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@shrewsburysworld
Y'all I know I haven't posted for a lot while 😭😭
I miss you too guys!! ❤❤
I would like to write series for y'all, tell me the genre you're missing with bts character (Maknae line) .
Genre?
Actor Husband - Taehyung
Crime Mystery AU - Jungkook
The Other Man - Jimin
Thank you to everyone who got me to 5000 likes!
Muahhh 💋 love y'all!!
YANDERE HUSBAND JUNGKOOK | Part 2
Warning : Smut.
Yandere husband Jungkook who holds you close the night you find out about your lover’s death, stroking your hair as you tremble in his arms. His voice is soft, comforting—like he’s the only safe place left for you in this world. “I’ll protect you,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple. “You don’t need anyone else, my love.”
Yandere husband Jungkook who slowly glide his hand inside your, pulling your undies aside and put his finger inside your hot, throbbing hole, making you moan. Your moans filling the room as he put his fingers in you while sucking on your neck.
Yandere husband Jungkook who had pleasured you, diverting your attention. After making you cum undone, sticking his fingers inside his mouth tasting you.
Yandere husband Jungkook who watches your every move, his dark eyes tracking the way your hands shake when you pick up your phone after release, still hoping for a message that will never come. He doesn’t stop you from grieving, but he does make sure you never grieve too much. If your sobs become unbearable, his arms wrap around you, squeezing just a little too tight. “Don’t cry over someone who didn’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice laced with something possessive, something dangerous.
Yandere husband Jungkook who starts treating you even more delicately, as if you might break if he lets you out of his sight. He cooks your favorite meals, runs you warm baths, presses kisses against your skin like he’s trying to wash away the memory of anyone else ever touching you. “You belong to me,” he reminds you, over and over again. “You always have.”
Yandere husband Jungkook who fucks you more better than that bastard ever could, making you crave for his cock, calling you a slut with a glint of frustration in his eyes and makes you suck his cock after work. Calling you "only his " While thrusting into your gaping hole.
Yandere husband Jungkook who never admits what he did, but you don’t need a confession to know the truth. The way he never asks questions, the way he never seems surprised, the way his hands linger too long when he wipes your tears—it’s all there, in the spaces between his words. He’s the reason your lover is gone.
Yandere husband Jungkook who tilts your chin up one night, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I love you,” he breathes, his eyes dark and unwavering. “And no one—not in this life or the next—will ever take you from me.” And as he kisses you, slow and deep, you finally understand. There was never a choice. You were always his.
Yandere Husband Jungkook pt. 1
Y'all thanks for showing such tremendous love for part 1. Part 2 was bit short, hope didn't disappoint y'all. Show some love in comments, love you!!
Hey y'all!!
---
I don’t usually comment on drama. I stick to writing my dark BTS fics and giving love to the boys who gave us everything. But this time, I can’t stay quiet — not when a fellow idol, especially someone under the same umbrella as BTS, casually likes a reel that implies BTS didn’t deserve a win they rightfully earned.
Yes, I’m talking about Hoshi from SEVENTEEN liking that reel about the 2019 MAMA performance — one that downplayed BTS’s win and hyped up SEVENTEEN’s “loss” as if it was some kind of injustice.
Was BTS even mentioned? No.
Was the implication loud? Absolutely.
And when you’re a public figure, your likes speak louder than your words — especially when you don’t offer clarification afterward.
It doesn’t matter if the caption was in English. It doesn’t matter if it was “just” about SEVENTEEN’s performance. The reel went viral because it pushes a narrative that SEVENTEEN deserved that award more — and Hoshi liking it in 2025 only stirs up fanwars that had long gone quiet.
Let me remind you:
BTS never disrespected SEVENTEEN. Never shaded anyone.
They carried this industry on their backs. They opened global doors. And they did it while being humble, respectful, and endlessly supportive of younger groups — including SEVENTEEN.
So when one of them — especially a main member like Hoshi — engages with content that tears BTS down even subtly, it hits hard. Because BTS never deserved that.
And no, I don’t buy the “he didn’t understand” excuse. You don’t get to exist in a global K-pop space and pretend ignorance when your actions hurt the same sunbaes who laid the path you're walking on.
To my fellow ARMYs: your disappointment is valid. Your anger is valid. Protecting BTS is not “drama” — it’s loyalty. It’s love.
Respect goes both ways. And until there’s a clarification, we have every right to call it what it is: a subtle, silent, shady move.
And BTS deserves so much better than silence.
---
Hello Bitches!! Tell me the next the next genre you want. (Yandere theme)
Romance!! 💕
Spicy!! 🥵
Smut. Smut. Smut ✨
Would you be willing to do a yandere Sope fic? With a splash of stalking or maybe CEO! Yandere? Feel free to disregard if you aren’t taking requests! If you don’t write for 2 could it be for Hobi? 🩵 hope you’re doing well, I love your work!
Title: On the 42nd Floor
You weren't anyone special.
An assistant in the finance department, bottom tier on the 27th floor, your job consisted of brewing coffee, sorting invoices, and ducking your head whenever upper management passed by. Your boss barely remembered your name. Most of your coworkers didn’t speak to you unless they needed help fixing the printer.
But everything changed when Jung Hoseok said your name.
You’d never even seen the CEO in person before that day. Just photos—sharp jawline, sculpted cheekbones, soft brown hair swept back like he didn’t even try to look that good. In company newsletters, he always smiled politely. In meetings streamed across departments, his voice was smooth and controlled.
But nothing could prepare you for him standing right in front of you.
"YN," he said.
You looked up, wide-eyed and silent.
He smiled. "You’ve been on my radar for a while."
You blinked. "Me?"
His laugh was quiet and low. "Come with me."
And just like that, you were transferred to the 42nd floor.
At first, it felt like a dream.
A personal elevator key. A sleek new desk just outside his office. Fresh flowers every Monday. Hoseok would greet you every morning by name, his eyes lingering a little too long, his compliments walking the line between formal and intimate.
“I like your earrings,” he said once. “You wore them three weeks ago, didn’t you? With a black turtleneck. It suited you.”
You froze.
He remembered?
“Attention to detail,” he added, as if reading your discomfort. “It’s what keeps a company running.”
But the details he noticed weren’t always about work.
You began to sense things. Patterns. Subtle, unnerving shifts.
Your favorite coffee order—without ever asking.
A note on your desk: Don’t forget your umbrella. 60% chance of rain after 5. It rained. At exactly 5:13.
The scarf you lost at the laundromat reappeared in your drawer. Folded. Freshly washed. It smelled like sandalwood and cedar.
Like his cologne.
Then the incidents started.
Your neighbor’s car alarm kept going off at night. You overheard her say she was being stalked. A man you met at a friend’s birthday party offered you a ride home. You hesitated, but accepted.
He never made it to your door.
His tires were slashed. Windshield shattered.
You didn’t connect the dots—until the next morning, when Hoseok looked at you with that gentle, unreadable smile.
“I hope you got home safely,” he said.
Your hands trembled around the paper you were holding.
“I… I did.”
“That’s good.” His eyes crinkled. “Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
You began pulling away.
You were polite. Distant. Less eager to meet his gaze. You didn’t smile as much. You even started searching for new jobs in secret.
And then, like a trap snapping shut, Hoseok began tightening his hold.
Your landlord sent you a termination notice—sudden renovations, no prior warning.
Your parents received a call that you’d been skipping work and showing signs of depression. You hadn’t.
When you tried to take a day off for a mental health break, HR sent you an email within five minutes: CEO Jung would like to personally check in. Please be at your desk by 9 a.m.
It was like he knew everything. Every move.
One evening, you stayed late, hoping to avoid him. He entered the office quietly, just as you were about to leave.
He stood behind you, not saying a word.
“I… should go,” you mumbled, grabbing your purse.
“YN.”
You turned.
He was smiling. But his eyes—those eyes—were too calm. Too still.
“Have I done something to make you uncomfortable?” he asked softly.
You hesitated. “I just… need space.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
Then stepped closer. “You can have all the space you need.”
He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers were cold. “As long as you don’t leave me.”
Your breath caught.
“What?”
“I said,” his smile widened, “I’ll always make sure you’re taken care of.”
You ran the next day.
Took a train to a city three hours away. Rented a small apartment under a false name. Burned your work badge. Changed your phone number.
You didn’t tell a soul. You didn’t pack much. You left behind your life like shedding old skin.
It felt like freedom. Brief, shaky freedom.
Until the doorbell rang.
You stared at the tiny screen connected to your door camera.
No one there.
You opened the door hesitantly, heart racing—and saw a box on the floor. White, square, tied with a deep purple ribbon.
Your favorite color.
You brought it inside with trembling fingers. Peeled it open slowly.
Inside: a crystal vase. Filled with lilies. Fresh. Dew-kissed.
A gold card tucked inside.
Your name written in elegant calligraphy.
You opened the card.
One sentence.
“There is no ‘away’ from me. You belong on the 42nd floor.”
---------------------•••------------------
Hey bitches!! I'm back from dead. I know I am late to this request. Sorry!! @living-in-a-daydream-24 but here it is.
And I am back after my internal exams almost killed me 😭
Do y'all need a sequel?? Maybe hobi's pov?
Can you write a yandere yoongi fic please :3
Heyy @n33mesis . Thank you for being my first request ｡◕‿◕｡
I truly tried my best to put out an yandere yoongi in this fic.
-> [Read Here]
Tell me if you liked it (^‿^)
I love you 💕
Melody of Obsession | MYG
➝ Request by anon. I tried my best (◍•ᴗ•◍)
(Yandere! Yoongi x Female Reader)
Warnings: Yandere behavior, possessiveness, jealousy, emotional manipulation, obsessive love, mild violence (firm grip, intense confrontations), and unhealthy relationship dynamics.
Summary: Trapped between love and obsession, you fall for Yoongi—a gifted pianist whose quiet devotion hides a dangerous possessiveness, making escape impossible… even if you never truly wanted one.
Soft melodies drifted through the dimly lit apartment, the gentle hum of piano keys filling the space with an eerie kind of comfort. Min Yoongi sat at his grand piano, fingers dancing effortlessly over the keys, eyes half-lidded in deep concentration. But his focus wasn’t entirely on the music. It was on you.
You, curled up on the couch, unaware of the way his gaze flickered toward you between every few notes. You, blissfully lost in your phone, completely unaware that he had been watching you for minutes now.
It started small—his obsession.
At first, it was just a fascination. The way your laughter filled the silence when you listened to his compositions. The way your fingers brushed against his whenever you handed him a cup of coffee. The way your voice sounded when you said his name—like a song only meant for him.
And then, it became something more.
Something darker.
Yoongi pressed down on a deep, low note, letting it linger in the air before turning to face you. "Who are you texting?"
You blinked, looking up from your phone. "Just a friend. Why?"
His expression didn’t change. Yoongi was always hard to read, but you noticed the way his jaw tensed, the way his fingers flexed against his thighs. "A guy?"
You sighed, not liking where this was going. "Yoongi—"
"Answer me."
There was no sharpness in his voice, no anger, and yet something about the way he spoke made your stomach tighten with unease.
You hesitated. "Yeah. But it's just—"
The music stopped.
Yoongi stood up slowly, his movements unhurried, deliberate. The room suddenly felt smaller as he approached, the scent of his cologne—woody and warm—clouding your senses. He took the phone from your hands with ease, his touch surprisingly gentle as he scrolled through your messages.
"Yoongi, don’t—"
His grip on the device tightened. Then, he looked at you. And that’s when you saw it.
Possession.
"You don’t need him," he murmured, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered against your skin, cold and firm. "You have me."
Your heartbeat quickened. "I—Yoongi, I have friends. I can’t just—"
"Yes, you can." His thumb brushed over your lips, silencing you. "I’m all you need, baby."
You swallowed hard, the intensity of his gaze making it difficult to breathe. This wasn’t the Yoongi you had first fallen for—the quiet, sarcastic, charming musician who made you feel safe. No, this was something else. Something dangerous.
You tried to take your phone back, but he pulled it out of reach, slipping it into his pocket effortlessly. "You spend too much time on this anyway. You should be spending it with me."
You stared at him, disbelief creeping into your voice. "You can’t just take my phone, Yoongi."
He hummed, tilting his head. "I think I just did."
A small, mocking smile tugged at his lips, but his eyes—his dark, unreadable eyes—held something much more sinister.
You took a step back, your heart pounding. "I think I should go home."
Yoongi sighed, almost disappointed. "Home?" He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Baby, this is your home. You belong with me."
Your stomach dropped.
"Yoongi—"
His fingers gripped your wrist before you could move further away, his touch still deceptively gentle, but firm enough that you knew you wouldn’t be able to pull away.
"Shh," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Don’t fight it. You know I love you, right?"
The words sent a chill down your spine.
Love.
This wasn’t love. This was something far more twisted.
"Yoongi, this isn’t normal," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "You’re scaring me."
His smile remained, but something in his gaze flickered—an emotion too deep, too dark to name. "Good," he murmured, pulling you closer. His lips brushed against your temple, his breath warm against your skin. "Then you’ll finally understand that you can’t leave me. Ever."
Your pulse hammered against your ribs.
The realization sank in.
You were trapped.
And Yoongi?
He had never been planning to let you go in the first place.
The first time you met Min Yoongi, it was in a quiet, dimly lit jazz café tucked away in a less crowded part of the city. You hadn’t planned to be there that night—your friends had bailed on your dinner plans, leaving you wandering alone until the soothing hum of a piano lured you inside.
Yoongi was at the grand piano near the corner, his head slightly bowed, fingers gliding effortlessly over the keys. His expression was unreadable, yet there was something intoxicating about the way he played, as if he was pouring his entire soul into each note.
You found yourself drawn to him, sliding into a seat at the bar and watching in quiet fascination. He didn’t glance up, didn’t acknowledge the audience. He was lost in his world, his music whispering secrets only he could understand. And yet, you felt them too—each note sinking into your skin, wrapping around your heart.
When the song ended, the small crowd murmured their quiet appreciation, but he barely reacted. He simply exhaled and reached for his drink. It was only when he turned his head slightly that your eyes met.
A spark.
Yoongi held your gaze for a second too long before setting his drink down and rising from the bench. You had expected him to leave, but instead, he walked straight to you.
“You keep staring.” His voice was deep, smooth, carrying an edge of amusement.
You blinked, embarrassed. “Sorry. You’re… really good.”
Something flickered in his dark eyes. He tilted his head, studying you in a way that made your stomach twist—not in fear, but in something close to intrigue.
“I know,” he said simply, and for some reason, that made you smile.
That was how it began.
Yoongi was not an easy man to know. He was reserved, quiet, often lost in his music. But when he wanted something, he pursued it relentlessly. And he had decided he wanted you.
At first, it was subtle.
A text at midnight: What are you doing?
An unexpected visit to your workplace with your favorite coffee, despite never asking what you liked.
The way he would disappear from conversations the moment another man showed too much interest in you.
You should have noticed the possessiveness from the start, but you had been too blinded by the way he made you feel.
Yoongi made you feel wanted.
One night, a few months into knowing him, you were walking home alone after a late shift. The streets were empty, the city quiet, but there was a strange sensation prickling at the back of your neck—as if someone was watching.
You hurried your steps, clutching your bag tightly, only to hear the low, familiar voice behind you.
“You shouldn’t be walking home this late.”
You gasped, spinning around, only to find Yoongi leaning casually against a lamppost a few feet away. He looked unbothered, hands tucked into his pockets, as if he had been waiting for you.
“Yoongi?” You exhaled in relief. “You scared me.”
His lips curled into a small smirk, but there was no amusement in his eyes. “I told you to text me when you get off work. I would’ve picked you up.”
“I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted, still trying to calm your racing heart.
He pushed off the lamppost, closing the distance between you in slow, measured steps. “You’re never a bother.” His voice softened, but there was something almost dangerous in the way he said it. “But you are reckless.”
You frowned. “Yoongi, I can take care of myself.”
He hummed, but his gaze darkened. “No. That’s my job now.”
His fingers brushed against yours, cool against your skin. You shivered—not from the cold, but from the way his presence consumed you entirely.
That night, he walked you home, silent yet watchful, as if daring anyone to come close. And when you reached your apartment, he didn’t leave.
Not right away.
He lingered at your doorstep, eyes locked onto yours, as if debating something. Then, in a move so gentle it contradicted the intensity in his gaze, he cupped your cheek.
“Next time,” he murmured, “call me. Don’t make me come find you.”
You should have questioned it.
Should have wondered why he had been waiting.
But instead, you found yourself nodding, your breath hitching as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.
And just like that, Min Yoongi had you wrapped around his finger.
Yoongi wasn’t the typical romantic. He didn’t shower you with extravagant gifts or sweet words laced with honey. Instead, his love was quiet but suffocating, like a song played on repeat—haunting, possessive, and inescapable.
He learned your schedule by heart before you even told him. He knew what foods you liked, what scents calmed you, what words made you melt. He wasn’t a man of many words, but his actions screamed of devotion.
"Eat," he would command when you forgot meals, setting a plate in front of you without room for argument.
"Sleep," he would murmur when you stayed up too late, dragging you into bed, wrapping himself around you so tight it was impossible to move away.
"Where were you?" he would ask, his voice deceptively soft, his fingers tracing circles on your wrist, holding just tight enough to make you uneasy.
Yoongi was obsessive in a way that should have scared you more. But it didn’t.
Because when the world felt too much, when the weight of life crushed you, he was always there—waiting, watching, protecting. And despite everything, you found yourself sinking into him like he was the only thing that made sense.
---•••------•••------•••------•••------
It had started with something small—a harmless conversation with a colleague at a café. The man had been friendly, nothing more. But when you turned your head, Yoongi was already there, watching from a few tables away.
His gaze was unreadable, but his fingers were drumming against his coffee cup in slow, controlled taps. You knew that look. It was the calm before the storm.
That night, when you returned home, he was already waiting inside.
"Why were you talking to him?" His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath it.
You sighed, tossing your bag on the couch. "Yoongi, I work with him. It was just coffee."
"You were laughing."
"So?"
He exhaled slowly, setting his glass down with a clink. Then, in a movement too fast for you to react, he was in front of you, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.
"That’s mine," he murmured. "That smile. Your attention. Your time." His fingers curled around your wrist, not painful, but firm. "I don’t like sharing."
Something in you snapped. "Yoongi, this isn’t normal! You can’t control every single person I talk to!"
His expression darkened, his grip tightening. "Why not?"
"Because I’m a person, not something you own!"
For the first time in months, you saw something flicker across his face—hurt. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by something colder.
"You don’t get it," he murmured.
"Then help me understand!" You shoved at his chest, and for once, he let you. "Because right now, all I see is a man who doesn’t trust me!"
Silence stretched between you.
Then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, he whispered, "I don’t trust them."
Your breath hitched.
Yoongi wasn’t jealous because he thought you’d leave. He was jealous because he thought the world would take you from him.
His fingers loosened, and for a moment, you saw the cracks in his walls. The fear. The obsession.
You should have run. You should have told him that love wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
But instead, you took his face in your hands.
"Yoongi," you whispered, your anger ebbing away, replaced by something deeper. "I’m not going anywhere."
His shoulders slumped, as if those words were the only thing keeping him alive. And when you leaned up and kissed him, he crushed you against him, his hands gripping you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
By the end of the night, you weren’t sure if you had won the fight or if you had lost completely.
Yoongi had never been one for grand gestures, and his proposal was no different. It wasn’t in a fancy restaurant, nor with a big speech. It was in the quiet, in the space between moments, where his love had always existed.
It was a stormy night, rain pattering against the windows as you sat curled up on the couch, his head resting in your lap while you played with his hair.
"Marry me," he murmured, barely above a whisper.
Your fingers froze. "What?"
He tilted his head slightly to look up at you. His eyes were unreadable, dark pools that you had long since fallen into.
"Be mine," he said simply.
Your heart clenched. "I already am."
He sat up then, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, unassuming black box. He didn’t open it right away. Instead, he took your hand, his thumb tracing the delicate lines of your palm.
"You don’t have to say yes," he murmured. "But if you do… you’ll be mine completely."
There was something in the way he said it that sent a shiver down your spine. Not a warning, not a plea—just a fact.
You stared at the box, at the man before you, at the invisible chains he had wrapped around your soul.
And you realized something.
You had already chosen him long ago.
Yoongi wasn’t just a man you loved. He was the air you breathed, the storm you had willingly walked into. He terrified you. He consumed you.
But deep down, you wanted to be consumed.
So, you took the box, opened it, and slid the ring onto your finger.
Yoongi exhaled slowly, as if he had been holding his breath for years. Then, he pulled you onto his lap, burying his face into your neck.
"Mine," he whispered, pressing a kiss against your skin.
And you knew then—there was no escape.
But maybe, just maybe, you never really wanted one.
⟢ 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐒𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐘’𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 ⟣
Love is not gentle here. It is ruthless, obsessive, and inescapable. You are not a lover—you are a possession.
⟢ 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄 ⟣
✧ Hello, lost soul. You’ve stumbled into a world where love is a sickness, obsession is devotion, and freedom is nothing but a distant dream.
✧ I craft BTS yandere scenarios—stories dripping in twisted romance, suffocating love, and beautiful madness.
✧ If you enjoy possessive lovers, unhinged devotion, and the thrill of being utterly claimed, you’re in the right place.
✧ Stay as long as you like. Leave? Oh, darling… that was never an option.
⚠ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⚠
✧ 18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI – My stories are not safe for those who seek gentle love.
✧ 𝐍𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 – Fiction, not reality. Do not romanticize real-life toxic relationships.
✧ 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏, 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓. If you can’t handle obsession, manipulation, or the weight of devotion that crushes, this isn’t for you.
✧ 𝐄𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐑𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.
⟢ 𖤐 𝐌 𝐀 𝐒 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐋 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓 𖤐 ⟣
"To love me is to surrender."
⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆 ⟣
✧ TWISTED DEVOTION
➝ [Read Here]
⟢ 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐊 ⟣
✧ TWISTED LOVE
➝ [Read Here]
✧ YANDERE HUSBAND
➝ [Read Here]
⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊𝐉𝐈𝐍 ⟣
✧ MAD DOCTOR
➝ [Read Here]
⟢ 𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈 ⟣
✧ MELODY OF OBSESSION
➝ [Read Here]
⟢ 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊⟣
✧ ON THE 42ND FLOOR
➝ [Read Here]
“The more you resist, the sweeter you become.”
⟢ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄 ⟣
MAD DOCTOR
| Yandere Doctor Kim Seokjin × Female Reader |
She didn’t notice the way his grip lingered, possessive in its own way. She didn’t notice how his eyes darkened ever so slightly as he watched her across the table, how his mind swirled with satisfaction.
PART 1
PART 2
TWISTED DEVOTION
| Yandere Police Officer Kim Taehyung × Female Reader |
I glanced back at you, my smile returning as I saw the fear in your eyes. "We’re going to be so happy together," I murmured, more to myself than to you. "Just you and me. Forever."
PART 1
PART 2
PART 3
Mad Doctor (part II)
Pair :- Yandere seokjin × Female reader
Summary :- Dr. Seokjin is adored by all, yet bound to a possessive wife who marks him as hers. His colleagues pity him, thinking he’s trapped. But behind closed doors, the truth is far more complicated.
Warnings :- Yandere themes, toxic relationship, manupilative behaviour, domestic violence, jealous reader, possessive reader, dubious consent (mild), smut (it's bit edgy), oral (f. receiving), jealous seokjin, possessive seokjin.
"This is a work of fiction and does not promote or romanticize toxic relationships in real life."
They had been newlyweds, still learning each other's habits, still adjusting to their life together. Seokjin had noticed Yn’s possessiveness early on—the way she’d stiffen when another woman got too close, how her hand would tighten around his wrist when someone complimented him.
But she had never crossed a line. Not until that night.
It had started at a family gathering.
Yn’s mother had laughed over dinner, sipping on her wine, recounting stories from Yn’s childhood. "Yn has always been like this," she had said. "She never liked sharing her toys. I still remember when she scratched her little friend’s face just because she took her doll. Poor girl had scars for weeks."
Seokjin had chuckled politely, but a strange feeling crept up his spine. He glanced at Yn, expecting her to laugh it off, but she was staring at her plate, lips pressed into a thin line.
Seokjin's cousin sister was always friendly but he felt yn's eyes on him and he tensed, her mother previous words didn't do anything better.
Jin had tried to let go of that topic, he wasn't disloyal and he wasn't an object but why did it feel like it. Why did he get nervous while talking to another woman. He didn't see but he knew yn was watching and he knew what was going to happen tonight.
That night, when they got home, the tension followed them inside.
It started small—Yn’s arms crossed, eyes dark as she questioned him. "That woman was too close to you today."
Seokjin sighed, rubbing his temple. "She was just making conversation, Yn."
"She touched your arm."
"It was just for a moment."
"She was laughing."
"She can't laugh now?"
"She was flirting."
"She was just being friendly."
"Yn—"
*smack*
The slap came so suddenly, neither of them registered it at first.
A sharp sting on Seokjin’s cheek. A heavy silence in the air.
Yn gasped, stepping back as if she had burned herself. Her hand trembled. "Jin—" Her voice cracked. "I—"
She looked terrified. Like she had just realized what she had done.
Seokjin’s mind was blank. The pain barely registered, but the shock did. His wife—his soft, shy, lovesick wife—had hit him.
Yn clutched her hands together. "I didn’t mean to. I swear. I just—" Her breath came out shaky. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jin."
A long, suffocating silence stretched between them.
Seokjin forced himself to breathe. He swallowed, the weight of the moment settling in. And then, despite everything, he gave her a small, tired smile. "It’s okay."
But Yn knew it wasn’t. She knew she fucked up.
That night, they both lay awake in bed. Neither spoke. The space between them felt like an ocean. Yn wanted to apologise but she knew her sorrys are waste if she doesn't control her possessiveness. She never found it as a trait. Growing up she was proud of her selfishness and possesiveness, but now she wasn't sure.
Jin had been avoiding her for days. Yn felt like shit even though they slept in same bed he felt miles away and guilt for the first time was eating her away. Her Jin must be upset on her, she must correct her mistake.
Yn was determined. If her behavior hurt Seokjin—if it put a crack in their marriage—she would change. She isn't ready to give up on seokjin, never.
The next morning, she reached out to her friend, asking for recommendations for yoga and meditation classes.
"I need to control my anger," she admitted, voice heavy with shame.
And when she told Seokjin about it, he had smiled, relief flickering in his eyes.
"I’m proud of you, Yn."
For the first time in days, she felt like she could breathe.
If he likes it then I'll do it.
❀｡･:*:･ﾟ❥･:*:･ﾟ✿･:*:･ﾟ❥･:*:･ﾟ❀
It started slow. Days passed.
Yn meditated in the mornings as instructed by teacher. She learned to breathe before reacting. When Seokjin’s female colleagues laughed a little too much at his jokes, she clenched her fists but said nothing. When she felt the surge of jealousy creeping up, she forced herself to calm down, to breathe, to not punch her in the face.
Seokjin noticed the difference immediately.
She no longer clung to him with bruising grips. She no longer tightened her arms around his waist whenever she got insecure.
She still loved him—he knew that. But something was different.
She was different.
And at first, it was good.
Healthy.
They were happy.
Seokjin was happy.
Until he wasn’t.
___
It was subtle at first.
Seokjin would flirt playfully, and instead of blushing furiously and gripping his arm, Yn would just smile and shake her head.
He would tease her about another woman talking to him, expecting that usual fire in her eyes, but she only kissed his cheek and said, "I trust you."
She didn’t get jealous anymore.
She didn’t throw her arms around him at random moments, burying her face in his chest.
She still held him, still kissed him, still loved him—but it wasn’t the same.
And Seokjin—he didn’t understand why that bothered him.
It was better this way, wasn’t it?
But then, why did he feel restless?
Why did he miss the way she used to grip him like he was the only thing keeping her afloat?
Why did it feel like he was losing something?
___
One evening, Seokjin decided to surprise Yn.
He had finished early at work and drove to her yoga class, waiting in the parking lot with a small bouquet in hand.
When he saw her step out of the building, he smiled.
He was about to call her name, stepping forward—
But then he froze.
Yn wasn’t alone.
She was talking to someone—a man.
Seokjin’s stomach dropped.
She was smiling. Laughing. Her posture was relaxed, her face open and warm.
She didn’t smile at men like that before.
And then it hit him.
Is this how Yn felt?
That suffocating weight in his chest. That rush of jealousy clawing up his throat. That deep, irrational fear that someone was trying to take what was his.
His fingers clenched around the bouquet, heart pounding in his ears.
For the first time, Seokjin understood.
And he hated it.
𓆩♡𓆪.｡.✿.｡.𓆩♡𓆪.｡.✿.｡.𓆩♡𓆪
The drive home that night was quiet. Too quiet.
Seokjin gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as his mind replayed the image over and over again.
Yn. Laughing. Smiling. With another man.
She had never done that before.
At home, Yn hummed as she set the table for dinner. She looked… peaceful.
Seokjin should have been happy. She was finally in control of her emotions, finally at ease. But something wasn’t right.
He couldn’t stop staring at her.
She was still his Yn, still his wife, but she wasn’t the same.
She wasn’t his in the way she used to be.
She didn’t cling to him the second he walked through the door. She didn’t demand to know how many women had tried to talk to him today.
She didn’t grip his arm too tight, didn’t press possessive kisses onto his skin.
She didn’t need to.
Because she was fine.
Without him.
"How was work?" Yn asked, taking a bite of her food.
Seokjin swallowed hard.
"It was okay," he murmured, watching her carefully.
Yn smiled. "That’s good. I had a great class today. We focused on breathing techniques."
Breathing techniques.
Seokjin bit the inside of his cheek.
"Who else was there?" he asked, forcing his voice to stay light.
Yn blinked, clearly not expecting the question. "The usual group."
"The usual group."
That man was part of the "usual group," wasn’t he?
Seokjin forced himself to nod.
"That’s nice."
Yn beamed.
But Seokjin felt sick.
The days that followed were a battle he hadn’t prepared for.
Seokjin was used to being the good one in their relationship. The patient one. The reasonable one.
But now… he was the one holding back his emotions.
He would wake up to find Yn already meditating in the living room, eyes closed, face serene. She looked untouchable—like something sacred.
She used to wake him up first.
She used to press lazy, desperate kisses to his lips in the mornings, refusing to let him leave the bed.
Now?
She was slipping away.
And he hated it.
At the hospital, Seokjin became distracted.
"Dr. Kim, are you alright?" a nurse asked when he nearly prescribed the wrong dosage for a patient.
He nodded stiffly. "Just a little tired."
Junho, his closest friend, noticed too.
"You don’t seem yourself lately," Junho remarked as they walked to the cafeteria. "Is everything okay with Yn?"
Seokjin clenched his jaw.
"She’s… changing."
Junho brightened. "That’s good, right? She’s working on herself."
Seokjin should have nodded. Should have smiled and said, Yes. It’s good.
But the words stuck in his throat.
Was it good?
Because it didn’t feel that way.
That night, when Seokjin got home, Yn was on the couch, scrolling through her phone.
She didn’t rush to the door when she heard him.
She didn’t even look up immediately.
It was like a knife to the chest.
"Hey," she finally greeted, glancing up.
That’s it?
Just ‘hey’?
"Hey," he echoed, his voice colder than intended.
Yn frowned. "Something wrong?"
Everything.
Everything was wrong.
"No," he said flatly, dropping his bag and walking past her.
Yn didn’t chase after him.
She used to.
She used to always chase after him.
❀｡･:*:･ﾟ❥･:*:･ﾟ✿･:*:･ﾟ❥･:*:･ﾟ❀
Seokjin tried to ignore the growing unease in his chest.
He told himself he was being irrational.
That he should be proud of Yn for controlling herself.
But the thoughts wouldn’t stop.
Especially when, a few days later, he picked her up from class early.
He saw her before she saw him.
And there he was again.
The man from before.
Standing next to Yn.
Smiling.
And worse—she was smiling back.
Seokjin saw red.
He had never hated anyone before.
But in that moment, he hated him.
His feet moved on their own, carrying him forward.
"Yn," he called, voice tight.
She turned, surprised. "Jin! You’re here early."
Seokjin barely glanced at the man before pulling Yn closer. His arm wrapped around her waist, his grip firm.
"Let’s go," he said.
Yn blinked but nodded, giving a small smile to the man. "See you later."
See you later.
See you later.
Seokjin gritted his teeth.
The second they got home, Seokjin pulled Yn against him, burying his face in her neck.
Yn laughed softly, carding her fingers through his hair. "What’s gotten into you?"
Seokjin didn’t answer.
He gripped her hips tighter, as if afraid she’d slip through his fingers.
"You don’t hold me like this anymore."
"You don’t need me like before."
"You’re slipping away."
Yn sighed, pulling back to cup his face. "Jin, you know I love you, right?"
"Then why does it feel like I’m losing you?"
Seokjin forced a smile. "Of course."
Yn smiled, leaning in to kiss him.
He kissed her back.
But this time, he didn’t let her pull away.
His lips moved urgently, possessively.
Yn let out a surprised sound, but he didn’t stop.
He needed to remind her.
Needed her to feel it.
Needed to brand himself onto her skin again.
His hands gripped her waist, his mouth trailing lower.
Yn gasped as he kissed along her collarbone, her neck. "Jin—"
But he didn’t stop.
He sucked and bit down, leaving marks.
Dark. Visible.
Possessive.
Yn let out a breathy laugh, tugging at his hair. "You’re acting jealous."
Seokjin smirked against her skin.
"Maybe I am."
Yn rolled her eyes but let him do whatever he wanted.
Just like she used to.
And for the first time in weeks, Seokjin felt at peace.
His kisses lingered further on body, his hands now pulling on her yoga pants. It was overwhelming for yn, they haven't had sex since their fight and she missed this so much.
Her panties were soaked and seokjin started moving her to bedroom. After pulling her panties down he put his one digit in, not really needed lube seeing how much horny yn was.
"You're my wife, Mine!"
Seokjin hurried himself out of his clothes, going down on her. Oh how he loves pleasuring yn. Hearing her break and whimper just by his mouth. Starting by sucking on her clitoris and to licking her folds, seokjin tried to prove that no one can please her better than him. His fingers joining and opening her up. Yn was mess, fuck she was a total mess. Her stomach bubbling with hotness and she knew she was close.
Seokjin however didn't rush - he enjoyed, licking her vagina clean he moved forward. Lubing up his dick, he was ready to insert - until.
"What about condom?"
Seokjin forgot and weirdly didn't want to remember about it. Surely he would pull out and even if he doesn't they were mature to be parents, right?
She could just leave that stupid class and would carry his child, her bump showing proudly but Jin still put on the condom. He can't go against her wishes but he does show his frustration with rough thrusts.
Hitting her on right spots, her hole swallowing him, adjusting his whole length as if it was made for it.
Jin sweet talked throughout the whole sex, he praised which elevated his sweet wife more. And for the first time in while seokjin was at peace.
❀｡･:*:･ﾟ❥･:*:･ﾟ✿･:*:･ﾟ❥･:*:･ﾟ❀
Seokjin woke up alone.
His arms reached out instinctively, searching for Yn’s warmth. But the bed was empty. Cold.
His heart sank.
Last night, she had been there—under him, around him, his.
But now…
Seokjin sat up, rubbing his face before his eyes landed on the living room.
There she was.
Sitting on the floor, back straight, eyes closed in deep meditation.
Her lips, the same ones he had kissed raw last night, were slightly parted in a peaceful sigh.
His jaw clenched.
She was slipping away again.
Slowly.
So slowly that if he wasn’t careful, he would lose her completely.
But Seokjin wasn’t going to let that happen.
He had made up his mind.
"Yn."
His voice was soft but firm.
Yn slowly opened her eyes, blinking as she turned to face him. "Jin?"
He smiled, tilting his head. "Come have breakfast with me."
Yn hesitated.
Seokjin never interrupted her meditation.
Her routine had been sacred ever since she started this journey of self-control.
But now, his eyes held something she couldn’t quite place.
Something desperate.
"I just… want to have breakfast with my wife," he added, voice almost pleading.
Yn hesitated again, then nodded slowly.
"Just for today."
"Just this once."
She didn’t know.
She didn’t know what she had just agreed to.
Because Seokjin never planned to let her go back.
It started small.
Little things that Yn didn’t notice at first.
Like how her alarm mysteriously stopped ringing in the mornings.
"Oh, did you forget to set it?" Seokjin would ask, feigning innocence.
Or how, every time she wanted to meditate, he would suddenly need her.
"Can you help me with this?"
"Let’s go for a walk together."
"I made tea for us, come sit with me."
He never forced her.
No, Seokjin was too smart for that.
Instead, he made her choose him.
Made her feel guilty for wanting to spend time alone.
And when she did try to insist on her routine, his face would fall ever so slightly, just enough for her to see.
"I just… miss you, that’s all."
Yn would pause, chew her lip, then sigh.
"Okay, just for today."
Just for today.
But today became tomorrow.
Tomorrow became the next week.
And soon, Yn’s carefully built routine began to crumble.
Just like Seokjin planned.
___
It wasn’t enough.
Seokjin needed to try more.
So he let the jealousy creep back in.
He made her see it. Feel it.
One evening, while they were at a dinner party, he spoke a little too kindly to a female colleague.
He smiled a little too warmly.
And from the corner of his eye, he watched Yn’s fingers curl into fists.
Perfect.
She had been so calm lately. So rational.
But Seokjin didn’t want rational.
He wanted her to burn for him.
So when the woman laughed at his joke and placed a hand on his arm, he didn’t move away immediately.
Yn saw.
And just like that, the fire was back.
Her nails dug into his wrist under the table, a warning. A claim.
And Seokjin nearly smiled.
When they got home, she was seething.
"You enjoyed that, didn’t you?" she accused, arms crossed.
Seokjin blinked, innocent. "What are you talking about?"
Yn stepped closer, eyes blazing. "She was all over you, and you let her."
Seokjin sighed dramatically. "Yn, you know I only love you."
"Then prove it."
She grabbed his collar, yanking him into a bruising kiss.
Seokjin let her.
Let her pull. Let her mark him.
Let her claim him all over again.
His fingers curled into her waist, holding her close as she pressed hickeys into his skin like she owned him.
She did. She always would.
And in that moment, Seokjin knew.
He had won.
___
Yn stopped going to meditation classes.
Not all at once. No, it was gradual.
Slow.
Seokjin made sure of that.
"Come with me to the hospital, I have a long shift, and I miss you."
"Let’s take a trip, just us."
"I don’t want to sleep alone tonight, stay with me."
One by one, her excuses piled up.
And one day, she simply stopped going altogether.
Seokjin held her tighter than ever.
And when she clung back, possessive, needy, desperate—he knew.
His Yn was back.
She thought she had won.
That she had chosen to let go of meditation on her own.
But Seokjin knew better. Every step. Every moment.
His sweet, jealous wife. His obsessive, possessive wife.
His perfect wife.
And she would never even realize.
Seokjin had always been a patient man. It was a necessary trait in his profession—steady hands, steady mind, unwavering control. He knew how to wait. How to watch. How to manipulate the smallest changes in a person’s body to lead them to recovery.
But this wasn’t about healing.
It was about undoing.
.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。.♡・。.・゜
The hospital was quieter in the mornings, the scent of antiseptic lingering in the air as the early shifts began. Dr. Junho leaned against Seokjin’s desk, arms crossed, his face laced with concern. His eyes flickered toward Seokjin’s sleeve, barely hiding the faint bruises on his wrist—remnants of last night’s possessive grip.
“She’s getting worse, Jin,” Junho muttered, keeping his voice low so no nurses would overhear.
Seokjin merely sighed, adjusting his tie in the reflection of his computer screen. "It's not as bad as it looks."
Junho scoffed. "Jin, people saw what happened last night. The way she held onto you, the way she stormed out. And now—" He gestured toward the bruises. "She’s leaving marks on you. This isn’t normal.”
A pause stretched between them.
“She loves me,” Seokjin finally said, voice calm, unwavering. "That’s all there is to it."
Junho pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling in frustration. "Jin, love shouldn’t be like this. You know that, right?"
But Seokjin only smiled, an expression so gentle, so convincing that anyone else would have believed him. "You don’t understand, Junho. She just… loves me differently."
And that was the end of the conversation. Junho knew pushing further would be pointless—Seokjin always denied it, always dismissed it. With one last wary glance, Junho left, leaving Seokjin alone in his office, staring at his reflection.
A love like theirs wasn’t for others to understand.
---
When Seokjin stepped inside his home that evening, the air felt different. It was warm, charged, filled with something possessive and intoxicating. Yn was in the kitchen, back turned to him, humming softly as she prepared dinner. His heart swelled at the sight.
She turned at the sound of his footsteps, her lips curling into a smirk. "You’re late."
Seokjin simply walked over, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, pressing a lingering kiss to her neck. "You missed me?"
Yn huffed but didn’t pull away. "Of course I did. Who else am I supposed to keep in check?"
A chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Of course."
As they sat down for dinner, Yn eyed the faint bruises on his wrist, her fingers tracing them lightly. "I didn't mean to grip you that hard," she muttered.
Seokjin took her hand in his, squeezing gently. "I know, darling!."
She didn’t notice the way his grip lingered, possessive in its own way. She didn’t notice how his eyes darkened ever so slightly as he watched her across the table, how his mind swirled with satisfaction.
Because she was his. And he was hers.
And as long as the world thought he was the victim, no one would ever suspect who the real yandere in their marriage was.
Heya!! Sorry for being lazy in posting the second part 😩
Thanks Y'all for patiently waiting and giving love to this series (mwah mwah), if anyone has any ideas on next part or epilogue do not hesitate to share with me. And do comment if you liked the plot.
Taglist :- @aaclariww , @taekritimin123 , @bebabido , @demonshauntingthedoves , @kpopsmutty69 , @11thenightwemet11 , @margaretro23 , @yoontaethings .
Your mater list?
Heyy!! @rxithv . I'm gonna make one after finishing Mad Doctor. Currently working on it and I want to give it all. ❤️😚
Love ya!!!! 💕
hi! can i be added to mad doctor's taglist? loving the first part so far and would really love to see where the story goes 💕
@yoontaethings Sure Bae!! ❤️
Mad Doctor (part 1)
Pair :- Yandere Seokjin × Toxic Reader
Summary :- Dr. Seokjin is adored by all, yet bound to a possessive wife who marks him as hers. His colleagues pity him, thinking he’s trapped. But behind closed doors, the truth is far more complicated.
Warnings :- Yandere themes, toxic relationship, manupilative behaviour, domestic violence, jealous reader, possessive reader, dubious consent (mild).
"This is a work of fiction and does not promote or romanticize toxic relationships in real life."
Dr. Seokjin was perfect. That was the general consensus. The nurses adored him, patients fawned over him, and even the strict hospital director softened in his presence. He was the kind of man who carried warmth in his voice and sincerity in his touch.
It wasn’t just his skill that made people admire him—it was his kindness. The way he remembered small details about his patients, how he never raised his voice, how he treated everyone with a level of care that felt personal.
But behind that perfection was the weight of something else. Something only those who worked closely with him noticed.
Bruises and Marks.
Small ones or big ones. Light fingerprints that faded in a few days or scars that stayed for months. Marks around his wrist or his arm, as if someone had grabbed him too tightly.
The hospital staff whispered.
"His wife must be something else, huh?"
"He never says anything bad about her, though. Always smiling, saying he loves her. But you saw it, right? The marks on his arm?"
"Yeah… I feel bad for him."
"Did you hear what happened at the party?"
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✦ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
The hospital gala was one of the biggest annual events, a night where doctors, nurses, and hospital executives could finally let loose. It was held in a grand ballroom, chandeliers sparkling above as classical music played in the background. The air smelled of expensive champagne and designer perfume.
Seokjin, as always, looked perfect. Dressed in a crisp black suit, his hair styled back, he greeted everyone with his usual warmth. Women—nurses, executives, even some patients’ family members—found excuses to talk to him, to laugh a little louder when he spoke, to touch his arm casually as they conversed.
And then there was Yn.
She stood close to Seokjin, always within arm’s reach. She was beautiful, no doubt. But something about her presence was unnerving to those who observed. The way she watched him, her gaze sharp and assessing as if controlling him with her eyes. The way her fingers twitched slightly whenever another woman got too close.
Then it happened.
A junior doctor, unaware of the invisible boundaries that surrounded Seokjin, leaned in a little too much. She laughed at something he said, placing her hand lightly on his arm. A casual gesture. Innocent.
But not to Yn.
Her fingers clenched around Seokjin’s arm, hard. Hard enough that his sleeve tightened, his skin compressed under her grip.
"Yn—" Seokjin’s voice was low, meant only for her ears. But the look in her eyes burned.
She didn’t yell. Didn’t make a scene the way some expected. But she turned toward the doctor, her voice soft yet sharp enough to cut.
"Do you always touch married men like that?"
A suffocating silence fell over the group. The junior doctor froze, face paling.
"I—I didn’t mean—"
Yn smiled. It was small, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
"You didn’t mean to, yet you still did."
Seokjin exhaled, trying to ease the tension. He gently placed his hand over Yn’s, but she only tightened her grip, her nails pressing into his skin.
"Yn, let’s go outside for a bit—"
"No need." Her voice was clipped. And before anyone could react, she let go of his arm and turned on her heel, walking straight out of the ballroom.
Seokjin hesitated.
For a brief second, people saw something in his face—panic. A rare crack in his perfect composure. Then, as if forgetting the crowd around him, he hurried after her.
The room buzzed with murmurs the moment they were gone.
"Did you see that?"
"She was furious. All that over a harmless touch?"
"And did you see his arm? She was gripping him so hard it left marks!"
"Poor Dr. Seokjin… he must be exhausted living like that."
"He should leave her."
✦⋆ ˚｡⋆༶⋆˙⊹ ✧˖°
The hospital was quiet that morning after the night of gala party, but the air felt heavier than usual. Seokjin moved through his routine in silence, his hands steady as he checked patient charts, offered polite smiles, and ignored the glances his colleagues exchanged behind his back.
The bruises on his neck, faint under the collar of his coat but still visible, spoke louder than words. No one dared to bring it up. They had tried before, but Seokjin would always deny, dismiss, deflect.
He wasn't a fool. He knew what they thought—that he was trapped, suffering in a marriage with a woman too possessive, too unstable. They pitied him. But pity was useless when they didn’t understand.
"Hey, hyung," Dr. Junho, a colleague as well as close friend more like his little brother - finally spoke up, his voice careful, measured. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
Seokjin hummed, still focused on the paperwork in front of him. "You already are."
"You know what I mean." Junho sighed, leaning against the counter. He hesitated before continuing. "About last night… you should really consider talking to Yn. This—this isn’t healthy."
Seokjin didn't respond immediately. He never did.
"She loves me," he said eventually.
"Love and control aren’t the same thing, hyung." Junho shook his head. "I’m not saying she doesn’t love you, but if she really wants this to work, she has to control her anger. Maybe she could try yoga, meditation, therapy—"
Seokjin's jaw clenched.
"You don’t understand, Junho."
"Then help me understand. Why is she like this?" Junho asked, genuinely concerned.
For a moment, Seokjin didn't know how to answer. But then—memories surfaced.
✽✿❀──❀✿✽
Their marriage had been arranged. She had been shy at first, soft-spoken, always seeking permission for everything.
The café was quiet, the air filled with the soft hum of conversation and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Seokjin sat at a corner table, stirring his cappuccino absentmindedly. His parents had arranged this meeting, insisting that he at least meet her once.
Yn.
He didn’t know much about her—only that she came from a respectable family, that she was soft-spoken and well-mannered.
And then, she walked in.
She was dressed modestly, a simple ivory blouse tucked into a flowing beige skirt that reached just above her ankles. Her hair was neatly styled, framing a delicate face that seemed hesitant, uncertain.
Pretty. In a quiet, unassuming way.
She approached the table carefully, almost as if she were afraid of disturbing him.
"Uhm… Kim Seokjin-ssi?" Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.
He glanced up, offering a polite smile. "That’s me. You must be Yn."
She nodded, biting her lip before asking, "Is it okay if I sit?"
Why is she asking permission? Seokjin thought, slightly amused, but he simply gestured for her to take a seat.
She sat down with her back straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. For the first few minutes, she seemed tense, answering his questions in short, quiet replies.
But then, something changed.
Once she got comfortable, she started to talk more—still hesitantly at first, but soon with a little more ease.
She told him about her hobbies, her childhood, her love for collecting small trinkets. Her voice gained warmth, her expressions became animated. And then—just when Seokjin thought he had figured her out—she did something unexpected.
She pouted.
"You’re so serious," she said, leaning slightly forward. "I thought doctors were supposed to be funny."
Seokjin blinked in surprise before letting out a soft chuckle. "I can be funny."
"Prove it."
He raised a brow, smirking slightly. "Why did the scarecrow win an award?"
Yn tilted her head, curious. "Why?"
"Because he was outstanding in his field."
For a second, she just stared at him.
Then she laughed—a small, genuine giggle that turned into a soft snort.
Seokjin found himself watching her.
Not just her face, but the way her eyes crinkled, the way she covered her mouth as if embarrassed by her own laughter.
He didn’t realize it at the time, but something about her—about the way she could shift so easily from reserved to playful—drew him in.
And then came the moment that changed everything.
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The waitress had been nothing but polite.
She was young, cheerful, and clearly trying to do her job well.
"Would you like a refill on your coffee, sir?" she asked, her smile warm.
Seokjin barely glanced up. "No, I’m fine. Thank you."
But the waitress tried pursuing him.
"Do you need something?"
The shift in her tone was subtle—barely noticeable to an outsider. But Seokjin caught it immediately.
The waitress blinked, slightly confused. "Oh, I was just—"
"Because if you’re done, you can go." Yn’s expression was still polite, her voice still gentle. But there was something off about it.
Seokjin turned to her, studying her face.
The waitress hesitated, then quickly excused herself.
Yn went back to sipping her drink as if nothing had happened.
Seokjin tapped his fingers against the table, watching her.
"That was unnecessary," he murmured.
Yn met his gaze, unfazed. "I didn’t like how she was looking at you."
There was no hesitation in her voice. No embarrassment, no attempt to cover up what she had done.
Seokjin should have found it strange.
Instead, he found himself intrigued.
⊹ ⊱ ────── ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰ ⊹
Seokjin had thought she was delicate, fragile even—until he noticed something deeper beneath the surface. A quiet storm brewing inside her.
It started small.
A flicker of irritation when a waitress lingered too long at their table, a slight frown when his female colleagues greeted him too warmly. She never said anything outright, only observed, eyes dark with something unreadable.
A woman had complimented Seokjin at a family gathering, a distant cousin’s wife. Just a simple "You’re so lucky, Yn. He’s so handsome and kind."
Yn had smiled, polite as ever, but later that night, she had clung to him with an intensity that was almost suffocating.
"Don’t talk to her again," she had murmured, fingers tightening around his wrist.
"Yn, she’s family—"
"I don’t like it."
Her voice had been calm, steady, but something about it made his stomach twist.
And then, little by little, her possessiveness had grown.
⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆
Seokjin hadn’t known about her past at first. Not until her mother, in an offhanded remark, mentioned:
"Yn has always been like this. She can’t stand sharing what’s hers."
She had laughed as if it were a joke, as if it were something endearing.
"You should have seen her as a child. She scratched a friend all over her face just because the poor girl tried to take her doll. It took weeks for the wounds to heal."
Seokjin had been startled by the revelation. But more than that—he had been intrigued.
Yn had always seemed fragile, but now he realized she wasn’t weak at all. She was ruthless when it came to what was hers.
And for some reason, that scared him yet fascinated him.
✽✿❀──❀✿✽
"She’s just… always been like this," Seokjin finally murmured, his fingers tapping against the desk absentmindedly.
Junho frowned. "That doesn’t mean it’s okay, hyung. Marriage should be about trust, not fear."
Seokjin chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "Fear?" He turned to Junho, eyes unreadable. "You don’t know what you're talking about."
Because fear had nothing to do with it.
Seokjin knew, at the back of his mind, that their marriage wasn’t normal. He knew that love wasn't supposed to feel like possession, that their dynamic was wrong.
But did it matter?
Because the truth was—Yn might have been selfish, possessive, and unstable.
But Seokjin?
He wasn't innocent either.
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Hey Guys!!! This potato is back after short break. This one was long af!! There's part 2 for the plot twist. Like, Comment and Reblog.
Taglist :- @luaxjin , @illnevertrustmyselfagain , @aaclariww , @taekritimin123 , @massiekurrb , @demonshauntingthedoves .
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OH MY HEEAAARTTTT!!!! 🥹🎀
Hi! i just read both your fics and let me tell you i love them! The way you write is really amazing and mesmerizing i got really into it and couldn’t stop definitively became a fan! i was wondering if your taglist is open i would be so happy to be there!
love, clari
Hiiii!! @aaclariww . I've been bts fanfiction reader for years on Tumblr and always thought of writing my own ideas. Yandere BTS has special spot in my heart ❤️. I'm so happy that you are loving it, I thrive to impress my Armys as well as Yandere readers haha 😁.
Well I'm still learning about taglists on Tumblr. I don't have any personal taglist, would be really happy if someone teaches me but I'm going to have it for my next series Mad Doctor (Yandere Seokjin). Let me know if you want to be in taglist in this series 😚
