to go home.”
Your voice cracked.
“I have a family.”
Yoongi felt that familiar ache in his chest again. You had said that so many times. Yet no records showed any family connected to you. No relatives. No guardians. Nothing. Just an abandoned child in an orphanage.
“Suga…” The nickname slipped from your lips quietly. Yoongi’s eyes flickered slightly. You looked at him like he was the only safe thing left in your world. “I don’t want to stay here.” The way you said it. It wasn’t anger. It was fear.
Real fear and Yoongi realized something that unsettled him. He had grown attached to you too. Not professionally. Not the way a doctor should. Somewhere along the way. He had started caring about you more than he should have.
“I know,” he murmured. His voice was quieter now.
“I know.” The treatment began again. But this time. It was different. After the cafeteria incident, the hospital board decided your case had become too unstable for standard therapy. Your violent episodes were escalating. Your memory loss was spreading and Yoongi was considered too emotionally involved in your treatment.
-------
After the incident, things changed. The hospital board reviewed your case carefully. The violent outburst had made your condition far more serious than before. Your treatment plan was adjusted. And a new doctor was assigned to lead your therapy.
Dr. Kim.
Unlike Yoongi, Dr. Kim believed in aggressive psychiatric intervention. His methods were colder, more clinical. Less talking. More evaluation. More medication. The sessions with him were longer, stricter. Where Yoongi had allowed you to talk freely, draw pictures, wander through your thoughts slowly. Dr. Kim asked direct questions.
Sharp ones. Questions you often couldn’t answer. At first, Yoongi still checked on you whenever he could. Sometimes he would stop by the therapy wing hoping to see you. But the change became noticeable. You didn’t follow him down the corridors anymore. You didn’t wait outside his office.
You didn’t call him “Suga” in that quiet voice that used to echo through the hallways. In fact. You barely spoke to him at all. The first time Yoongi tried to talk to you after the new treatment began, you simply looked at him with a blank expression.
Polite. But distant. Like he was just another staff member. He told himself it was part of the treatment. That Dr. Kim’s methods were working. That the distance was necessary. But something about it unsettled him.
------
Weeks later, Yoongi finally confronted Dr. Kim in his office. “What exactly are you doing in those sessions?” Yoongi asked quietly. Dr. Kim adjusted his glasses before replying.
“Stabilizing her condition.” Yoongi frowned.
“She’s different.”
Kim nodded slowly. “Yes.” Then he spoke words that made Yoongi’s stomach sink. “Her amnesia is progressing faster than expected.”
Yoongi stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Her brain is suppressing more memories,” Kim explained calmly. “The trauma triggers are being buried deeper.” Yoongi knew about that risk. But something didn’t add up.
“She still remembered certain things,” Yoongi said. “The hospital. Me.”
Kim leaned back slightly in his chair. “Not anymore.” The words landed heavily in the room. Yoongi’s expression hardened.
“What?”
Kim opened a file on his desk. “She no longer remembers the events that triggered her breakdown in the cafeteria.” Yoongi clenched his jaw.
“And?”
Kim looked at him calmly. “She doesn’t remember you either.” The silence that followed felt suffocating. For months, Yoongi had been one of the few stable anchors in your fractured memory. You remembered his name. His voice. Even the nickname you had given him and now, that piece was gone too.
Erased. Like it had never existed.
The final incident happened only a week later. Another violent episode. Another patient injured. This time worse. The hospital administration had no choice. Your condition was now considered too unstable for their facility. The transfer papers were signed quickly. A higher-security psychiatric institution. Stronger restrictions. Stricter monitoring. When the ambulance finally arrived to take you away, Yoongi watched from the far end of the corridor. You walked past him slowly, escorted by guards. Your eyes briefly passed over his face. But there was no recognition.
No familiarity. No smile. Just the empty gaze of someone looking at a stranger and for the first time since he became your doctor. Min Yoongi realized something terrifying.
He had spent months trying to unlock your memories. Trying to help you remember. But now, he might be the only one who still remembered the version of you that had once trusted him. The version that called him Suga.
And that version of you. Was gone.
------
PRESENT
The room was quiet except for the soft rustling of paper. The thick patient file lay open on the desk, its pages worn from being reviewed too many times. Medical notes, incident reports, psychological evaluations, every page carried pieces of a life that had slowly fallen apart.
Kim Taehyung sat across the desk, staring at the final page in silence. His fingers were still resting on the paper, but he wasn’t reading anymore. He was trying to process what he had just learned. At first, when he had heard about you, he thought you were like him.
Another person thrown into this place for something they didn’t do. Another person trapped by circumstances, misunderstood by the world outside those iron gates. That thought had almost comforted him. But now. Now the truth sat heavily in front of him and it was worse.
Far worse.
Taehyung leaned back slowly, his gaze drifting toward the window of the office. The bars cast long shadows across the floor, the evening light fading behind them. “She was all alone,” he murmured quietly. His voice carried something unusual not sarcasm, not indifference. Something closer to pity.
“She didn’t even have anyone to rely on.” Across the desk, Min Yoongi remained silent for a moment. Yoongi had spent months studying your case. Months trying to understand the strange maze your mind had created. He knew every detail. Every broken piece. But hearing someone else say it aloud still made something heavy settle in his chest.
Taehyung’s eyes returned to the file again, stopping on one particular note written in Yoongi’s handwriting. He tapped the page slowly.
“She kept saying she had a family,” he said. The words lingered in the room. Yoongi exhaled quietly before answering.
“That’s her illusion.” Taehyung looked up. Yoongi’s expression remained calm, but his voice carried the weight of something deeply complicated.
“That’s the only thing her brain was able to create to survive.” He leaned forward slightly, folding his hands together.
“When someone goes through prolonged trauma, especially abandonment during childhood, the mind sometimes builds something artificial to replace what was missing.” Taehyung listened carefully. Yoongi continued, his voice steady but low.
“She created a world in her head,” he said. “A place where she wasn’t the unwanted child in the orphanage.”
“A place where someone chose her.”
“A place where she had a family waiting for her.”
Taehyung’s jaw tightened slightly. “So she believed it was real.”
“Yes,” Yoongi said simply.
The silence stretched again. Taehyung closed the file slowly. For the first time since arriving in this hospital, something about another person’s situation disturbed him. Because this wasn’t just injustice. This was a mind slowly destroying itself.
“She forgot everything,” Taehyung said quietly. Yoongi nodded once.
“Her brain keeps erasing things that trigger her trauma.”
“The memories become too painful, so her mind deletes them.”
Taehyung frowned slightly.
“And you?”
Yoongi’s expression barely changed.
“She forgot me too.”
For a moment, Taehyung studied Yoongi carefully. Something about the way he said it felt, heavier than it should have been. Like that fact carried more weight than a doctor normally allowed himself to feel. Taehyung leaned forward slightly in his chair.
“You still want to help her.” It wasn’t a question. Yoongi didn’t deny it. “I can help you get out of here,” Yoongi said calmly, meeting Taehyung’s gaze.
Taehyung blinked once, slightly surprised. Yoongi rarely spoke about his patients leaving the facility so openly. But his voice remained steady.
“I’ve been reviewing your case for weeks.”
“You were wrongly admitted.”
“You don’t belong here.”
The words hung between them.
-------
The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and cold metal. The restraints around your wrists were tight, cutting into your skin each time you struggled. The chair you were strapped to was bolted to the floor, a precaution the staff had learned to take after your recent episodes. The white walls around you felt too bright, too clean, too silent.
But none of that mattered. Because what Yoongi had just told you felt far more suffocating than the restraints. It couldn’t be true. Your breathing came out uneven as tears blurred your vision. Your head shook repeatedly, refusing to accept the words he had spoken.
No.
That wasn’t possible. Taehyung wouldn’t leave you. He couldn’t. For weeks he had spoken to you through the narrow window of the ward room, whispering about plans, about finding the truth buried in your past. He had promised he would get your files, your records, the things the hospital kept hidden from you.
He said he would prove you weren’t what they claimed. He said he would help you get out. You had believed him.
More than that, you had helped him.
The guards had been distracted because of you. The chaos in the hallway earlier, the alarms, the arguments with the nurses all of it had been part of the moment he needed to slip away unnoticed.
You had done that.
For him.
Because he promised he wouldn’t abandon you. So when Yoongi stood there calmly telling you that Taehyung had escaped without you, something inside your chest refused to accept it.
“You’re lying,” you said hoarsely. Your voice trembled, but the anger behind it was real. Across from you, Min Yoongi remained standing, his expression carefully controlled.
You stared at him with red, tear-filled eyes.
“Taehyung wouldn’t leave me like that,” you insisted. “You’re just saying that so I stop asking questions.”
Your voice broke at the end.
“He promised he’d come back.”
Yoongi didn’t interrupt you.
He had seen patients react like this before denial, desperation, the mind trying to protect itself from another painful truth.
But the longer you cried, the heavier the silence in the room became.
Because Taehyung really had escaped.
And he had done it alone.
“You don’t understand,” you continued, your voice growing louder as panic crept in. “He said he would get the documents about my past. He said he would prove everything.”
Your breathing turned sharp as the realization slowly began creeping closer, like something you were trying to outrun but couldn’t.
“I did everything for him,” you whispered.
The words fell from your lips before you could stop them.
You had screamed in the hallway earlier. Thrown objects. Fought the guards. Created the distraction he needed. And now he was gone. The room felt colder. A broken laugh slipped out between your tears.
“I was just… a distraction.” The words tasted bitter. Your head dropped forward as the truth slowly crushed the hope you had been clinging to.
“He used me.” Yoongi’s eyes softened slightly as he watched you crumble under the weight of it.
In a way, he had allowed it to happen. Because Taehyung needed to leave. Taehyung had been wrongly placed in this facility, trapped in a system that would have destroyed him slowly. Yoongi had seen too many cases like that before sane people losing their minds because no one believed them.
Taehyung deserved freedom. But you. You needed something else.
Treatment.
Protection.
Someone who would not abandon you to the chaos inside your own mind and Yoongi had already decided that person would be him.
“Y/N,” he said quietly. But you barely heard him. Your body shook violently as sobs tore through your chest, the restraints rattling softly with every movement.
“Everything he said was a lie,” you cried. “Everything!” The anger and grief tangled together until your thoughts began spinning again, the familiar dizziness creeping behind your eyes.
“I’m such a fool,” you whispered. Yoongi stepped closer.
“Y/N, listen to me.” But you only shook your head harder, your voice growing louder and more frantic.
“He promised he’d help me!” you cried. “He said we’d find out about my family!” Your words echoed against the sterile walls.
“My family…” you whispered again, weaker this time. Yoongi watched you carefully. That word again.
Family.
It always circled back to that. You had built your entire fragile sense of hope around the belief that someone, somewhere, was waiting for you. That you weren’t alone in the world. Your sobs slowly quieted, leaving only uneven breaths as exhaustion settled into your body.
Yoongi crouched down in front of you then, lowering himself to your level so you couldn’t avoid his gaze.
“I can help you,” he said softly. The calmness in his voice cut through the chaos in your mind. Slowly, your eyes lifted to him. Your lashes were wet with tears, your face pale from the emotional storm that had just passed through you.
“I can help you get out of here.” For a moment, the words hung between you. Something flickered in your expression. A strange mixture of hope and bitterness. A weak laugh escaped your lips.
“You said that before.” Yoongi froze. His brows drew together slightly.
“What?”
“You said the same thing years ago,” you murmured, your voice rough from crying.
“You told me they would transfer me somewhere better… that I would get proper treatment.”
Your eyes locked onto his.
“And that eventually I would leave.”
Yoongi felt something inside his chest tighten. You tilted your head slightly, studying him through blurred vision.
“But I’m still here.”
Your voice cracked again.
“Still trapped.”
The room fell into heavy silence. For a moment, Yoongi didn’t know what to say. Because the way you had spoken. It sounded like you remembered. Like a fragment of the past had somehow slipped through the cracks of your amnesia.
“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you whispered suddenly. The desperation in your voice returned, quieter now but deeper. Your eyes searched his face helplessly.
“Please.” The single word carried more pain than all your shouting earlier.
“I want to have a family too.” Yoongi stared at you. Something shifted behind his calm expression. Something darker. More determined.
Slowly, he stood up straight again. Then he spoke.
“I can be your family.” Your crying stopped. Your head lifted slightly.
“I can get you out of this place,” Yoongi continued, his voice steady and certain now.
“You won’t stay here.” Your eyes searched his face, trying to understand what he meant.
“You’ll be transferred soon,” he said.
“To a private facility.”
His gaze didn’t leave yours.
“And I’ll be there.” The quiet confidence in his voice sent a strange chill down your spine.
“I’ll take care of you, Y/N.” His words sounded gentle. Reassuring. But something about the way he said them felt different. Possessive.
Final.
“I’ll be your family.” He leaned slightly closer. “The one who will cure you.”
------
Months had passed since the day Min Yoongi finally completed the paperwork that changed everything.
It hadn’t been easy.
Endless evaluations. Legal documents. Medical reviews. Statements written and rewritten until the hospital board finally agreed to something rare, supervised release under a private psychiatric guardian.
That guardian was Yoongi.
You weren’t fully free. Not yet.
Technically, you were still a patient under observation, required to attend therapy sessions at the hospital twice a week. Doctors still monitored your condition, your medications, your emotional responses.
But compared to the cold rooms and locked wards you had spent years inside…
The world outside felt almost unreal.
You lived in Yoongi’s apartment now.
A quiet place on the upper floor of a modest building, filled with soft lighting and large windows that let the sunlight pour in during the mornings. At first, even the smallest things had overwhelmed you, the hum of city traffic outside, the smell of fresh food cooking, the feeling of walking through streets without guards watching every step you took.
Everything had felt new.
Terrifying at first.
But also beautiful.
Yoongi had been patient through all of it.
He took you grocery shopping, guiding you through crowded aisles when the noise made you nervous. He brought you to small movie theaters where you would sit beside him in wonder, watching stories unfold on giant glowing screens.
Sometimes he took you to arcades, where the flashing lights and cheerful sounds made you laugh in a way he had never heard inside those hospital walls.
Slowly, the world stopped feeling so frightening and slowly. You started healing.
Not perfectly.
There were still gaps in your memory. Entire pieces of your past remained foggy, like half-forgotten dreams that slipped away whenever you tried to grasp them. Some nights were still difficult, when old fears crept quietly into your thoughts.
But the violent storms inside your mind had softened and Yoongi saw the difference every day.
It made every sleepless night, every legal battle, every risk he had taken to bring you here feel worth it. Because the girl who once sat in restraints screaming that she had a family. Was now slowly learning how to build one.
-------
That afternoon, soft sunlight filled the apartment living room. You were sitting on the floor, laughing quietly as a small black kitten pounced clumsily toward your hands. The tiny creature had only been in the apartment for a few weeks, but it had already become your favorite companion whenever Yoongi wasn’t home.
The kitten jumped again, trying to catch your fingers as you moved them across the carpet. You giggled softly as it tumbled sideways.
“Hey,” you laughed. “You’re getting stronger.”
Across the room, Yoongi sat comfortably on the couch, one leg crossed over the other as he slowly sipped his coffee. His eyes lifted occasionally from his mug to watch you and the kitten playing together.
The sight still felt surreal to him sometimes.
For safety reasons, he had installed small CCTV cameras around the apartment, not hidden ones, but visible ones you were fully aware of. They were meant to ensure your safety whenever he was working late at the hospital.
When he had first explained them to you, he expected hesitation.
But you had only shrugged lightly.
“I don’t mind,” you had said.
“If something happens to me you’ll see it, right?”
The trust in your voice had left him quiet for a long moment. Now, as he watched you laughing on the floor with the kitten, Yoongi allowed himself a small smile. You looked peaceful.
Healthier.
Alive in a way he had never seen during those early months. The kitten suddenly leapt into your lap, its tiny paws kneading against your sweater. You lifted it gently, smiling down at the small creature.
“He’s growing fast, isn’t he?” you said. Yoongi hummed softly in agreement.
“He is.” You stood up then, carrying the kitten briefly before setting it down again to wander across the living room. Then you walked toward the couch where Yoongi sat. Without hesitation, you settled beside him, leaning your head comfortably against his shoulder. Yoongi didn’t move.
He had grown used to the small ways you sought comfort near him. But every time it still made something quiet stir in his chest. You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him.
“Can we go out today?” Your voice carried that familiar hopeful tone that had become more common lately. Yoongi lowered his coffee mug, glancing down at you.
“Where do you want to go?” You thought for a moment, your eyes drifting upward thoughtfully.
“Hmm…” Then your face brightened.
“Maybe dinner?” Yoongi raised an eyebrow.
“Dinner?” You nodded eagerly.
“Like the restaurant you took me to last time.” The memory clearly excited you the warm lights, the soft music, the unfamiliar but delicious food you had tasted so cautiously at first.
“It was nice there,” you added softly. Yoongi watched your expression for a moment before nodding.
“Alright.” Your face immediately lit up.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Before he could say anything else, you suddenly wrapped your arms around him in a quick, happy hug. The movement caught him completely off guard. But what happened next surprised him even more. You leaned forward and kissed him. Right on the lips. It was quick. Soft. Innocent. But it left Yoongi completely frozen. For a second, he simply stared at you, his brain struggling to process what had just happened. You pulled back casually, smiling like nothing unusual had occurred.
Meanwhile, Yoongi’s pale face slowly began turning red. He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to recover some of his usual composure. But you were already watching him with amused curiosity.
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Yoongi turned his head slightly, pretending to focus on his coffee again. But the warmth creeping up his neck betrayed him completely. You giggled softly.
For a moment, the apartment felt warm and peaceful in a way that had nothing to do with the sunlight streaming through the windows.
Outside, the city moved on with its usual rhythm people rushing to work, cars passing in endless lines, strangers living lives that would never know the long journey it had taken for you to sit here now.
Safe. Healing. Slowly learning the world again and beside you, Min Yoongi allowed himself something he rarely permitted.
Hope.
Because the girl who once believed her family only existed inside her mind. Was finally beginning to realize something gentle and real. She wasn’t alone anymore.
END
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