Disclaimer: I would probably write 18+ contents from here on forward, and this is a fair warning to minors to please do not interact with the writings. Please be mindful of your media consumption as I won’t be responsible for that. Mostly of my titles are based on Ms. Swift’s songs, they aren’t mine. Other than that, please enjoy!
Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: I'm extremely touched from the warm welcome back that this series got. Thank you so much my bbs for interacting, for the reblog, for the comments! So much love for this community
Masterlist, Season 2.1
Chapter 1
You woke up with a start. Like an animal that knew it was being hunted, your heart pounded so loud as you pulled your blanket to your chest, your body turned to your side where you felt him.
You wanted so badly to believe it was just a dream.
You told yourself repeatedly that it was just a nightmare.
It wasn’t real.
He wasn’t here.
And the warmth left on the other side of the bed was merely from your body and not anyone’s. The scent you knew so well was just a figment of your imagination and not something that was actually there.
He wasn’t here.
You were safe.
It took a moment for you to be able to move. You got up and readied for the day. You told yourself that your trauma shouldn’t be stronger than your responsibilities. Your patients needed you. You needed to live. You needed a semblance of normalcy.
He wasn’t here, you repeated to yourself. He might even be glad that you were gone.
When you finally pulled yourself together, you stepped out of your rented place. The only sign that your neighbor was here was the plate of warm cookies left on the table in front of your door with a simple note.
Good morning, neighbor! Hoping to see you soon :)
You blinked at the gesture as you looked at the mountain of cookies your neighbor left you. You didn’t want to start on a bad foot and so despite your aversion to spending time with anyone at the moment, you left him a note that you were inviting him for dinner later.
Not everyone was out to hurt you.
Not everyone had it in them to betray your trust.
Not everyone was Kim Seokjin.
The hospital staff was visibly talking about someone. Their eyes were twinkling with delight, their murmurs that of buzzing bees. They almost didn’t notice you as they giggled among themselves until your secretary nudged the nurse before greeting you.
You smiled at them, “It seems like it is a good morning,” you teased as you looked down at the charts of your patients today. You had two regular patients and a new one.
“It’s just… we saw someone so handsome today!”
The nurse nodded vigorously, “I can’t believe someone as handsome as that exists! God has favorites. It is confirmed!”
“He’s even more handsome in person!”
“His eyes are so expressive! What can we expect? He’s the nation’s best actor!”
Huh?
You tilted your head when you read the name of your new patient, your heart in your throat as reality dawned on you.
Kim Taehyung.
—
You didn’t want to open your door. You didn’t want to step into your office. In fact, your hand stayed on the door knob, half-convinced that you could just bail out and start over again. You could do it, you thought. You were self-sufficient, independent, strong, beautiful, cute, intelligent, and so on and so forth when the decision itself was made and the door opened.
Behind the door stood Kim Taehyung, the nation’s favorite actor. His hand was on the door knob while he looked down at you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Hi, doc! You’re almost late. Come on, come on,” he said cheerfully before gesturing for you to go inside whilst you stood frozen. He was here of all places. Here in the far away province. Here. Where you were.
You could hear the squealing of the nurses and even some of the patients when they saw his face, with some even going as far as taking pictures of him as though privacy was merely a suggestion and not a right.
Through it all, though, he looked unfazed.
But you weren’t. Even though your back was facing the sudden audience, you feared that they would somehow take an accidental photo of your face and spread it on the internet. You weren’t even a criminal but the anxiety that your past brought you was something that you couldn’t easily leave behind.
You frowned at him as you stepped in your office.
Damn it.
Your hands were shaking as you walked to your table, your mind going on an overdrive as to the reason why he was here.
And if he was here, did that mean that he was also here?
However, when you opened Taehyung’s initial file, what was written there confused you. Clinically diagnosed heartbrokenness.
Taehyung was sitting comfortably on the sofa, his long legs crossed while his arm was resting on the backrest as though the doctor’s office was the most comfortable place on earth.
“Heartbrokenness?” you clarified to the beautiful man in front of you. You thought that there was no other way Taehyung wouldn’t end up becoming famous. His face alone demanded recognition. No wonder he had such a huge fanbase.
Taehyung blinked, “That only? Oh, my bad. That’s my hyung’s file. Mine says ‘diagnosed psychopath and heartbrokenness. They must have switched our files or something.”
“You’re a…psychopath?”
He nodded eagerly, the side of his lips lifting as though he was smiling.
“And this was diagnosed?”
He nodded again. “Hyung had me tested when he got tired of going to school because the principal kept calling my guardian, AKA him, just because I pushed a bunch of classmates down the stairs. They didn’t even die, Doctor. Don’t you think they were being dramatic?
Also! You know my hyung, right? Kim Seokjin? I think Jungkook said you fell first but he fell harder and is still falling as we speak. Bastard couldn’t even pick himself up. Anyway! If you’re thinking about starting a family, I can vouch that he will definitely be a good father. I mean, at this point I don’t think you have any other choice. To add, if it wasn’t for him, my casualties would be way higher than it is right now.”
Talking to him was like walking in a maze, you supposed. He was talking about three topics all at once all while sporting a poker face as though he hadn’t just dropped something big to you. Or that he just hadn’t insinuated (not really, he outright said it) that you had no other choice but him.
You wondered what was heavier: that the most famous actor in the country was a diagnosed psychopath, that he had casualties, or that Kim Seokjin….nope. You didn’t want to go there.
“You have your own doctor, correct? Why are you here?”
“Because my doctor said that it was ‘bad’ and ‘uncivilized’ to follow the girl I want to places she frequents to.”
“Mr. Kim-”
“My doctor also said that it’s generally uncivilized to manipulate countless situations and/or people just so she would end up with me-”
“So you’re here because?”
“Because just like any illness, I want a second opinion about my heartbrokenness.”
“That’s- I think that’s a lovesickness.”
He looked up in deep thought before nodding. “That’s more appropriate, I supposed. I feel when I cannot see her. I feel when I see her. I feel when she blocks me, and then I buy another simcard. Then she blocks me again so it’s logical that perhaps she wants to see me in person. OMG, is that love, doc?”
You frowned at what he was saying. He was basically a stalker and he didn’t even seem apologetic about it. Didn’t anyone tell him it wasn’t right? Except for his doctor?
“Does your family know? Friends? Your agency? A trusted adult? Anyone at all?”
“Jimin, you met him right? He said he bets I can ragebait anyone into liking me. Hoesok hyung said to follow my dreams. Yoongi hyung said to do what I want but also make sure that I don’t end up in jail because he wouldn’t save my ass. I think he’s lying. He has a soft spot for me. Hmm who else, Jungkook said that what I’m doing is just courting so it’s okay. Namjoon hyung said to be smart about all the lying and deceiving and manipulating and taught me how. Lastly, a trusted adult. Hmm. Okay, Seokjin hyung. What did he say? When he found out, it was also the time he was moping around because a certain someone left. He said to treat her right once I get her so I bought us a house in anticipation of her eventual surrender. It’s right next to Jin’s newly acquired house.”
You sighed before folding your hands on your desk. You leveled him with a professional look. “Mr. Kim, it’s not okay to keep pursuing someone who keeps on running away from you.”
He pouted, his eyes emotionless. “That’s just your opinion, Doctor. Anyway, welcome to the family!”
—
You knocked at your neighbor’s door, your other hand holding a tub of homemade kimchi. You showered after a peculiar day, convincing yourself that yes, you could be normal. You would not let anxiety dictate how you act, you promised yourself.
You smiled when the door opened, only to find your landlady beaming at you. “Oh dear, you’re here! He’s waiting for you.” She tapped your hand twice, her wrinkly eyes smiling at you. “Come in, come in! I was just about to leave.“
She pulled you inside before bidding you goodbye. She was almost out of the gate when she turned to you, “I almost forgot, dear! Congratulations!”
Huh?
You were about to ask her when the door closed. You turned around, the house was warm and welcoming. You could hear the sound of someone cooking in where you assumed was the kitchen. The dining table was laid with steaming dishes, your favorites, you noted. On the table laid three plates and utensils.
“Hello?” you called out. “This is your upstairs neighbor! The landlady let me in, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Almost done! Please make yourself at home,” the neighbor answered, his voice deep, you thought. You looked around once more before sitting down.
You didn’t have to wait for long. A man walked out of the kitchen, in his hands was a bowl of soup and placed it on the table. You stood up and bowed, “Hi! I’m Y/N. It’s so nice to meet you.”
God, he was tall. He smiled at you before offering his hand. You shook his hand, his hold firm. His dimpled smile was enough to disarm you, you thought. He looked harmless. “The pleasure is mine. Please,” he gestured to your seat before removing his apron and taking a seat in front of you.
You looked at your right where the other plate was. “Are we waiting for someone?”
“My brother,” he answered as he politely served you side dishes. He did the same to the empty seat beside you.
“Oh, so you and him will be living here, I suppose,” you said thoughtfully after thanking him for serving you dishes.
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling to the side. “No, actually. I’m going back to the city tonight. I just helped him with the paperworks.”
“Oh…you two must have been so close.”
He shrugged and leaned back on his seat. He was smiling as though he knew something you didn’t. “Someone has to rein that lunatic in,” he answered cheerfully.
“I’m sorry?”
“I mean, that’s what families are for.”
That was peculiar.
You looked at the man in front of you. He seemed way too relaxed.
He looked familiar.
“You never told me what your name was.”
He didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched almost too thin. His eyes twinkled before slowly flicking to your right. Before you could even turn, the seat scraped against the flooring and a man sat on it.
“Namjoon.”
“Hyung.”
The hair on the back of your neck stood, your form suddenly turned rigid. You turned to your right.
There he was, with his head resting on his hand. He was looking at you.
Hi, I’ve been following your work for the past two years, ( I LOVE HOW YOUR BRAIN CREATES🫶🏾) and just wanted to know if you will be using a posting schedule for the remaining Elysian S2 chapters.
YEARS???
The message was cut off and when I opened the message, I was fully expecting it to be months or weeks or days but years? 😭 thank you so much for the support, darling
As of now, I don’t have schedules 🥺 I usually fit my writing into my work schedule but now that the audit szn is over, I have more time to write
Summary: You were nine when the world ended for you. You were twenty-five when you met him. You were twenty-six when life ended and began again, whether you wanted it to or not.
Warnings: Yandere (as always), mention of death, illness, angst (lots of it)
A/N: This story went through so much. I wrote the initial on my notebook while I was waiting for my friend, then transferred to ipad, then finally to google docs. I was supposed to post this here last April but life, as it always does, get in the way of our plans... hehe..huhu.. anyway, please do interact and I hope you enjoy this!
The world ended when you were nine.
You couldn’t remember exactly how it happened, your young mind couldn't even fathom why it happened - just that it did.
Was it gradual, you wondered. Was it something unforeseen by the government? Were there signs? Were they just too strong to fight against?
What you remembered was that one day, your country was free and peaceful, and the next thing you knew, you were a foreigner to your own homeland. All of a sudden, you were a second-class citizen to your own home.
Sutena.
They came for Sutena, a plant that only grew in your country. Hard as they tried to replicate the plant, hard as they tried to copy the condition it grew and thrive on, they simply failed.
The seven leaders failed.
And when the president of your country stopped allowing them to plunder the Sutena to the ground, that was when they dropped the act. Suddenly, the seven leaders were no longer noble. The seven leaders were no longer patient nor kind. When they stopped getting what they wanted in the name of science, that was when they attacked.
You were nine when the seven leaders invaded your country. They never really left.
Now that they have an unending access to your country’s treasure, their goal was finally realized,
What was once only a concept trend into a twisted reality of some sorts for some, and a nightmare for you and your countrymen. Essentially, it was a fountain of youth packaged into a single pill that would cost one hundreds of millions. You would live forever, all your sickness, all the pains, all the aging would stop when you take it.
But the seven men were too cunning, too greedy. They weren’t only obsessed with living forever, no. They were all obsessed with money and the power it brought them. After all, they needed resources to survive the numerous attempts on their lives. They needed the money to live the life they badly wanted to prolong.
In fact, no one knew how old the seven men really were.
You were twenty-five when you met him.
By now, the world you grew up in was now just a distant memory, something that happened long ago that you would think all of it was just a good dream.
The people you knew were no more.
Now, you only had your aunt and cousin.
At certain point, your people stopped fighting, too weary from all the ruins and casualties that war brought. Your people knew they were never going to win.
At one point, the people accepted loss.
They said you weren’t their slaves, that your people were free so as long as they have unrestricted access to Sutena. But conditional freedom was still a cage. What once was a progressive, quiet country turned into grey.
You were on your way home, weary from the long day. You had taken this road so many times to know that people - well, at least your people - did not really go here. This was too near where the Sutana grew. But this was your home. This was the only connection left of your roots, of the family who had long gone.
Your days were so monotonous that you wondered why you were still alive. You had no family left, all of them were tragically taken by sickness or old age. You had no intention to start your own simply because you wouldn’t subject your own child to a fucked-up world. Your line ends with you, you thought.
You weren’t exactly suicidal. You had this almost clinical approach to death, it was something that would eventually happen. It was the cycle of life, the theme, if you will.
You weren’t suicidal, but the person looking down the bridge with his legs carelessly swinging back and forth as though wind wouldn’t dare to push him down the bridge looked like he was. You couldn’t see his face, his dark hair was blocking his face. But if you were forced to live this life, then he should be, too.
Nope. No optional exit here, buddy. No taking shortcuts.
You moved without thinking. Truly, you did.
Because instead of pulling the man to safety, you accidentally pushed him when you tripped from a rock.
Your mouth dropped open, the sound of your own frantic heartbeat suddenly louder than the rushing wind. For a split second, the world turned into a silent film—a frame-by-frame capture of your outstretched hands, the empty space where a human being had just been, and the sickeningly graceful arc of a body descending toward the dark water below.
Panic, cold and sharp, jolted through your limbs. You hadn't meant to be a savior, but you certainly hadn't planned on being an executioner. You scrambled to the edge, your fingers scraping against the cold metal of the railing, and peered over.
"Oh, god," you rasped, the words catching in a throat gone bone-dry. "Oh, no, no, no."
Below, there was a splash—violent and white against the murky depths—and then, silence. The monotony of your existence hadn't just been broken; it had been shattered by the weight of a life that was now, quite literally, in your hands. You had spent years waiting for death to arrive like a scheduled train, yet seeing it invited so abruptly by your own clumsy feet made your stomach heave.
Without thinking, you jumped.
You braced for impact as water surrounded you. The impact was less of a splash and more of a physical assault. The water was a wall of liquid ice that slammed the breath right out of your lungs, turning your sudden heroism into a frantic, gasping struggle for survival.
For a several disorienting seconds, up was down and down was dark. Bubbles danced mockingly past your eyes as you fought the weight of your water-logged clothes. Then, through the murky haze, you saw him—a dark shape suspended in the current, sinking with a stillness that terrified you. And you were sinking with him because as fate would have it, you never really learned to swim.
Maybe you were a bit suicidal?
But despite the rising panic you were feeling, you reached out your hand to the man with pale skin, only to find his dark eyes already trained to yours as he sinked to the bottom. He didn't reach for the surface. He didn't even reach for your hand. He simply watched you, his expression so eerily calm, as though he had been waiting for this specific moment of descent for a lifetime. From his point of view, you were nothing short of an angel with the rays of light behind you, your hair floating ethereally around you. He smiled at you, his expression so eerily calm as though he was someone who had all the time in the world.
And you were quickly running out of breath.
With the very last of you, you pulled the sleeves of his to no avail. Your body was giving up, your lungs protesting violently. Your grip slackened. Your eyes began to flutter shut, the weight of the river finally winning.
In that twilight between consciousness and the deep, you saw him blink.
And as though this was a clear imposition, even a rude distraction from his quiet descent down the lake, he surged into motion. You never expected a strength such as his just from looking at his form but the crushing pressure when he encircled your wrist and pulled you to his chest said otherwise. He kicked against the current until you were out of the water. He dragged you to the embankment and unceremoniously dropped you on the grass before sitting down beside you, his long legs stretched, his arms supporting his weight.
“Are you always this indecisive?” he asked. His voice was steady, lacking even a hint of the breathlessness that was currently tearing through your lungs.
“W-what?” you wheezed as you coughed out the water, your heart beating even faster as the adrenaline left your body.
“You couldn’t decide whether to kill me or save me? I mean. Come on. Make up your mind,” he said, his voice that of a boredom.
“I—I wasn’t trying to kill you!” You choked out the words, shivering so hard your teeth clacked. “You were trying to kill yoursel—”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You were sitting! On a bridge! An extremely high bridge! At night-”
“So you decided to assist me in “killing” myself?” he regarded you as he tilted his head. “I must say, you’re efficient. Indecisive, but efficient.”
“I tripped!”
He shook his head in disbelief, a slow, mocking movement that sent droplets of river water flying from his dark hair. “You pushed me, and then you jumped after me. Evidently, you don’t know how to swim. You cannot even dog paddle. It’s embarrassing. I think you’re projecting and you’re the suicidal one.”
You rolled your eyes as you attempted to stand, muttering under your breath about how this was one of the worst days of your life. “So much about being a good samaritan,” you noted lowly.
“That’s you trying to be a good samaritan?” he asked, watching your struggle with a look of genuine fascination. “I’ve had more peaceful encounters with people who actively hate me.”
Your knees were shaking as you finally gained your footing, but your pride had taken a hit enough to just want to leave this place even though your body was not yet ready. You took one defiant step, swayed dangerously, and would have hit the mud face-first if a hand hadn't shot out to steady you.
The grip on your arm was firm, grounding, and annoyingly solid.
“This is what a good samaritan is supposed to look like, by the way,” he muttered. He didn't let go, instead stepping closer so you could lean against him—a move that felt entirely too intimate for two people who had just met via a homicide attempt.
“You’re still shivering,” he observed, his voice dropping the snark for a second. “And you’re turning a very concerning shade of blue. It clashes with your hair.”
You scoffed weakly. “Excuse me. Blue is my color,” you rebutted, your teeth chattering so loudly. “I-I’ll walk this off. Builds character and everything, you know?”
“The walk home will build pneumonia,” he corrected. “Where do you live?”
“I’m not giving my address to a stranger I just tried to murder,” you managed to gasp out, trying to summon an ounce of your usual clinical detachment. It was difficult to be mysterious when you were dripping like a broken faucet. “That’s how horror movies start. I’ve seen the tropes.”
“Believe me, if I wanted to murder you, I would have just let you continue your impersonation of an anchor back there,” he noted.
The walk was entertaining. You meant, you were actively fighting for your life as he actively tried to keep you alive and standing on your feet. It must have been such an imposition to him because he sighed so hard and so deep before hauling you on his back.
“Where are your keys?” he asked once you two made it in front of your little cottage.
“Clearly swimming,” you muttered into his shoulder, your voice vibrating with a fresh wave of shivers. “Along with my phone, my wallet, and my last shred of dignity. They’ve formed a new society at the bottom of the river. I hope they’re happy together.”
The man stood there, still supporting your weight as if you were a particularly heavy, dripping sack of laundry. He stared at your front door—a charming, locked, and currently impenetrable barrier—with a look of profound, weary disappointment.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he sighed as he sat you down on your porch. “I’ll fix this later-”
“Fix what-”
Before you knew it, he slammed his shoulder once against your poor excuse of a door. It gave away. Pathetically. It didn't even put up a fight. It just surrendered, swinging on one surviving hinge like a white flag.
He turned slowly to you accusingly before quietly pointing to the door in disbelief. “Honey, the homeless have more security than you. A particularly motivated squirrel could have staged a home invasion here.”
You opened your mouth to defend yourself when he put up a finger before looking up as though he was silently negotiating with a higher power for the strength not to walk right back into the river. “You know what? No. Don’t even-”
A hot shower and a hot cup of tea later, you were watching as he fixed your door with a heavy-duty screwdriver and a hammer he’d found in your kitchen junk drawer with the precision of a surgeon.
He stood up, testing the door. It swung shut with a solid, satisfying thunk that it hadn't made in the three years you'd lived there. He turned the deadbolt, nodding to himself.
“There. Now at least someone will have to try slightly harder to murder you than I did,” he said, leaning against the now-sturdy frame. He crossed his arms, his dark eyes landing on you with that same unsettling, clinical intensity. “I’m done here. Bye. Let’s never meet again.”
“Agreed.”
—
You chalked what happened a month ago to a particularly bad nightmare. Aside from the fixed door that no longer rattled in the wind and a lingering sniffle that lasted a week, there was no evidence that whatever happened that night, happened.
You were walking home after work, swinging the small bag of groceries when you saw a man being held against the wall, a gun pointed at him. It was a mugging from how he was searching his pockets. You didn't think. Again. Truly, you didn't. Without a second's hesitation, you wound up like a big-league pitcher and swung your bag of groceries with every ounce of momentum you possessed.
The mugger, possessing the survival instincts you clearly lacked, chose that exact millisecond to crouch down to check the victim's ankles for a hidden wallet.
Your bag of groceries sailed through the empty air where his head had been and connected—with a sickening, wet thud—directly with the face of the man being mugged.
"Oomph!" the victim grunted.
The mugger, having survived a point-blank grocery assault by the grace of a well-timed squat, stared at the scene for one bewildered second. He looked at his victim—who was currently draped in egg yolk and looking ready to commit a felony of his own—and then at you, the wild-eyed woman wielding a leaking bag of dairy.
Faced with a situation that was clearly too weird to be profitable, the mugger tucked his gun into his waistband, turned on his heel, and sprinted down the alley without a word.
The pale man winced, his hand feeling the side of his head. He looked at his finger, certain that blood would be there and what did you know, there was. He sighed as he flinched before looking at you.
“Of course it’s you again,” he muttered under his breath. “Do I need to hire bodyguards?” he asked himself as he straightened up.
You touched his forearms, looking up at him with concern. “Oh my God. You’re bleeding-”
“Please don’t touch me. I’m terrified of you,” he said, his voice dripping with a sarcasm so dry it could have started a brushfire.
“I was trying to save you!”
“You hit me. With what seemed to be a bag with heavy-duty cans.”
“He was robbing you-”
He snorted. “He was actually quite polite. Seriously. He hadn't even raised his voice yet. We were in the middle of a very civilized transaction until you decided to launch a pantry at my skull. I think I was safer with him.”
“Can you be serious for once? We need to get you to a hospital-”
“Can you stop trying to kill me for once?” he replied dryly. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket, which was immediately ruined as he dabbed at the blood blooming near his eyebrow. "A hospital? For what? To explain to a triage nurse that I was assaulted yet again by the same person? That I was beaten by groceries? No, thanks.”
“He had a gun! If you look at it, I saved your life.”
He tilted his head in realization, “You are suicidal. I knew it. The guy had a gun! And you ran unarmed-”
“I have my groceries with me..” you reasoned weakly, looking anywhere but his bewildered eyes.
He scoffed, “You’re unbelievable.”
“Thanks?”
He shook his head before immediately wincing, his hand flying up to cradle his skull. “Not a compliment, honey.”
You moved to his side, hovering your hands near his elbows, afraid to touch him but terrified he’d tip over. “I’m sorry. I really am. But you were just standing there! You weren’t even fighting back!”
“Is this my karma?; he asked himself, seriously contemplating how he had been living his life as he attempted to walk away from you unsuccessfully as evidenced by the swaying in his steps.
"Whoa, okay, easy—" you gasped, finally abandoning the 'no touching' rule and grabbing his arm to keep him upright.
He leaned into your support for a fraction of a second before stiffening, though he didn't pull away. "I’m being haunted," he muttered dramatically, closing his eyes against the pulsing rhythm in his temple. "I didn't drown in the lake, so the universe sent you back to finish the job. It's a very specific, very humiliating curse."
"It's not a curse, it's a concussion!" you countered, tucking your shoulder under his arm to act as a crutch. "And for the record, I saved you from a mugging. Most people would say 'thank you' instead of 'you're a localized natural disaster.'"
"Most people aren't hit in the face with groceries," he bit out, though his voice lacked its usual bite as he let you lead him toward the alley exit. He looked down at you, his dark eyes clouded with pain and a burgeoning, reluctant recognition. "Where are we going? Please tell me it’s not back to the house with the suicidal door. I don't think I have the strength to fix your infrastructure tonight."
—
“Stop singing, for the love of God, please,” he pleaded.
“I’m just trying to wake you up. Google said sleeping is bad for concussions-”
“I’m not going to die. Stop it.”
He lay stretched out on your sofa, a bag of frozen peas (the only non-weaponized grocery item left) pressed against his temple. His dark hair was fanned out against the cushion, making his skin look even more like porcelain—too smooth, too pale, too perfect for a man who lived in a country that had been grey for sixteen years.
“How are you so sure?” you asked again, peering at him as you set a fresh cup of tea on the coffee table. “You don’t look rich enough to afford Sutena.”
“Ouch,” he remarked dryly before sitting up lazily. “Sutena,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like a secret. “You think that little pill is the only way to stick around? That the Seven are the only ones who found the fountain?”
“It’s the only way anyone survives the sickness these days,” you countered, sitting on the edge of the armchair. “Unless you’re one of the Seven. And you’re definitely not one of them. They don't hang out on bridges at midnight or get mugged in alleys.”
He nodded. “They definitely shouldn’t, right? What were you going to cook, anyway?”
You blinked, thrown by the jarring pivot from political elites to meal prep. “I was going to cook kimchi spam rice or something. Kimchi didn’t survive the mugging. So I’m going to cook ramen. Why?”
“That’s not healthy,” he chided. “The sodium alone is a slow-motion catastrophe. It’s bad for the heart, the skin, the temperament...”
“So?”
“So? Don’t you want to live a long life?”
“Not particularly. I believe one dies when they’re supposed to die.”
He held your eyes for a moment too long before he chuckled, “They should, shouldn’t day?” He whispered before standing up and going straight to your kitchen. “In that case, let’s cook your ramen. I’m famished.”
“Wait—you’re the one who was just lecturing me on my heart, kidney, overall health,” you said, scrambling to follow him into the kitchen.
“That was before I realized I was dining with a fellow nihilist,” he said, already poking through your cupboards with an air of immense authority. He plucked a stray egg that had survived the massacre and held it up like a trophy. “If we’re going to meet the Reaper, we might as well do it with a poached egg and a bit of dignity.”
He turned to you, the flickering kitchen light catching the dark, depthless quality of his eyes. For a man who had just been mugged and nearly drowned, he looked remarkably like he owned the place.
“Water,” he commanded gently, pointing to the stove. “And try not to trip on the way to the burner. I’ve reached my quota for near-death experiences for the hour.”
—-
“I think we’ve already trauma bonded,” he said as he fixed your leaking faucet.
“Why? Because I already attempted to kill you twice?” you asked, leaning against the counter and watching him with a mixture of suspicion and reluctant gratitude.
He smirked, his focus shifting back to the pipe for one final adjustment. “So you admit that you were trying to kill me. Hello, 911? Yes, I’d like to report a crime-”
You chuckled, the sound light but tinged with the exhaustion of the night. “But you’re still alive. It still wasn't your time. And how can we trauma bond when I don’t even know your name?”
He blinked, setting the wrench down with a heavy clank and turned to look at you, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that were far too steady for someone who had recently been used as target practice for canned goods. “I’m Y- I’m Suga.”
“Hi Suga, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“‘Nice’ is a bold choice of words, Y/N,” Suga remarked, leaning back against the counter and drying his hands on a towel. The sharp, clinical intensity in his eyes softened into something more contemplative as he repeated your name under his breath. “Most people would have filed a restraining order against themselves by now if they were in your shoes.”
“Most people don't have a stranger fixing their plumbing at midnight after a mugging,” you countered.
He hummed, a low sound of acknowledgement. “True. We’re a pair of anomalies, aren't we? One who doesn't care to live, and one who...” He trailed off, looking at the sturdy deadbolt he’d installed earlier. “...and one who apparently can’t be killed by you.”
—
Perhaps, you formed a bond.
Because like a cat you fed once, he kept on coming back. Seeing him was almost like a routine, to be honest. A week after the mugging, he came back with tools and materials. Before you could even ask him why he was there, he was already scoffing about how his conscience didn’t let him sleep because he noted that your roof was leaking.
He said that that was what a good samaritan looked like.
Two days later, he was there again, calmly peeling a tangerine with his pocket knife. Suga didn’t look up immediately from his seated form. He was perched on your porch step, uncaring toward what seemed like an expensive coat that was touching the floor. The orange rind fell in a single, perfect spiral at his feet.
You sighed, “Don’t you have friends? Family? Even a pet?”
He raised his dark brows before he extended his hand toward you. A single, perfect slice of tangerine was impaled on the tip of his silver pocket knife, the juice glistening like amber under the dim porch light.
“Do I look friendless to you?”
You reached out and nodded while you chewed the surprisingly tasty tangerine.
He let out a short, dry huff of a laugh, snapping the pocket knife shut with a metallic snick. “I have friends. They’re my…brothers.”
“Okay, you have friends and/or family. I assume you’re unemployed because why else would you be here on a workday, no less.”
He licked his lips, a clear attempt to stop himself from smiling, though the glint in his eye said otherwise. “I’m taking a break.”
“A break,” you repeated flatly. “For a month? That’s not a break, Suga. That’s a sabbatical. Or a mid-life crisis.”
He shrugged, “Call it what you want. Anyway, what’s for dinner?”
“Are you also broke?”
—
Days like this reminded you of the faux freedom awarded to your country.
You watched as the man struggled against the police, his face bloodied yet his eyes remained defiant. “Bangtan is evil! They’ll run this country to the ground just for that fucking Sutana!”
People flinched when the police hit him with the gun on his head, rendering the man weaker. He bared his teeth to the man in the middle, someone with a perfect image of unaffected. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, draped in a coat that looked like woven midnight. He didn't look angry; he didn't even look bored. He looked like a god watching an ant scream at the rain. “I hope you and your brothers die a painful and slow death, you fucker Taehyung! I hope you suffer for eternity!”
No one had ever seen their faces. And those that did were already long dead. No official photographs even survived their infiltration. The people only knew that there were seven. The people only knew of their names: Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook. That was it.
One of your seven nightmares finally had a face, you realized. Taehyung sighed, a soft sound of genuine exhaustion, as if he were listening to a story he had already heard a thousand times over a thousand years. “We can’t die, though,” he stated in great boredom.
They couldn’t die while your people die everyday.
They couldn't die while people who were sick suffered when Sutana could take the pain away.
They couldn’t die while your entire family died a slow death from sickness that should have been curable had it not been for their selfishness.
“But you will if you don’t stop-”
“I will never stop! You people are evil! Rotten to the very core! Selfish people-” His words trailed off into a wet gasp when Taehyung gave a microscopic nod to the guard. You felt the air in the plaza turn cold. You knew what was happening; you had seen this choreography of execution before. The "mercy" of the state was always swift and silent.
You couldn’t take this anymore.
But just as you were about to step out of the crowd, a hand decisively pulled you back. You turned and there was Suga, looking at you with darkness in his eyes, his face devoid of any emotion as he shook his head. How he was here, you didn’t know.
“Let go,” you gritted.
“It’s not worth it.”
“He’ll die-”
“And you will die if you step up,” he hissed, his hold on you tightened as he pulled you closer to him and away from the crowd. You tried to pull yourself free to no avail. “Is that what you want?”
“No one should live that long,” you said, your voice cracking as you gestured toward Taehyung’s form. “You know that. It’s an insult to everyone who actually has to bleed.”
Suga, for the first time since you met him, looked at you with intensity and coldness you have never seen before. His jaw was clenched. “And you don’t get to die just because you want to, jagiyah.”
You frowned before turning to the scene behind you just in time for Taehyung to lift his eyes to you. His dark brows raised when he turned to the man behind you. He tilted his head, a flicker of familiarity and curiosity glinted in his eyes. They held eyes for a moment too long before Taehyung chuckled lowly as though in faint amusement. He didn't say a word. He simply turned around, his coat billowing behind him as he walked away, leaving the scent of ozone and expensive tobacco in his wake.
—
He uncapped the bottle before wordlessly handing it to you.
You were seated near the river where you first met, but this time was quiet. You could pretend that everything was fine, that everything was normal but reality would always remind you of what was the truth.
You live in a time where speaking up would mean death.
Suga turned to you, “You’re suicidal-”
“Excuse-”
He lifted his hand before shaking his head, his dark hair swaying gently with the wind. “Wasn’t a question,” he sighed before fully turning to you. “Don’t you have friends? Family? A pet?”
The irony was a bitter pill. Those were the exact words you had thrown at him on your porch when you thought he was just a lonely, unemployed man with a pocket knife and a conscience.
You scoffed at him, the only indication that you heard him as the spark that was usually in your eyes was nowhere to be found. It was a moment too long that he thought you wouldn’t answer him. The sound of water running with the current was the only thing that could be heard.
“I don’t have a family. They…they left me. I supposed they’re all together now if heaven is real,” you said quietly. You didn’t look at him. You couldn't. You kept your gaze fixed on the dark ripples of the river, the same river that had seen your first meeting and was now witnessing your unraveling.
“I don’t have friends because everyone’s just so busy surviving that human connection doesn’t seem like a necessity. Kindness seemed like a flaw, and tomorrow is not promised. I can’t even take care of myself. How can I take care of a pet?”
The words were a confession of defeat, a surrender to the gray reality that had swallowed the country whole. You stared at the dark water, waiting for him to agree, to shrug, or to tell you that’s just the way the world worked now.
“Then I’ll be your friend,” he said decisively.
The weight of his tone made you turn. He wasn't looking at the river anymore; he was looking at you with a terrifyingly steady gaze. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no room for argument.
“From now on, we’re the best of friends.”
A hollow, startled laugh bubbled up in your chest, but it died before it reached your lips. “It doesn’t work like that—”
“It works however I say it works,” he countered, his voice cutting through your protest like a blade. He leaned closer, the shadow of his silhouette merging with yours in the moonlight. The warmth you had felt on the porch was gone, replaced by a fierce, protective iron.
“So don’t go around trying to get killed,” he hissed, his fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the stone bench. “You don't get to decide that your life is worth nothing when you’ve got someone counting on you to show up. You wanted a reason? There it is. Here I am.”
—
“You’re one, clingy friend,” you noted as he trailed behind you in the small, rundown groceries.
He walked behind you with an expression of profound annoyance, looking very much like a man being forced to participate in a tedious chore when no one was making him do this. It was a sharp contrast to the way you’d found him that morning: leaning against your porch railing at sunrise as if he’d never left, waiting for you to wake up.
“Best friend,” he corrected. “And why do you have to buy groceries every two days? Why not just buy for the whole week?” he grumbled even as he pushed you gently aside to push the cart for you.
“Because if I die, then I’m just wasting food, am I not?” you said it so nonchalantly that one would think you were merely talking about the weather or what you were going to cook for dinner.
The rattling of the cart’s wheels stopped abruptly. The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the distant hum of a flickering fluorescent light.
Suga didn’t look up immediately. His hands remained gripped on the handle of the cart, his knuckles turning white. When he finally shifted his gaze to you, the annoyance had vanished, replaced by an intensity that made the air in the narrow aisle feel thin.
“You’re not going to die,” he said. It wasn’t an encouragement or a comfort; it was a cold, hard statement of fact.
“Who knows?” you countered, reaching for a small bag of rice.
You did know. You could feel it in the way your breath hitched when you climbed the porch steps, in the persistent, dull ache that lived beneath your ribs—the exact symptoms your family before you had felt. The doctor had been brief when he had told you it was the early stages of the same sickness they had. There were medicines and treatments to prolong your life, but truly, why prolong the agony?
You nodded, thanked the doctor and went to work that day.
“I think you’ll live a long and happy life if you’re smart about it,” you told him, your back facing him as you looked at the tangerine on the shelf.
"You’re talking like you’re saying goodbye," he murmured, his hand reaching around you to pull the tangerine from your grasp. He didn't put it back; he turned it over in his fingers, his eyes boring into the side of your face. "I'm pretty sure 'best friends' don't just wish each other a happy life and walk away."
He stepped around to face you, forcing you to look up. His expression was a mix of irritation and a strange, burgeoning concern he was trying desperately to hide. “You’re not going to die,” he announced as though his words were law before walking away with your groceries.
—
“What was your family like?” you asked him as he washed the dishes. You wanted to think that you didn’t particularly care about what he looked like, nor the way he carried himself with such certainty. But the truth was, you noticed. You noticed how he preferred dark clothings, or how he ran his fingers through his hair several times a day, or how he loved napping, or that how much he seemed to always carry tangerines with him.
You noticed how broad his back was.
You noticed how handy he was.
You noticed how his constant faux annoyance was just a front.
You noticed how well he took care of you even when you didn’t ask him to, even when no one did before.
Simply put, you noticed Suga.
“What was your family like?” he asked back before wiping his hands and facing you. He looked domestic in this light, you thought, with only his black shirt. It was something so simple but on him it seemed as though he stepped right out of a photoshoot.
You tilted your head before gesturing for him to sit beside you. You clicked on your outdated phone and onto the album of photos you downloaded when social media was still allowed. He sat beside you, pulling his chair closer to you. Your shoulders brushed as he looked down at your screen. He was close.
Too close, you thought, that he could see the tinging on your cheeks if he wanted to. You cleared your throat before zooming the photo.
“This was my father,” you pointed at the screen. “And beside him was my mother.”
You fondly looked at the people who were the last person to love you in this world.
“That’s you?” he asked, pointing at the seven-year old you in between your parents. You were grinning wildly, your missing tooth on display. The picture was taken in the plaza back when everything was normal, back when the Seven was still trying to play nice with your country. It was during a festival, your background full of people mingling with each other, and even through the picture, you could see happiness where it once was.
“I was adorable, right?”
He smiled softly, his eyes twinkling, “I’ve seen cuter kids. Me, for example. I was the most adorable kid my age.”
You looked at him with deadpanned eyes. “Sorry, I’ll only believe it when I see it.”
“Oh so you do want to see it.”
“I do,” you shot back , your brows raised at the challenge in his tone.
He tilted his head to the side as he smirked at you. “ Too bad I don’t have pictures or else you’ll find me so adorable you would have pinched my cheeks by now.”
You couldn’t help a laughter escape you at his audacity. Your head was bent back, your melodious laughter echoing throughout your small house. You looked divine, Yoongi thought. You looked like you were happiness personified, a vibrant splash of color in a world he had helped turn monochrome. Seeing you laugh was something akin to the way they felt when they discovered Sutana.
It was a dangerous feeling.
They ruined cities for that. They had burned entire legacies to the ground just to hold that kind of power in their palms, to ensure they were the ones who decided who lived, who smiled, and who withered.
His heart stopped when you turned to him, your lower lip in between your teeth to stop yourself from smiling. “Liar. Where’s the proof then, Suga?” you leaned closer, teasing glint still in your eyes.
Would you still look at him like that if you knew?
Would you still let him in if you knew?
You wouldn’t, he was certain of it.
So instead, he softly tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “Perhaps, I am. I guess you just have to take my word for it.”
“W-what? Don’t tell me you didn’t have cameras back then,” you stuttered slightly, the proximity finally catching up to your pulse. You tried to regain your footing with a playful scoff. “I mean, I think you’re only, what, three to five years ahead of me or something—”
“Is this your way of asking me about my age?”
“Is it working?”
Suga chuckled before tapping your nose. “I’m a lot older than you.”
“Liar. You looked like you're only 31, tops.”
“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?”
Before he left for the night, he turned to you. He adjusted his coat, the fabric rustling in the quiet of the foyer. He reached for the handle, pausing at the threshold. Before he stepped out into the night, he turned back to you, his silhouette framed by the porch light.
“I’m 107.”
You rolled your eyes at him before locking the door, “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.”
—
Yoongi walked into his penthouse. The space was a study in shadows, carved out only by the cold, electric glow of the skyline bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
There was something wrong.
Without a word, Yoongi moved toward the marble island of the kitchen. His movements were fluid, practiced in the dark. The amber liquid caught the city lights as it hit the crystal, the soft clink of the decanter the only sound in the room. He poured whiskey into two glasses, the sharp, peaty scent rising to meet him. He walked to where Namjoon was seated in the dark. He was quietly reading on his tablet, no doubt about the reports on Sutana.
Yoongi stopped a few feet away, extending one of the glasses. “I thought only the maknaes break into my place when they’re bored. Apparently, that includes you now, Namjoonie.”
Namjoon finally looked up, the tablet’s glow making his features look stark and tired. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Yoongi’s as he took the glass. He didn't offer an apology, nor did he look surprised that Yoongi had already poured him a drink.
“Long time no see, hyung,” he greeted lowly before hee took a slow, deliberate sip of the whiskey, letting the burn settle. “Been busy?”
Yoongi chuckled before plopping down beside him and drinking his own. “Out with it. We know each other for too long to play these games.”
“91 years of it.”
He nodded, “Almost a whole fucking century. I always have a good read on you, Yoongi…except now.”
“Taehyung,” he muttered under his breath as though in explanation. Of course the younger member tattled. “But did he also tell you he showed his fucking face in public?”
Namjoon swiped the tablet screen, and a grainy, thermal-enhanced image appeared. It was a still from a high-altitude drone, zoomed in so far the pixels bled. It showed two figures tucked away near a stone bench by the river. One was unmistakably Yoongi, his posture uncharacteristically protective. The other was a woman- small, defiant, and entirely human.
"Taehyung is a wildfire; he likes the spectacle," Namjoon said, turning the tablet toward Yoongi. "But you? You’re the hearth. You don’t move unless there’s a purpose. So tell me, what purpose does she serve?"
Yoongi didn't look at the screen. He didn't need to. He could still feel the phantom warmth of her hair against his knuckles, the way her laughter had momentarily drowned out the decades of blood on his hands. He took a long, burning swallow of whiskey.
"She doesn't serve a purpose, Namjoon. She’s just a girl who buys too many tangerines and thinks I’m an unemployed thirty-one-year-old."
Namjoon sighed, “I know that look in your eyes, Yoongi hyung. It’s the exact look in Seokjin and my eyes that started this entire conundrum decades ago. She’s human. She will die, eventually-”
“She’s not going to die,” Yoongi countered. It wasn’t a hope; it was a decree. The kind of statement that had leveled cities and reshaped nations.
Namjoon sighed, “She’s dying even as we speak, hyung. She will, unless you give her Sutana.”
“Or unless I stop taking it,” Yoongi added. His voice was a flat, freezing line of defiance.
Namjoon froze, his glass halfway to his lips. He turned fully now, the blue light of the tablet making his eyes look like a cold flint. “You’ll die for a girl?”
“You live for a girl,” Yoongi shot back, his eyes cutting to Namjoon’s. “You and Seokjin hyung still live for her. We are all in this situation because you two can’t let go of someone who should have already died decades ago. How long will we keep her in between life and death?”
Namjoon’s composure shattered. He slammed the whiskey glass onto the marble island, the crystal miraculously holding but the liquid sloshing over his hand. He surged to his feet, his shadow towering against the city lights.
“Until we fucking perfect Sutana and its ability to bring her back to life!” Namjoon roared, his voice cracking with a raw, human agony that he usually kept buried under layers of logic and leadership.
He leaned over the table, his face inches from Yoongi’s. “If I have to burn this country to the ground to find the missing sequence needed for her, I will. And you know Seokjin-hyung would do worse.”
Yoongi didn't flinch. He just looked at the man he had called a brother for over a hundred years—a man who was currently losing his mind over a memory kept on life support.
“Then we’re both fools,” Yoongi said quietly, swirling the amber liquid in his cracked glass. “The difference is, my girl is still laughing. Yours hasn't opened her eyes since the 1950s.”
Namjoon recoiled as if stung, his chest heaving. The silence returned, but it was different now, tainted by the secret that fueled their empire. “Then you should learn from our mistakes. Give her the Sutena now.”
Yoongi finally broke eye contact before downing his whiskey. “She hates us, Namjoon,” Yoongi admitted, the words coming out like a confession. “She hates everything we’ve built. She loathes how we destroyed this fucking country just to harvest that sequence. If—if I give her a dose... if I turn her into what we are... she will never forgive me. She’ll look at me with the same eyes that man in the plaza had.”
He thought of your laughter in the kitchen, the way you’d teased him about his age, and the sheer, stubborn humanity of your refusal to fear the end. To give you Sutana was to kill the person he had come to love.
“She will have eternity to forgive you, hyung. Trust me, it’s better that she hates you than not be here at all. You think you can handle the silence? I am telling you, you can’t. None of us can.”
—
“Nope,” you answered, popping the P as you two walked home.
“You didn’t even consider it,” he grumbled as he took your bag and carried it for you. He looked like a petulant child with the way he was pouting.
“What’s there to consider in your hypothetical question, Suga?” You adjusted the strap of your sweater, your breath hitching slightly as the incline of the street began to pull at your lungs. You ignored the familiar dull ache beneath your ribs, focusing instead on his sudden, strange intensity. “You asked me if, given the chance, I’d take a 'miracle cure' to live forever. I said no.”
“It’s not just a miracle. If you take it, you’ll never die. You’ll never have to say goodbye. You can see the world and you won’t run out of time.”
You frowned before gently hitting his shoulder with yours. “Doesn’t that sound like a nightmare? Isn’t the beauty of life is that it’s not forever? Imagine being stuck in a world that keeps breaking, and you’re the only one who can’t leave. That’s not a gift, Suga. That’s basically a prison sentence.”
He stopped walking and reached for your wrist. His touch was soft, his eyes even softer as he looked like he was begging for something you didn’t know how to give. “But what if…what if I die first and I leave you alone?”
You blinked at the oddness of his question. “Then…then I guess… No. I know I’ll miss you forever. I'd probably still buy an extra tangerine every Tuesday just out of habit.”
He didn't smile. If anything, he looked more haunted. “What if you die first?”
“Then I’ll wait for you in between heaven and earth just so you won’t have to go there alone.”
Yoongi felt the words like a physical blow to the chest. Heaven. He hadn't thought about that place in a century. He had spent so long building a kingdom on earth, fortifying it with blood and science, that he’d forgotten what it was like to believe in anything beyond the next dose.
He looked at you, truly looked at you, standing there in the flickering streetlamp light. You were so small, so temporary, and yet you were offering to guide an ancient, weary soul through the afterlife.
His thumb brushed against the skin of your wrist, tracing the rhythm of a heart that was already failing. He wanted to tell you that there was no heaven for people like him. He wanted to tell you that he had already traded his soul for a seat at a table of seven gods.
Instead, he let go of your wrist and looked away, his jaw tight.
“You’re a terrible liar,” he muttered, though there was no heat in it. “You’d probably get bored waiting and find someone else to annoy with your tangerine talk.”
You nodded before chuckling at him. “Probably. No promises. Come on, I’m starving.”
—
“It’s getting worse.”
“I know. I can feel it.”
Normal activities were starting to feel like a death sentence. Waking up in the morning was starting to feel like a gift. Working was starting to feel like a prison.
Your time was running out.
You were never scared of the end, you thought. It was simply a transition to somewhere where your family was. It was simply something that needed to occur so you could leave this country. You accepted that death would come to you sooner than you thought. You had no one, so you never had to think of what or who you’d leave behind.
What you didn’t expect was him.
Because now, you were thinking of what to come when you leave this Earth. You wanted to think that he was going to be okay, that he had his brothers to stay with him.
He wouldn’t be lonely, right?
He shouldn’t.
The walk back from the clinic felt longer than usual, each step a deliberate negotiation with a body that was beginning to revoke its lease. You stopped at the corner, leaning against a rusted lamp post to catch your breath, watching the familiar silhouette in the distance.
You saw him paced back and forth in front of your small house, his hands on his waist. He needed to start getting used to you not being present, what with your imminent death and all. He needed to start getting used to this, you thought—this version of the world where you weren't present. He needed to practice seeing the porch empty. He needed to learn how to buy his own tangerines again.
You watched him for a moment, your heart aching with a heaviness that had nothing to do with your lungs. You had never been scared of the end. To you, death was just a quiet transition, a way to finally bypass the borders of a broken country and find the people who had loved you first. You had accepted the timing of your exit with a calm, practiced stoicism.
What you hadn't factored into your departure was him. Or how much you felt for him. Or how, in this bleak world, he was the only color you ever saw.
The moment he saw you, his pacing stopped instantly. His entire body went rigid, his expression shifting from agitation to a look of profound, terrifying relief that he tried—and failed—to mask with a scowl.
“You’re late,” he barked, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He started toward you, his strides long and urgent. “Where were you? I’ve been standing out here for an hour.”
“W-why are you waiting for me?”
“What do you mean why? We always do this,” he snapped, gesturing vaguely at the porch chairs where you’d spent the last month trading barbs and fruit peels. “I stay, you talk, we eat. It’s the routine.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” your voice was cold as you walked past him. If you hurt him enough, if you pushed hard enough against that strange, fierce loyalty of his, then he wouldn't mourn you. If he hated you, the silence wouldn't be quite so loud when you finally stopped speaking.
Bold of you to assume you meant much to him as he meant to you, you thought.
“You didn’t have to. In fact, you never had to. You know why? Because I want to be here.”
“Well, I don't want you here,” you lied, the words tasting like copper in your mouth. You gripped the strap of your bag until your knuckles turned white. “I’m tired, Suga. I’m tired of the noise, tired of the tangerines, and tired of you loitering on my porch like you have nowhere else to go. Go back to your ‘brothers.’ Go back to your real life.”
Yoongi didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He stood there like a statue carved from moonlight, watching the way your pulse thrummed erratically in your neck.
“You are obviously tired, so I’ll go. But this is not goodbye.”
“Suga, I meant what I—”
“I know what you said,” he interrupted softly, his jaw set in that stubborn line you’d grown to know so well. “And I’m choosing to ignore it because you’re a terrible liar when you’re exhausted. Sleep. Lock the door. If I find out you stayed up trying to clean this place, I’m moving in permanently.”
–
“You’re one stubborn man.”
“For fuck’s sake, no one knows privacy in this fucking family,” Yoongi grumbled as he stepped out of his bedroom only to find the rest of his brothers in his kitchen. He couldn’t even say he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. He hadn’t gone to bed since you sent him away, anyway.
This house used to be his sanctuary, but now he wanted nothing more but to go to you. His family was here, and yet, his very soul was telling him that something was incomplete, that someone was not here.
That he could lose you.
That he was losing you.
“Why are you stalling?” Seokjin asked from the kitchen, his back to them as he cooked calmly. He was never one to pull his punches, though. He looked at Suga with a blank face even as the young man stared straight on. “Are you an idiot?”
Jimin chuckled and almost choked on the coffee he was drinking. Hoseok gently patted the younger man’s back.
“This is all your fault,” Yoongi grumbled at Taehyung who was silently working on his laptop. “You and your blabbermouth-”
“But hyung! You have been so secretive and we haven’t seen you in months. We just wanted to know what you’re up to .We’re family, remember?” Jungkook defended Taehyung with a pout.
“It’s my business.”
“So I take it, she’s your business?” Seokjin asked, facing him with a frown on his otherwise emotionless face.
“Yes.”
“Do you let your ‘business’ die?”
“She’s not dying!” Yoongi raised his voice, something that happened very seldomly that it managed to render the entire room stupored with shock. He wasn't one to ever lose control. He wasn’t one to ever raise to anger. He wasn’t one to ever not think rationally.
But you…you brought out something in him he never thought he was capable of. The number of times he uttered the words of you not dying were becoming annoying.
This should have been a fact and not something that could be debated.
“I let mine die once, hyung…” Taehyung said, his voice deep while his eyes were faraway. He was back to the time when she died in his arms, when he wanted to be noble. When he was kinder than he was now, back when he listened to her desires instead of his own heart.
Back before her death ripped his heart away from in him. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
Yoongi’s form softened. He knew how much Taehyung suffered, how he watched her died, and eventually, how he had to bury her.
“I know, Tae… But she’s different. She’s healthy, she’s young. You don’t have to wor-”
Taehyung sighed, “She’s sick.”
Silence.
Yoongi knew they were talking, but he couldn’t hear a word they were saying.
You were sick. And he didn’t know.
How could he not know? You were… you were always with him. Shouldn’t he have known if you were sick?
He was shaking his head. Denial was coursing through him-
“In fact, she’s dying,” Taehyung drove the final nail.
Namjoon, who had been quiet the entire fiasco, passed him the tablet. Your file was there. Your entire life, your education, career, entire family history, how they died, how you would most likely die from the same illness.
The doctor’s records were clear.
Your illness was progressing. There was nothing they could do about it.
Unless…
—
His head was bowed down when you saw him.
You never thought you’d see him so forlorn. He had always been full of life. He may not be jumping with joy, but he was never one to mope around.This was new, you thought. Suga was never defeated. Suga never looked defeated.
It had been a week of silence. You should have been assimilating well with his absence, afterall, you had been alone before he came barreling into your life.
But the silence was loud.
You didn’t know how much you depended on him, or how much his presence was the only color in your life, or how without his constant presence, you were only going through the motions.
He looked up as though he could sense you.
His eyes were sad, that much was apparent. He looked like he hadn’t slept. He looked worn out and yet, your heart skipped a beat when his eyes met yours.
You definitely underestimated your ability to live without him. “I told you. I don’t want to be your friend, anymore-”
Yoongi didn’t say a word. Instead, he walked to you, his strides were large as he neared you. His steps were determined, even purposeful. Before you could even take a step back, Suga, for the first time, embraced you and not because he had to save you.
This time, he embraced you with all the emotions he was keeping control of.
For the first time since he could remember, Suga cried.
The man was shaking as he hugged you, his head bent low as he leaned on your shoulder. You could feel the tears streaming down his face, quickly dampening your shirt. He was, to say the least, unconsolable.
“S-Suga, what’s wrong?”
He didn’t talk. He hugged you tighter as though in fear that if he let go just an inch, that you would disappear.
“Are you hurt?” you asked, worry apparent in your voice. You tried to push him away to assess where his injuries were. The man didn’t even budge. You thought the kindest thing to do was to gently rub his back.
You didn’t know how long he refused to let you go.
You didn’t know if you ever wanted to.
“Don’t leave me,” he ordered. “I don’t want to be alone again.”
“Why?” you asked.
“Because I love you.”
—
Someone loved you.
Someone finally loved you, just when you were running out of time. What a cruel trick the universe was playing.
What a curse to love someone only to leave them.
You were staring at his sleeping form. He refused to leave, further breaking down when you wouldn’t let him in until you gave in. His eyes were swollen from crying, his hands shaking until you promised that you wouldn’t leave him.
You were lying on the bed beside him. He was holding your hand tightly even in his sleep. You traced his face with your other hand in featherlike touches. Suga was beautiful. It was apparent that God took his time with him.
He was a man with such soft heart, one that never raised his voice, one that took one look at you and knew just how to fix you. He was dependable. He was all you wished to have if only you had time.
But you didn’t.
It was selfish of you to wish him for yourself…
Gently, he opened his eyes. He looked at you with all the sadness, despair and a little bit of hope in his eyes.
“You can’t love me,” you said.
“Why?”
You bit your lip and took a deep breath. “I’m dying, Suga.”
He pressed his lips on the back of your hand, his dark eyes never wavering from you. “Not a reason enough, darling.”
“It is-”
“Do you love me?”
You blinked owlishly, willing your tears to never fall. You had to be brave not for you, but for him. You had to leave him whole. You would be hurt, but you never wanted him to experience this pain.
“That’s neither here-”
“Do you love me?”
…
“Yes.”
“Will you live for me?”
You wanted to.
God, you wanted to.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Suga,” you broke down, couldn’t even stop the tears from falling. You were dying. You were going to leave someone as wonderful as he was in this fucked up world. He was going to be alone. You knew what it was like to have been left alone. You never wanted that even to your worst enemy, let alone the one you loved.
Suga smiled despite the tears. He leaned his forehead against yours, “Just let me love you, okay? I’ll worry about the rest. Just let me love you. God, please. Just let me be with you. Please.”
He never left.
He was beside you through it all. Your body grew weary, your strength dwindling. The most normal activities took so much toll on you that you wondered if he wanted to leave you now. You had to quit your job. You had to prepare your affairs in order. Your house, the only memory left of your family and you in this world, would go to him. You knew he didn’t need this. But the way he took care of your house, fixed everything broken in it made you realized that he loved this house just as much as you did.
There were days when Suga would hold your hair away from your face as you vomited. There were days when he would have to carry you because your legs simply couldn’t support you. There were days where he would tell you stories as though it happened so long ago that you would end up chuckling at his anecdotes.
Sometimes, you would wake up and catch him looking at you with indecisiveness in his eyes.
He looked like he was battling with something beyond you.
But everytime he noticed you looking at him, he would simply smile and kiss you tenderly.
Things progressed so quickly that you knew your time was eventually running out.
Things progressed too quickly that Suga knew he was running out of time.
It was one night when you woke up in a hospital bed when he finally asked. “If you could live forever with me…would you?”
You smiled at him as you reached your hand laddled with dextrose to him. “My love, I would live the rest of my life with you.”
You told him that if reincarnation was real, that if you get another chance in life, that you would find him, that you would recognize him.
You told him that you would love him again the way he deserved, the way that you could fully give, without the constraint of time nor health.
But Suga didn’t believe in reincarnation. He did believe that there was no redeeming him, that hell was the only option for him. He believed that he couldn’t and wouldn’t live without you.
Without you, he’d simply perish.
You didn’t think you’d wake up.
You thought you wouldn’t ever again.
“You finally decided to give her Sutana, Yoongi,” a man’s voice said from behind, his voice deep and authoritative.
Yoongi?
Why would one of the seven be here?
It was too quiet for a moment until Suga answered. “I can’t live without her.”
You had been a fool.
You trusted the man who destroyed your country.
You even loved the man who was one of the reasons why you lost your family.
“Will she forgive you?”
You recognized that voice. The distinct deep voice, the way every syllable was without any emotion, the man you saw in the town square.
Kim Taehyung.
“I can’t exactly ask for forgiveness to a dead person, can I?” Suga- no. Yoongi replied. You felt his hand gently caress your hair. You tried so hard to even your breath, to not let your eyes even move behind your closed lids.
He wasn’t lying when he said he was 107 years old.
You were just too naive to think of it as anything but a lie.
They spoke as if the choice had always been theirs, that your disposition in living forever didn’t even matter. Sutana was an immortality drug. They lied when they marketed it as something that had to be taken monthly. No.
These seven men had been alive for so long. They discovered the door to immortality decades ago. The invasion was not necessary…
They did it for the missing sequence they needed to bring someone back from the dead.
You thought they were bad…but this was worse. They were playing God not only to the living but also to the dead. You shuddered at the realization.
You couldn’t breathe.
“We’re going to be so happy together.”
You wouldn’t be happy.
You left when you were finally alone.
And so, for the next decades, Yoongi would look for you. You would run every time.
He had given you immortality, but he had forgotten one thing: forever is a very long time to hide.
Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: I'm extremely touched from the warm welcome back that this series got. Thank you so much my bbs for interacting, for the reblog, for the comments! So much love for this community
Masterlist, Season 2.1
Chapter 1
You woke up with a start. Like an animal that knew it was being hunted, your heart pounded so loud as you pulled your blanket to your chest, your body turned to your side where you felt him.
You wanted so badly to believe it was just a dream.
You told yourself repeatedly that it was just a nightmare.
It wasn’t real.
He wasn’t here.
And the warmth left on the other side of the bed was merely from your body and not anyone’s. The scent you knew so well was just a figment of your imagination and not something that was actually there.
He wasn’t here.
You were safe.
It took a moment for you to be able to move. You got up and readied for the day. You told yourself that your trauma shouldn’t be stronger than your responsibilities. Your patients needed you. You needed to live. You needed a semblance of normalcy.
He wasn’t here, you repeated to yourself. He might even be glad that you were gone.
When you finally pulled yourself together, you stepped out of your rented place. The only sign that your neighbor was here was the plate of warm cookies left on the table in front of your door with a simple note.
Good morning, neighbor! Hoping to see you soon :)
You blinked at the gesture as you looked at the mountain of cookies your neighbor left you. You didn’t want to start on a bad foot and so despite your aversion to spending time with anyone at the moment, you left him a note that you were inviting him for dinner later.
Not everyone was out to hurt you.
Not everyone had it in them to betray your trust.
Not everyone was Kim Seokjin.
The hospital staff was visibly talking about someone. Their eyes were twinkling with delight, their murmurs that of buzzing bees. They almost didn’t notice you as they giggled among themselves until your secretary nudged the nurse before greeting you.
You smiled at them, “It seems like it is a good morning,” you teased as you looked down at the charts of your patients today. You had two regular patients and a new one.
“It’s just… we saw someone so handsome today!”
The nurse nodded vigorously, “I can’t believe someone as handsome as that exists! God has favorites. It is confirmed!”
“He’s even more handsome in person!”
“His eyes are so expressive! What can we expect? He’s the nation’s best actor!”
Huh?
You tilted your head when you read the name of your new patient, your heart in your throat as reality dawned on you.
Kim Taehyung.
—
You didn’t want to open your door. You didn’t want to step into your office. In fact, your hand stayed on the door knob, half-convinced that you could just bail out and start over again. You could do it, you thought. You were self-sufficient, independent, strong, beautiful, cute, intelligent, and so on and so forth when the decision itself was made and the door opened.
Behind the door stood Kim Taehyung, the nation’s favorite actor. His hand was on the door knob while he looked down at you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Hi, doc! You’re almost late. Come on, come on,” he said cheerfully before gesturing for you to go inside whilst you stood frozen. He was here of all places. Here in the far away province. Here. Where you were.
You could hear the squealing of the nurses and even some of the patients when they saw his face, with some even going as far as taking pictures of him as though privacy was merely a suggestion and not a right.
Through it all, though, he looked unfazed.
But you weren’t. Even though your back was facing the sudden audience, you feared that they would somehow take an accidental photo of your face and spread it on the internet. You weren’t even a criminal but the anxiety that your past brought you was something that you couldn’t easily leave behind.
You frowned at him as you stepped in your office.
Damn it.
Your hands were shaking as you walked to your table, your mind going on an overdrive as to the reason why he was here.
And if he was here, did that mean that he was also here?
However, when you opened Taehyung’s initial file, what was written there confused you. Clinically diagnosed heartbrokenness.
Taehyung was sitting comfortably on the sofa, his long legs crossed while his arm was resting on the backrest as though the doctor’s office was the most comfortable place on earth.
“Heartbrokenness?” you clarified to the beautiful man in front of you. You thought that there was no other way Taehyung wouldn’t end up becoming famous. His face alone demanded recognition. No wonder he had such a huge fanbase.
Taehyung blinked, “That only? Oh, my bad. That’s my hyung’s file. Mine says ‘diagnosed psychopath and heartbrokenness. They must have switched our files or something.”
“You’re a…psychopath?”
He nodded eagerly, the side of his lips lifting as though he was smiling.
“And this was diagnosed?”
He nodded again. “Hyung had me tested when he got tired of going to school because the principal kept calling my guardian, AKA him, just because I pushed a bunch of classmates down the stairs. They didn’t even die, Doctor. Don’t you think they were being dramatic?
Also! You know my hyung, right? Kim Seokjin? I think Jungkook said you fell first but he fell harder and is still falling as we speak. Bastard couldn’t even pick himself up. Anyway! If you’re thinking about starting a family, I can vouch that he will definitely be a good father. I mean, at this point I don’t think you have any other choice. To add, if it wasn’t for him, my casualties would be way higher than it is right now.”
Talking to him was like walking in a maze, you supposed. He was talking about three topics all at once all while sporting a poker face as though he hadn’t just dropped something big to you. Or that he just hadn’t insinuated (not really, he outright said it) that you had no other choice but him.
You wondered what was heavier: that the most famous actor in the country was a diagnosed psychopath, that he had casualties, or that Kim Seokjin….nope. You didn’t want to go there.
“You have your own doctor, correct? Why are you here?”
“Because my doctor said that it was ‘bad’ and ‘uncivilized’ to follow the girl I want to places she frequents to.”
“Mr. Kim-”
“My doctor also said that it’s generally uncivilized to manipulate countless situations and/or people just so she would end up with me-”
“So you’re here because?”
“Because just like any illness, I want a second opinion about my heartbrokenness.”
“That’s- I think that’s a lovesickness.”
He looked up in deep thought before nodding. “That’s more appropriate, I supposed. I feel when I cannot see her. I feel when I see her. I feel when she blocks me, and then I buy another simcard. Then she blocks me again so it’s logical that perhaps she wants to see me in person. OMG, is that love, doc?”
You frowned at what he was saying. He was basically a stalker and he didn’t even seem apologetic about it. Didn’t anyone tell him it wasn’t right? Except for his doctor?
“Does your family know? Friends? Your agency? A trusted adult? Anyone at all?”
“Jimin, you met him right? He said he bets I can ragebait anyone into liking me. Hoesok hyung said to follow my dreams. Yoongi hyung said to do what I want but also make sure that I don’t end up in jail because he wouldn’t save my ass. I think he’s lying. He has a soft spot for me. Hmm who else, Jungkook said that what I’m doing is just courting so it’s okay. Namjoon hyung said to be smart about all the lying and deceiving and manipulating and taught me how. Lastly, a trusted adult. Hmm. Okay, Seokjin hyung. What did he say? When he found out, it was also the time he was moping around because a certain someone left. He said to treat her right once I get her so I bought us a house in anticipation of her eventual surrender. It’s right next to Jin’s newly acquired house.”
You sighed before folding your hands on your desk. You leveled him with a professional look. “Mr. Kim, it’s not okay to keep pursuing someone who keeps on running away from you.”
He pouted, his eyes emotionless. “That’s just your opinion, Doctor. Anyway, welcome to the family!”
—
You knocked at your neighbor’s door, your other hand holding a tub of homemade kimchi. You showered after a peculiar day, convincing yourself that yes, you could be normal. You would not let anxiety dictate how you act, you promised yourself.
You smiled when the door opened, only to find your landlady beaming at you. “Oh dear, you’re here! He’s waiting for you.” She tapped your hand twice, her wrinkly eyes smiling at you. “Come in, come in! I was just about to leave.“
She pulled you inside before bidding you goodbye. She was almost out of the gate when she turned to you, “I almost forgot, dear! Congratulations!”
Huh?
You were about to ask her when the door closed. You turned around, the house was warm and welcoming. You could hear the sound of someone cooking in where you assumed was the kitchen. The dining table was laid with steaming dishes, your favorites, you noted. On the table laid three plates and utensils.
“Hello?” you called out. “This is your upstairs neighbor! The landlady let me in, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Almost done! Please make yourself at home,” the neighbor answered, his voice deep, you thought. You looked around once more before sitting down.
You didn’t have to wait for long. A man walked out of the kitchen, in his hands was a bowl of soup and placed it on the table. You stood up and bowed, “Hi! I’m Y/N. It’s so nice to meet you.”
God, he was tall. He smiled at you before offering his hand. You shook his hand, his hold firm. His dimpled smile was enough to disarm you, you thought. He looked harmless. “The pleasure is mine. Please,” he gestured to your seat before removing his apron and taking a seat in front of you.
You looked at your right where the other plate was. “Are we waiting for someone?”
“My brother,” he answered as he politely served you side dishes. He did the same to the empty seat beside you.
“Oh, so you and him will be living here, I suppose,” you said thoughtfully after thanking him for serving you dishes.
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling to the side. “No, actually. I’m going back to the city tonight. I just helped him with the paperworks.”
“Oh…you two must have been so close.”
He shrugged and leaned back on his seat. He was smiling as though he knew something you didn’t. “Someone has to rein that lunatic in,” he answered cheerfully.
“I’m sorry?”
“I mean, that’s what families are for.”
That was peculiar.
You looked at the man in front of you. He seemed way too relaxed.
He looked familiar.
“You never told me what your name was.”
He didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched almost too thin. His eyes twinkled before slowly flicking to your right. Before you could even turn, the seat scraped against the flooring and a man sat on it.
“Namjoon.”
“Hyung.”
The hair on the back of your neck stood, your form suddenly turned rigid. You turned to your right.
There he was, with his head resting on his hand. He was looking at you.
It brought you immense joy to make the renowned and the genius head doctor, Kim Seokjin, blushed uncontrollably. You thought it was just a harmless fun, an innocent and childlike flirting on your part when he never reciprocated your advances. Too bad you didn’t know you were flirting with the mafia prince.
Min Yoongi x Veterinarian!Reader
Latibule: Completed
Jung Hoseok x (Shhh To be announced)
Prologue
Kim Namjoon x Secretary!Reader
You always thought he had two sides to him: the vicious, competent and calm lawyer that he was in the courtroom, and then the other was the cute, soft and shy boss that you had been working with for years. But there was a third side he had hidden from you- the deadly, violent, and cruel mafia that he was. Was it too late to resign now? Would he even ever let you leave?
Park Jimin x Detective!Reader
He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have been a detective, you thought. From the moment you met and saved him back in the academy, you had never seen him other than the thin and weak man you met several years ago. From then on and until now that the two of you made it to being detectives, he had latched onto you and forged a strong friendship, regardless if you wanted to or not. He was weak and you were the stronger one. Well, that was what he made you believe. Park Jimin couldn’t be called weak, after all, he grew up in the mafia.
Kim Taehyung x Reporter!Reader
Sneakpeak: KoFi, Patreon
It all started when you, an investigative journalist, were forced to cover a charity event of the renowned actor, Kim Taehyung. For him, it all started even before that day. What could he do when you made him feel? Stalk and get you to give him the time of the day, of course. Or in which you made the clinically diagnosed psychopath who never once felt an emotion feel.
Jeon Jungkook x Wife!Reader
Saudade: KoFi ongoing
A marriage of convenience, you would say. A marriage of love, he would say. You thought you would marry an old and rich man. It turned out you would be marrying the Jeon Jungkook who turned out to be the kindest and sweetest man you had ever known, one who showered you with love and anything your heart desired. You lived in a fairytale, well- until you saw him unalived a man. And of course, you did the normal thing and ran.
Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: I'm extremely touched from the warm welcome back that this series got. Thank you so much my bbs for interacting, for the reblog, for the comments! So much love for this community
Masterlist, Season 2.1
Chapter 1
You woke up with a start. Like an animal that knew it was being hunted, your heart pounded so loud as you pulled your blanket to your chest, your body turned to your side where you felt him.
You wanted so badly to believe it was just a dream.
You told yourself repeatedly that it was just a nightmare.
It wasn’t real.
He wasn’t here.
And the warmth left on the other side of the bed was merely from your body and not anyone’s. The scent you knew so well was just a figment of your imagination and not something that was actually there.
He wasn’t here.
You were safe.
It took a moment for you to be able to move. You got up and readied for the day. You told yourself that your trauma shouldn’t be stronger than your responsibilities. Your patients needed you. You needed to live. You needed a semblance of normalcy.
He wasn’t here, you repeated to yourself. He might even be glad that you were gone.
When you finally pulled yourself together, you stepped out of your rented place. The only sign that your neighbor was here was the plate of warm cookies left on the table in front of your door with a simple note.
Good morning, neighbor! Hoping to see you soon :)
You blinked at the gesture as you looked at the mountain of cookies your neighbor left you. You didn’t want to start on a bad foot and so despite your aversion to spending time with anyone at the moment, you left him a note that you were inviting him for dinner later.
Not everyone was out to hurt you.
Not everyone had it in them to betray your trust.
Not everyone was Kim Seokjin.
The hospital staff was visibly talking about someone. Their eyes were twinkling with delight, their murmurs that of buzzing bees. They almost didn’t notice you as they giggled among themselves until your secretary nudged the nurse before greeting you.
You smiled at them, “It seems like it is a good morning,” you teased as you looked down at the charts of your patients today. You had two regular patients and a new one.
“It’s just… we saw someone so handsome today!”
The nurse nodded vigorously, “I can’t believe someone as handsome as that exists! God has favorites. It is confirmed!”
“He’s even more handsome in person!”
“His eyes are so expressive! What can we expect? He’s the nation’s best actor!”
Huh?
You tilted your head when you read the name of your new patient, your heart in your throat as reality dawned on you.
Kim Taehyung.
—
You didn’t want to open your door. You didn’t want to step into your office. In fact, your hand stayed on the door knob, half-convinced that you could just bail out and start over again. You could do it, you thought. You were self-sufficient, independent, strong, beautiful, cute, intelligent, and so on and so forth when the decision itself was made and the door opened.
Behind the door stood Kim Taehyung, the nation’s favorite actor. His hand was on the door knob while he looked down at you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Hi, doc! You’re almost late. Come on, come on,” he said cheerfully before gesturing for you to go inside whilst you stood frozen. He was here of all places. Here in the far away province. Here. Where you were.
You could hear the squealing of the nurses and even some of the patients when they saw his face, with some even going as far as taking pictures of him as though privacy was merely a suggestion and not a right.
Through it all, though, he looked unfazed.
But you weren’t. Even though your back was facing the sudden audience, you feared that they would somehow take an accidental photo of your face and spread it on the internet. You weren’t even a criminal but the anxiety that your past brought you was something that you couldn’t easily leave behind.
You frowned at him as you stepped in your office.
Damn it.
Your hands were shaking as you walked to your table, your mind going on an overdrive as to the reason why he was here.
And if he was here, did that mean that he was also here?
However, when you opened Taehyung’s initial file, what was written there confused you. Clinically diagnosed heartbrokenness.
Taehyung was sitting comfortably on the sofa, his long legs crossed while his arm was resting on the backrest as though the doctor’s office was the most comfortable place on earth.
“Heartbrokenness?” you clarified to the beautiful man in front of you. You thought that there was no other way Taehyung wouldn’t end up becoming famous. His face alone demanded recognition. No wonder he had such a huge fanbase.
Taehyung blinked, “That only? Oh, my bad. That’s my hyung’s file. Mine says ‘diagnosed psychopath and heartbrokenness. They must have switched our files or something.”
“You’re a…psychopath?”
He nodded eagerly, the side of his lips lifting as though he was smiling.
“And this was diagnosed?”
He nodded again. “Hyung had me tested when he got tired of going to school because the principal kept calling my guardian, AKA him, just because I pushed a bunch of classmates down the stairs. They didn’t even die, Doctor. Don’t you think they were being dramatic?
Also! You know my hyung, right? Kim Seokjin? I think Jungkook said you fell first but he fell harder and is still falling as we speak. Bastard couldn’t even pick himself up. Anyway! If you’re thinking about starting a family, I can vouch that he will definitely be a good father. I mean, at this point I don’t think you have any other choice. To add, if it wasn’t for him, my casualties would be way higher than it is right now.”
Talking to him was like walking in a maze, you supposed. He was talking about three topics all at once all while sporting a poker face as though he hadn’t just dropped something big to you. Or that he just hadn’t insinuated (not really, he outright said it) that you had no other choice but him.
You wondered what was heavier: that the most famous actor in the country was a diagnosed psychopath, that he had casualties, or that Kim Seokjin….nope. You didn’t want to go there.
“You have your own doctor, correct? Why are you here?”
“Because my doctor said that it was ‘bad’ and ‘uncivilized’ to follow the girl I want to places she frequents to.”
“Mr. Kim-”
“My doctor also said that it’s generally uncivilized to manipulate countless situations and/or people just so she would end up with me-”
“So you’re here because?”
“Because just like any illness, I want a second opinion about my heartbrokenness.”
“That’s- I think that’s a lovesickness.”
He looked up in deep thought before nodding. “That’s more appropriate, I supposed. I feel when I cannot see her. I feel when I see her. I feel when she blocks me, and then I buy another simcard. Then she blocks me again so it’s logical that perhaps she wants to see me in person. OMG, is that love, doc?”
You frowned at what he was saying. He was basically a stalker and he didn’t even seem apologetic about it. Didn’t anyone tell him it wasn’t right? Except for his doctor?
“Does your family know? Friends? Your agency? A trusted adult? Anyone at all?”
“Jimin, you met him right? He said he bets I can ragebait anyone into liking me. Hoesok hyung said to follow my dreams. Yoongi hyung said to do what I want but also make sure that I don’t end up in jail because he wouldn’t save my ass. I think he’s lying. He has a soft spot for me. Hmm who else, Jungkook said that what I’m doing is just courting so it’s okay. Namjoon hyung said to be smart about all the lying and deceiving and manipulating and taught me how. Lastly, a trusted adult. Hmm. Okay, Seokjin hyung. What did he say? When he found out, it was also the time he was moping around because a certain someone left. He said to treat her right once I get her so I bought us a house in anticipation of her eventual surrender. It’s right next to Jin’s newly acquired house.”
You sighed before folding your hands on your desk. You leveled him with a professional look. “Mr. Kim, it’s not okay to keep pursuing someone who keeps on running away from you.”
He pouted, his eyes emotionless. “That’s just your opinion, Doctor. Anyway, welcome to the family!”
—
You knocked at your neighbor’s door, your other hand holding a tub of homemade kimchi. You showered after a peculiar day, convincing yourself that yes, you could be normal. You would not let anxiety dictate how you act, you promised yourself.
You smiled when the door opened, only to find your landlady beaming at you. “Oh dear, you’re here! He’s waiting for you.” She tapped your hand twice, her wrinkly eyes smiling at you. “Come in, come in! I was just about to leave.“
She pulled you inside before bidding you goodbye. She was almost out of the gate when she turned to you, “I almost forgot, dear! Congratulations!”
Huh?
You were about to ask her when the door closed. You turned around, the house was warm and welcoming. You could hear the sound of someone cooking in where you assumed was the kitchen. The dining table was laid with steaming dishes, your favorites, you noted. On the table laid three plates and utensils.
“Hello?” you called out. “This is your upstairs neighbor! The landlady let me in, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Almost done! Please make yourself at home,” the neighbor answered, his voice deep, you thought. You looked around once more before sitting down.
You didn’t have to wait for long. A man walked out of the kitchen, in his hands was a bowl of soup and placed it on the table. You stood up and bowed, “Hi! I’m Y/N. It’s so nice to meet you.”
God, he was tall. He smiled at you before offering his hand. You shook his hand, his hold firm. His dimpled smile was enough to disarm you, you thought. He looked harmless. “The pleasure is mine. Please,” he gestured to your seat before removing his apron and taking a seat in front of you.
You looked at your right where the other plate was. “Are we waiting for someone?”
“My brother,” he answered as he politely served you side dishes. He did the same to the empty seat beside you.
“Oh, so you and him will be living here, I suppose,” you said thoughtfully after thanking him for serving you dishes.
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling to the side. “No, actually. I’m going back to the city tonight. I just helped him with the paperworks.”
“Oh…you two must have been so close.”
He shrugged and leaned back on his seat. He was smiling as though he knew something you didn’t. “Someone has to rein that lunatic in,” he answered cheerfully.
“I’m sorry?”
“I mean, that’s what families are for.”
That was peculiar.
You looked at the man in front of you. He seemed way too relaxed.
He looked familiar.
“You never told me what your name was.”
He didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched almost too thin. His eyes twinkled before slowly flicking to your right. Before you could even turn, the seat scraped against the flooring and a man sat on it.
“Namjoon.”
“Hyung.”
The hair on the back of your neck stood, your form suddenly turned rigid. You turned to your right.
There he was, with his head resting on his hand. He was looking at you.
Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: I'm extremely touched from the warm welcome back that this series got. Thank you so much my bbs for interacting, for the reblog, for the comments! So much love for this community
Masterlist, Season 2.1
Chapter 1
You woke up with a start. Like an animal that knew it was being hunted, your heart pounded so loud as you pulled your blanket to your chest, your body turned to your side where you felt him.
You wanted so badly to believe it was just a dream.
You told yourself repeatedly that it was just a nightmare.
It wasn’t real.
He wasn’t here.
And the warmth left on the other side of the bed was merely from your body and not anyone’s. The scent you knew so well was just a figment of your imagination and not something that was actually there.
He wasn’t here.
You were safe.
It took a moment for you to be able to move. You got up and readied for the day. You told yourself that your trauma shouldn’t be stronger than your responsibilities. Your patients needed you. You needed to live. You needed a semblance of normalcy.
He wasn’t here, you repeated to yourself. He might even be glad that you were gone.
When you finally pulled yourself together, you stepped out of your rented place. The only sign that your neighbor was here was the plate of warm cookies left on the table in front of your door with a simple note.
Good morning, neighbor! Hoping to see you soon :)
You blinked at the gesture as you looked at the mountain of cookies your neighbor left you. You didn’t want to start on a bad foot and so despite your aversion to spending time with anyone at the moment, you left him a note that you were inviting him for dinner later.
Not everyone was out to hurt you.
Not everyone had it in them to betray your trust.
Not everyone was Kim Seokjin.
The hospital staff was visibly talking about someone. Their eyes were twinkling with delight, their murmurs that of buzzing bees. They almost didn’t notice you as they giggled among themselves until your secretary nudged the nurse before greeting you.
You smiled at them, “It seems like it is a good morning,” you teased as you looked down at the charts of your patients today. You had two regular patients and a new one.
“It’s just… we saw someone so handsome today!”
The nurse nodded vigorously, “I can’t believe someone as handsome as that exists! God has favorites. It is confirmed!”
“He’s even more handsome in person!”
“His eyes are so expressive! What can we expect? He’s the nation’s best actor!”
Huh?
You tilted your head when you read the name of your new patient, your heart in your throat as reality dawned on you.
Kim Taehyung.
—
You didn’t want to open your door. You didn’t want to step into your office. In fact, your hand stayed on the door knob, half-convinced that you could just bail out and start over again. You could do it, you thought. You were self-sufficient, independent, strong, beautiful, cute, intelligent, and so on and so forth when the decision itself was made and the door opened.
Behind the door stood Kim Taehyung, the nation’s favorite actor. His hand was on the door knob while he looked down at you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Hi, doc! You’re almost late. Come on, come on,” he said cheerfully before gesturing for you to go inside whilst you stood frozen. He was here of all places. Here in the far away province. Here. Where you were.
You could hear the squealing of the nurses and even some of the patients when they saw his face, with some even going as far as taking pictures of him as though privacy was merely a suggestion and not a right.
Through it all, though, he looked unfazed.
But you weren’t. Even though your back was facing the sudden audience, you feared that they would somehow take an accidental photo of your face and spread it on the internet. You weren’t even a criminal but the anxiety that your past brought you was something that you couldn’t easily leave behind.
You frowned at him as you stepped in your office.
Damn it.
Your hands were shaking as you walked to your table, your mind going on an overdrive as to the reason why he was here.
And if he was here, did that mean that he was also here?
However, when you opened Taehyung’s initial file, what was written there confused you. Clinically diagnosed heartbrokenness.
Taehyung was sitting comfortably on the sofa, his long legs crossed while his arm was resting on the backrest as though the doctor’s office was the most comfortable place on earth.
“Heartbrokenness?” you clarified to the beautiful man in front of you. You thought that there was no other way Taehyung wouldn’t end up becoming famous. His face alone demanded recognition. No wonder he had such a huge fanbase.
Taehyung blinked, “That only? Oh, my bad. That’s my hyung’s file. Mine says ‘diagnosed psychopath and heartbrokenness. They must have switched our files or something.”
“You’re a…psychopath?”
He nodded eagerly, the side of his lips lifting as though he was smiling.
“And this was diagnosed?”
He nodded again. “Hyung had me tested when he got tired of going to school because the principal kept calling my guardian, AKA him, just because I pushed a bunch of classmates down the stairs. They didn’t even die, Doctor. Don’t you think they were being dramatic?
Also! You know my hyung, right? Kim Seokjin? I think Jungkook said you fell first but he fell harder and is still falling as we speak. Bastard couldn’t even pick himself up. Anyway! If you’re thinking about starting a family, I can vouch that he will definitely be a good father. I mean, at this point I don’t think you have any other choice. To add, if it wasn’t for him, my casualties would be way higher than it is right now.”
Talking to him was like walking in a maze, you supposed. He was talking about three topics all at once all while sporting a poker face as though he hadn’t just dropped something big to you. Or that he just hadn’t insinuated (not really, he outright said it) that you had no other choice but him.
You wondered what was heavier: that the most famous actor in the country was a diagnosed psychopath, that he had casualties, or that Kim Seokjin….nope. You didn’t want to go there.
“You have your own doctor, correct? Why are you here?”
“Because my doctor said that it was ‘bad’ and ‘uncivilized’ to follow the girl I want to places she frequents to.”
“Mr. Kim-”
“My doctor also said that it’s generally uncivilized to manipulate countless situations and/or people just so she would end up with me-”
“So you’re here because?”
“Because just like any illness, I want a second opinion about my heartbrokenness.”
“That’s- I think that’s a lovesickness.”
He looked up in deep thought before nodding. “That’s more appropriate, I supposed. I feel when I cannot see her. I feel when I see her. I feel when she blocks me, and then I buy another simcard. Then she blocks me again so it’s logical that perhaps she wants to see me in person. OMG, is that love, doc?”
You frowned at what he was saying. He was basically a stalker and he didn’t even seem apologetic about it. Didn’t anyone tell him it wasn’t right? Except for his doctor?
“Does your family know? Friends? Your agency? A trusted adult? Anyone at all?”
“Jimin, you met him right? He said he bets I can ragebait anyone into liking me. Hoesok hyung said to follow my dreams. Yoongi hyung said to do what I want but also make sure that I don’t end up in jail because he wouldn’t save my ass. I think he’s lying. He has a soft spot for me. Hmm who else, Jungkook said that what I’m doing is just courting so it’s okay. Namjoon hyung said to be smart about all the lying and deceiving and manipulating and taught me how. Lastly, a trusted adult. Hmm. Okay, Seokjin hyung. What did he say? When he found out, it was also the time he was moping around because a certain someone left. He said to treat her right once I get her so I bought us a house in anticipation of her eventual surrender. It’s right next to Jin’s newly acquired house.”
You sighed before folding your hands on your desk. You leveled him with a professional look. “Mr. Kim, it’s not okay to keep pursuing someone who keeps on running away from you.”
He pouted, his eyes emotionless. “That’s just your opinion, Doctor. Anyway, welcome to the family!”
—
You knocked at your neighbor’s door, your other hand holding a tub of homemade kimchi. You showered after a peculiar day, convincing yourself that yes, you could be normal. You would not let anxiety dictate how you act, you promised yourself.
You smiled when the door opened, only to find your landlady beaming at you. “Oh dear, you’re here! He’s waiting for you.” She tapped your hand twice, her wrinkly eyes smiling at you. “Come in, come in! I was just about to leave.“
She pulled you inside before bidding you goodbye. She was almost out of the gate when she turned to you, “I almost forgot, dear! Congratulations!”
Huh?
You were about to ask her when the door closed. You turned around, the house was warm and welcoming. You could hear the sound of someone cooking in where you assumed was the kitchen. The dining table was laid with steaming dishes, your favorites, you noted. On the table laid three plates and utensils.
“Hello?” you called out. “This is your upstairs neighbor! The landlady let me in, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Almost done! Please make yourself at home,” the neighbor answered, his voice deep, you thought. You looked around once more before sitting down.
You didn’t have to wait for long. A man walked out of the kitchen, in his hands was a bowl of soup and placed it on the table. You stood up and bowed, “Hi! I’m Y/N. It’s so nice to meet you.”
God, he was tall. He smiled at you before offering his hand. You shook his hand, his hold firm. His dimpled smile was enough to disarm you, you thought. He looked harmless. “The pleasure is mine. Please,” he gestured to your seat before removing his apron and taking a seat in front of you.
You looked at your right where the other plate was. “Are we waiting for someone?”
“My brother,” he answered as he politely served you side dishes. He did the same to the empty seat beside you.
“Oh, so you and him will be living here, I suppose,” you said thoughtfully after thanking him for serving you dishes.
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling to the side. “No, actually. I’m going back to the city tonight. I just helped him with the paperworks.”
“Oh…you two must have been so close.”
He shrugged and leaned back on his seat. He was smiling as though he knew something you didn’t. “Someone has to rein that lunatic in,” he answered cheerfully.
“I’m sorry?”
“I mean, that’s what families are for.”
That was peculiar.
You looked at the man in front of you. He seemed way too relaxed.
He looked familiar.
“You never told me what your name was.”
He didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched almost too thin. His eyes twinkled before slowly flicking to your right. Before you could even turn, the seat scraped against the flooring and a man sat on it.
“Namjoon.”
“Hyung.”
The hair on the back of your neck stood, your form suddenly turned rigid. You turned to your right.
There he was, with his head resting on his hand. He was looking at you.
Summary: Tired of the men she's been dating, Hermione Granger finally made up a list. Too bad Draco Malfoy checks all of them.
Warnings: Yandere (as always)
A/N: Going back to my roots! (Dramione hehe) Girl, I'm also done with men. Her list is my list so I'm trying this manifesting thingy. Amen. Okay, enjoooy
Snippet:
—
Hermione almost jumped up from her seat, her cup of coffee rattling as she looked up at the man sitting in front of her, his form relaxed as though he had not just gatecrashed her peaceful morning routine.
Draco Malfoy sat with his legs loosely crossed, his posture so relaxed you'd think he hadn't just gatecrashed her peaceful morning routine.
He didn't say a word at first. His grey eyes briefly scanned the chalkboard menu hanging above the counter before he raised a hand, quietly catching the barista's attention to place a quick order. Once that was done, he turned his head and gave her his full, undivided attention.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he drawled, his eyes deliberately sweeping over her form.
“Fancy meeting you- You’re in a muggle cafe, Malfoy! You are never here!” Hermione hissed, trying to keep her voice down as she was wary of anyone who could overhear her meltdown over his consistent and insistent presence.
Draco merely leaned back, the wrought-iron chair groaning slightly under his weight as he crossed his legs with agonizingly slow, aristocratic grace. He fit into the eccentric, brick-walled Muggle coffee shop about as naturally as a dragon in a greenhouse, his tailored dark coat practically screaming upper-crust wizarding wealth against the backdrop of indie music and grinding espresso beans. “Doesn’t truly matter, does it?”
Hermione massaged her forehead, already feeling the stress blooming behind her eyes. This man, whom she hadn’t seen for almost a decade, was suddenly everywhere. In her periphery, in her thoughts, and now literally invading her physical space before she’d even finished her first cup of caffeine.
“This is stalking!” she hissed, dropping her hand to glare at him.
“I prefer the term ‘Attentive Suitor’,” he rebutted calmly before muttering a thank you as his coffee arrived.
“I’m going to tell your mother!” Hermione threatened, a smirk forming on her luscious lips (Draco’s thoughts) as she thought that he finally got him. The Malfoys were pureblood through and through, she rationalized. It would be enough for him to back off. “Does Narcissa even know?”
“Yes, darling. Your future mother-in-law knows and is very supportive about our upcoming nuptials.”
Hermione blinked owlishly in disbelief, a thing she had been doing more often now that Malfoy seemed to have lost his mind. He was just sitting there, calmly smiling at her as though nothing could faze him. He picked up his espresso, the dark porcelain looking stark against his long, pale fingers. He took a slow, deliberate sip, completely unbothered by the sheer absurdity of his own words. "In fact, she suggested we look into booking the rose gardens at the manor for a late spring ceremony. She believes the lighting matches your complexion beautifully. I tend to agree.
Although, to be honest, I want to be married before this year ends. Maybe we can have two weddings,” he wondered before leaning in and resting his chin on his fist. “What do you think, Granger?”
“I think you’re insane,” she stood up, grabbed her bag and just as she was about to storm out of her beloved coffee shop AKA her little slice of heaven before work, his voice called out to her.
"Have a good day at the Ministry, future Mrs. Malfoy," he drawled, giving her a wink that was so utterly shameless she could only stare in stunned silence. "I'll see you for dinner."
"We don't have dinner plans!" she yelled at him.
"We do now. Seven o'clock. Don't be late, darling."
Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: After a grueling heartbreak and ending an almost ten-year relationship, your local writer girlie is baaaack (with more emotional baggages that she should probably unpack in therapy but instead chooses to be overproductive so she wouldn't think about how she's now alone). I doooo hope you enjoy this! <33
Masterlist, Season 2
Prologue
You felt him before you could even open your eyes.
His arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand plastered on your stomach. His solid chest secured you. You could feel his warm breath on your nape. He was warm.
He was real.
You smiled when he pulled you closer, his voice particularly deep in the morning. “No waking up.”
You turned to face him, his face looked heavenly even with his eyes closed, peaceful even, you thought. Kim Seokjin looked like an angel. His lashes fluttered when you traced his cheek with your finger, his plump lips pulling into a smile. His hand cupped yours before planting a soft kiss on your palm.
At that exact moment he opened his eyes, the most loving and kind eyes you had ever gazed upon, you felt the most happy.
You felt the love you spent your whole life looking for.
The morning light filters softly through the curtains, catching the edges of his dark hair and casting a gentle glow over his features. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence between you is heavy with a quiet, sacred comfort, broken only by the sound of your synchronized breathing.
His grip on your waist tightens just a fraction, as if confirming to himself that you are truly there. The smile on his lips widens, crinkling the corners of those beautiful eyes you adore so much.
“Don’t wake up, sunshine.”
“We have to,” you told him as gently as you could.
He was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching yours for something you didn’t know. Slowly, Seokjin rested his head on yours as if he was trying to keep something that was slowly moving away from him. “I don’t want to lose this.”
“Lose what?” you asked.
“Us.”
You smiled and this time, it didn’t reach your eyes.
“We already lost us.”
You woke up.
The room was dark.
He wasn’t here, you reminded yourself. He was never here.
—
“47% increase in recovery rate from last week’s experiment,” Kim Seokjin quietly noted as he tapped down on his tablet. The soft humming of the machines and the cold air made the atmosphere seemed more clinical than necessary.
To anyone looking in, he was the picture perfect of a composed and collected man.
To anyone looking in, he was merely conducting an experiment.
To anyone looking in, Kim Seokjin was sane.
They couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
6 months, 13 days, 7 hours, 42 minutes.
That was how long it had been since he last saw you. The last time since he was able to rein in the monster lurking in him. He rationalized that there was no need to hide it anymore. After all, it was a part of him.
Abandoning him was the worst mistake you ever made because by doing so, you unleashed hell on Earth. No longer was he pretending to be someone who was good. You broke the last chain. You broke the last resolve he had in him.
The man’s eyes were wide with terror as he looked at the place where his right hand used to be. Moments ago, the wound would not stop bleeding. The cut, although precise and somewhat clean from Seokjin’s ministrations, was also jagged at the edges, a testament to the fact that Seokjin hadn’t used a scalpel for the severance—he had used his own raw, manic strength.
“This is healing better than your left hand, wouldn’t you say?” Seokjin monotonously asked, peering down on him with dark eyes that didn’t seem to register the monster he had become. “Maybe when we get to your right foot, healing would almost be instantaneous. All set to be broken once again.”
The man whimpered at the mere thought of experiencing the same hell all over again, “P-please, j-just kill me. End t-this misery-”
“Shh,” he shushed while adjusting the dextrose, his tone emotionless. “We’ve been here a thousand times. You know begging won’t do anything. Aren’t I taking care of you so well that you’ll live even when I’m dead? Besides, aren’t you glad that you’re ‘voluntarily’ helping the medical community researching ways to save people?”
Seokjin turned to him and flashed him a smile so soulless one would wonder if there was still even an ounce of humanity left in him. “We do thank you for your service.”
“Please. I’m sorry. I’m s-so sorry-”
“I’ve only been hurting you for months. You hurt her for years. I am certain I’ll forgive you when I run out of body parts to cut.
Oh, and of course you need not worry. No one will look for you. The Bangtan took care of your death certificate.”
—
“Good morning, Doc!”
You smiled at the receptionist as you greeted her warmly. You were looking at the chart she handed you. Your patient today was the first one assigned to you when you transferred to this province. A simple, veteran man who was ordered to undergo therapy before he could be cleared for active duty.
The receptionist pointed to the small lobby where he was waiting. His back was ramrod straight, he was looking ahead, his stance as though he was on guard. You were certain that Minho would recover in no time. You were glad that his night terrors were becoming fewer as the sessions went on. He no longer sported the haunted look you first saw him in. His hands no longer tremble out of nowhere.
Meanwhile, you wondered when you could sleep well again. If sleep requires peace, perhaps you would never again because each time you closed your eyes, all you saw was blood and violence and each morning just before you woke up, you’d see his eyes staring at you with both hatred and coldness.
Some nights though, you would dream about him chasing after you with a certain need in his eyes. Some nights though, you dreamed about him pointing a gun at you.
The worst was when you would dream about the life you could have had with him had he been anyone but who he truly was.
Doing the right thing for you wasn’t easy, and was it ever, not when saving you meant leaving him. Not when it meant leaving the version of him that you loved. You wondered if the person you fell in love with truly existed or was it just an act? Was he truly warm? Was he truly someone who would take his time to cook for you? Was he really that childish yet incredibly competent man you first fell in love with?
Did that Kim Seokjin really exist?
Or was he merely a figment of your imagination?
Discovering that he was the darkness himself, one that you spent your entire life outrunning, tainted all the memories you had with him. Because when they said time heals all, they didn’t know what they were saying.
Time didn’t truly mean anything when you could still feel in your bones the chilling realization that he was part of the world you so badly wanted to escape from. Time was regardless when despite the fact that you knew who he was, who he truly was, a part of you still longed for the version of him you fell in love with.
And how much it still hurts despite the distance you put between you and him.
“Have you been sleeping well?”
“Five hours last night,” Minho answered.
“That’s good,” you wrote down his progress, smiling at him. You were pleased at his progress when just months ago, he only slept for less than an hour. “You’re doing so well now. I’ll clear you for active duty as soon as we finish the remaining sessions.”
Minho was quiet for a moment and when you looked up, his eyes were assessing you as though you were a case he needed to solve. “Have you been sleeping well?”
You blinked owlishly at his question and the intensity on which he worded it. You attempted to laugh it off. “Of course I am-”
“Liar,” he noted as he leaned in from his seat on the sofa. “Doc, your eyebags darkened a little bit more each time I return.”
“I-it must have been my concealer. I bought the cheapest one…”
He nodded, “Right. Nothing to do with the way you kept on looking on your shoulder like grim reaper himself would appear any moment to take you back to his lair.”
You opened your mouth when he shook his head. “All I’m saying is that if you don’t feel safe, you only have to say a word. You helped me. I want to help you back.”
Help was something you no longer believed in. It was something that brought you in this situation. It was the outreached hand that ran you out of Seoul. It was the help that made you fall for the executioner himself.
Instead, you told him not to worry about you. Instead, you told him you were okay when you were farther from the truth.
—
The place you moved to was quaint and quiet, the exact opposite of what Seoul was to you.
The walk home was slow and entirely too peaceful. Whereas the streets were filled with bustling establishments and busy people in the city with lights that never seemed to dim, here you could slow down.
You could take your time.
You could look up in the sky and clearly see the stars.
You could walk down the street, with fields on either side of you, and felt entirely safe.
Here, people didn’t want to hurt you.
Here, people couldn’t hurt you.
The people who hurt you were now far away from you, you told yourself repeatedly hoping that one day, you would stop obsessively looking over your shoulder, waiting for someone to jump and hurt you again.
You rented the top floor of a small, two-floor house with a garden that you always wanted to have. The seeds you planted were now blooming with flowers. This place may have been small and old, but this was yours, you thought. This was your safe space.
When you moved in, the owner told you that the first floor was vacant for a while now and that a new tenant would move in next week.
When you went home, however, you saw the lights turned on on the first floor. Empty boxes were placed on the outside of the door of the first floor.
The tenant must have moved early, you thought. Or late if you considered that it was already almost midnight.
Must have been from the city, you thought, seeing as it was late when she arrived.
With an exhausted sigh, you told yourself that you would instead introduce yourself the next morning. And with that, you
You felt him before you could even open your eyes.
His arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand plastered on your stomach. His solid chest secured you. You could feel his warm breath on your nape. He was warm.
He was real.
You smiled when he pulled you closer, his voice particularly deep in the morning. “Found you.”
Summary: Tired of the men she's been dating, Hermione Granger finally made up a list. Too bad Draco Malfoy checks all of them.
Warnings: Yandere (as always)
A/N: Going back to my roots! (Dramione hehe) Girl, I'm also done with men. Her list is my list so I'm trying this manifesting thingy. Amen. Okay, enjoooy
Snippet:
—
Hermione almost jumped up from her seat, her cup of coffee rattling as she looked up at the man sitting in front of her, his form relaxed as though he had not just gatecrashed her peaceful morning routine.
Draco Malfoy sat with his legs loosely crossed, his posture so relaxed you'd think he hadn't just gatecrashed her peaceful morning routine.
He didn't say a word at first. His grey eyes briefly scanned the chalkboard menu hanging above the counter before he raised a hand, quietly catching the barista's attention to place a quick order. Once that was done, he turned his head and gave her his full, undivided attention.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he drawled, his eyes deliberately sweeping over her form.
“Fancy meeting you- You’re in a muggle cafe, Malfoy! You are never here!” Hermione hissed, trying to keep her voice down as she was wary of anyone who could overhear her meltdown over his consistent and insistent presence.
Draco merely leaned back, the wrought-iron chair groaning slightly under his weight as he crossed his legs with agonizingly slow, aristocratic grace. He fit into the eccentric, brick-walled Muggle coffee shop about as naturally as a dragon in a greenhouse, his tailored dark coat practically screaming upper-crust wizarding wealth against the backdrop of indie music and grinding espresso beans. “Doesn’t truly matter, does it?”
Hermione massaged her forehead, already feeling the stress blooming behind her eyes. This man, whom she hadn’t seen for almost a decade, was suddenly everywhere. In her periphery, in her thoughts, and now literally invading her physical space before she’d even finished her first cup of caffeine.
“This is stalking!” she hissed, dropping her hand to glare at him.
“I prefer the term ‘Attentive Suitor’,” he rebutted calmly before muttering a thank you as his coffee arrived.
“I’m going to tell your mother!” Hermione threatened, a smirk forming on her luscious lips (Draco’s thoughts) as she thought that he finally got him. The Malfoys were pureblood through and through, she rationalized. It would be enough for him to back off. “Does Narcissa even know?”
“Yes, darling. Your future mother-in-law knows and is very supportive about our upcoming nuptials.”
Hermione blinked owlishly in disbelief, a thing she had been doing more often now that Malfoy seemed to have lost his mind. He was just sitting there, calmly smiling at her as though nothing could faze him. He picked up his espresso, the dark porcelain looking stark against his long, pale fingers. He took a slow, deliberate sip, completely unbothered by the sheer absurdity of his own words. "In fact, she suggested we look into booking the rose gardens at the manor for a late spring ceremony. She believes the lighting matches your complexion beautifully. I tend to agree.
Although, to be honest, I want to be married before this year ends. Maybe we can have two weddings,” he wondered before leaning in and resting his chin on his fist. “What do you think, Granger?”
“I think you’re insane,” she stood up, grabbed her bag and just as she was about to storm out of her beloved coffee shop AKA her little slice of heaven before work, his voice called out to her.
"Have a good day at the Ministry, future Mrs. Malfoy," he drawled, giving her a wink that was so utterly shameless she could only stare in stunned silence. "I'll see you for dinner."
"We don't have dinner plans!" she yelled at him.
"We do now. Seven o'clock. Don't be late, darling."
Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: After a grueling heartbreak and ending an almost ten-year relationship, your local writer girlie is baaaack (with more emotional baggages that she should probably unpack in therapy but instead chooses to be overproductive so she wouldn't think about how she's now alone). I doooo hope you enjoy this! <33
Masterlist, Season 2
Prologue
You felt him before you could even open your eyes.
His arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand plastered on your stomach. His solid chest secured you. You could feel his warm breath on your nape. He was warm.
He was real.
You smiled when he pulled you closer, his voice particularly deep in the morning. “No waking up.”
You turned to face him, his face looked heavenly even with his eyes closed, peaceful even, you thought. Kim Seokjin looked like an angel. His lashes fluttered when you traced his cheek with your finger, his plump lips pulling into a smile. His hand cupped yours before planting a soft kiss on your palm.
At that exact moment he opened his eyes, the most loving and kind eyes you had ever gazed upon, you felt the most happy.
You felt the love you spent your whole life looking for.
The morning light filters softly through the curtains, catching the edges of his dark hair and casting a gentle glow over his features. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence between you is heavy with a quiet, sacred comfort, broken only by the sound of your synchronized breathing.
His grip on your waist tightens just a fraction, as if confirming to himself that you are truly there. The smile on his lips widens, crinkling the corners of those beautiful eyes you adore so much.
“Don’t wake up, sunshine.”
“We have to,” you told him as gently as you could.
He was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching yours for something you didn’t know. Slowly, Seokjin rested his head on yours as if he was trying to keep something that was slowly moving away from him. “I don’t want to lose this.”
“Lose what?” you asked.
“Us.”
You smiled and this time, it didn’t reach your eyes.
“We already lost us.”
You woke up.
The room was dark.
He wasn’t here, you reminded yourself. He was never here.
—
“47% increase in recovery rate from last week’s experiment,” Kim Seokjin quietly noted as he tapped down on his tablet. The soft humming of the machines and the cold air made the atmosphere seemed more clinical than necessary.
To anyone looking in, he was the picture perfect of a composed and collected man.
To anyone looking in, he was merely conducting an experiment.
To anyone looking in, Kim Seokjin was sane.
They couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
6 months, 13 days, 7 hours, 42 minutes.
That was how long it had been since he last saw you. The last time since he was able to rein in the monster lurking in him. He rationalized that there was no need to hide it anymore. After all, it was a part of him.
Abandoning him was the worst mistake you ever made because by doing so, you unleashed hell on Earth. No longer was he pretending to be someone who was good. You broke the last chain. You broke the last resolve he had in him.
The man’s eyes were wide with terror as he looked at the place where his right hand used to be. Moments ago, the wound would not stop bleeding. The cut, although precise and somewhat clean from Seokjin’s ministrations, was also jagged at the edges, a testament to the fact that Seokjin hadn’t used a scalpel for the severance—he had used his own raw, manic strength.
“This is healing better than your left hand, wouldn’t you say?” Seokjin monotonously asked, peering down on him with dark eyes that didn’t seem to register the monster he had become. “Maybe when we get to your right foot, healing would almost be instantaneous. All set to be broken once again.”
The man whimpered at the mere thought of experiencing the same hell all over again, “P-please, j-just kill me. End t-this misery-”
“Shh,” he shushed while adjusting the dextrose, his tone emotionless. “We’ve been here a thousand times. You know begging won’t do anything. Aren’t I taking care of you so well that you’ll live even when I’m dead? Besides, aren’t you glad that you’re ‘voluntarily’ helping the medical community researching ways to save people?”
Seokjin turned to him and flashed him a smile so soulless one would wonder if there was still even an ounce of humanity left in him. “We do thank you for your service.”
“Please. I’m sorry. I’m s-so sorry-”
“I’ve only been hurting you for months. You hurt her for years. I am certain I’ll forgive you when I run out of body parts to cut.
Oh, and of course you need not worry. No one will look for you. The Bangtan took care of your death certificate.”
—
“Good morning, Doc!”
You smiled at the receptionist as you greeted her warmly. You were looking at the chart she handed you. Your patient today was the first one assigned to you when you transferred to this province. A simple, veteran man who was ordered to undergo therapy before he could be cleared for active duty.
The receptionist pointed to the small lobby where he was waiting. His back was ramrod straight, he was looking ahead, his stance as though he was on guard. You were certain that Minho would recover in no time. You were glad that his night terrors were becoming fewer as the sessions went on. He no longer sported the haunted look you first saw him in. His hands no longer tremble out of nowhere.
Meanwhile, you wondered when you could sleep well again. If sleep requires peace, perhaps you would never again because each time you closed your eyes, all you saw was blood and violence and each morning just before you woke up, you’d see his eyes staring at you with both hatred and coldness.
Some nights though, you would dream about him chasing after you with a certain need in his eyes. Some nights though, you dreamed about him pointing a gun at you.
The worst was when you would dream about the life you could have had with him had he been anyone but who he truly was.
Doing the right thing for you wasn’t easy, and was it ever, not when saving you meant leaving him. Not when it meant leaving the version of him that you loved. You wondered if the person you fell in love with truly existed or was it just an act? Was he truly warm? Was he truly someone who would take his time to cook for you? Was he really that childish yet incredibly competent man you first fell in love with?
Did that Kim Seokjin really exist?
Or was he merely a figment of your imagination?
Discovering that he was the darkness himself, one that you spent your entire life outrunning, tainted all the memories you had with him. Because when they said time heals all, they didn’t know what they were saying.
Time didn’t truly mean anything when you could still feel in your bones the chilling realization that he was part of the world you so badly wanted to escape from. Time was regardless when despite the fact that you knew who he was, who he truly was, a part of you still longed for the version of him you fell in love with.
And how much it still hurts despite the distance you put between you and him.
“Have you been sleeping well?”
“Five hours last night,” Minho answered.
“That’s good,” you wrote down his progress, smiling at him. You were pleased at his progress when just months ago, he only slept for less than an hour. “You’re doing so well now. I’ll clear you for active duty as soon as we finish the remaining sessions.”
Minho was quiet for a moment and when you looked up, his eyes were assessing you as though you were a case he needed to solve. “Have you been sleeping well?”
You blinked owlishly at his question and the intensity on which he worded it. You attempted to laugh it off. “Of course I am-”
“Liar,” he noted as he leaned in from his seat on the sofa. “Doc, your eyebags darkened a little bit more each time I return.”
“I-it must have been my concealer. I bought the cheapest one…”
He nodded, “Right. Nothing to do with the way you kept on looking on your shoulder like grim reaper himself would appear any moment to take you back to his lair.”
You opened your mouth when he shook his head. “All I’m saying is that if you don’t feel safe, you only have to say a word. You helped me. I want to help you back.”
Help was something you no longer believed in. It was something that brought you in this situation. It was the outreached hand that ran you out of Seoul. It was the help that made you fall for the executioner himself.
Instead, you told him not to worry about you. Instead, you told him you were okay when you were farther from the truth.
—
The place you moved to was quaint and quiet, the exact opposite of what Seoul was to you.
The walk home was slow and entirely too peaceful. Whereas the streets were filled with bustling establishments and busy people in the city with lights that never seemed to dim, here you could slow down.
You could take your time.
You could look up in the sky and clearly see the stars.
You could walk down the street, with fields on either side of you, and felt entirely safe.
Here, people didn’t want to hurt you.
Here, people couldn’t hurt you.
The people who hurt you were now far away from you, you told yourself repeatedly hoping that one day, you would stop obsessively looking over your shoulder, waiting for someone to jump and hurt you again.
You rented the top floor of a small, two-floor house with a garden that you always wanted to have. The seeds you planted were now blooming with flowers. This place may have been small and old, but this was yours, you thought. This was your safe space.
When you moved in, the owner told you that the first floor was vacant for a while now and that a new tenant would move in next week.
When you went home, however, you saw the lights turned on on the first floor. Empty boxes were placed on the outside of the door of the first floor.
The tenant must have moved early, you thought. Or late if you considered that it was already almost midnight.
Must have been from the city, you thought, seeing as it was late when she arrived.
With an exhausted sigh, you told yourself that you would instead introduce yourself the next morning. And with that, you
You felt him before you could even open your eyes.
His arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand plastered on your stomach. His solid chest secured you. You could feel his warm breath on your nape. He was warm.
He was real.
You smiled when he pulled you closer, his voice particularly deep in the morning. “Found you.”
Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: After a grueling heartbreak and ending an almost ten-year relationship, your local writer girlie is baaaack (with more emotional baggages that she should probably unpack in therapy but instead chooses to be overproductive so she wouldn't think about how she's now alone). I doooo hope you enjoy this! <33
Masterlist, Season 2
Prologue
You felt him before you could even open your eyes.
His arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand plastered on your stomach. His solid chest secured you. You could feel his warm breath on your nape. He was warm.
He was real.
You smiled when he pulled you closer, his voice particularly deep in the morning. “No waking up.”
You turned to face him, his face looked heavenly even with his eyes closed, peaceful even, you thought. Kim Seokjin looked like an angel. His lashes fluttered when you traced his cheek with your finger, his plump lips pulling into a smile. His hand cupped yours before planting a soft kiss on your palm.
At that exact moment he opened his eyes, the most loving and kind eyes you had ever gazed upon, you felt the most happy.
You felt the love you spent your whole life looking for.
The morning light filters softly through the curtains, catching the edges of his dark hair and casting a gentle glow over his features. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence between you is heavy with a quiet, sacred comfort, broken only by the sound of your synchronized breathing.
His grip on your waist tightens just a fraction, as if confirming to himself that you are truly there. The smile on his lips widens, crinkling the corners of those beautiful eyes you adore so much.
“Don’t wake up, sunshine.”
“We have to,” you told him as gently as you could.
He was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching yours for something you didn’t know. Slowly, Seokjin rested his head on yours as if he was trying to keep something that was slowly moving away from him. “I don’t want to lose this.”
“Lose what?” you asked.
“Us.”
You smiled and this time, it didn’t reach your eyes.
“We already lost us.”
You woke up.
The room was dark.
He wasn’t here, you reminded yourself. He was never here.
—
“47% increase in recovery rate from last week’s experiment,” Kim Seokjin quietly noted as he tapped down on his tablet. The soft humming of the machines and the cold air made the atmosphere seemed more clinical than necessary.
To anyone looking in, he was the picture perfect of a composed and collected man.
To anyone looking in, he was merely conducting an experiment.
To anyone looking in, Kim Seokjin was sane.
They couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
6 months, 13 days, 7 hours, 42 minutes.
That was how long it had been since he last saw you. The last time since he was able to rein in the monster lurking in him. He rationalized that there was no need to hide it anymore. After all, it was a part of him.
Abandoning him was the worst mistake you ever made because by doing so, you unleashed hell on Earth. No longer was he pretending to be someone who was good. You broke the last chain. You broke the last resolve he had in him.
The man’s eyes were wide with terror as he looked at the place where his right hand used to be. Moments ago, the wound would not stop bleeding. The cut, although precise and somewhat clean from Seokjin’s ministrations, was also jagged at the edges, a testament to the fact that Seokjin hadn’t used a scalpel for the severance—he had used his own raw, manic strength.
“This is healing better than your left hand, wouldn’t you say?” Seokjin monotonously asked, peering down on him with dark eyes that didn’t seem to register the monster he had become. “Maybe when we get to your right foot, healing would almost be instantaneous. All set to be broken once again.”
The man whimpered at the mere thought of experiencing the same hell all over again, “P-please, j-just kill me. End t-this misery-”
“Shh,” he shushed while adjusting the dextrose, his tone emotionless. “We’ve been here a thousand times. You know begging won’t do anything. Aren’t I taking care of you so well that you’ll live even when I’m dead? Besides, aren’t you glad that you’re ‘voluntarily’ helping the medical community researching ways to save people?”
Seokjin turned to him and flashed him a smile so soulless one would wonder if there was still even an ounce of humanity left in him. “We do thank you for your service.”
“Please. I’m sorry. I’m s-so sorry-”
“I’ve only been hurting you for months. You hurt her for years. I am certain I’ll forgive you when I run out of body parts to cut.
Oh, and of course you need not worry. No one will look for you. The Bangtan took care of your death certificate.”
—
“Good morning, Doc!”
You smiled at the receptionist as you greeted her warmly. You were looking at the chart she handed you. Your patient today was the first one assigned to you when you transferred to this province. A simple, veteran man who was ordered to undergo therapy before he could be cleared for active duty.
The receptionist pointed to the small lobby where he was waiting. His back was ramrod straight, he was looking ahead, his stance as though he was on guard. You were certain that Minho would recover in no time. You were glad that his night terrors were becoming fewer as the sessions went on. He no longer sported the haunted look you first saw him in. His hands no longer tremble out of nowhere.
Meanwhile, you wondered when you could sleep well again. If sleep requires peace, perhaps you would never again because each time you closed your eyes, all you saw was blood and violence and each morning just before you woke up, you’d see his eyes staring at you with both hatred and coldness.
Some nights though, you would dream about him chasing after you with a certain need in his eyes. Some nights though, you dreamed about him pointing a gun at you.
The worst was when you would dream about the life you could have had with him had he been anyone but who he truly was.
Doing the right thing for you wasn’t easy, and was it ever, not when saving you meant leaving him. Not when it meant leaving the version of him that you loved. You wondered if the person you fell in love with truly existed or was it just an act? Was he truly warm? Was he truly someone who would take his time to cook for you? Was he really that childish yet incredibly competent man you first fell in love with?
Did that Kim Seokjin really exist?
Or was he merely a figment of your imagination?
Discovering that he was the darkness himself, one that you spent your entire life outrunning, tainted all the memories you had with him. Because when they said time heals all, they didn’t know what they were saying.
Time didn’t truly mean anything when you could still feel in your bones the chilling realization that he was part of the world you so badly wanted to escape from. Time was regardless when despite the fact that you knew who he was, who he truly was, a part of you still longed for the version of him you fell in love with.
And how much it still hurts despite the distance you put between you and him.
“Have you been sleeping well?”
“Five hours last night,” Minho answered.
“That’s good,” you wrote down his progress, smiling at him. You were pleased at his progress when just months ago, he only slept for less than an hour. “You’re doing so well now. I’ll clear you for active duty as soon as we finish the remaining sessions.”
Minho was quiet for a moment and when you looked up, his eyes were assessing you as though you were a case he needed to solve. “Have you been sleeping well?”
You blinked owlishly at his question and the intensity on which he worded it. You attempted to laugh it off. “Of course I am-”
“Liar,” he noted as he leaned in from his seat on the sofa. “Doc, your eyebags darkened a little bit more each time I return.”
“I-it must have been my concealer. I bought the cheapest one…”
He nodded, “Right. Nothing to do with the way you kept on looking on your shoulder like grim reaper himself would appear any moment to take you back to his lair.”
You opened your mouth when he shook his head. “All I’m saying is that if you don’t feel safe, you only have to say a word. You helped me. I want to help you back.”
Help was something you no longer believed in. It was something that brought you in this situation. It was the outreached hand that ran you out of Seoul. It was the help that made you fall for the executioner himself.
Instead, you told him not to worry about you. Instead, you told him you were okay when you were farther from the truth.
—
The place you moved to was quaint and quiet, the exact opposite of what Seoul was to you.
The walk home was slow and entirely too peaceful. Whereas the streets were filled with bustling establishments and busy people in the city with lights that never seemed to dim, here you could slow down.
You could take your time.
You could look up in the sky and clearly see the stars.
You could walk down the street, with fields on either side of you, and felt entirely safe.
Here, people didn’t want to hurt you.
Here, people couldn’t hurt you.
The people who hurt you were now far away from you, you told yourself repeatedly hoping that one day, you would stop obsessively looking over your shoulder, waiting for someone to jump and hurt you again.
You rented the top floor of a small, two-floor house with a garden that you always wanted to have. The seeds you planted were now blooming with flowers. This place may have been small and old, but this was yours, you thought. This was your safe space.
When you moved in, the owner told you that the first floor was vacant for a while now and that a new tenant would move in next week.
When you went home, however, you saw the lights turned on on the first floor. Empty boxes were placed on the outside of the door of the first floor.
The tenant must have moved early, you thought. Or late if you considered that it was already almost midnight.
Must have been from the city, you thought, seeing as it was late when she arrived.
With an exhausted sigh, you told yourself that you would instead introduce yourself the next morning. And with that, you
You felt him before you could even open your eyes.
His arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand plastered on your stomach. His solid chest secured you. You could feel his warm breath on your nape. He was warm.
He was real.
You smiled when he pulled you closer, his voice particularly deep in the morning. “Found you.”
