#bts psychological thriller fics
Text
Alice's Game
This is a game.
And you must win.
𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙿𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕!𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛, 𝙲𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝙼𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚛!𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚓𝚘𝚘𝚗, 𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎!𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝙿𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛
𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝟷𝟾+ 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚏𝚏. 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎. 𝙲𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖! (𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎), 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝙵𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎.
𝙰/𝚗: 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙶𝙾𝙳; 𝙳𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚐𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝙰𝙲𝚃𝚄𝙰𝙻 𝚓𝚊𝚒𝚕.
This was a request from a friend of mine, and so I decided to try my hand at yandere things and psycho-killer themes. She's not on Tumblr, but says Hi! <3
Heavily inspired by: @dovechim - Lost In The Funhouse
Go follow them, they're amazing!! <3
Comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist ☺
:readmore:
Drip
The black molded floor sinks in. The ropes snaked around tightly your limbs, a small tear slipped from your duct.
Drip
It was so perfect. Graduate college, work in the psych ward, settle down in a little town with two or three kids.
Nowhere in the planner had ‘get kidnapped by your own patient’ penned in.
Clicking on your red pumps echo through the long hallway. The stench of cigarettes, drugs, and something not so moral wash over your senses. Down the hall, several doors lock themselves tightly away from any human contact. Protecting the people outside of it, more so than what’s inside.
“Remember, no touching. You get 20 minutes, then you’ll hear the buzzer go off. He’ll be chained to the chair, so you don’t have anything to worry about. We’ve also installed cameras on the entire floor and rooms for the patients’ safety.
Yeah right. You think.
They only take these monsters away because they’re scared. You see, the most notorious, psychopaths and murderers have no fear. From the amount of childhood trauma and mental disorders swirling their brains distracts them from any fear they could have. Neurotypicals such as you had something they could only mirror. Never truly experienced.
Emotion.
The buzzer alarms. You walk inside the dark room, eyes adjusting to the bright fluorescent light hanging above a metal table. You look a little closer, gasping quietly at his appearance.
You dealt with plenty of psychos in your life. Your father had -unfortunately- been one of the many you came to study in your adult-age. Your mother, a narcissistic pathological liar, has been anything but helpful to your own past. As a child, you lived in constant fear. While kids your age had been going to the park to eat ice cream with their parents, yours had been hunting your innocence and soul both mentally and physically. At the ripe age of 9, you’d decided that you wouldn’t take their shit anymore.
Maturity didn’t make you grow up fast.
It was fear.
Fear of waking up with your father standing over your bed, knife in hand as blood trickled down the sheen of metal. Heavy grunts and heaves exile his chest. His crusted beard and shattered glasses hang his expressions.
Only, he had no emotion.
You figured that out very quickly on your 5th birthday. As curious children wander, you had two makeshift barbies in hand. Your colored two ponytails your half-sober mother had lazily put up when she had been in a good mood. The old wooden creaked open as you fell back on your behind.
Father had been yelling at your mother -as per usual- about something and something. Most of your childhood had been extremely vague. Later on, you found out from your psychology class that the brain subconscious avoids pain of any kind. Your brain had blocked the horrid memories. Only allowing you to remember certain things when it thought you could handle it.
That’s why you’d joked between your colleagues that your brain had been your parent.
The door creaked open, revealing the rotting stench of what had seemed to be deer and rabbits. You fell to the floor, silently crying out for the animals your father had mutilated.
That wasn’t even the worst part.
You glance over, sniffling as your child-like innocence sets itself on a blood-shot red table. Obviously the smell is emitting from that more than anything. You scooted a chair over to get a closer look, screaming as your eyes set on the mutilated, poked, prodded, and bloodied human limbs.
A head stares back at you, laid lifelessly on the table. The eyes had been gouged out, while flesh had been ripped off. A ear lays next to your arm. Stitched with some kind of black thread, then ripped apart once more. Anything you’d seen in your teen years on horror movies had nothing against this.
Boots clack against the old wooden floors.
“Doctor? Are you alright?” The guard’s firm but caring tone pulls you from the horrid thoughts. You nod, embarrassingly pushing your black frame glasses higher up to the bridge of your nose, preparing to get to the bottom of what made this man tick.
“Are you ready?” He asks, as you nod once more.
The buzzer sounds.
His dry grin creeps the corner of his lips.
“Well hello, pretty thing.”
You chuckle at the silly nickname, keeping your professional stance as you take a seat in the chair across from his. You take notice of his situation. A white straight jacket wraps his built figure. Black, greasy locks fall effortlessly in front of his intimidating eyes. The fluorescent light brightens up his skin even more, every freckle and mole visible on his porcelain like skin.
You’d seen a lot of mediocre good-looking patients but they had nothing on this man.
Pulling your professional mask back on, you flip through his papers, glancing between the two.
Cherry red lips..
“Kim Namjoon.” You read.
A well built frame. Muscles as big as your whole head-
“No need for formalities, darling.” he leans closer, staring you down through his luscious eyelashes.
“It’s just Namjoon, sweets.” He leans back, a bored expression plays on his face.
You chuckle, flipping through more of his paperwork they’d provided you days beforehand. Of course you’d skimmed through it, but you want to make this at least a bit more comfortable without having to look in his enticing chocolate irises.
_____________________________________________________________
Case #: 2918 Page: 9
Date: June 2nd, 2019.
Last Name: Kim First Name: Namjoon Middle: -none-
Race: Asian.
DOB: Sep 12th, 1994.
Details of case: Genocide, use of illegal drugs, Man slaughter, homicide.
Weapon(s) involved: C13H16CINO - Ketamine usage. Dimethoxyethane (DME) usage.
Habits of patient: Grinding teeth, untimely laughing fits, manipulation, gaslighting,-
_____________________________________________________________
One word has caught your attention.
Persuasion.
He chuckles at your facial expression. You cleared your throat, focusing your attention back onto the subject.
“You have quite the resume, Mr. Kim” He chuckles, leaning against the metal chair’s back end. A glimmer of curiosity peaks his irises.
“Only the best for you, Doc.” You chuckle, shaking your head softly at the teases. You reach into your pocket, sliding the recording device across the table to land between you two. You click your pen, glancing at his bored expression.
“Any time, Mister Kim.”
Once the session's finished, you start to pack your belongings, making sure the recording device is safely tucked beteen you leather breifcase pouch.
"See you later, Little Alice." He replies, watching as you pack more of your things into what small leather briefcase you'd been carrying around. You nod, still having a weird feeling in the pit of your stomache.
"Can I help you?" You ask quietly. He lets out a dark chuckle.
"More than you know, Doll." You roll your eyes, before turning back to face him.
"My name's not Alice, by the way." He hums, leaning against the back of his chair.
"I'm aware, Miss Y/n".
How'd he know your name? It's not like you wear a nametag.
He stands, stalking over to your figure.
He chuckles at your cuteness.
You stand your ground, fixing your posture to seem big.
It didn't work.
No amount of heels could ever make you feel equal to this man. Not only was he one of the most notorious serial killers, he was freakishly tall.
You words catch in the back of your throat.
"Why did you call me Alice, then?"
He smirks, doing a one-over on your whole body.
"Because," He steps closer. If it hadn't been for the straight jacket, he'd have you up against the wall, screaming for him to fuck you by now.
"You like sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."
You huff at his harsh tone.
"And why doesn't my nose belong here?"
He smirks, leaning to the side of your cheek, his hot breath dances lightly on the skin of your lobe.
"Because this is not a place for purity, darling."
You huff.
"I am not purity, Kim." He smiles, walking back over to the chair he'd originally been sat in.
"And I'm not a psycho-killer." He watches as the pink creeps up your face like a child trying to make it past their parents bedroom on Christmas day.
Grabbing the rest of your things, you both hear the buzzing of the door, watching as it opens to reveal two men here to escort you out.
"See you tomorrow." You call back, while making your way out of the room.
This, was going to be fun.
The buzzer sounds once more. The same routine you’d adjusted to for around a week now. Every day, you’d come into the asylum to check on Namjoon. Sadly, you had only gotten so far as learning what you’d already known. His name, family (or lack of), favorite ways to torture his victims, etc. You’d gotten nowhere, and your deadline was this month. You had to figure out some way of helping him open up.
Your white pencil skirt creeps up the length of your legs every step you take. Thankfully, you’d chosen to wear black shorts under the skirt as always. The black silk button-up you’d picked from a thrift store lays lazily against your risen bosom. The small accentuates of jewelry decorate your typical appearance.
You walk into the room you’d now referred to as being your ‘office’ mainly because of how many times you'd been here instead of actually being at corp. You noticing as they bring in Namjoon. The straight jacket still wound tightly around his figure. He plops down harshly on the metal chair, the straps lock his limbs down firmly. Once the guard shuts the door behind him, Namjoon glances through his thick eyebrows to your delicate looking figure. The simple gold necklace eases the hard look of your thick black glasses. A small chuckle escapes his chest.
“What are those for?” You motion to his forearm, noticing a large incision about the size of a pencil spayed heavily on the surface of his forearm. Dried blood clings to the wound.
“Why so many questions?” You mentally roll your eyes at his comment. You lean forward, the dip of your shirt peaking just enough to give him an accidental taste of what he couldn’t touch.
“Mister Kim, I’m trying to help you.” He scoffs, looking off into the distance to the corner behind you.
“Sweetheart, I don’t need your help.” You offer a small grin, to which he barely returns.
More, Y/n. Come on..
You lean forward some more, now giving him a full display of the dips of your laced breasts on full display for his viewing pleasure.
“Listen. You’re right. You don’t need my help. But,” Your so close to proximity, that you can feel both lines of breath starting to mix. A dangerous concoction indeed.
“You want it.”
To that, he chuckles at your ignorance.
“No, Alice, dear.” He leans forward to meet your own posture.
“You want it.” He leans back, enjoying the view you’re still providing.
“Sweet, innocent girl. So,” His lips are so close to yours. Your breath staggers in pitch at his closeness. You’re seducing a serial killer. How fucked up is that?
“Very,” His smirk plasters his face before banging his forehead into yours.
“Foolish.”
“Fuck!” You curse.
His words are harsh, you fall backwards, holding the bruised spot starting to welt. You pierce his gaze, a crazy look remains in his gleam.
The guards come rushing in to restrain him, as they escort you out. His voice rings through the dark room, reminding you of everything you tried to forget.
“Might as well just crawl back to daddy if you really wanna study a psychopath, darling!”
Jimin sighs, cleaning the gash around your forehead.
“That fucker” He mumbles, cursing under his breath as your mind’s too busy with reenacting the scene. Looking for something to use against him.
“I’m gunna fucking kill him!” He groans, lightly applying the bandage to your gash. You wince, but not from the pain. It had been nothing compared to what your father put you through.
“It’s fine, Jimin.” He scoffs at your obvious lie.
“Of course it’s not fine, Y/n! That piece of shit fucking gashed your head! You should be lucky he was in that straight jacket. Who knows what he could’ve done with his sick mind!?” You place your hand on his shoulder, hopping off the table to keep your balance.
“It’s okay, really. All in a job’s work.” He rolls his eyes, handing you a small cup of water. You take it from his grasp, immediately quenching your thirst. Throwing the cup into the garbage, you make your way back over to the cafeteria of the prison.
You’d been escorted to the main level. There were four floors.
1st held all of the common criminals. Pickpockets, thiefs, people with unpaid parking tickets, druggies and more.
Second level is for the more mediocre criminals along with the cafeteria and indoor gym for the workers.
Third, held people like small murderers and interogation rooms.
The fourth floor had batshit crazies, people with the same charges as Ted Bundy, Dhamer, Lopez, and Shipman.
Along with Kim.
You groan in frustration, throwing the papers across your small apartment’s space. The anger you felt had manifested from this case, along with the news that your father had escaped his death sentence, and broken out of the ward he’d been kept in; about 100 miles from where you had moved.
His laugh echoed through your head. Flashes from when he’d gashed you in that interrogation room earlier fills your senses. Screams, cries, yells reverberate off the walls of your mind.
A mix of Namjoon’s and your father’s voice screams in your head.
You’ll never be normal.
You’re not worthy.
You’re the product of a serial killer.
Shut up..
You know it’s true, Y/n. Deep down,
You always have.
“SHUT UP!!”
You pick up the glass bottle, throwing it against the wall. The blood-shot red liquid stains your creme white walls. Shards of glass fall to the oak wooden floors. Soaking in all of the pain. Frustration.
Emotion.
Day 13.
What an unlucky number. The bags under your eyes alert everyone around you of your restless night. You’d tossed and turned all through the night. Images of your father beating your mother, pictures you’d gone to therapy for 5 years to try to rid yourself of. His evil laugh rips through your fears.
Living in constant fear for your life is not the ideal thought to have right before you sleep.
In the end, you’d decide to google anything and everything about this ‘kim Namjoon’ person.
Six hours later, and you practically had been left at a dead end.
Family of four. Brother went hysterical, falling into the coping of drugs. Sentenced to sex years for sex trafficking and overdosing/torturing victims.
You laugh hysterically.
I guess torture runs in the family.
Mother - Neighbours said the family had always been weird. Hauling in animals left and right, even when it hadn’t been hunting season. Mother had always been cooking something in the backyard. Neighbors complained of ghastly and grotesque smells coming from Kim's estate. Police searched, but had come up empty handed. Soon, father went on a killing spree. A total of 16 lives were lost to the hands of Namjoon’s father.
Something had caught your eye.
When investigated, authorities found descriptive and eerie pictures of a disgusting family dinner. Authorities took 8 months to identify the victims. Finally, they had been concluded.
A total of 5 bodies - 4 girls and one boy - all around to be 16-21 - had been consumed.
Your body hunches forward, your lunch threatening to spill from your stomach. Bile comes creeping up your throat.
He had been a cannibal.
It was so much worse than you thought..
You make your way back into the room, a patient Namjoon is placed in his usual spot. His creeping smile repulses you. You take your seat, preparing the session.
This time, you were going to catch him.
The assignment you’d been hired for had been altered.
“Find some evidence good enough to put him on immediate death row.”
Seeing this bastard’s head chopped off gave you some sick kind of feeling in the pit of your stomach. Watching as it rolls around, after being freshly severed gives you a sense of relief.
And something that should not be there in a time like this…
His chocolate brown eyes swirl your figure.
“Good morning, Alice.” He fakes a smile, as do you.
This is a game.
And you must win.
A smile creeps his face. His black locks frame his face like framing of the Mona Lisa.
You had to admit, he was gorgeous.
“Good morning, Kim.” He faints a cheap taken back expression from your harsh words.
“Damn baby, thought after all these dates we’d already have first names in the vocabulary.” You chuckle, clicking your pen to write the date down on your spreadsheet.
“These aren’t dates.” He smiles, watching as you pen in the date and time.
“Mmm, You sure dress like it is.”
You glance down to your outfit. The Wine-stained two piece pantsuit accentuates your hips. The white blouse teasingly pops out between your cropped blazer. The gold necklace you’d previously worn, adorns the thin curves down the front of your chest.
You can hear his chest heave a short groan at your outfit choice.
You looked like absolute fucking sin.
“Mmm, You look good in red.” He leans forward, the straight jacket having been discarded for ‘good behavior’ from last week. Anything to get to touch your porcelain-soft looking features. To have you writhing under his touches. To corrupt your innocence you hide behind the insecurity like a masked confidence.
He could read you like a book.
A newspaper, even.
You’re filled with stories for him every day.
Your eyes follow his lead meeting in the middle. You notice the write cotton sweatpants wrapped around his thick thighs. The white-ish cream colored monochrome tones match his top. A long sleeve cotton shirt with lack of strings of any kind. Precautions of suicide, you learned in college.
“So, tell me.” You lean forward, resting your hands atop the desk, placing the point of your chin in the dips of your palms.
“Anything, Dear.” He flashes a genuine looking smile.
Impossible.
He’s just mirroring my own expressions.
Psychopaths can’t feel actual emotions.
So, why does it look genuine?
“Tell me about your family.” He chuckles.
He glances to the walls surrounding the two of you, sighing out of boredom.
“Well, it’s not like I’m going anywhere anyways.” He leans up, placing his forearms on the cool metal table, mimicking your stance.
“What’d you like to know, princess?”
You flip through your folder.
‘Wow I feel so special. My own folder~” You tilt his head to the side, trying to get a better look at your features to remember for later, but to anyone else it’d just seem like he’s in his own head, acting crazy.
Like he is.
“Tell me about the wonderful feasts you had.” His expression falls cold. He leans back, demeanor switching completely.
“Get out.” He torts, but you don’t budge.
“Come on. Why did yo-”
“I said get the fuck out!” He yells, as the two guards come rushing in, pulling you away from the metal table.
Once he sees that you’re gone, he quickly grabs the folder, stuffing it quickly into the belt area of his pants before being dragged out of the interrogation room.
Once back in his cell, it’d already been time to rest. His body lays against the cool mattress, shuffling around he finds a comfortable position. On the bright side of being in the top 10 notorious murderers, they deemed him too insane to share a room with anyone else.
He pulls the thin covers over his head, making sure the red light from the camera in the top corner of his room turns completely off, before the camera sinks back to it’s ‘off’ position. He only gets the non camera luxury because the past few years he’d built up somewhat good connections with the guards. They didn’t like him, but tolerated him more than some of the other inmates.
It also helped to be in the commission business here.
The guards always have to be checked for any type of drug or weapon that they could sneak into the facility, which meant taking away their pleasure supply. And to be working in a stuffy, cold, dark and -let’s face it- anything but clean place, it was hard to find the kind of things people were into. Thankfully, Marc, Namjoon’s neighboring door down had a plentiful supply of eroticisms that weren’t even allowed -outside- of the facility.
Namjoon flips through the papers, having a difficult time reading your chicken scratch. He scoffs at your poor penmanship.
“A three year old could write better than this.” He rolls his eyes, scanning over the meaningless words such as ‘The Kim family had always been strange and introverted.’ ‘Tied to their house’
Blah blah blah.
He already knows that.
He lived it.
One line caught his eye.
“Lee Y/n.”
He chuckles.
You’d left your profile in the case file.
He flips through the pages, studying over the content while biting into the apple he’d been given as a token for being a quote ‘good noodle’.
This good noodle was gonna rip out that guard’s small intestine and use it as a fucking belt if he ever said shit like that again.
He flips through the folder, watching as more information pops up to his enjoyment.
____________________________________________________________
Name: Lee Y/n
Age: 25
Occupation: Criminal Psychology and Justice Studies.
Level of Education: Dual-Enrolled all of highschool, Straight A student, Volunteered at psych clinics for 2+ years. Studied at Carnegy another 4 years.
Hobbies: Reading, History, Criminal studies, Karate, Ju-jitsu.
_____________________________________________________________
Another section of the folder catches his eye.
_____________________________________________________________
Background Screening Results - 2019
Relatives: No
Recommendations: 3+
Notes: Father convicted of 6 murders, one being his own 4 year old son, Grayson. Currently resides;
Westwood Mental Institution (2017).
Mother clinically diagnosed with DSM - Schizophrenia, Generalized anxiety, and depression. Currently resides and recovering in Livingston, Montana.
_____________________________________________________________
So crazy runs in your family too, huh?
Your low wedges plank across the hardened concrete floors. The off-white colored pencil dress you’d chosen to wear sways along with the sing songy tone of your hips.
“Morning, Miss Y/n!” Catherine calls from the front desk.
“Morning, Cathay!” You walk past the guards, already knowing the routine. They don’t even need to check you anymore. -Though, they sometimes still do-
You make your way to the room, laying your small briefcase on the metal table, preparing for today’s session. The cold walls block any kind of kind thoughts you have.
Something was off.
Soon, the thick mental door opens, revealing Namjoon.
By himself..
You stand, wondering where the guards had gone.
Sirens whirl off in the distance.
“Hello, My Alice.”
You’re confused. Had one of the prisoners tried to escape? It wasn’t until Namjoon grabs you by the arm, gripping tightly, making his way through the corridor. The guards stop him about 20 feet in front. Guns and flashlights shine and gleam on the both of you. Namjoon sighs, rolling his eyes before quickly pulling a gun to your head.
“Easy boys. Don’t want a lawsuit on your hands” Namjoon’s plastered smirk sends chills down your spine.
“Come on Namjoon, leave the girl alone.” One of the guards eases his way towards the both of you, still keeping a distance that Namjoon would prefer. He pretends to ponder for a moment, but a blood-curdling look smears his face.
“How about… No.” He aims the gun towards the guard, ducking down to save his own life.
“See? You don’t really care about her.” Namjoon’s eyes crane to look down at your motionless frame.
“Not like I do.”
Just then, a large explosion goes off in the distance. Namjoon’s grasp on your figure never seems to falter as he bends down, shielding you from the glass shards shattering through the air.
‘Perfect timing, my friend.” He claps his free hand toward a strange looking man, before hauling you up onto his shoulder, making his way out of the blown through wall.
‘You’re insane!” You yell. A harsh slap to your ass is applied, along with a shushed tone telling you to be quiet.
“No, No baby.” He sets your figure down, ripping a length of cloth from his shirt to tie snuggly around your hands.
“We both are.” He caresses the side of your cheek, before you hit his hand backwards, spitting on his face. The anger was clear as day upon his face.
“Wrong choice, baby.” He reaches into his pocket, revealing a plastic covered syringe.
No.
No.
NO!!
“Namjoon please- Please just let me go and I can help you!” You beg, but it’s no use. He flicks the needle, before running a hand through your locks, shushing your shivering figure.
“Shh, Shhh. It’s okay baby.” His lips meet the crown of your forehead, kissing softly. The sounds of guns firing in the background doesn’t help one bit.
“Namjoon- Y-you don’t need to do this! Please!” you tried to scoot as far away from his as possible, but his strong biceps held you in place against the metal pole just outside the view of the asylum.
“This could’ve been different if you had just listened to me.” He sighs, nearing the needle towards the skin of your neck.
“Namjoon! Please!” you’re practically screaming this time. His free hand comes to cup the palm of his hand against your mouth.
“Shhh, darling. Be a good girl for me.” A sharp pain rips through your neck. Everything begins to fade in and out. The last thing you see is his disgusting face plastered with a clown-like grin.
Evil.
Pure, evil.
“My little Alice.”
©sweethearthigh 2022. Do not copy, translate, or modify my works with given consent from me.
#kim namjoon x you#bts#bts fanfic#bts fic#kim namjoon fic#bts yandere#yandere!namjoon#psychological bts thriller#kim namjoon#namjoon#Emotion#sweehearthighwritings#yandere#psycho killer#psycho!namjoon#bts imagines#bts angst
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BTS Halloween Fic Recs
In honour of spooky season, here are some fanfic recommendations that I think fit the mood or theme of the season! What that means to me really is just some supernatural fics that I've enjoyed a lot. Hope you enjoy some of these fics as well, and if you do, don't forget to let the author know by leaving feedback! Most of these stories contain smut or other mature themes so MINORS DNI!
kim namjoon
hungry (for your love) by @minisugakoobies (two-shot, 4k) slight fluff/slight smut
[namjoon x vampire reader, strangers to lovers]
summary: After a century of slumber, you wake ravenous for your next meal. The first human you stumble across, Namjoon, is a fine choice. You just weren’t expecting him to be so cute.
wish granted by @jjungkookislife (4.6k) smut
[genie namjoon x reader, strangers to lovers]
summary: Finding a genie in a bottle wasn’t what you were expecting the night before Halloween. Being granted three wishes sounded like fun at first, but after wasting one, and stumped on the second, you’re not too sure how your night will pan out. And the genie is of no help… he is insanely attractive though!
kim seokjin
useless magic by @raplinesmoon (2.3k) fantasy/fluff
[baker seokjin x witch reader]
summary: As owner of the hot new bakery in town, you should be more than ashamed to admit that your baking sucks. You know this fact. The only reason why people keep coming back to your bakery is that your desserts are enchanted: chocolate chip cookies that provide warmth and comfort, blueberry muffins that give a burst of energy to start the day, chocolate-covered strawberries spiked with love potions. One day, your fellow rival and bakeshop owner Kim Seokjin stumbles upon you in the midst of casting a spell. And chaos ensues.
in the dead of night by @ot7always (14.5k) smut/fluff
[vampire seokjin x reader, friends to lovers]
summary: You didn’t exactly expect Kim Seokjin to show up at your door at 3 am requesting a bite.
min yoongi
mine by @sailoryooons (14.8k) smut/horror/thriller
[yoongi x succubus reader]
summary: Yoongi lives a quiet life. His days are organized neatly, and every week he can expect the same results. Then he meets you. Hypnotizing. Otherworldly. Strange. And his life never goes back to the way it was before.
the dark by @bratkook (18k) smut
[demon yoongi x reader]
summary: your small town thrives on the occult, luring tourists in with endless themed festivities, but the only place you’re determined to see is the mysterious club that comes to life the week before Halloween. what makes The Dark so exclusive, and what secrets are they hiding behind closed doors?
jung hoseok
not today, satan by @gimmethatagustd (3.7k) humor/a lil bit of smut
[demon hoseok x reader]
summary: If you had known the demon tasked with reaping your soul would be a total #daddy you would have gone to Hell sooner!
what happened in neverland by @kithtaehyung (4.3k) angst/smut/pwp
[mermaid hoseok x pirate reader, enemies to lovers]
summary: you hate him. he’s your enemy. that’s just how it’s always been. so how the hell did you end up here?
the wood by @sailoryooons (16.7k) psychological thriller/smut
[witch hoseok x reader]
summary: From the moment you step foot in Kill Devil, you know something about the town is off. Determined to find out exactly how your sister went missing in such a small town, you receive unlikely help from the man staying in the motel room next to yours. But there is so much more than what meets the eye with Hoseok and the citizens of Kill Devil.
park jimin
cloud nine by @suga-kookiemonster (5.4k) smut/horror
summary: “he’s here again” viv whispers. “you know who. the hot guy who’s totally into you.” and he is hot – devastatingly hot enough that you know he can’t actually be into you, because the universe simply doesn’t work that way. that still doesn’t stop your heart from pounding when he smiles at you from across the room.
nectar by @gimmethatagustd (series, 35k) smut/angst/fluff
[human jimin x vampire reader, roommates to lovers, college au]
summary: Humans have this annoying habit of being drawn to danger, and you’re having a hard time stopping yourself from sinking your teeth into your new roommate. You’re not sure what’s more tantalizing: his impossibly good looks or his seemingly innocent way of flirting with the darkest part of you.
the prince’s cinderella syndrome by @jimilter (39.4k) angst/smut/fluff
[cursed jimin x reader, strangers to lovers]
summary: He shows up at Halloween, every year, dressed the same, and leaves at midnight like some Cinderella. You would think he was a prankster if his eyes didn’t look like they contained all the sadness in the world. You don’t know him - no one on campus does. You don’t know why he appears only once a year. You don’t know why he never smiles. But you can’t help falling in love with him. Even if he breaks your heart when he abandons you at midnight, again.
lovely demons by @kpopfanfictrash (41.7k) fantasy/angst/smut
[prince of hell jimin x witch reader, enemies to lovers]
summary: As penance for a crime committed long, long ago, the Witch Council banished you to the feared Tholoss forest. Your sentence was one hundred thousand days of solitude – or death, whichever came first. Your only hope of salvation comes from the demon names routinely sent your way; creatures who escape the inner circles of Helland pose a threat to the mortal realms. For each demon you kill, days are removed from your sentence. For years you’ve existed, biding your time, until one morning you receive a name which throws your entire world into chaos: the name of Park Jimin, High Prince of Hell himself.
kim taehyung
moonstruck by @jungkxook (7.4k) smut/fluff
[werewolf taehyung x reader, arranged marriage au]
summary: in hindsight, being friends with a pack of werewolves and, thus, suddenly being thrown into a world of supernatural furries and other inhuman beings isn’t something you would recommend but it was too late to back out now, especially when you consider the fact that apparently you’re now being “hunted” and the only way to save you is to be mated with taehyung. whatever that means.
et sic incipit by @lavienjin (12.5k) smut/pwp
[incubus taehyung x virgin reader]
summary: For Taehyung, born of old and before the dawn of man, tempting mortals is nothing more than a pass-time to quench his boredom. Everything changes when he met you, literally too good to be true, but no human has ever resisted his pull. And he’s sure that you’re no different.
love you for infinity by @gimmethatagustd (24k) smut/angst/fluff
[ghost taehyung x human reader, long-lost lovers, soulmates (kinda)]
summary: Kim Taehyung and his fiancée met their untimely deaths when they were young and heartbroken. When he’s doomed to roam the earth as a ghost with unfinished business, Taehyung is convinced that finding the soul of his true love and righting his wrongs will set him free. However, you have no intention of being haunted by a ghost for the rest of your life.
jeon jungkook
corrupt by @bratkook (5k) smut/pwp
[vampire jungkook x human reader]
summary: You’d be crying out in pain begging me to play my games. I could corrupt you, it would be ugly.
knot today by @kinktae (5.8k) smut/pwp
[alpha jungkook x virgin omega reader, friends to lovers]
summary: When your first heat approaches and you are left desperate and partnerless, who better to turn to than your alpha roommate that you’ve spent the better half of your life hiding your feelings for?
only when you’re lonely by @jjkeverlast (7.5k) humor/smut/angst
[human jungkook x succubus reader, fake dating, college au]
summary: jungkook has never dated anyone, because of you and you're soft touches that bring him to orbit. it's all it's ever been, just sex between you. although, it brings an unexpected turn when jungkook accidentally blurts you out as his girlfriend to his college friends which results in them expecting you to an upcoming party. what jungkook doesn't know is that you're much more than just someone he meets when he's lonely.
wicked by @noteguk (9.1k) smut
[incubus jungkook x inexperienced reader]
summary; in which incubus!jungkook likes to ruin pretty innocent things, and you might just be the perfect target.
darkroom by @yoon-kooks (10.2k) smut/fluff
[vampire jungkook x reader, college au]
summary: When you somehow end up in an advanced photography class that you definitely shouldn’t be in, you seek the help of shy nerdy boy Jeon Jungkook to preserve your 4.15 GPA. It isn’t until after you stumble upon him in the darkroom that you realize your cute little nerd is actually a super hot vampire with an icy cold stare and beautiful burgundy eyes.
hotter than hell by @chateautae (series, 136k) angst/fluff/smut
[fallen lucifer jungkook x human reader, enemies to lovers, road trip au]
summary: jungkook, lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he’s unsure of. embarking on his journey for the answer should’ve been easy, if it weren’t for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.
multiple members
ravished by two by @yoonia (5k) smut
[alpha namjoon x werewolf reader x alpha seokjin, fated mates]
summary: Two dominant Alphas, one defining goal. But how far can you catch up with two prime, tenacious males overcome with desire?
compromise by @here2bbtstrash (10k) crack/smut
[vampire taehyung x human reader x werewolf jungkook, twilight au]
summary: you’re torn between the two loves of your life - but maybe you don’t have to choose.
the (hell) house by @whatifyoulivelikethat (two-shot, 25k+) crack/fluff/smut
[ot7 x fwb reader, all kinds of monster sex lol]
summary: Welcome to the Hell House. Some call it resident evil. Some call it a haunted house. Some call it a waste of space (rude). Enter if you dare – the Doctor will ensure that you never come out the same. What’s that? Why are you going with your seven fuckbuddies? You wouldn’t… fuck in there, right? (Yes, you would.)
Thank you so much for taking the time to check out this list! And thank you to these amazing authors for sharing their work with us!! I honestly wanted to read more this month but I ended up not having time and yet I still wanted to put together a little list for the spooky season (thank you to the anon who asked for halloween recs for giving me a little push!) If anyone has more recommendations, I'd love to hear them, so don't be afraid to put them in the comments or send me an ask <3
#bts fanfic#bts fic recs#namjoon fanfic#namjoon fic recs#seokjin fanfic#seokjin fic recs#yoongi fanfic#yoongi fic recs#hoseok fanfic#hoseok fic recs#jimin fanfic#jimin fic recs#taehyung fanfic#taehyung fic recs#jungkook fanfic#jungkook fic recs#halloween fic recs#my rec lists#ivi reads
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The Wood | JHS | (m)
☾ Pairing: witch!Hoseok x female reader
☾ Summary: From the moment you step foot in Kill Devil, you know something about the town is off. Determined to find out exactly how your sister went missing in such a small town, you receive unlikely help from the man staying in the motel room next to yours. But there is so much more than what meets the eye with Hoseok and the citizens of Kill Devil.
☾ Word Count: 16,786
☾ Genre: supernatural, psychological thriller, southern-gothic
☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
☾ Warnings: Creepy town vibes somewhere in the south, unreliable narrator because she’s a dumb bitch, missing family member, descriptions of nightmares and night terrors, allusions to toxic citizens and intolerance in the southern US, cryptic exchanges, being attacked and choked by a strange entity, sleep paralysis, depictions of anxiety and panic and deep fear, manipulation, cat Yoongi.... sort of, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, slight hand job, a lot of spit and cum, fucking in a nasty ass motel room, mean Hoseok at the end, I don't know why I reference frogs so much please forgive me, ambiguous ending/unexplained ending, implied death of a side character off-screen
☾ Published: May 29, 2022
☾ A/N: Not only is this absolutely a million weeks late, it also is the longest it has ever - and I mean ever - taken me to write a fic. This was so hard for me to write, and I have deleted anad re-written thousands of words for this. The end result is something that I absolutely did not plan. This fic is ENTIRELY different from the original outline and idea, so at times it might seem where this piece doesn’t know where it’s going because it wasn’t until I got to the end of the smut scene last night that I realized what the hell this story needed.
I want to thank @here2bbtstrash because I could not have written this fic without them, but also for the amazing and thorough beta they gave this. This was one of my choppier/messier pieces and they helped fix this so much and I have giant feelings for M that are very normal. Also a special thank you to @gimmethatagustd for keeping me somewhat sane while really struggling with this piece.
☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.
Masterlist | Ask | To Love A Monster Collab | Song Inspiration
Only God can save us!
It’s probably the tenth sign of the like that you’ve seen. Your palms feel sweaty on the wheel, the unsettling feeling in your stomach as you drive through God’s Country increasing. For some reason, as you catch glimpses of old abandoned churches at the end of red dirt roads and leaning fruit stands with no seller in sight, you think that perhaps God has forsaken this place.
The drive has been unremarkable, but the closer you get to Kill Devil you think perhaps the town is aptly named. You can’t help but get the sense - especially when you stop at a gas station with no one inside and a single working pump - that there is a reason the town sports such a unique title.
It’s hard to imagine why your sister would ever move here, even temporarily. Outside, the locusts whine, a high-pitched buzzsaw hidden in the boughs draped with Spanish moss. The paint on the road has long since faded, single lanes stretching North to South in an endless strip.
Sticky heat prickles your skin. Though there’s no one else around save for you and the locusts, you can’t help but look around nervously, eyes scouring the oak trees. The door to the gas station is locked, and the other side of your single-station pump has a red bag on the handle.
The sk sk sk of the pump is a slow heartbeat. Pulling out your phone while you wait, your stomach flips when you see that you have very little service. You’re about thirty minutes away from Kill Devil and an hour away from any major cities. Peppered along the map are small towns like Kill Devil, home to pecan farms, corn fields, and cotton gins.
You feel a long way from home.
A tingle slides down the back of your neck. You look up from your phone, gaze sweeping back and forth through the trees and over the cracked pavement of the station. There’s nothing else there, but you have the sense that the trees have eyes.
The pump clicks loudly and your heart lurches, hand flying to your chest as you shriek and turn. For a few moments, your heart beats so loudly in your ears you can’t hear the chirping of the locusts or your ragged breathing as you close your eyes, trying to level out your moment of panic.
“Fuck,” you mutter, pulling the handle and jiggling it lightly to ensure any dripping gas is shaken off.
Naturally, you’re a pretty calm person. The jumpiness belongs to your mother, who screams every time someone turns a corner in the house unexpectedly. It’s something about the feeling that clings to you like a second skin as you get in the car that has you shaken.
Or it’s the fact that your sister has been missing for two months.
On instinct, your hand goes to the necklace around your throat. It’s a heart-shaped locket, which would seem cheesy to anyone else. But for you, it’s one of the few coveted items you have from her.
It’s also something that you swear burned you in the middle of the night two months ago. You’re not sure if you believe in spiritual intuition or connection between family members, but what you do know is that you haven’t heard from her, and the local police have been no help.
Trust your gut. That’s what she’s always said. And you do trust your gut on this, this knowing that something is wrong.
On the road again, your tension continues to increase. The land has turned to steep up and down hills, pines lined on either side of the road, pocked with deep canyons.
Orange tire tracks appear and disappear on the highway, turning off onto clay roads with washed-out shoulders and deep ruts from all of the rain over the summer. Your sister had mentioned the house she was renting was nearly impossible to get to when the rain was bad.
A green sign that says Kill Devil City Limits passes by. No welcome sign, no little plaque announcing the population. Your music skips in and out, the connection to your phone weak. You switch to FM, flinching at the roaring static that comes through, finger jamming on the arrows to skip through to something passable.
Country. Country. Church. Country. Rock. Pop.
You leave it on the pop station, turning your eyes back to the road. A logging truck comes roaring up the hill, blasting by your sedan at top speed, making your car shake. Your heart squeezes in fear. You’ve passed over two dozen of them and they never drive any slower or any safer each time.
You’re going to kill Hanna if you find her lounging in her house, making you come all this way.
She had taken up a story there, investigating the town's eerie occult background for the media company that she worked for. Her editor had stopped receiving updates from her around the same time you’d stopped hearing from her.
When you called the landlord she was renting from, he was no help. Some idiot who owned seventeen houses dotted around the country, renting them out for twice the price they were worth.
The local police station had been worse. They’d done a wellness check several times after you called but insisted she wasn’t home. No signs of a break-in, no signs of a struggle. No reason to be missing. They refused to make it an official report, as there was no reason for her to be missing.
Have you considered she just doesn’t want to talk to you? they’d laughed on the phone.
It was a joke. Somehow you could not believe they refused to file a report, and you threatened to take it to the state police and anyone who would listen to you. The woman you had spoken to had chuckled then, her mirth sending a chill up your spine.
Have fun on hold, sweetheart.
You could not fathom how not a single person cared. Not the news, not any authority that you could get in contact with, and certainly not the lawyer you reached out to.
Let law enforcement handle it. Your pleas fell on deaf ears and it was like it didn’t even matter that an entire person was missing. You’d heard about the blunders of the law enforcement system before, but this was a new level of ignorance and oddity.
It was… unexplainable.
Which was why now, you were driving into the backwater town of Kill Devil in the southern part of the United States.
Dropping your speed down, you take the chance to look around. There are a few houses on the outskirts of the town, their yards sprawling with kudzu and their homes leaning heavily with brown vines climbing up the eaves. There are several old, broken-down trucks in the middle of the kudzu fields, swallowed by the invasive vine-like devil’s snare.
You’d heard of one-stop-light-towns but you had never seen one without. Kill Devil is made up of all stop signs. Everything is built around the courthouse, a red brick building dropped in the middle like a fungus growing its roots outward.
The sheriff’s office is just across the street with Crown Victoria model patrol cars. A taxidermist is right next door, the gold cursive font on the front of the glass door telling you it’s been there since the 70s.
Kill Devil has everything you expect. Antique shops with dusty windows and dry-rotted awnings, a convenience store that looks straight out of retro America, closed-down shops with empty shelves and shattered glass, and a single diner with station wagons and mud-slicked trucks in the parking lot.
A single motel stands at the edge of the town center. When you pull into the parking lot, you look up at the sign and frown. Like something out of a horror movie, the Lodging Motel is missing several letters in long-burnt-out neon, three letters blinking in the fading afternoon sun: Lodging Motel.
Die.
With one look at the crusted, three-paneled windows and mold-covered brick face, you think that you just might die.
Pink sun sinks behind the rolling hills of pine. You get out of the car, stretching and popping your joints as you look at your lodging with a sour taste in your mouth. You pass the ‘vacant’ sign as you walk to the small square building at the end with ‘front office’ on the window.
“Yeah no shit,” you mutter. You cannot imagine who would stay here out of anything but necessity.
In fact, it seems like there is no one staying at the hotel. This fact makes you jumpy as you approach the office, which is just a clerk's window and a woman with sunken eyes and a scowl on her face watching you. You swallow thickly as you give her a weak smile and nervous wave, trying to get past the sudden anxiety trembling in your hands.
“Hi,” you say. “I have a reservation for-”
A small window that’s about six inches tall and a foot wide pops open. She hacks, fluid-sounding and phlegmy before saying, “I can’t hear you with the damn window closed. What do you want?”
You clench your jaw. Slowly, you begin again. “I have a reservation.”
“ID and credit card.”
You slide the materials through the window. She holds them up close to her face, scrutinizing them. Crickets join the singing of the locusts. Mosquitos fly around your head and you cringe, swatting at them as you wait while she rolls her chair over to a cabinet.
Wordlessly, she puts your credit card on a manual credit card imprinter. You raise your brows, unsure of the last time you’ve seen someone do paper credit card printing instead of sliding it through a machine.
While you wait, you look past her into the office. It’s dingy inside but you can see a box TV and a window unit air conditioner rattling in the window. There are metal cabinets that form their own little skyscrapers around her office. An episode of I Love Lucy plays on the fuzzy TV screen.
“Here’s your room key.” She tosses it through the window. It’s room three, the key hanging on a diamond-shaped, acrylic keychain with Lodging Motel written in Sharpie. “We don’t got room service or maid service. If you need more towels, the launder-mat is down the street. Don’t run the hot water more than twenty minutes or so. If the AC ain’t on, hit ‘er a few times.”
“Great,” you deadpan. “Anything else?”
She scowls. “Mind the raccoons. They got rabies.”
“Thanks.”
Inside the room is just as expected: peeling wallpaper, red shag carpet with questionable stains and the unmistakable stench of cigarettes, sconce lighting with lampshades that look decades old, a twin with a horrible patterned blanket, frayed at the edges and moth-eaten, and a single, square dresser with a box TV on top and a white, corded phone.
The bathroom is no better. The tub is stained with limescale, cracked tiles, and a lamp that buzzes when you flip it on. You scream when you see the massive roach hanging out in the tub, gagging and running out to look for anything to kill it with.
You settle on a sneaker, and it’s a battle involving your high-pitched scream as you try and kill it. You do win, but you’re covered in sweat and shaking after your victory.
A sharp knock on the door startles you further. You drift to the front door, looking out the peephole to find that it is cracked and you cannot see the person standing just on the other side. You slide the chain lock in and open the door tentatively, peering out into the now early night.
“Everything okay?” a male voice asks. “I heard screaming.”
The voice belongs to someone who absolutely does not belong in Kill Devil. He’s dressed in jeans with large rips at the knee and a plain white shirt that hangs off his frame stylishly. He has a few necklaces on, a single hoop hanging from his right ear that catches the flickering parking lot light.
And he’s beautiful. The kind of beautiful that stuns you. He has a slender face with smooth, flowing skin. His eyes are kind, glittering brown with flecks of lighter shades throughout. The slope of his cheekbones and jawline makes you think perhaps he’s into modeling, which would explain the taste in clothes.
But it does not explain what someone who looks like that is doing in this shithole town.
“I had to kill a roach,” you admit, a little hesitant. Your skin tingles under his gaze, your instincts picking up something that you can’t put your thumb on. “I don’t like them very much and it was fast.”
“Disgusting. I had to buy killer for them - it came in a two-pack if you want?” You don’t answer, watching him warily. He picks up on your anticipation and smiles, disarming. “Sorry - my name is Hoseok. You can call me Hobi, if you’d like. I’m staying next door which is just as gross as your room is I’m sure. I heard you yell and I got worried.”
“That’s kind of you. This doesn’t seem like a place where people would care if they heard screaming.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not from here.” He looks around the parking lot and his eyes focus on a raccoon meandering near the trash. You grimace, thinking about rabies. “Thank fuck, this place feels right out of fucking Deliverance.”
You can’t help but laugh, feeling better at his distaste. “One sec, let me slide the lock off.” You close the door and slide the chain before opening it a little wider this time. “Yeah, this place gives me the creeps. Hopefully, I don’t have to be here long.”
“A night is long enough. You want that spray?”
“Yeah, that would be great.”
Hoseok grins and holds up a finger, asking you to wait as he jogs to his room. He’s only gone for a moment, leaving you in the poorly lit lot with the tk tk tk of the raccoon pilfering through trash and the crickets creek creek creeking.
Hoseok’s door opens and he’s back, handing you a large, red can of lemon-scented Raid. “Just make sure you drown them. They did outlive the dinosaurs. Makes you wonder what the hell is in that stuff.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem…” He drifts off, unsure what your name is. You laugh, a little flustered by the way his entire face lights up when he smiles, and give him your name. “I like it. Well, I don’t know how long you’re here, but I’m your neighbor for a few days. Try not to catch any infections while you’re in there and holler if you need me.”
“Thanks,” you grin. You hold up the can and add, “Especially for this.”
With a wave goodnight, Hoseok returns to his room. The buzz of something instinctual fades with him, replaced once more with the unsettling frequency the town seems to vibrate at.
Closing the door firmly behind you and flicking the lock, you shiver. The eerie feeling that had been following you lingers.
After changing the sheets, inspecting the rest of the room and setting the spray can firmly on the pillow next to you, you lay on your back in bed, mattress lumpy and air conditioner rattling.
-
Moonlight streams through the curtain, catching dust motes floating in the air and turning them into diamonds. You stand in the middle of the room. Cold but humid air clings to your skin, the air conditioner rattling and dripping as it cools the room but does nothing to suck out the moisture. You don’t know why you’re standing in the middle of the room and you don’t remember waking up and getting out of bed, but you face the window, the curtains open just enough to face the empty parking lot.
Silence blankets the world. The hum of the air conditioner fades and you stare out into the silver-painted parking lot. Above the lot, a street light flickers on and off weakly. It goes out for a minute and flashes back on.
Someone leans against the pole. You can’t make out any features, just that there is a person there, perhaps facing you. The hair on your skin stands on end but you can’t move. Your instincts begin to prickle and there is a sharp feeling in your chest.
Belatedly, beyond your hypnotized stare, you realize the feeling is fear.
Your ears start to ring. You stare out at the shadow and the shadow stares back. Something is telling you to run run run but you don’t know how. Can’t move your feet. Panic begins to rise, your heart beating so fast that you can hear it over the steady whine in your ears.
Thump thump. Thump thump. Thumpthumpthumpthump.
You can feel your pulse skyrocketing, your chest squeezing tight with terror as the beating gets louder and louder -
Awareness hits you like cold water. You lurch forward in bed, hands flying to your chest as you gasp for air. It takes a moment to get your bearings, the pounding in your heart so hard it feels like you might vomit. Battling the sheets, you rip them off of you, legs sticky with a sheen of sweat.
The lamp is still on in your room, the curtains are closed just the way you left them, and the bug killer rolls on the bed as you get up. Several paces away from the window, you catch your breath, running a hand over your face.
“Fuck,” you pant, realizing you were dreaming.
When your breathing levels out, you glance at the closed curtains. Something niggles at your brain. Slowly, you walk toward the window, feeling the hairs on your arms tingle and stand on end.
Lifting your shaking hands, you grip the curtain tight. Taking a deep breath, you hold it in and pull open the curtain just a bit.
Unlike your dream, there’s no moonlight outside. It’s so dark you almost can’t see anything in the parking lot. When the lot light flickers back on, your heart squeezes, expecting to see a shadow leaning against the pole. There’s nothing there, just empty lot and a dumpster. Not even the raccoon is around.
Blowing out your held breath, you close the curtain again and shake out your hands, trying to get rid of the jitters. Rolling your neck and shoulders, you try to work out the tension as you sit on the end of the bed, staring at the faded wallpaper.
The dream felt so real. You swear that if you turn your head, you’ll see silver moonlight through the curtains. That you’ll see that person - that shadow - standing outside of your window.
Exhaustion weighs heavy on you. You crawl back into bed, mattress damp and smelling like mildew even with the sheets that you put on it. You’re under a lot of stress and you hate this motel room as much as you already hate this town that you’ve barely started to explore. It makes sense that you’re having weird dreams.
Blanket pulled up to your chin, you eventually let your lids flutter shut until you’re taken by dreamless sleep.
-
Morning sun chases away the dregs of your strange dream from the night before. With daylight streaming between the curtains, the room looks no better. It’s a futile hope, perhaps, to keep thinking that the room will suddenly not look nearly as questionable as when you checked in.
At least there are no bugs.
Outside, the balmy air is filled with the voices of the locusts. You lock the door behind you and glance toward where Hoseok vanished the night before. His windows are closed and there’s no sign of him anywhere in the parking lot, so you head to your car, stomach begging for food.
Kill Devil is small in both size and population. The Diner is easy to find, tucked in the southwest corner of the town across from the courthouse. Folks wander about the parking lot, shaking one another’s hands and laughing as the weekend rush of people meanders up the steps for breakfast.
Your arrival is noted immediately. Eyes turn your way as you walk through the lot, loose gravel crunching under your feet. The lot is more packed dirt than pavement, full of holes and mud softened by rain.
Seeing a new face in a wretched little town like this probably isn’t common. Though you’re not familiar with growing up in such a small population, you remember what it was like knowing everyone at school. The same theory applies here when a portly man with raised brows stands, screen door in hand as he stares at you.
The man blocks the way to the inside of the diner. You pause and look up, noting the confusion on his face. After clearing your throat, he realizes that he’s completely frozen from opening the door and coughs, bowing his head and apologizing.
“You uh - visiting?” he asks, holding the door open for you. When you nod, he seems surprised, though that had to be the only answer. “Well, that doesn’t happen often. Welcome to Kill Devil.”
There’s a small host stand with a pile of laminated menus on top. A girl who looks to be about your age stares back at you, wiping her hands on a red apron tied around her waist. She’s in jeans and a t-shirt that says The Diner across the chest, her hair pulled up and stabbed through with a pen.
“Just you?” she asks, eyes fluttering to the man who shrugs behind you. You nod. “Right this way.”
The wooden walls are painted white, some of the paint peeling. There are miscellaneous animal heads with plaques underneath stating the names of their killers with a stamp of Jason’s Taxidermy. You try not to make eye contact with their black, glass eyes as you sit in a chair that wobbles from side to side.
You thank the hostess as she wanders off to get you coffee. The family at the table next to you does their best to whisper about who the hell is that as you look over the menu, flipping it to the breakfast side. The laminate is sticky and peeling at the corners.
It’s a pretty standard breakfast menu. You put it down on the table, nudging the container holding different colored sugar packets and sweeteners while you wait for your coffee. There’s a breakfast bar with people bent over steaming eggs and sitting atop cracked vinyl seats.
The door opens behind you at a steady rate as people pay their bills and leave while new customers are sitting. A presence at your back sends a cool tingle up your spine, making you straighten and look over your shoulder.
Hoseok stands in a shaft of sunlight coming through the window, turning him gold. For a moment, the diner around you falls to a hush of murmured voices, muting the clinking of spoons against ceramic and scraping chairs.
He’s dressed well again, in a simple white button-up with the button undone to reveal a strip of golden chest. His hair is slightly damp and styled back, an outrageously good look on him. The same hoop earring dangles in his ear but today he has on a few necklaces and rings on his fingers. Somehow, he makes the delicate pieces carry an edge.
“You survived the night, huh?” he says by way of greeting and then gestures to the chair across from you. “Would you mind company for breakfast?”
You shake your head, forgetting words for a moment as he smiles, radiant as ever. Hoseok pulls out the chair and sits down, a twinkle in his eye that makes your heart flutter as he plucks a menu from the holder at the center of the table. You can smell his rain and lavender scent from across the table.
“Thanks again,” you say, realizing you haven’t spoken yet. His brown eyes look at you over the top of the menu, and you can’t help but admire how beautiful they are. Warm, both dark and light, with flecks of chipped gold. “For the bug killer. I haven’t seen any more but I just know they’re there.”
“That’s the shitty thing about the South. All of God's least favorite creatures are here.” He glances at the table of scowling men next to you to emphasize. You hide your laughter with the plastic menu. “What brings you to this shit hole?”
“I’m… visiting my sister.”
“You sound unsure of that. Does she not know you’re coming?”
“She doesn’t.”
While they aren’t technically lies, you don’t know how much you can trust him. Instinct makes you hold the truth from him. After all, you don’t want him to know you’re in a town where no one knows you, and where no one knows you are. By yourself.
Hoseok looks at you again, his eyes narrowed. You feel tension creep into the air between you, your mouth drying out as he watches you silently.
The arrival of the hostess who is also your server saves you from another question. You both place your order, and you note the way the girl cuts her eyes to Hoseok, wary. Her hands shake a little.
When she leaves the two of you, you ask, “How long have you been here?”
“A few weeks.”
“Enough to win over the locals, hmm?”
His grin is sly as he drums his fingers on the table. “I’m their favorite - you’re perceptive.”
“My sister is an investigative journalist. She’s made me watch all kinds of shows and read books about psychology and body language with her. I picked up a few things.”
“An investigative journalist, huh?” Hoseok plucks a sugar packet and rips it open with his teeth. He shoots the ripped piece onto the table with a huff of air and dumps the contents on the table. Leaning on one elbow, he begins to trace patterns in the sugar. “So you’re not from here. No one here is smart enough for that.”
“No, she’s been living here since July.”
“What’s she investigating?” You hesitate again. He doesn’t look up from the patterns he’s tracing on the table, finger steady as it cuts through the white sugar.
“I don’t really know.” He does look up when you say that, gaze razor-sharp. A chill slides up your spine. So you add, “Something to do with the occult.”
Hoseok stops moving his finger through the sugar. He doesn’t look at you, but he’s fixated on the mess he’s made on the table. You chew on your bottom lip, eyes dropping to his little sweetened artwork. You don’t understand the pattern that he’s traced, but it buzzes your brain when you look at it.
The silence stretches on. He remains unmoving and silent. Anxiety starts to creep in and you wonder if he thinks you’re crazy or is going to get up and leave-
With a huff of laughter, he leans back and smiles at you.
“The occult huh? Interesting subject.”
“Know anything about it?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I mean, what is really considered occult? Most of these Bible thumpers around here would consider being queer witchcraft.”
“You have a point there. Don’t tell them I’m a witch.”
He grins. “You can join my coven, then.”
“Do you think they know there’s more than two genders?”
Hoseok’s laugh is infectious. You laugh along with him, visibly ruffling the feathers of the table next to you.
For a moment, the two of you share a secret smile at your little table, wedged between the people who go to church every Sunday and swear by Fox News at brunch. It feels good to know you’re not the only person completely out of place in Kill Devil.
The arrival of your server with steaming plates breaks the moment, but you feel better about your morning nonetheless. Especially when the conversation switches from stilted exchanges about your sister and the occult to things about you and Hoseok.
Over runny eggs on toast and crunchy bacon, you learn that Hoseok is a shop owner in a small town very far from Kill Devil. He brushes over the fact that he’s visiting family to tell you all about his small corner of the world and all of his favorite plants.
“Fiona is a venus fly trap,” he giggles with a snap of bacon. “She’s my second favorite, but what I really love is my pitcher plants. They eat bugs, mostly, but they like to devour frogs too. The frogs love to hide in them, but sometimes the pitcher plants take kindly to them and don’t eat them. It never lasts.”
“I would hate for them to eat the frogs.”
“Hmm, circle of life.”
“But the poor frogs!”
Hoseok isn’t swayed. “There has to be a balance to everything. The pitcher plants will kill the frogs eventually. Sometimes a predator likes to play with its prey. Their ecosystem doesn’t make sense. In order to pay back the food the pitcher plants bring them, the frog must die. It pays for power, in the end.”
“How do you mean?”
“Everything has a give and take.” He pauses to sip his coffee. He makes a face, opens a sugar packet, and empties it into the coffee. “In order to have life, we must have death. In order to have water, we must have fire, for earth, we must have air. There is a give and take in existence, and it has to stay that way.”
“If it doesn’t?”
“Chaos.”
“You know, a lot of theology believes that chaos created the world.”
“And perhaps it did. But in order to make the world, chaos needed…” Hoseok takes his butter knife in one hand and sticks out his pointer finger with the other. You watch as he places the knife horizontally across his finger, sliding it just so until he slowly lets it go, leaving it teetering back and forth, but never falling. “Balance. There has to be even weight on the scales to make it work.”
“Interesting. So you think there is true balance in the world.”
“Not always, which is why we must make it.”
“Hmm. You have some interesting opinions.”
“I am an interesting person.”
You like Hoseok. Conversation flows easily and it seems that he either doesn’t notice or does not care that he draws glances around the room, particularly when he gives a high-pitched laugh, leaning backward on the metal legs of his chair to clap his hands excitedly. You swear you see the table next to you flinch, though you can’t imagine why.
Hoseok insists on paying the bill, though you fight him all the way to the register. The elderly woman behind the till jams the pricing in from the ticket and slams the cash drawer shut when Hoseok hands over the bills. She makes sure not to tell you to have a good day, and you feel her sharp stare as you leave the interior of The Diner.
In fact, the stares of the citizens are just as intense outside. Hoseok rattles on about a time he got really high and forgot to feed his cat. “Yoongi was so mad he wouldn’t talk to me for a week.”
“What?” you ask, distracted by the way a group of men leaning against a red pickup glare. “Your cat talks?”
“Oh- he- well he meows, you know what I mean?”
“No, but I’m sure he was very vocal.” Hoseok smirks, toeing the gravel of the parking lot as you reach your car. You glance over at the pickup truck again, seeing the four sets of eyes fixated on the two of you. “Why does everyone around here stare?”
“They’ll ignore you soon enough if you ignore them.”
“They don’t seem to ignore you.”
He gives you a wry smile. “I guess you’re right. Going to visit your sister, then?”
Digging around in your bag, you search for keys. “Yeah, she lives out in some place called Grave Hollow. How creepy is that?”
Silence is your only answer. You look up, pausing the search for your keys to find him staring at you with a blank expression. Your heart skips a beat - it’s the same wiped-clean face he had when you mentioned your sister investigating the occult.
Licking your lips, you ignore the feeling of a weighted stone dropping into your stomach. Hoseok says nothing.
Then, he’s chipper again. “Well have fun,” he chirps, shrugging and giving a wave as he backs away to leave. “Hopefully she has some cool occult stuff to tell you about. You know where to find me!
It’s hard to keep track of the way Hoseok’s mood flips on a dime. You stare after him, but he’s all smiles and sunshine again before turning on a heel to walk out of the parking lot. His hands are tucked into his pockets and he tilts his face toward the azure sky, whistling a tune with a happy cadence.
Something sticks to you as you watch him leave. You don’t know what it is, this feeling that you’re missing a critical detail. It’s like your instincts are scratching lightly at the door, but you have no key to flip the lock and no crowbar to force it open.
Anxiety returns when you remember the weight of the eyes still focused on you. Hurriedly, you snatch your keys from your bag and get in your car, tossing your bag on the seat and starting the engine. As soon as it purrs to life, you feel instant relief.
You hope that it lasts.
-
According to the research you’d done on Kill Devil, the town had been officially founded in the 1700s. Of course, being ‘officially’ founded didn’t mean much in the way of Western colonization. You had little doubt that the migration of people to the South chased out Native American tribes, as was the story everywhere.
Kill Devil has been named such since its inception, which occurred a little after Georgia had been named an official state. The abundance of soil for cotton and peanut fields made it a wet dream for the expansion of cotton gins and eventually, peanuts - there was even a rumor that peanut butter had been invented in Kill Devil first, but you knew that to be untrue.
A small town with a small impact. That was Kill Devil at the heart of its existence. It has always had a small population of sleepy folk. No stop lights, one church, a lot of paper companies coming in and cutting down trees, and some farming fields for various reasons.
There’s no reason that for a tiny little dot on the map, the town should be significant.
And yet it had called your sister here.
The car bounces, the suspension whining as you drive down the dirt road. A clay wall comes up on either side of you, roots of trees sticking out periodically. There’s no shoulder to the road, the rain has deepened the ruts on either side. You’re careful to keep in the middle, slowing down as the road tightens on corners.
Pine stretches as far as the eye can see. You pass the occasional neon tape, marking sections of trees for the paper company to let grow a little longer before hacking them down. Several metal gates with keep out and declaring different hunting clubs flash by. There’s even a sign that says Rucker’s Meat Processing.
GPS is unreliable out in the sticks where the cell towers don’t quite reach. You keep an eye on the flattened paper map in the passenger seat, marked with your red marker to make sure you take the right road.
A sigh of relief escapes you when you see a little metal post with a turn-off sign: Kill Ditch South. The house that your sister is renting lives off of that, only a mile down the road or so. Long drives appear between the trees, houses parked at the end of them. You feel a little less alone in the woods now knowing that there are people around.
Though you’re not sure how helpful they would be if something was wrong.
Worry creeps into your stomach as you slow the car. There’s a little mailbox with the address your sister gave you. It’s at the end of a short drive that’s been layered with gravel to make the incline easier on tires. It crunches beneath the tires as you drive toward the modest, white house. Your sister’s Four Runner is parked outside, making your heart thunder.
Turning the car off, you slide out into the humid air, hands trembling. Locusts scream, hidden in the trees. The sun is at its zenith, beating down on you as you slowly walk toward the house. It’s a single-story with two sets of windows facing the front. A wrap-around porch that leans to the side stands empty, save for a single bench.
As you pass your sister's car, you notice that the grass underneath is dead and dry. As if the car hasn’t moved for a while, denying the grass any sun to live. It makes you feel nauseous, feet like anvils as you take your first step up the stairs.
The creak of the wood makes you flinch.
“Hanna?” You call, voice shakier than you want it to be. “Hanna, it’s me! Don’t freak out!”
No one answers. Your stomach bubbles like acid, the slow drip of sweat down your neck making a chill rattle up your spine. You reach the door and swallow thickly, lifting your hands and knocking loudly.
“Hanna?”
Nothing but the sound of the locusts answers you.
Your palms feel sweaty as you knock again. This time, your voice cracks when you call, “Hanna? Please answer the door.”
Wind sweeps across the trees. One thing about the wind in a land of pines and hills is that it’s loud, making a whooshing sound as it’s picked up by the boughs of the trees, rattling and letting their needles shake to the floor.
It’s cool at your back and you feel your lip wobble when you lower your hand to the doorknob. When you twist, the door opens immediately, swinging of its own volition when you let go.
Inside the house is the kind of silence that terrifies you in horror movies. The air is heavy. Your ears ring, searching for any rasp of sound to tell you that your sister is home. Licking your lips, you step over the threshold, the wooden floor cracking beneath the weight of your feet.
To the immediate left of the door is an open kitchen. There are dishes on the dry rack and plants in the window, though they are wilted and dry. You chew your lip as you step further into the house, eyes sweeping around.
A blue, painted table stands in the middle of the kitchen. Piles of mail sit on top of it with a fake plant centerpiece and your sister's car keys.
Across from the kitchen is an open doorway with a stacked washer and dryer, and a folding table. It smells faintly of detergent, clothes folded in neat piles as if Hanna had just completed a laundry day.
Everything is silent in the living room. The couch looks cozy, with piles of blankets draped across it. There’s a faint smell of vanilla, though the wick on the candle doesn’t look like it’s been lit in a while. Dust collects on the TV stand and there are sandals by the door that leads to the back porch.
Chewing your lip, you gently press your fingers to the door of Hanna’s bedroom, holding your breath. The sudden fear that it’s going to swing open and you’ll find your sister dead in her bed nearly incapacitates you, making the room spin a little as the door fully swings open.
Nothing. No Hanna, no rotting smell of a dead body. Just an unmade bed in a room that smells vaguely of her cherry perfume, a bathroom with the door open, and a pile of clothes near the hamper.
The sight of the clothes on the floor and right next to the hamper slams you with a wave of nostalgia. You walk into the room and you unceremoniously plop yourself down on the edge of the bed. It sags underneath you but you don’t care, letting your face fall into your hands and letting a sob rip through you.
Hanna isn’t here. You knew she wouldn’t be, but the relief that you don’t find her dead is so poignant that you can barely breathe past the snot clotting your nose and the way your throat constricts as you let out the fear.
The sobs subside and you wipe your face, hands coming away sticky and wet. Through swollen eyes, you look around the room. With a wipe of your hands on your jeans, you get up and start looking around, pulling open drawers and looking for evidence of the last time that Hanna was in this home.
It’s slow going. You’re unfamiliar with the space and you don’t know what to look for. It doesn’t seem like she had packed anything, but then again, how would you know if she did?
There are signs that she hasn’t been in the house in weeks. Rotted food inside of the fridge, molded bread in the pantry.
Outside, weeds grow around the steps. A cricket pops from the railing to the grass where its green body vanishes. The yard isn’t much of a yard - it’s open to the trees and a kudzu field to the west.
Back inside, you grab Hanna’s keys and open her car. There is nothing inside that looks like she was trying to make a quick getaway. An extra pair of shoes shoved in the back, and an empty grocery bag she was using for trash - all normal things.
In the passenger seat, you strike gold.
Hanna’s journals and folders sit in the passenger seat, stacked in a leaning tower with pages sticking out from the edges of her books and slanted handwriting scrawled on the folder tabs. Gathering all of it, you head back inside and deposit the stack on the kitchen table before looking around the house again to see if there’s any sign of her.
Something in your gut tells you that Hanna hasn’t been in the home for at least a month, if not more.
Dread creeps into your stomach as you gather items and pack a bag. Your intention is to keep it on you at all times in the event that you find her cold and alone somewhere. The thought of needing it leaves a sour tang on your tongue, but you pack it nevertheless.
Bag over your shoulder and stack of Hanna’s investigative work in hand, you head off to your room at the motel. The afternoon sun still burns hot over your head, but you have no intention of sitting in the empty house that carries the scent of your sister’s absence.
-
… While most historical accounts and official state documents indicate that Kill Devil was founded in 1730, journals buried deep in the city’s crumbling library have written records of townsfolk living in this settled town long before it was declared an official town. The journals reference the town as Covenstead and are filled with generations of the same family names.
Booth.
Park.
Warren.
Kim.
Jung.
Jeon.
Min.
Generations of these families settled in Covenstead and built what is now Kill Devil. From the description of the town in the collection of journals, it appears that the general layout of the town is similar to Kill Devil’s current city map.
Throughout the journals, there is a reference to the Wood. It seems to be a place mentioned in reverence, and there are allusions to celebrations in the Wood with entries dated in alignment with sabbats on the Wheel of the Year.
Only Mabon is referenced in any of the journals explicitly, in a strange entry from a man named Yoongi Min. I have written it here for safekeeping: We bringeth the little lamb to The Wood today for the honor of Mabon. I loathe seeing him go, for he hath brought cheer and many a smile to the Covenstead. May he bring us blessings and warmth in the winter.
Your finger traces over your sister’s writing. She still writes in her cramped, crooked way, with the sabbats of pagan holidays crammed in the margins. You smile, biting your bottom lip again as you go through the written notes of her study. It is dizzying and you’re unsure what exactly you’re looking at, but something tickles the back of your mind as you reread the entry she copied from the long-dead Yoongi Min. There’s something you're missing.
This time, your eyes snag on a word.
“The Covenstead,” you murmur, reading it over again. “Why would he call it the Covenstead? Is that just an older way of speaking?”
A tingle pricks your neck as you stare at the entry. You can’t understand what made your sister think this entry was odd besides the old-fashioned writing and reference to Mabon, because she writes nothing more on her analysis, and none of the journals she had been studying were anywhere you could find.
Sighing, you push away her notebook and pull out a collection of folders and papers that she had on the town. It’s mostly renderings of the town in its heyday with maps and newspaper articles. There seems to be no correlation between her clippings of new business openings and random town news.
Kill Devil Court House Gets New Building
Bird Flu? Poultry Farm in Trouble After Flock Dies
The Grove Neighborhood Building Plans Accepted by Mayor
Mayor’s Son Experiences Fatal Well Accident
Something catches your eye in the article about the mayor’s son who fell into a well and died at the bottom. You reach for your sister's notebook and flip to read the small dates shoved into the margins.
Mayor’s Son Experiences Fatal Well Accident
June 19, 1781
Litha: Summer Solstice
June 19-23
Grabbing the other newspaper clippings, you climb off of the bed and lay them flat against the sheets, each crinkling under the excited press of your fingers as your brain whirs. It’s a puzzle your sister seems to have figured out already, and one you don’t expect to understand.
But you do.
Kill Devil Court House Gets New Building
February 14, 1899
Bird Flu? Poultry Farm in Trouble After Flock Dies
March 19, 1899
Ostara: Spring Equinox
March 19-22
You suck in a breath as you look at the next clipping, using your pointer finger to keep your place on the sabbats calendar your sister has written down to see that the article for the new neighborhood The Grove is dated only a month before the mayor's son fell tragically in the well.
“Holy shit, Hanna,” you mutter, rubbing a hand over your mouth and staring with burning eyes at the dates. “They match with pagan rituals? Something good, followed by something bad… like revenge? Punishment? Payment?”
The question bothers you. A flutter in your gut tells you that you’re asking the right questions as you stare at the pages, unseeing and trying to understand what your sister is getting at. She didn’t write down her thoughts explicitly - in case anyone stole her work, she’d said - and now you’re wishing she weren’t so paranoid. Or that she at least used a computer.
It isn’t an easy answer to puzzle out. An ache has settled deep in your temples and your half-eaten dinner has long gone cold. You decide you’ve earned a shower, though you don’t go into the bathroom without the bug spray armed and ready.
Briefly, you think about Hoseok. Such an oddity to the town. You can’t help but think about the way he changes from light to dark so quickly, face becoming shadowed and eyes masked, expression there and gone so quickly that you’re unsure if you saw it at all.
Strange. It’s all very strange.
-
There is a shadow in the parking lot again. This time, it’s closer. The bulb burning above the lot flickers, but stays on. The shadow stands just beyond the silver halo of light it distributes.
No moon hangs in the sky. It is dark dark dark - impossibly dark. You stare through a crack in your curtains, watching the shadow as it watches you. Dread weighs down the pit of your stomach and you feel a fresh wave of terror-laced nausea sweep through you.
You slide a foot backward gently, preparing to step away from the window. The shadow twitches and cocks its head to the side, not unlike a dog curious about something it’s heard. You suck in a sharp breath and hold it in, air screaming in your lungs, heart racing a frantic staccato.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck it seems to say, beating until it’s all you can hear and feel, pumping your system so full of adrenaline that you feel light-headed.
Your heart turns into a drum, frantic. It beats louder and louder and you feel rooted to your spot on the carpet, the soles of your feet surgical-stitched to the ugly shag carpet. You stare and stare and stare at the shadow and your heart is hammering so loud boom boom BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM-
Sweat-drenched and gasping for air, you sit up. Your heart pounds so hard you can feel it under the palm you have pressed against your chest. But the banging is coming from the hotel door, a steady stream of closed-fist hammering and Hoseok’s voice calling your name.
Peeling the covers back from your damp skin, you stumble to the door, nightmare-drunk and disoriented. You forget to remove the chain from the door, yanking it open and immediately slamming it to a stop as the chain pulls, refusing to let the door open.
Hoseok is on the other side, hair slightly disheveled, brows pulled together. He’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants, a casual look by anyone’s standards but still effortlessly put together.
“Shit, hold on,” you slur, tongue heavy in your mouth with sleep. Closing the door, you slide the chain out, then reopen it successfully. “Sorry, is everything-”
“What’s going on?”
“What?”
His gaze is thunderous as he looks past you into your room. “You were screaming at the top of your lungs.”
Heat flushes your neck and face. “I-I’m sorry. I was having a nightmare. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’m not mad. What’s going on?”
In the shadow of the night, he looks dangerous, made up of edges and eyes narrowed. “Can I come in?”
You open the door and move out of his way. “Sure.”
“Thanks.”
Out of habit, you latch the door when you shut it.
Hoseok is a little out of place in your room. Even when dressed down, he looks like he belongs on a private jet, lounging among soft, polished leather and sipping exotic coffee. Not in a rundown motel room with peeling wallpaper and smoke-stained ceilings.
“What’s all this?” Your stomach plummets when he sees the journals and papers on your bed. you rush to shove it all under the blanket but Hoseok is fast, plucking a sheet of paper and looking over it, face pinched. “Is this what you meant by your sister studies the occult?”
“Yeah, sorry, I was just um- looking over her work.”
“You know about the occult?”
“Not at all.”
He glances at you, razor-sharp. “Then why would you be looking it over for her?”
The atmosphere shifts. It occurs to you that he doesn’t know your sister is missing. Has no idea that you’re desperately trying to put together pieces of a broken puzzle, without any clue on where to find the remaining parts to view the entire picture.
You weigh the options of lying, losing precious time as the silence hangs heavy and awkward between the two of you. He watches, brows raised and expectant, fingers gripping the paper.
“My sister is missing.” It feels weird to say it. Your tongue feels heavy and as you stare over his shoulder at a fixed spot on the wall, it feels like someone else enters your body to tell him, “I came here because no one would help me find her. She was here studying the town's occult myths for work and vanished. I had this… horrible feeling when she stopped calling and answering.”
“Have you contacted the authorities?”
You scoff and throw a glare at him. “Of course I have. It’s useless and frustrating. No one seems to give a shit that there is a missing person, and every lawyer, law officer and city official I talk to don’t fucking care. It’s like they’re all programmed to give me the same answer. They keep telling me that they’ve seen her around or that she’s probably ignoring me on purpose. They make me seem crazy.”
You expect him to tell you to leave it to the authorities. That’s what Hanna’s boss had told you to do. No one seems to be alarmed, no one cares. But you do. Desperately. And you cannot wrap your head around them looking the other way.
You’re preparing for the same reaction when Hoseok surprises you by saying, “You’re not crazy.”
“I’m not?”
He quirks a brow and his rosebud lips twitch in a smirk. “Well, you probably are. But not for this. Have you asked around town about her?”
You shake your head. “I only went to the house that she was staying at. I wanted to see if maybe she really was ignoring me or maybe just… I don’t know. In the zone for work. She wasn’t there and it doesn’t look like there was any sign of distress.”
“Take me there.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.” He tosses the papers onto the pile on your bed. “We’ll be safe.”
“First of all,” you hedge. “How do I know that? I barely know you. Second of all, what is going there in the middle of the night going to help?”
“I’m good at investigating. Maybe I’ll see something that you don’t.”
“Sorry, are you a cop now?”
“No, it’s hard to explain but I promise I’m trying to help you.” When you don’t move, Hoseok grimaces. “Look,” he explains evenly. “I really am trying to help you. I haven’t been entirely honest about why I’m here in this town. I came because I was also interested in some things happening here. Now I’m worried your sister is involved.”
Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. “Involved how?”
“I don’t know. I’m hoping it’s a coincidence. Believe it or not, those do happen. But I’d like to visit her house to see if there’s anything at all that sticks out to me.” You hesitate, chewing on your lip. You don’t really know him, and now you trust him even less with his reasoning. “Please,” he adds.
You relent. “Fine.” Hanna is your main goal. You don’t trust Hoseok, but you wonder if he really can help you when no one else has. “Let’s go.”
Damp air rushes through the open windows of your car. You lowered them as you got in for a quick escape if Hoseok attacks you while you drive. He says nothing in the passenger seat, eyes fixed on the pine trees rushing behind you.
Outside, the world is painted night-blue from the moon. There’s a weird hue to everything, making it feel as though you’re wading with heavy limbs through a dream. It’s no better when you arrive at the dark house.
It looks terrifying at night. There’s no street light to guide you, only that of the silver moon and the bright halogen lights of your car. You turn off your vehicle but switch the headlights on, turning on the high beams to shine on the house.
On the edges of where the light fades to shadow, your fear lies. The trees look taller than in the daylight, their branches like craggy limbs and reaching fingers. Anxiety bubbles uncomfortably in your stomach.
Each crunch of the grass beneath your feet falls too loud against the heavy silence. Here, you notice that the crickets are no longer singing. It’s just the hush of the wind gusting through the canyons and the far-away swell as it blows up the hills.
Though it’s not cool outside, there’s a chill on your skin. Hoseok walks up to the house, the beams of the car’s headlights throwing his shadow across it in jarring, monstrous shapes. You keep your eyes focused on him and your keys tucked in your hand, ready to use them as a weapon if needed.
Hoseok doesn’t seem concerned about your anxiety or the silence thrumming around the home. He walks up the steps and opens the door, vanishing into the dark mouth of the threshold. For a moment, you stand in the front yard, getting tunnel vision as you stare at the darkness in the doorway.
You imagine stepping over the threshold into that cool dark, letting it suck you in. You imagine that as soon as your shoes hit the creaking floor, Hoseok will snatch you by the waist and pull you into the belly of the beast. Once in his clutches, he’ll throw you to the ground and the last thing you’ll remember is-
Hoseok reappears in the doorway. You blink and the waking nightmare melts away, so vivid that you’re shaking where you’re standing, looking at him in confusion. He hops down the stairs, scowling as he crosses the front lawn in a few long strides.
He pauses when he sees your face. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“I…” you shake your head, trying to dispel the weird vision you had a moment ago. “Nothing. I just don’t like the dark very much.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you find anything?”
His lip twitches. It’s almost impossible to detect, but you’re so focused on his face and trying not to picture him as the man in the terrifying thought you had moments ago, that you see it. “No.”
Lying. He’s lying. You clutch your keys and your breath quickens. He moves to round the side of the car and take the passenger seat, but you step in front of him. He pulls up short, eyes narrowing as you stand between him and the vehicle, blood pumping.
“I think you’re lying.”
“About what?”
“A lot of things.”
“What gives you that impression?”
“My instinct.”
He hums. “Instinct isn’t always a good thing.” He looks you up and down. “I didn’t find anything,” he says again. “I just got a really weird feeling inside of the house.”
“And?”
“And it’s the same weird feeling I’ve gotten in other places where people visiting went missing. Including the motel we’re staying at.” That makes you recoil. You feel the blood drain from your face, making you a little dizzy. You don’t know what’s going on, don’t understand what he’s getting at. “Your sister’s notes were about the covenstead here.”
That word again. The covenstead and not Covenstead, like a town name. “It was the town name before it was Kill Devil.”
“No,” he corrects. “It was a landmark. A covenstead, for people who lived here. A coven.”
“A coven.” He nods. “Like vampires and witches?”
Hanna’s notes had included all of those pagan holidays crammed in the margins of her work. Marking dates of occurrences that coincided with sabbat holidays. “Hoseok,” you say slowly. “Are you telling me that a bunch of witches live here and have kidnapped my sister?”
He regards you for a moment, eyes flickering up and down. His face is unreadable and dark in the night air, eyes shadowed and haunting. “That’s actually exactly what I’m saying.”
“Witches aren’t real.”
He frowns. “I can prove that they are.”
“How?”
He gestures to the car. “Let’s go.”
-
When you were younger, your sister always believed in magic. You remember spending all of October huddled on the couch with crocheted blankets, watching Halloween movies with the blanket pulled warm over scabbed knees, with popcorn-greased fingers tucked under heated thighs. Hanna always picked the movies - Halloween was her time of the year and you were happy to indulge.
Hanna’s choices were always superb. Hocus Pocus received more airtime than anything else, replayed between Halloweentown one and two, Practical Magic, The Witches and The Addams Family among others. Every night of the month was crammed full of magic and spells and haunted houses, sweetened by candy corn and Butterfingers.
Those were the nights that you loved the most. There was no fighting, no whining and crying over Hanna stealing your hair clips or you breaking her hair dryer. It was just the two of you, pressed skin-to-skin and spelled by the scrolling movies.
It’s as close to magic as you’ve ever been. You don’t think you were ever closer to her than in those moments. Under the blankets and the dim candles your mother lit, you were one being, melded. You knew when she would gasp at every jump scare and whisper each one of her favorite lines.
Thinking back on it, you wonder if Hanna was onto something. She always insisted that parts of the movies had to be true. Stories are rooted in history, and though myth and legend changed with culture, colonization and the introduction of new religions, science and ideas, there was something about the concept of magic and spirit that felt real to her.
It was why she went to school and majored in journalism with minors in folklore and history. She had even started a master's program for occult studies and folklore, spending late nights studying between traveling across the country from haunt to haunt for her job.
Staring at her work on the bed of your hotel room as Hoseok adds some of his own notes and findings, you have never missed her more. There is a sudden ache inside of your chest, so strong that it takes your breath away. Your hand goes to the necklace at your neck, feeling flushed, heart pounding.
Hoseok is explaining how there used to be a coven of witches that lived in the Wood long before Kill Devil existed. The Wood, Hoseok explains, is like a living and breathing conduit of power. It was something that gave the coven power but also needed to be fed.
The Covenstead. You remember the journal entry that had called it the covenstead. A place where witches commune and live together as one functioning body of magic. That much power does things to a place, skews the way the world works a little bit. He gives examples of places all around the world with similar experiences: the Bermuda Triangle, Door To Hell, Reed Flute Cave. All places where an abundance of magic and energy warps the way life functions.
But the Wood was strange before the witches got here. Hoseok rolls out a map, fingers tracing the lines of the city. Clarity snaps like a rubberband stinging against skin as you stare at it, lips parted, inhaling sharply.
The city roads make a pentagram, and at the very center is the courthouse.
“This is on purpose,” Hoseok explains. “There are other places in the world where the way the city or town or village is built is like a pentagram. Usually, these are called portals. They’re different from faerie rings which have their own power and distortions. These portals are for practicing witches and those who know how to use them.”
“Portals for what?”
“Creatures of great power that exist in worlds that don’t belong to us. Part of what gives witches their ability to perform magic is their energy. They are attuned to the world around them in a way that humans are not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you understand the concept of third and fourth dimensions?”
“Third dimension is what we live in,” you answer mechanically, somewhat familiar with the idea. “If a fourth dimension existed, we wouldn’t know because it moves in a way that we are unable to perceive. The fourth dimension, in theory, is movement and sight we would never have.”
“Exactly. But witches are attuned to that. These pentagrams,” Hoseok murmurs, tapping the map. “Are made to connect to the fourth dimension. Pentagrams are not inherently evil or even paranormal, but similar to sacred geometry, they… radiate at a frequency that other dimensions do. Powerful symbols like this have existed since Mesopotamia.”
“I… how does this prove that magic is real?”
For a moment, you’re distracted by the way Hoseok’s artful fingers pluck your sister's notebook from the bed. He flips until you’re looking at her journal entries and the newspaper clippings with dates and headlines.
“Witchcraft is different in every culture and part of the world. These holidays have roots in Celtic and Welsh craft. It was brought over by the pilgrims when people fled England and traveled here. This is old - not as old as whatever lives in the Wood, but old enough that it’s powerful. These dates you’re looking at? They’re sacrifices to keep the Wood powerful.”
“How do you even know all of this?”
“I’ve studied it my entire life.”
“Why?”
“It’s just something that runs in my family. We’re very spiritual people.” Something about the way his voice wavers makes you look at him sharply. Hoseok isn’t looking at you, busying himself with sifting through papers. There’s a pinch in your gut that makes you think he’s lying, but you’re afraid to push the matter.
“Get some rest,” he says, breaking your exhausted train of thought. “We can talk more in the morning when you’re not exhausted.”
“Yeah.” You rub your weary eyes. “Yeah, okay.”
With Hoseok gone, you crawl into the bed, leaving the light on, staring off into the distance as your hand clutches your necklace. Your lip trembles and your throat constricts painfully. When you close your eyes, you feel tears slide down your face.
Tucking your face into the pillow to hide your tears, you let out a small, aching sound. You just want to know where your sister is, and somehow you’ve landed in the middle of a hateful little town with strange little people and a strange little fantasy.
Crying is inevitable. But at least it puts you to sleep.
-
This time, you know you’re dreaming. You don’t know how you know, but you do. There’s a watery feeling to the hotel room when you open your eyes. As though you’re both there and you’re not.
You glance at the clock but the numbers are all wrong. You rub your eyes and look again, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t make sense of them.
You want to sit up. You move your arms - no, you try to move your arms. They don’t move, suddenly too heavy to slide under the covers of your blanket and peel it back. Panic sparks in you as you try to shift your legs, but though you can feel them, you can’t move them.
Terror as you’ve never known slides between your ribs, sharp and poignant. You can’t breathe and you know you’re dreaming and yet you can’t move. You close your eyes, brain repeating the same words over and over again: wake up wake up wake up wake up WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP-
It doesn’t happen. You open your eyes and your room still has the dream-glazed light to it, and you still can’t move. Something shifts in your peripheral vision. Your heart seizes in your chest so sharply you think you’ll die.
You cannot turn your head to look at the shadow that moves just beyond your sight. Tears slip from your eyes, hot, wet and burning. You can’t wipe them. They blind you, turn your vision into an opaque, watery mess as something slides to the foot of your bed.
When you feel the mattress dip, you try to scream. The sound is locked in your throat, with so much force behind it that you wait for your vocal cords to explode. The fear is raw now, your eyes wild, tears leaking as you mentally thrash and thrash and thrash.
Weight shifts on either side of the bed and you have the sense that there is someone crawling on you but you can’t see beyond your crying, can’t hear beyond the pounding of your own heartbeat slamming in your ears, blocking out every other noise and-
Something invisible to you grips your throat. You still have the instinct to move, driving you to madness as your brain signals for your hands to fly to your assailant and yank and remove the hold on your neck.
It’s crushing. You gasp for air, no noise coming out as the grip tightens, and you know with certainty that this is it. Whatever dream this is will kill you, this time.
The realization that you’re going to die suddenly mutes the terror. It slides behind a glass door, beating its fists, but it's duller now. You have sharper clarity, and briefly you think of what Hoseok said about beings from the fourth dimension, and how the witches summon them through their craft here. To this place. Where you cannot perceive them.
You wonder if this happened to Hanna. You miss her, your sister, with big dreams and fast smiles and a head full of magic and wondering. This, you think, is how you go. And perhaps you’ll join her.
Thoughts blend together, sloshed wine in a glass. They’re warm and liquid and have no shape to them, no real purpose. It’s like you know you’re thinking, but you don’t know of what. Darkness pools at the edge of your vision. It feels cold and alone but you drift toward it, away from the pain.
And then you can breathe.
Air comes sweeping in, forcing its way into your mouth, into your lungs. Your lungs inflate so painfully that for a split second, you think they’re on fire. Oxygen burns its way through you and bursts of color explode on the canvas of your closed eyes - you don’t remember closing your eyes.
You roll over in bed, coughing, mouth wet with spit and phlegm as you try to gulp in as much air as you can.
High-pitched ringing whines in your ears, and there are muffled sounds on the other end of it. The motel room tilts back into vision, melting into place. You think that the room has reloaded into your world wrong - everything is crooked.
Then you realize you’re laying on your side, gagging and gasping for air. There is a hand against to your back, palm cold, fingertips freezing. The touch, you realize, feels full of energy, your spine tingling where it’s pressed against you.
Lurching away from the touch, you roll to the side of the bed, looking at the person whose hand had been pressed against you.
Hoseok’s tangled in the sheets, hair a mess, shirtless and in sweats. He’s panting, flushed, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his body. But it’s his eyes that stop you from scrambling away. They’re dark, burning like two pieces of coal as he looks at you, kneeling with his hands in his lap, palms facing the ceiling.
Hoseok says something. The ringing in your ears has just started to die down and you shake your head, unsure of what he means and not confident in your ability to speak.
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
You stare at him. “What the fuck just happened to me?”
“This is my fault, I’m so sorry.”
“What?”
He lifts his hands and you flinch. The look on his face is pure heartbreak, shrouded in golden light. “Please,” he murmurs. “Let me help you. I’m not going to hurt you.”
It’s quiet, save for the sound of the humming air conditioner.
Trust your gut, your sister had said.
So you do because he’s offered to help you thus far. You nod, giving him access to you. He sags in relief, shuffling forward tentatively as he takes your face in his hands. His palms are impossibly warm. Your eyes flutter shut at the touch, unable to look at him this close, this boy of light and something, as he cradles your face.
Warmth pools in your face, saturating down to your neck and chest. The ache in your lungs eases, and the lump in your throat continues to recede. You don’t want to ask what he’s doing. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to feel the terror of moments ago ever again, and with the way Hoseok is touching you, so close that his breath fans your brow, and you can smell him like rain and lavender, you want to embrace it.
There’s no thought process to the way you lean up into him. Your eyes are closed, your breath shaking as you seek him. Hoseok makes a surprised noise, but it vanishes as you press your lips against his.
Relief sweeps through you. It’s nothing you’ve ever felt before, every drop of terror fading away, momentarily forgotten. Every ache vanishes. It’s just Hoseok and the way he burns brighter than the sun, and the way it doesn’t hurt anymore.
After a brief moment of hesitation, he kisses you back. It’s sweet and soft-lipped, his fingers pressing into the side of your face gently as he pulls you to him. You follow his pull, both physically and something like a tether, getting up on your knees to get closer.
Hoseok breaks the kiss, nose brushing yours. You open your eyes, half-lidded and feeling dizzy from just the gentle press of lips. His eyes are dark, but you see the light flecks of brown in them, like an entire world of sun and stars exist in their depths.
“Make it go away,” you whisper.
You don’t specify. The pain, the nightmares, the fear, the weird town, the worry about your sister. You want it all to stop and this person you barely know - you feel as though he can take it away. Or mute it.
He nods, eyes closing as he kisses you properly. You forget what you were worried about, and it’s all you can do not to fall headfirst into Hoseok. His mouth is warm and wet, tongue soft but greedy as he pries your mouth open, drinking you in.
Hoseok’s lips tingle against yours, sending a shiver skating down your spine. You wrap your hands around his neck, fingers tangling in the silky strands there. He hums appreciatively when your nails slow-scratch at the base of his scalp.
Carefully, Hoseok shuffles you into his lap. Your knees dip on the mattress on either side of his hips, straddling his waist. His hands find the hem of your sleep shirt and pull upward. You break the kiss, a string of spit connecting your flushed mouths before the garment breaks it.
The room is cold, air hitting your bare chest and hardening your nipples immediately. You whine but Hoseok is fast, pressing your chest to his as he attaches his mouth to your neck, sucking at the tender flesh sharply.
“Fuck,” you whisper, letting your head drop backward heavily. Your eyes are shut and the world feels like it’s spinning. He has one hand on your hip, the other on the small of your back, pressing you to him to keep you warm and to rock your hips gently into his. “Feels good.”
He hums in response, sucking wet stains onto your flesh as he moves toward your chest. You push your tits out to meet his searching mouth, gasping lightly when the rough drag of his tongue swipes across your nipple.
The sensation is overwhelming. Your fingers dig into the back of his neck as Hoseok sucks your peak greedily. You’re grinding into his lap on your own now, panties clinging to your hot, sticky folds as you seek friction. He’s hard beneath you and you want to feel him.
Letting you rut in his lap, Hoseok drags delicate fingers over the curve of your ass and thigh, and his nails leave goosebumps in their wake. The feeling between your legs and at the base of your spine is heady as he lets go of one nipple with a sharp pop, tongue tracing a sloppy line to the other.
Hoseok’s teeth tease the tight bud and you whine. “Oh?” he asks, voice rough and low. “Gonna be a baby about it?”
You shake your head, but your lip juts out as you look at him, dazed. “Want more.”
“Tell me.”
Dropping one hand from his neck, you take the hand resting on your thigh, guiding it between your legs. Hoseok presses the pads of his fingers to your underwear and you let out a keen. It’s not nearly enough, but the pressure sends another wave of arousal flooding through you.
“Hmm,” he hums, dragging his fingers back and forth over the damp cloth. “Soaked from just that, huh?” You nod and he bites your collarbone. Fuck, he’s going to kill you, sending another tremble down your frame. He hooks a finger in your underwear, sliding against your glossy folds experimentally and he curses, “Fuck. Pussy is already messy and I’ve barely touched you.”
“Please.”
“What do you want? I already asked.”
“More.” Hoseok presses your clit, letting you drip onto his fingers, but he doesn’t move them. You grit your teeth. “Want your fingers,” you ask through clenched teeth. “Fuck me with them, anything. Please.”
He grins, face wicked before he kisses your nose. “See, you just had to tell me.”
You’re tense as he pulls your underwear to the side, shoving the fabric against your thigh. Cool air hits your cunt. You can’t recall ever wanting someone like this, vibrating uncontrollably as he traces your slit with his fingers, lazily circling your clit.
A sigh of relief escapes your lips and you drop your forehead on Hoseok’s shoulder. He lets you sag against him as he plays with your pussy, fingers barely dipping to tease your hole and gather juices before coming back to trace your clit, applying delicious pressure.
It feels so good. It’s mind-numbing, letting him do what he wants. Hoseok pants in your ear, breathing stilted between chaste kisses against the side of your head.
Painfully slow, Hoseok inserts a single finger into your wet heat. The sound you let out is high-pitched and loud. It’s not nearly enough, but you lose all sense of asking for more as his finger slides in deep, pressing against your front wall to massage that delicate spot inside of you.
“Oh shit,” you stutter, unable to help it.
He laughs, voice deep when he asks, “Yeah? That the spot?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He slow-drags his finger in and out of your pussy, fucking you slowly. He curses, teasing you only for a moment before he gifts you another. The stretch is so much better, and you melt. He thrusts leisurely, not hard and fast but deep. Your walls swallow his fingers, gripping them and begging him not to stop as a tight coil winds in your stomach as he presses hard against your g-spot.
It’s messy, the wet drag of his fingers in your cunt. You feel the slow drip of arousal every time he pulls back, soaking his hand. It drops down your thighs as he picks up the pace. You lift your hips a little, adding a bounce to his motions.
“Oh? You wanna do it?” He stops moving his hand and you let out a desperate sound. He laughs. “No, go ahead. If you’re so eager, do it yourself. Fuck yourself on my fingers.”
Seeking balance by holding his shoulders, you grip him tight, face tucked in his neck as you maneuver yourself, using your knees to lightly fuck yourself on his fingers. It feels so good, and you adjust the angle until you feel him hit that spot again, making you see stars.
It’s electric, this feeling rippling in your bloodstream. It feels different with Hoseok and you can’t place why, but your orgasm is building so sharply in your stomach that you nearly stop thrusting, overwhelmed by the sensation.
The pressure in your stomach winds and winds and winds until it snaps, every muscle in your thighs and ass squeezing tight, your hands turning to an iron grip, breath stuck in your lungs as you let out a strangled sound, squeezing Hoseok’s fingers as you come.
Hoseok is whispering something in your ear, but you can’t hear him over the thundering heartbeat of your pulse, shaking as you come down from your high. When you do, you’re vaguely aware that he’s pulled his fingers out, but he’s massaging the tight ring of muscles, making you shiver.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Wanna see you stretch yourself on my cock like that.”
“Wanna,” you mumbled.
Your limbs are heavy and lazy as you shuffle, uncoordinated. Hoseok laughs, finding you endearing as you scowl and shift off his lap. His touch is featherlight as he pulls your panties off. You need him, completely naked and shivering as your eyes drop from the smooth, carved planes of his chest and abs to the heavy imprint of his cock in his sweats.
And the wet stain mess you’ve made.
Flushed, you watch as he looks up at you, smirking. “Go on.”
Scooting toward him with eager hands, you rest with your feet tucked under you. Dipping your touch below his waistband, you grasp him firmly, cock heavy in your hand. He sighs, head tilting back a little while you slide your grip along his shaft.
Brushing your thumb over his tip to collect hot, sticky precum, you spread it, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you stroke him gently, testing the waters. His hips twitch and his mouth parts, gold light of the lamp turning him into Giovanni’s Apollo. He is ethereal, a burning sun and you suddenly understand why Icarus flew to his demise.
Maybe you will too.
With your other hand, you push Hoseok’s sweats down. Though you could feel the size and swollen weight of him in your hand, it’s still a marvel when you see his thick length, dark tip oozing precum.
A hiss escapes his teeth when you give him a firm squeeze. He lets you pump him lazily, and your mouth catches the underside of his jaw, teething and sucking sharp marks into his skin. He tastes like something electric and a little bit of sweat, your tongue buzzing.
“Hmm,” he hums, fingers gripping the back of your neck to pull your mouth back up to his. It’s more spit and him gasping into your mouth more than anything. “You know how stunning you are?”
You feel heat creep up in your cheeks. Hoseok shuffles away from you and you let go of your grip on him, watching his dick slap against his stomach, smearing precum. He sits near the headboard, leaning against the wallpaper and staring at you with hungry eyes.
“You’re going to make me shy,�� you say softly, though you still crawl toward him. You can feel the slick slide of your inner thighs. He pumps his cock lazily, giving you a look that says he doesn’t believe you. “You’re pretty.”
“Think so?”
You nod, a little light-headed and uneven. You tilt toward the side and he catches you, hands sticky from your mixed arousal. Bending down, you capture his lips. Hoseok runs the crown of his cock through your folds and you moan, lips parting. He drinks in your sounds, licking them from the roof of your mouth.
For a moment, it’s just the teasing and sloppy kissing, pausing to pant into each other's mouths, slick from sweat. He presses the blunt head of his dick into your hole, dipping only a little before retreating and sliding back up to tease your clit.
“Hoseok,” you growl, biting on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, the iron tang blooming in your mouth. He hisses out a laugh and does it again. This time, you lower your pussy, trying to catch him on an angle to sink down on him. “Stoooop.”
“Whiny baby,” he teases again. “Cock-hungry, huh?”
“Wanna be full.”
“Mmm.”
Hoseok repeats the motion, but this time lets you sink slowly on the length of him. The stretch stings, hurt-laced pleasure as you suck in a sharp breath and hold it. It feels like your lungs might burst, shaking as you slide down until your ass rests on his damp thighs and you feel the tip of his cock deep in your gut.
“Fuck,” you gasp, leaning forward, palms pressed to his shoulders. They slide a little, his skin warm and sweaty. You dig your nails in for purchase and he sucks in a sharp breath, but lets you claw your way back to sanity from the feeling. “Deep.”
His hands find purchase on your ass, digging in and massaging. “Come on, then. You were so eager for my fingers.”
You lift your hips a little, the slide delicious against your warm walls, and drop down with a wet smack. You both moan at that and you grin, putting the weight into Hoseok’s shoulders as you lift your hips again, hypnotized by the wet schlick of your cunt sliding on his length.
Everything fades away again. Your thighs burn as you increase your movements, chasing the buzz that has settled deep in your stomach. Hoseok lets you use him, his eyes fixed on the way your cunt drips into his lap.
His nails bite into the meat of your ass and you feel dragged under by the pleasure, the sting of his grip and the pressure of his cock hitting your g-spot sending you further and further.
Your legs grow a little tired, movements sloppy. Hoseok doesn’t mind, planting his feet on the bed and thrusting upward to meet you, hands supporting your weight under your ass. He helps lift you, pulling you up and down until you’re mumbling incoherently.
It feels mind-numbingly good, and the tension in your stomach grows taught and tight, your second orgasm oncoming.
“Come on,” Hoseok demands between clenched teeth. “Give it to me.”
You nod, sliding a hand between your thighs, fingers circling your clit with just enough pressure and speed to get you shaking again. White spots appear in your vision as you squeeze your eyes shut, letting him take over and fuck up into you, cunt gushing as you come hard enough around him that you fall forward.
Hoseok lets you lay on his chest, dead weight as he claws at your ass and thighs, rutting up into you. You’re dimly aware of the soaked mess of your smacking bodies, but your ears are ringing and you feel lighter than you’ve ever felt before.
You begin to whine in oversensitivity just as Hoseok slams into you as deep as he can, cock twitching and filling you up. You shiver as he grunts, hips bucking with a wet squelch as he gently fucks you through his orgasm.
Both of you lay there in a messy pile as his cock softens inside of you. Cum pools between your pressed bodies, but you don’t care. The room is humid, the light dim with the haze of how far gone you feel. Hoseok traces soft circles on your hips with his fingers. Your mouth is pressed against his jaw, breath kissing his skin.
You could fall asleep here, you think. It’s nice to forget for a while, to let your body feel the pounding of his heart against your chest, the shaking of his thighs against yours, the ache in your muscles.
Heaviness tugs at you, so close to pulling you under, but Hoseok stirs. You feel drunk, letting him peel the two of you apart until you’re stumbling to the shower. The air makes your tacky, cum-covered skin cold.
It’s hard to fit both of you in the shower, but you manage it, rotating under the rough spray of the hot water, hands exploring and kneading sore muscles. Your lips are abused and feel bruised, but it doesn’t stop you from seeking the comfort of his mouth, the world turning to static every time you kiss him.
The motel room smells like sex and sweat when you return to peel clothes back on. Wordlessly, Hoseok takes your hand and leads you to his room on the other side of the wall. It has the same faded wallpaper, the same dusty and stained lampshades, but it looks more lived in.
There are added pieces in the room. A dehumidifier hums in the corner, and there is a hamper full of clothes. Hoseok has added plants near the window, plasticky leaves vibrant green and shiny. Burnt-out incense sits on the plastic folding table he’s erected, books and papers splayed out over its surface. There’s a collection of crystals you can’t identify.
An inviting bed beckons you. You both fall into it, heavy-limbed and sighing. It smells like Hoseok, a mix of rain and lavender. There’s a sense of trepidation as you roll over on the mattress.
Carefully, Hoseok pulls you to him. He presses your back to his chest, one arm going under his head as he yawns and smacks his lips lightly, the other looping over your waist.
“No one is going to bother you,” he sleep-slurs. “I got rid of them. And they won’t go against me.”
You hum, sleep crawling up and stealing your thoughts. You wonder how he got rid of them and why they’re afraid of him.
It isn’t until he mumbles a response that you realize you’ve spoken your question out loud. “Because,” he sighs, words slow and soft, as he drifts off to sleep. “I told them you’re mine.”
Hoseok’s words are lost on you because you’re long asleep.
-
No dreams disturb you. When you wake up, you feel the weight of the night before on you. It’s cool and empty behind you as you startle, realizing you’d fallen asleep with Hoseok there. You look over your shoulder, blinking away sleep, and see that it’s just you in the dark room.
From the bathroom, you can hear the shower. You relax a little, groaning as you roll to your back and stare up at the popcorn-textured ceiling. Your thighs still burn with the soreness from the night before and you bite your bottom lip, trying to conceal your grin.
Gently, you bring your hand to prod at your neck where it had hurt so much last night. You remember the lock-limb nightmare, the feeling of needing to scream. The thought that you were dying.
Hoseok had saved you, but it begged the question of how. You remember asking him last night, but you cannot remember what he answered. You’re also surprised to find that you’re not in any pain from whoever or whatever had attacked you.
Unease turns your stomach but you decide to crawl out of his bed, wandering around his room. A salt lamp casts an orange glow on his makeshift desk. You’re drawn to the mess on top of it, looking at the stacks of books and frowning. They’re not in English - or any language that you know, embossed symbols and shapes on the covers and cracked spines.
Lifting a heavy, green canvas book, you flip it over in your hands. The edges of the paper are yellow and oxidized with time and there is a gold symbol pressed on the front. Your fingers trace the groove, remembering what Hoseok said the day before about sacred geometry.
Putting it down, you select another book. It has a pentagram on it. When you flip the book open, the pages are filled with slanted writing, diagrams, and shapes. You recognize sabbat dates and stop when you get to a picture of interlocking shapes. You trace the symbol absently, wondering what it means.
Why does he have books like this?
A current of electricity slides up the finger that’s tracing the symbol. You squeak in surprise and drop it, cringing at the loud clatter that it makes against the table. The shower flips off and you look at the shut door. Hoseok moves around before opening the door, sticking his head out. He’s dripping in water, hair slicked back, golden skin glistening.
Despite the night before, you avert your eyes, shy. He doesn’t notice or doesn’t say anything, instead asking. “You okay?” He glances down at the books. “Good luck reading those.”
“Yeah,” you answer absently.
He grins. “Be out in a second.”
When Hoseok shuts the door, you feel unsettled. Rubbing your arms to fend off a sudden chill, you continue looking through the things on his table. There’s a small glass case with the exoskeleton of a frog. You cringe, thinking about Hoseok’s pet frog awaiting death in his pitcher plants.
Hoseok’s phone starts vibrating on the desk, making you gasp. Your hand goes to your chest, feeling the way your heart pounds violently against your rib cage. Looking at the screen, you see that someone named Yoongi is calling him.
You hesitate, cocking your head. The name rings familiar, and you watch as the call goes to voicemail. The screen fades to black but you keep staring at it. Not for the first time on your trip, you get the sense that you’re missing something, that there is something right there.
A text from Yoongi comes in, lighting up the screen.
Jung, you better not be fucking around with your prey again. We need to prepare.
It doesn’t sit well with you. When the screen goes dark, you tap it, bringing up the preview. What the hell does Yoongi mean fucking around with your prey? And what are they preparing for? You swear you remember the name Yoongi, retracing your thoughts.
You feel the blood drain from your face. You do know that name.
“Yoongi was so mad he wouldn’t talk to me for a week.”
“What?” you had asked him. “Your cat talks?”
“Oh- he- well he meows, you know what I mean?”
Slowly, you stiffen, remembering Hoseok’s words after breakfast. It had seemed silly then, that Hoseok was talking about a cat. But it’s not the only place you’ve seen Yoongi’s name.
Trust your gut, your sister always said.
You look at the bathroom door once before turning on your heel and creep from the room. You pull the front door open slowly, wincing and holding your breath as the outside world makes noise. Slipping through, you’re careful not to let the door click loudly before running to your room.
With the same care, you shut your door, flipping the bolt lock and sliding the chain in the door. The room feels like it’s spinning, your tunnel vision making you dizzy as you sweep your gaze back and forth, looking for the piles of your sister's research. It’s sitting on the floor, shoved off the bed where you let him fuck you last night.
The urge to vomit flips your stomach as you dive for the papers, riffling through them and scanning, feverish and sweaty. You find the entry you want, finger pressing to the page as you read it multiple times, fear making the words tangle.
Only Mabon is referenced in any of the journals explicitly, in a strange entry from a man named Yoongi Min. I have written it here for safekeeping: We bringeth the little lamb to The Wood today for the honor of Mabon. I loathe to see him go, for he hath brought cheer and many a smile to the Covenstead. May he bring us blessings and warmth in the winter.
Yoongi.
A sick feeling coils in your stomach as your hands tremble, eyes scanning the list of names your sister scribbled out as old families in Kill Devil. There’s another one you remember, the one that Yoongi used in his text to Hoseok.
Booth.
Park.
Warren.
Kim.
Jung.
Jeon.
Min.
A shaking hand presses to your mouth. Jung. “Fuck,” you squeak, looking at the wall separating you from Hoseok’s room.
It occurs to you that all this time, you thought the citizens were looking at Hoseok with contempt. How easily hatred can be confused for fear. Hoseok, who had shown up every time you were having a night terror. Who seemingly knew all the right things to do to ease you.
Hoseok, who had flashes of darkness that terrified you. Whose expression could go blank as he thought about something, but flip on a dime to a bright, sunny boy. Hoseok, whose presence always gave you a weird tingle, triggering some sort of instinct you couldn’t place.
Something happens then. With absolute certainty and a razor-sharp resolve that you’ve never experienced, you know your sister is dead. Perhaps you’ve always known. The sudden burning of your locket that night two months ago, the way that it looks like she ceased to exist. The eerie feeling dogging you, nipping at your heels.
Hanna is dead. The pain is only sharp for a second, a slice of agony as you bend over, arms wrapped around your stomach as you let out a silent scream. The grief is powerful but abrupt as you hear Hoseok call your name on the other side of the wall.
You stand. Because now you can’t mourn. Now, you must leave as quickly as possible. Because you hadn’t been trusting your gut, ignoring that weird little sense of something wrong.
Now isn’t the time to scream over what you know. Now you must get away from-
“Was it the books or the phone call?”
You whirl around. Hoseok is leaning against the wall by the door. The bolt is still flipped and the chain is still in place. You’re frozen to the spot, staring at him. He looks at the papers on the floor and back to you, smirk razor-sharp. Of course, he could get into the room without opening the lock.
All of the features you thought were beautiful are suddenly terrifying. “It took you way too long to puzzle it together, but I guess you’re not nearly as smart as Hanna.” You open your mouth but nothing comes out, throat constricted. “You were so easy to convince though, so I guess that’s something.”
“I don’t…” your voice is raspy, shaking.
“When you kept calling the city officials, I knew it was only time before you showed up here. I’ve been living in this fucking shit hole waiting.” He tsks and shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Took you forever.”
“The citizens?”
“Stay out of my way and stay out of the Wood. They’re the frogs I let live, so long as I find other ones.”
“Why?” you ask, shaking your head. It’s the only question you can think of. It’s the only question that matters: whywhywhywhy. “Why help me?”
“Sometimes a predator likes to play with its prey.”
It dawns on you that he had said as much at breakfast while he was tracing symbols on the table. He had been talking about his frogs, but he had been talking about you too. How many signs had you missed because he fucking smiled at you? Something dangerous lurking behind light flirting.
He points to himself. “Pitcher plant.” He points at you with a grin. “Frog. Ribbit.”
“Fuck you,” you snarl, fear replaced by a hatred that burns so hot the edges of your vision flash red. But it isn’t him you’re mad at. It’s you. For being so easily deceived. For being so casually influenced in a matter of days. “Fuck you, and your fucking town.”
“I did fuck you. You were special, though. I hope that makes you feel better. Didn’t fuck your sister. You’re cute, and I had time to spare.”
“All of this for what? To get off on the chase? The manipulation?”
He scoffs. “I already told you what this place is. It isn’t my fault you didn’t put it together. I almost hand-fed it to you. The Wood gives us power, and the Wood needs sacrifices.” Hoseok pushes himself off of the wall, his smile like the first light of the morning sun. “I’m taking you to the Wood.”
#hoseok smut#hobi smut#j hope smut#hoseok fanfic#j hope fanfic#bts fanfic#hobi fanfic#hoseok x reader#j hope x reader#minors dni#j hope x you#hobi x you#sailoryooons
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ALL THE BOOKS / COMICS MY OCS WILL COME FROM + THE GENRE / AESTHETIC OF EACH WORK
warnings: yandere stories, minor spoilers if you squint
elements of this post are STC for the actual series.
SERIES NAME: NARKA (lit. Hell in Tausug/Bahasa Sug)
I . LIMBO : LOVE ♡ MULTIPLIED ! INVASION OF YOUR HEART
— manga aesthetic , mostly in black n white. style changes as the story moves forward.
— highschool setting
— romance, thriller, psychological horror, horror
— (for yan! oc enjoyers) some of the characters included here are: yan! idol, yan! girl next door, yan! childhood friend
II . LUST : Midnight Darling
— high fashion, magentas, blacks and reds.
— college setting in ‘philippines’
— romances, thriller, psychological horror, horror
— (for yan! oc enjoyers) some of the characters included here are: yan! jock, yan!nerd, yan!faculty
III. GLUTTONY : LOVE ♡ MULTIPLIED ! ROCOCO LOCO
— manhwa aesthetic, bright and sparkly
— rococo/baroque era in ‘france’
— feel good, food p*rn, slice of life
— (for yan! oc enjoyers) some of the characters included here are: yan! emperor, yan! prince, yan! princess, yan! concubine.
IV. GREED : MAKE MONEY NOT LOVE
— mafia/yakuza/gang aesthetic
— delicious crime scenes. also equally if not more so disgusting crime scenes.
— mystery, thriller, some scifi/isekai
— (for yan! oc enjoyers) some of the characters included here are: yan! mafia boss, yan! yakuza, yan! hangure/delinquent.
V. HERESY : DAMNATIO MEMORIAE
— churchcore, lolita mixed with modern/sci-fi. reminiscent of genshin or honkai stair rail, painting aesthetic. very much blood sweat and tears / fake love era of bts esque.
— shounen, action, power fantasy
— (for yan! oc enjoyers) unfortunately characters here don’t really fit into an archetype, but i will be making yan! ver x reader fics nonetheless.
VI. VIOLENCE : LOVE ♡ MULTIPLIED ! MONSTER
— dark, unsaturated, messy artwork. sort of berserk if it were set thousands of years into the future.
— sci-fi, dark fantasy, seinen, body horror
— ( for yan oc! enjoyers ) some of the characters included here are: yan! scientist, yan! war hero
VII. WRATH : ISEKAICEPTION ! 1 000 000 TH TRY.
— shounen anime aesthetic, tons of battle scenes
— action, mix of high fantasy and some modern / sci-fi. mix of heresy and gluttony, power fantasy, family bonds.
— (for yan! oc enjoyers) some of the characters included are : platonic yan! parents and brother
VIII. FRAUD : GUEST IS GOD
— sexy, mature, red and black. semi realism.
— seinen, ecchi at times, thriller, host club.
— (for yan! oc enjoyers) some of the characters included are: yan! boss, yan! co-workers
©️ yun | hana.no.seiiki 2023
#hns.txt💬#make money not love#guest is god#midnight darling#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere imagine#yandere fic#yandere oc#original characters#original character#oc#yandere oc x reader#yandere oc x you#yandere ocs#yandere ocs x you#yandere harem#yandere various#yandere harem x reader#yandere harem x you#yandere concept#yandere various x you#yandere various x reader#various yandere#oc x reader#original character x reader#oc x you#original character x you#yandere original character x you#yandere original characters
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lost in paradise? ✧･ﾟ:*
welcome to romy’s bts fanfiction reading blog.
below you’ll find my chaotic library. feel free to browse through fics by member, pairing, reader type, genre, alternate universes and tropes. after you’ve read a fic, make sure to reblog it in order to support the writer. happy browsing, dear visitor!
SEARCH THE LIBRARY ✧･ﾟ:*
➳ by member.
kim namjoon
kim seokjin
min yoongi
jung hoseok
park jimin
kim taehyung
jeon jungkook
➳ by reader x pairing.
namjin • sope • taegi • jikook
yoonmin • namseok • yoonkook • minimoni
taekook • taejoon • 2seok • yoonjin
vmin • taejin • vhope • jinkook • ot7
hyung line • maknae line
vocal line • rap line
➳ by type.
drabble • one-shot • two-shot • series
➳ by reader-type.
gender-neutral reader • female reader
➳ by genre.
fluff • angst • smut • pwp • comedy • dark content
slice of life • drama • mystery • horror
supernatural • science fiction • fantasy
dystopia • thriller • psychological
➳ by alternate universes.
idolverse!au • sugar daddy!au • racer!au • ceo!au
college | university!au • soulmate!au • criminal!au
vampire!au • werewolf!au • witch!au • demon!au
angel!au • ghost!au • monster!au • fairy!au
pirate!au • royal!au • apocalyptic!au
zombie apocalypse!au • alien!au • space!au
time travel!au • superhero!au • supervillain!au
mythology!au • folklore!au • fairytale!au
➳ by tropes.
friends to lovers • rivals to lovers • enemies to lovers
lovers to enemies • established relationship
arranged marriage • fake dating • mutual pining
➳ romy’s fic reviews.
#lsy_ficmarked: to be read
#lsy_bookshelf: currently reading
#lsy_romy reviews.txt: my comments on other people’s writing
#lys_romy hearts this fic: personal favourites
#jamais queue: my queued tag
want me to read your fic? use the tag #useromy on your writing & i’ll be sure to check your creations out.
© longstoryoongi / romy, 2023. — last updated: april 3rd, 2023
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I like your series of unfortunate events. 've been re-reading it from time to time. If you can and want to, maybe you can continue it. But I guess my favorite of yours is sweet things. I'm not sure whether to call it a kink cuz it's pretty random. Though most of the time, I do like reading noncon, which yours contain a lot. Sometimes incest, sometimes yandere breeding, sometimes public stuff (humiliation or exhibitionism or free use or glory hole), and many more. Welp, I'm pretty wild on noncon concept I guess. As long as the writing style is to my taste, I'll read anything (except scat and furry; but not hybrid). Oh and the reader is the sub, Idk why I can't enjoy dom reader. I'm good with strong and tough reader, but not as a dom in ***. I'm not sure if you read mxm, but there's this one fic on ao3 that I actually really like the concept even if it's really... heavy psychological thriller to the point it can be disturbing to others. I read it to the point I can't read any further (probably chp 2) cuz it just really broke me seeing jk as the doll. I kept imagining jk as the reader, but it doesn't work
Sorry for the rambling
hi baby, let me break this down as i read it... i have completed series of unfortunate events im just fixing any spelling mistake and rewording some things and i will post it soon.
non-con and CNC is a valid kink, we are allowed to like it and idgaf if people get mad about it, let me write my kinks. you dont need sexual trauma to write it or want it but lets get this across that its a very fictional, its fake, my stories are not REAL. this includes incest, rape, free use , manipulation, violence, blood, gore and so much more under the dead dove do not eat list.
i do real ALOT of mxm, i like and read every dynamic and ship and concept, mxm have alot more concepts i like cause i cant stand stand some bts x reader soft mellow shit. ok but ill read soft shit if its with ot7... bts x bts. i also like dom reader, i want to peg seokjin and yoongi and jk and every member every second of every day, let me fuck them untill they cry.
i LOVE disturbing, message me the link of the fic and ill read it, jk would make such a pretty doll im sure i have already read all bts doll fics
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Polarity and Darknets are really the top fics for me. Especially the manipulation for Polarity and psychology thriller(?) for Darknets. I really like the way you write your fics. I've seen a few good fics on ao3, but for good thriller (and hella deep and long) like fics are mostly mxm. So reading yours was like dreams come true to me. I'm a bit picky with most writing style (though I still give them a shot), so to feel satisfaction in reading yours, is really fullfiling. Thank you for your writings and updates (cuz most ao3 writers that clicks for me hasn't update for years). I really enjoy being engrossed in your stories.
Idk if you read any dark bts fics on ao3 (or maybe another gem in tumblr since there's no search and tag system as neat as ao3), but if you do, could you maybe recommend some that has reader insert with a 2nd pov. I personally find more clicked with 2nd pov writing style even if the 'reader' has a name
Hi babes! ❤️
Thank you so much for enjoying them! It really means so much to me. They are the ones that have the most suspense out of all my fics I think so I’m glad readers have enjoyed that aspect since I myself really enjoy reading books that keep me filled with tension. And ah yes! I do love fics on ao3 as well. I’m so happy you enjoyed my writing, I feel so honored that I met your criteria haha . I understand completely, I’m a bit of a picky reader myself.
And ahh I wish I had recs but I unfortunately haven’t read anything on ao3 in a while, the only one that comes to mind is The Crimson Shell by angelic Yoongi that I first came across on ao3!
But if anyone else has any recs, pls feel free to comment them and help anon out! I will make a rec list once I get to reading more :) I hope you have a lovely day and thank you so much for sharing your wonderful thoughts, made my day! 🙏🥰🥰
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Hiii! Did you have a nice day? I wanted to ask for a fic rec of fics like @youremypride 's apocalypse. I'm not looking for zombie ones, just fics that are creepy?? Thanks!!!
🌷 Hello! My day before was kind of weird! Like all the wrong files/documents happening at work. I don’t believe much in mercury retrograde (astrology) but I asked my coworker who’s into astrology if we’re under this phase (so the answer is NO lol; my files are just really messed up. It’s all on me 😅). So I hope it’s better today!
I am assuming you binged on the author’s fics too? That’s what I did after reading their hilarious Gamer!Jungkook fic! 🥰
For your request, I had a lot in mind but I realize they’re either pure yandere or thriller or horror/suspense or killer aus. I get what you mean with Apocalypse. It’s creepy and haunting (but I can’t really classify it as horror too for some reason). It is more of a strange, peculiar romance (like what the writer said in their a/n). Kudos to the writer @youremypride for writing this!
Creepy (and Haunting) Fics
- I tried to recall ones with similar vibes of Apocalypse (creepy but sad; haunting and not just scary) so the genre will be a mixture of horror, thriller, suspense, some yandere.
⚠ (please check tags and don’t proceed if the themes are uncomfortable for you):
Beloved @bang-tan-bitches - Yoongi
one shot | 17.4k | political, historical, daechwita-inspired, thriller, yandere themes | s
so this is part of my favorite Daechwita fics! That last part, I had my mouth open and I wanted to scream for OC. It’s creepy in a different way and I don’t want to think about what happens after the fic (if I were OC I’d probably go crazy)
Motive @jessikahathaway - Jungkook
one shot | 12.6k | outcast!reader, popular!jungkook, OC accused of murder, and yes sh*t happens | A, S
So I read this on AO3 last year and I was captivated by the story; maybe because in my mind I was thinking that the story will be your regular popular guy meets normie!reader and they fall in love. I don’t know if I can say this is “creepy but haunting” but it haunted me a bit and it played with my emotions (😥)
Room 105 @park-jong-seong - Jungkook
drabble | 1k | creepy hotel vibes, horror | s
this has the vibes of those creepy ghost stories shared during Halloween.
Dollhouse @itskimtaehyung - Jungkook
one shot | 10.4k | established relationship, horror, spirit possession, supernatural, haunted house | a, s
I still think about this. Every time I see this, I just remember the ending when OC snapped. I started to question: was it even real? Or was it some psychological issues that led to...that ending? I hope it’s creepy enough for you.
The Dulcie Inn @yandere-society - Taehyung x Reader x Jungkook
one shot | 12k | yandere!jungkook, fiance!taehyung, horror | a, s
I have so many questions! But, seriously never take your fiancé’s concerns for granted. Just look at Taehyung 😭. This is more of a thriller too.
L’Appel Du Vide + Satisfied @infireation - Taehyung
two shot | 16.7k | serial killer au | s, a
it’s just...creepy; and that fact that OC still made an appearance in the sequel made it creepier. I love how Taehyung was written - he just fits the scary but enigmatic character. *chills*
Totem @yeoldontknow - Hoseok
one shot | 5.5k | horror, suspense, thriller, haunted house au, light romance | a
What follows is an account of YouTube vloggers Euripet3s1 and theJungProject. This is a report of the last known whereabouts of Jung Hoseok.
Please don’t read this at night. It’s creepy and haunting and mysterious until the very end. I love the writing style too (like a transcript). It’s more of horror/suspense/thriller too.
Apothic @jiminstonic - Jimin
one shot | 6.1k | thriller, zombie au, yandere!zombie Jimin who will protect you, post-apocalypse | s, a
okay so seems romantic that a Zombie!Jimin will do everything to protect you from other zombies but you have to check his intentions and all. He is still a Zombie end of day plus the idea of a romance with a zombie should be creepy itself (but when do characters listen?!?!).
Lichterloh @saturnmyg - Taehyung
one shot | 12.9k | small town horror au, action, dullahan!taehyung, newcomer!reader, teacher!reader, supernatural | a
dullahan is a headless horseman. this is set in modern times about someone escaping the busy city life. the small town itself is creepy and the mom kept telling OC they can’t find it in the map, etc (lesson: always listen to your Mom). The people in the town seem...okay? And then Taehyung seems scary according to the “legend” but he’ll show up at one point in the story and you’d think you can trust him. Okay I’ll stop now and let you discover things yourself.
A Portrait’s Whisper @jimlingss - Seokjin
one shot | 4k | psychological thriller, horror au | a
“When you’re trapped in a house controlled by a witch’s power, Seokjin will go through every means to search for you again.”
- uhmm, yeah right 👀
Ghouls Just Wanna Have Fun by various authors - OT7 (each gets a one shot)
all the fics are inspired by psychological thriller films so expect the same kind of fics. I can’t say that all have the same vibes you are looking for (maybe they’re more of psychological thrillers/suspense) but I put a 👻 to the one closest . Some of the links are not updated so I’m posting it here:
The Seance @junqkook - Seokjin | inspired by Demonic! | ghost hunters au, demon au, horror 👻
Wraith @gimmesumsuga - Yoongi | inspired by The Shining! | boyfriend!yoongi, music producer?, possession, thriller
Perfidy @yminie - Hoseok | inspired by The Babysitter! | horror, thriller, demonic rituals
Moving On @gukyi - Namjoon | inspired by Carrie! | supernatural au
Zemblanity @cinnaminsvga - Jimin | inspired by Misery! | fan!jimin, idol!reader, horror/thriller
Hide & Seek @oppamanse – Taehyung | inspired by Sinister! | author deactivated
Sub Rosa @jincherie - Jungkook | inspired by The Thing! | alien au (sort of), thriller, horror 👻
posted: 2021 June 24 | updated:
other fic rec lists
feel free to chat about fics =)
.
#🌷 chats#anon#ggukkiereadingcollection#bts creepy fics#bts horror au#bts x reader#bts thriller#bts suspense#bts creepy but haunting fics#bts horror#bts psychological thriller fics#bts yandere#jungkook x reader#seokjin x reader#taehyung x reader#yoongi x reader#jimin x reader
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Saudade - Ot7 | 10
Ot7 BTS
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Rating: M (Mature)
word count: 3,203
Trigger Warnings: Hospitalization (rehab, mental institute). Mental health issues (Text Reason to 741741 if you need to reach out for help). Insinuated M x M (if you squint hard enough). Substance abuse (alcohol, pills | call 1-800-662-4357 if you are dealing with this). Weapons (gun, knife). Smoking (cigarettes, weed). Mentions of suicide/attempted suicide (National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255). Violence (murder/attempted murder). Mentions of blood. Mentions of therapy sessions (these are not accurate representations, please leave it to proper professionals). Mentions of physical abuse (Call 1-800-799-7233 if you are dealing with domestic violence) WE DO NOT GLORIFY THESE WARNINGS/TRIGGERS; THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY, AND DOES NOT RELATE TO ANY OF THE MEMBERS. IF YOU ARE DEALING WITH ANY OF THESE, PLEASE REACH OUT TO YOUR LOCAL AUTHORITIES FOR ASSISTANCE, OR THE NUMBERS LISTED ABOVE.
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January 20th, 2018 | 12:05
“Alright Jungkook, are you ready?”
I turn towards Jin-hyung, unable to stop the pout of my lips as hyung’s face is enveloped with worry. He’d run me through what this session would entail for the past week, ensuring me that I’m making great progress...is he second guessing this?
“Yes, hyung,” I assure, a smile playing at the edges of my lips. “I want to get better.”
Jin-hyung nods his head, his pen flicking across the notepad, the sound seemingly loud within the small room. As usual his dark brown hair is slicked back out of his face, exposing his forehead and his scrunched up eyebrows. He’s wearing contacts again today, but I’m not able to see clearly with his eyes casted downwards, his legs crossed to support the notepad in his lap. We stay silent as he takes his notes, and I’m tempted to ask what he’s writing, but I know he won’t tell me.
After what feels like a few minutes, he lifts his head and gives me a smile, his expression still unsure. “Alright then, let’s begin.”
I give a small smile back before leaning into the armchair, forcing my body to relax and prepare. I take five deep breaths, willing the air to fill my lungs completely before expelling them from my body, giving a nod once I’m done.
“Okay, Jungkook. As a reminder, you are completely safe in this room, and I will be here with you to guide you. Should you ever feel unsafe, you only need to say your safeword...do you remember what that is?”
“Lily.”
“Very good. Once you say your safeword, I will quickly direct you back. Do you have any questions for me?”
A shift to my left has my head turning, and I can’t help but give a weary look to the unknown man within the room. I don’t immediately recognize him, but clearly he was allowed access to my session with hyung, his face stoic as his eyes bore into mine. Hyung gives a small cough to direct my attention back, and I practically have to rip my eyes away from the unknown man, the back of my mind tingling with something that I can’t quite figure out.
“No, hyung. I don’t have any questions.”
“Perfect,” he chirps, leaning forward in his chair so that his gaze is level with mine as his hands come together in his lap. “Make sure you are seated comfortably. Your neck and shoulders should be relaxed, your back resting against the back of the seat, and your feet are flat on the ground.”
I immediately follow hyung’s instructions while also ensuring I’m taking deep breaths. Part of me is scared of what’s to come, and the other part of me realizes I can’t keep living obliviously unaware of my past. Hyung only wants to help me so that I can get better, so I can try and have a normal life again. I don’t want to keep feeling trapped.
“We’re going to begin counting down from 5, and as we do, you’re going to slowly let your chin touch your chest. 5...deep breath in as you feel your vision grow hazy. 4...let the air flow out as you blink, feel how your eyelids are tingling. 3...deep breath in, your eyes are feeling heavier and it’s getting more difficult for you to keep them open. 2...breathe out, your eyes are now completely shut. Make sure you continue your deep breaths...1.
Now I want you to imagine a chart of numbers, from one to five. This is the chart of relaxation, where one means you are not relaxed, and five means you are completely relaxed. Now Jungkook, please tell me what number you are feeling this moment, based off of this relaxation chart.”
Five.
“Good, good. Make sure you continue taking deep breaths, and you will notice the chart is gone. As you take in your surroundings, you will find yourself in an empty white room. There is no light in the room, but you do not feel scared because it is still bright. Go ahead and take a moment to ensure you are alone in the white room...are you alone?”
Yes.
“Freeze. You’re facing the north side of the room, and you feel a cool breeze sweep through. Your hair ruffles, but it does not get in your face. You do not feel cold. Bit by bit, turn your body so that you’re facing the south side of the room. As you’re turning, notice that small bits of a sidewalk come into your view. This sidewalk extends past the walls of the room, but that’s alright. Do you see the sidewalk in front of you?”
Yes.
“Perfect. How are you feeling Jungkook?”
Fine.
“Okay. To the left of the sidewalk are ten lamp posts, which will guide you down the sidewalk. Each lamp post rests next to each square section of sidewalk. Go ahead and take a step forward into the first square of sidewalk. I want you to allow your body to further relax as we make our way past each lamp post. Step into the second square...your shoulders are relaxed and your jaw is unclenched. Step into the third square...you’re feeling more relaxed. Step into the fourth square...your body feels light and you feel completely free of tension. Step into the fifth square...your breaths are steady as you take note that there are only five more lamp posts. Step into the sixth square...you’re feeling more and more relaxed. Step into the seventh square...only three more lamp posts. Step into the eighth square...deeper and deeper into relaxation. Step into the ninth square...and now step into the tenth square. You have now come to the end of the sidewalk, with the last lamp post to your left.
Now I want you to imagine a chart of numbers again, but this time from one to ten. This is the chart of deeper relaxation, where one means you are not deeply relaxed, and ten means you are deeply relaxed. Please tell me what number you are feeling this moment, based off of this deeper relaxation chart.”
Ten.
“Jungkook I want you to tell me in what direction you are looking at this chart. Are you looking up at this chart or down at this chart?”
Down.
“Alright, now take a moment to very slowly lift your head away from this chart. Notice how with every centimeter you look away from the chart it begins to disappear, and your field of vision becomes consumed with the sight of a cabin. Do you see the cabin, Jungkook?”
Yes.
“Go ahead and describe the cabin to me.”
It’s two stories tall, with a small porch leading to the front door. The wood is dark, but I can’t tell if that’s because it’s night. There’s a large oak tree to the right of the cabin, a makeshift swing hanging from one of the thick branches. I want to go on the swing.
“Jungkook, I need you to focus on the cabin. It’s approximately the middle of August, and the air is nice and warm. There’s a dirt path that leads up to the cabin, please make your way towards it. As you’re walking towards it, you notice there are some people walking with you. Can you please tell me who is all there?”
I look around, unable to help but smile when I see Jin-hyung to my left, his expression mirroring mine as he carries a pack of beers with him. He gestures towards something to my right, and I quickly turn my head to see Jimin and Yoongi in deep conversation. Shifting my body, I glance behind us to see Namjoon, Hoseok, and Taehyung all cheerily talking. It’s so nice seeing all of my friends.
“Can you tell me why you’re all there, Jungkook?”
We’re here to celebrate the end of summer, it was Yoongi’s idea since he was going to start getting busy producing new music. We all chipped in to rent out the cabin for the weekend.
“That sounds like fun. Now tell me, does Jin only have beer? Or is there something else?”
I...I’m not sure. Jin-hyung is holding a pack of beer. I don’t see anyone else holding anything.
“Go ahead and listen in on the conversation taking place behind you. What are they saying?”
Taehyung is asking Hoseok if he brought anything, and Namjoon is saying that it’s a bad idea. Hoseok says it’s okay, and that he brought a special stash along with the usual. I’m not sure what the special stash is though.
“That’s okay. Let’s continue focusing on your approach to the cabin. You’ve managed to open the door and you all step inside one by one. What’s the first thing everyone starts doing?”
Jin-hyung heads straight for the kitchen to put the beers in the fridge, I can hear him on the phone ordering pizza for all of us as Namjoon joins him. Jimin and Yoongi go for the living room couches, continuing their conversation. Hoseok says he’ll be in the bathroom preparing his stash, and Taehyung goes for the stereo system that sits next to the tv in the living room. Everyone laughs at Taehyung’s choice of music as it blasts throughout the cabin.
“And where do you go, Jungkook?”
I...I stand in the foyer for a bit longer before I join Jin-hyung and Namjoon in the kitchen. They’re standing close to each other and talking in hushed voices, but they both smile when I enter the room. I ask them what they’re talking about, but they tell me not to worry about it. I want to know though, so I ask them again. They look at each other before they look at me, Jin-hyung’s eyebrows come together as Namjoon gestures for me to step closer. They…
“What do they say, Jungkook?”
They...They start talking about Taehyung. About what happened in June.
“What happened in June?”
Taehyung got arrested again. He...he was caught vandalising a building. The cops had brought him into the station, and allowed him to make a call. He called Jin-hyung...but hyung was busy. He wasn’t able to answer the call, so Tae left a voicemail. Later, when hyung was able to listen to the voicemail, Tae was asking him to bail him out. Tae had asked for hyung not to tell Namjoon, because he didn’t want to disappoint him. But Jin-hyung called Namjoon to tell him what happened...only Namjoon doesn’t answer his phone. That’s why Tae is ignoring Jin-hyung...he’s still upset over hyung not answering his call and for telling Namjoon anyways.
“Alright, Jungkook, but why are they talking about this?”
They...they’re worried about Tae. Namjoon said that Tae has been acting more reckless. Getting drunk, getting into fights...Namjoon was worried that Tae would try to...to hurt himself again.
“Taehyung previously tried to hurt himself? How?”
After Tae and Namjoon hyung got arrested together a year ago, Tae’s parents kicked him out. He...he figured he had no point in living and tried to...he tried to…
“Okay, Jungkook. Let’s focus back on where you’re currently at. You’re still in the room with Jin and Namjoon. Can you please tell me what happens next?”
We hear cheering from the other room, so we follow the sound. Hoseok has come out of the bathroom and is passing his special stash to Taehyung. It’s...it’s pills. Hoseok says that they’ll make us feel good as we party, but I don’t like it. I tell them I don’t want to take any, but Taehyung tells me not to be a party pooper. I...I don’t want to ruin the atmosphere, not while everyone is looking at me like that.
I take the pill and pop it back just as Tae goes for another one. Hoseok is whooping with excitement but Namjoon tries to discourage Tae. Taehyung doesn’t even look at him before he’s popping the second pill in his mouth, smiling wide.
“Alright. We’re gonna go ahead and skip forward a little bit. The pizza has arrived, and you’ve all eaten. You’re all feeling pretty good as you drink and talk. Where are you now, Jungkook?”
I’m...I’m in the doorway of the kitchen, listening to Jin hyung trying to talk to Taehyung. Tae isn’t having it, and keeps cursing at hyung, which makes my stomach churn. Hyung keeps trying to apologize, but he’s getting cut off by Tae, and soon their voices get louder. A loud thud rings through the room and out into the hallway, and Namjoon is quick to pick up on the sound, pushing past me and into the kitchen. I’m scared...but I peek my head in and see Jin hyung on the floor, Taehyung on top of him as he punches hyung’s face. Namjoon is just standing there, frozen in shock as hyung’s blood splatters onto the floor. Taehyung...he reaches up to the kitchen counter and grabs a knife...he…
“Jungkook, I need you to take a deep breath. Close your eyes for a moment, and remember that you are safe. I won’t let anything happen to you. Now open your eyes...what do you see?”
Tae stabs hyung...right in the chest. Hyung’s crying, his mouth open and eyes wide from shock. Tae’s eyes...they’re dark and angry, and my teeth chitter as a chill runs down my spine. Taehyung looks up, his eyes locking with mine, and I have the urge to run when I see him stand. Namjoon runs into the kitchen, his legs giving out as he falls down to hyung’s body.
“Jungkook...I thought Namjoon was already in the kitchen?”
I called you guys into the room, and you and Jimin grab Taehyung as I called the cops.
He was - is - in the kitchen. He calls out for help and we run inside.
“Who is ‘we’, Jungkook?”
Me, Jimin, and Yoongi. Namjoon tells us to grab a hold of Tae so he can call the cops. But...Tae is strong. He breaks from our hold and starts running upstairs.
“Where is he going, Jungkook?”
I...I don’t know. I run up the stairs too, passing Hoseok’s passed out body on the couch before I hear footsteps behind me. I’m..I’m scared. I feel panic set in as I stand in the middle of the hallway on the second floor, so I go into the first room on my right. I quickly close the door before I run to the closet, shoving myself inside and covering my mouth.
“Why are you hiding, Jungkook?”
Because I’m scared. I try and listen for footsteps, but I can’t hear properly over the thumping in my ears, a mix of the loud music and my pulse. I jump when the door to the room I’m in flies open, and I hear a scraping sound. I don’t want to move, but the sound of more steps in the distance has me shaking. Whoever is in the room stops, and I peek through the gap in the closet doors. It’s Taehyung...he’s standing in front of the window.
“What is Taehyung doing?”
Nothing...just standing there. I try and quietly step out of the closet, but it doesn’t make a difference. Tae sees my reflection in the mirror, and he begins to turn towards me. I panic, my body is shaking and I see Taehyung smirk...I…
“Tell me what happens Jungkook.”
He jumps out the window.
The glass breaks as his body flies through the window. Large black wings appear on his back, ripping through his clothes, and he’s being carried into the wind.
“Jungkook, I am going to count backwards from five to one. As I’m counting you are going to slowly come back into consciousness. Five.”
He just keeps flying, soaring high into the dark sky, almost blending in with it…
“Four - you feel your body becoming heavier. Three - you feel yourself more aware and focused on where you’re truly at.”
I move closer to the window so that I can try and see him better, but I’m so jealous. He looks so free.
“Two - Jungkook you are going to step back from the window. Your eyes are beginning to tingle and you want to open them.”
Why can’t I be free?
“One - your eyes are open. You are fully aware of your surroundings. Here, Jungkook.”
I turn my head, my eyes becoming wide as I stare at the unfamiliar face in front of me. Realization hits me as a fresh wave of tears spring to my eyes, and I quickly grab for the box of tissues in the Doctor’s hands. All this time...I was hiding from the truth. I didn’t want to remember, but now that I did...I wasn’t sure if it was for the better.
“Do you know who I am, Jungkook?”
I slowly nod my head, grabbing a few more tissues to wipe my nose. “You’re Doctor Kim. Doctor Kim Seojun.”
“That’s right,” he confirms, giving me a small smile. “Do you remember what happened back in August?”
I nod my head before letting it drop, giving up on the tissues as the tears continue to pour out of my eyes, my teeth gripping onto my bottom lip in an attempt to stop my chattering teeth.
“You did a good job, Jungkook, I want you to know that. Now that you remember, I think it would be best if we prevent any visitors from seeing you, just in case you start to regress. Does that sound okay?”
I give a small shrug of my shoulders as I try to contain my tears, but they just don’t seem to stop.
“Do you want another moment, or do you think you’re ready to head back to your room? We can discuss the results of today at a later time.”
I bob my head up and down, standing from my seat just as the Doctor does, and he gestures towards the door. I don’t bother looking at the other figure, just walk to the door, my hand gripping the freezing handle before turning it. The bright lights of the hallway assault my senses, and I duck my head down, gripping the useless tissues in my hands as the sound of footsteps follow behind me. My vision is too blurry to properly look at myself in the reflection of the floor, but that’s fine, I don’t have the courage to face myself at this moment.
It doesn’t take us long to get to my room, the security guard opening my door for me, and I take a step into my room. A moment later, I hear the click of the door closing, but I don’t move. Though my back is facing my room door, I can hear the muffled voice speaking on the opposite side, recognizing it as the Doctor’s.
“Well you have what you were looking for, Detective. I think we should go to my office to continue discu…”
I continue to stand there even when the voices become inaudible as they travel further away.
#bts#bts fic#bts writing#bts ot7#bts ot7 fic#bts namjoon#bts rm#bts yoongi#bts suga#bts seokjin#bts jin#bts hoseok#bts jhope#bts jimin#bts taehyung#bts tae#bts v#bts jungkook#sausade#psychological thriller#chapter 10
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Alice's Game - Part 2
This is a game.
And you must win.
⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌
𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙿𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕!𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛, 𝙲𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝙼𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚛!𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚓𝚘𝚘𝚗, 𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎!𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝙿𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛
𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝟷𝟾+ 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚏𝚏. 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎. 𝙲𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖! (𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎), 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝙵𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎.
𝙰/𝚗: 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙶𝙾𝙳; 𝙳𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚐𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝙰𝙲𝚃𝚄𝙰𝙻 𝚓𝚊𝚒𝚕.
Part 1 - here
Part 2 - (You're on it)
Part 3 - TBW
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Enjoy!
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What is a disease?
Some describe it as a tiny bacterium infiltrating to control one’s mind and physical. Something that crawls up from the base of your spine, to the tip of your head, its virus-like legs trails behind its body, following in pursuit of its mission. waiting for the right moment to find a weak spot in oneself..
A hole.
A mistake.
A way out.
Or in some cases,
A way in.
The light smell of cookies whiffs through the air. Tunes hum a sweet melody that resembles an old favored classic. A woman with blonde locks, curled inwards to shape the heart-silhouette or her features sits plump against the sofa’s edge. A light green vintage dress hung low beneath her knees. Soft, white laced patterns stitched to the hems of her fairy-tale like gown. Rosy cheeks adorn to soften her graceful features. She’d always been the most beautiful rose of the garden. Never having done wrong.
But roses have thorns.
Pigtails swing with the sway of the little girl’s head. Bouncing back and forth with such an innocence only one could wish to perceive through again. Her bored small frame splays across the torn sofa’s padding, as she takes in a ragged breath. Eyes switching left and right to find some kind of distraction.
Her gaze stops on a cracked door. The wood had been worn and dreary. Black encases the mysterious way, while a shed of light peaks its way through. Her face lights up at the sight. Stepping lightly onto the sunken floorboards, the old wood cracks with every footstep of her tiny soles. Creeping her way towards the area, her hand sets atop the golden knob that hovers a foot ascending her height. Her tiny hands wrap around the small twist knob. Just before the door can swing wide open, she’s falling flat into a dark, damp wasteland. Pitch black is all she can see.
All you can see.
An eerie voice creeps from the side, long fingernails trail around to grasp your face. A mirror sits in the middle of the room. A spot-light shines against its distorted reflection. Suddenly, you felt a push shoving you your way over to the gold trimmed antique.
What had appeared to be thorns decorated the frame. Real, shining gold squared the whole glass. A sense of dread washes over you. The voices grow louder in your ears, as if they had been walking closer to you. Something had caught your attention. You squint harder, the figure materializing right in front of your eyes. The figure hunches over, eyes reddened with skin peeling from its severed body. Burns, ashes, and bruises make the figure unrecognizable.
The demon-like creature copies your movements, waving as you had waved, smiling as you had smiled. Suddenly, all the noises stop. You look around, seeing everything that you had seen before, disappearing from your sights. Your breath heaves in your tightening chest. The stench of death you’d been too familiar with fills the air. A whistle sounds the alarms in your head. The tune grows louder until you’re suddenly being sunken down to your levels.
A figure stands tall above your own. Black suit with a white undershirt had encased the stranger’s aura. A grinding smile creeps his expression. He lowers to your level, the upper facial features still distorted.
“What’d I tell you, darling?” The voice is known. The one you’d grown to absolutely despise. He’d taken everything from you.
"Yet I can give you everything.” You gasp at his words. His hand coming to trail the side of your neck, short and freakishly clean fingernails brush past your skin.
“How did you.. “ It felt as if your words caught in the back of your throat. A dark, eerie chuckle erupts from his chest.
“Because this, sweetheart. Is who you truly are.” He snaps his fingers, shapes, vibrant colors and sounds all start to materialize right in front of your eyes. Carnival themes play from memory. Little children coming to circle around a large podium. You’re suddenly freed, arms dropping to your sides as you push past the others to get a closer look.
A poor woman had been put on display. Her hair similar in color to yours flails around trying to break free from her binds. Wrists cut from her attempts, blood trickling down her fingers to drip on the wooden floors. Her face smears in makeup, but she has no sign of fear or horror. Her head raises up, eyes blackened with something you’d never seen before.
The red lipstick smears across her lips, meeting at the dangle of her left ear. A creepy expression pinches her face into place as she stares right towards your figure. Her hand reaches out, pointing her long, frail and skinny finger at you. Everyone turns as their bodies suddenly turn into the mutilated ones you’d seen in your father’s basement. The laughter raises in pitch almost sounding like a scream. The bodies fall flat onto the floor, as one had caught your attention.
“Grayson!”
Your eyes flood with tears as you run towards his still figure. Your tears drip onto his lifeless, cold body.
“No no no no!” The salty, watery liquid falls to mix with the pool of blood that has surrounded you both.
“I-I’m so sorry… I should’ve protected you..”
Your arms grip his still body tightly, as a hand comes to rest upon your right shoulder. A soft voice whispers as everything falls out of place. Grayson’s body slips through your fingers as it pulverizes to sand grains.
“It’s time to wake up, Y/n.”
The world around you fades to a white light.
“y/n..”
A beeping tone rings your ears, fading the sound of his voice into thin air until there is none left.
“Y/n..”
“Y/n.”
⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌
“Supplement her again. We can’t have her slipping”
“Give it another try.”
“Once more.” The ringing grows louder, giving you a huge headache. Soon, you feel as if your body has multiplied in weight. Everything was too heavy to move.
“Pull her out!” A voice echoes through the brightly lit area. A machine whirls as a blurred figure comes to you. The monitor is sporadic, just as much as your heart rate.
A glass-shattering pitch rings in your ears. You sit up in a fit of sweat, eyes flickering to everything in the unfamiliar room.
Where were you?
Soon your vision starts to clear. .
A hand comes to lay on your shaking form. His soothing voice coos at your distraught figure.
“You did good, Alice. Very good.” You rub your eyes to adjust to your vision.
“‘Y..Y/n?” He nods, handing you a paper cup of water. You gulp it down, feeling your dehydration finally getting the better of you.
You felt so tired.
So weak.
⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌⚌
The clock ticks with a patterned sound. Your eyes gaze over the plaque nametag. Some people in white had brought you to sit down in this weird looking office. Some reason, it felt too familiar. He clicks his pen, glancing up to you through blackened eyelashes. A soft expression plasters his features.
“So tell me, Y/n. What’d you see?” You shake your head slightly, following your eyes as they scan the room. White brush walls stand firmly tall to square the office. An antique looking desk rests on the dark oak stained floors. The silver plated desk tag rests atop his desk.
“Kim Namjoon.” Your lips unconsciously taste the familiar sound. Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion. His chocolate irises come to meet your own sporadic look.
“Tell me, Alice. What do you remember?” Your head tilts forwards, baring into his calm demeanor. Finding some kind of hint that this is all a dream. A figment of your imagination. A sigh rolls past his lips. Your hand comes up to touch the heated skin of his cheek.
It’s warm.
Too warm.
This all felt too real.
You flinch, fumbling backwards into the backs of your leather seat. Your lip quivers from this situation.
“It’s alright, Y/n. You’re safe.” He comes around to crouch down next to your chair.
His facial features were perfect matches to your patient’s.
His soft whispers felt so soothing against the shell of your ear, even if he had been a few farther inches from it.
“Come on, sweetie. Just tell me what you saw.” His warm palm comes to pet the crown of your hair. Tears threaten to slip from your control. His free hand reaches over to place a notepad and pencil in your grip.
“Draw it for me atleast. Please? For me?” You shake your head, letting the notepad fall to the ground, slipping past the gap between your thighs. Hot tears stream down your cheeks.
“I..I don’t know who you are” You stumble over your words, looking for some way to get out of here. You didn’t want to stay here any longer. They were lying to you. Your name wasn’t Alice. Your name is Y/n Kim, and you lived on-
“56 Berkshire Street. Along with your roommate, Ji-yeon who works at the same psychiatric ward as you do.” Your mouth falls open at his words. He takes in a breath, giving you a comforting look before continuing.
“You’ve lived on Berkshire ever since your parents; Kim Mi-Young and Dargan Murphy had gotten a divorce back in the year 2000.” He stands, making his way back over to sit in his office chair. He leans back, running a hand through his blackened locks.
Namjoon didn’t have blonde hair.
He was blonde.
Hair as if it had been kissed by the sun. Skin like honeyed-milk. A beautiful creation that no man could compete with. Brown eyes as rich and deep as the willy wonka chocolate river stream.
“Shall I continue?” He interrupts your trail of thought, flashing a now professional gaze.
“You’re not Namjoon.” You spit.
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Y/n, my name is Doctor Kim. I’ve been your therapist for three years now. Jimin, is your psych ward buddy. He hangs out with you every Sunday, while you two play chess and hopscotch in the front yards. Ji-Yeon is your nurse. She gives you the medication I prescribe every Monday at 12 O’clock.”
Your head flails around, not wanting to believe any of it.
There’s no way you made all of it up.
YOU had been the therapist.
It should be the other way around!
He should be sitting in this God-forsaken chair, questioning his whole existence!’
Not you!!
NOT
YOU!
You scream at the top of your lungs, lunging forward to grab onto the collar of his button-up. The fabric rips, as two tiny buttons fly off. The men in white from earlier quickly rush in, prying your anaconda-like grasp from the doctor. They hold your sporadic body down to the floor, as Namjoon pulls something out that you barely catch from the corner of your eye.
“We’ll try again later, sweetheart.” The lift your upper half to his reach, still having a firm grip on your now trembling figure. The shine from the needle’s point glistens from the natural lights set up in his office. His hand comes towards your face, gently brushing pieces of hair away to expose the side of your neck. Your body tries everything in the book. Kicking didn't work because another man had come in soon after the two from before, pinning your legs to the ground to stabilize your shaking body.
“Shhh, shh. Listen to me, okay? Eyes on me.” His hand gently holds the sharp of your jaw, turning your head to the side to focus your attention from the position you were forced into.
"Good, very good. Deep breaths for me.” You had no choice but to comply. You take in a sharp breath, letting it ruggedly heave from your chest.
“Very well, Y/n. Now,” Your eyes peek open, seeing that he had placed the needle to the side of you now. The grip on you from the three men had softened but never released.
“Would you like to continue?” Your gaze wanders, trying to process the ton of information you’d just been slapped with. A voice creeps in the back of your mind.
The syringe, Alice.
“T..the..” You mumble, meeting his softened eyes. The voice continues.
He’s not real, Alice. It won’t hurt him. He’s trying to hurt you.
Namjoon’s voice fades back in to catch a few of his words.
“I don’t want to use this, Y/n. So please, do this for yourself. You were doing so well these past few weeks.”
Your bangs fall heavily into your vision of sight. You glance between the laid syringe and Namjoon’s soft gaze.
Do it.
The voice rings. You can hear the impatience growing in its tone.
DO IT!
You scream just as loud, as the men’s grip starts to tighten against you once more. Your head flails sporadically around, trying to shake whatever demon had possessed your mind. Namjoon winces from the high pitched screech, reaching over to grip the syringe. He holds onto your shoulder with one hand while the other threatens the needle right in front of your face.
“I’m sorry..”
Just then, a sharp pain rips through the side of your neck. You scream in agony, as one of the guards had accidentally let your tiny arm slip. Your hand comes to grasp the front of his shirt, before a dreary wave of calmness washes over your exhausted figure.
Soon, your body goes limp.
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The sound of water dripping onto a hard surface pulls you from your daze. Your eyes peek open, head lifting from its fallen position as your eyes adjust to the bright lights. Once in focus, you see a familiar frame standing over your own.
Hands bound to the sides of the chair that you’d been sat in. The boarded windows and low ceiling remind you of a similar basement your parents had. Only, this one had a lack of mutilated bodies and flesh spread everywhere.
A man’s deep chuckle disturbs the silence.
“So, our pretty little Alice finally knows.”
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©sweethearthigh 2022. Do not copy, translate, or modify my works with given consent from me.
#kim namjoon x you#bts#bts fanfic#bts fic#kim namjoon fic#bts yandere#yandere!namjoon#psychological bts thriller#kim namjoon#namjoon#Emotion#sweehearthighwritings#yandere#psycho killer#psycho!namjoon#bts imagines#bts angst
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House Seven
Seven friends find themselves trapped in a closed complex which a mysterious man calls “House Seven”. As they try to find their way out, they’re forced to face trials that will test their sanity and their bond to each other. Moving toward their mutual goal, they’re forced to a terrible realization - by morning light, not everyone will be safe.
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An upcoming OT7 fic that will be published to Taemiita on AO3
#fanfic#writers#bts#horror#horror au#taehyung#yoongi#jin#namjoon#hoseok#jimin#jungkook#psychological thriller#suga#rm#jhope#hobi#v#seokjin#fan fic writing#story
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Fix You | One | myg (m)
→ Summary: Your crumbling relationship with Kim Taehyung finally reaches the point of no return after struggling to keep it going after a nightmare you're unlikely to forget. Min Yoongi is there to pick up the pieces – but you had no idea how ready he was to try and fix you.
→ Pairing: yandere!Yoongi x female reader | ft. taehyung x female reader
→ Rating: NSFW & 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging with this content. Any minors discovered interacting with adult content will be blocked immediately.
→ Series Warning: This fic is unsuitable for some audiences. This work contains morally reprehensible behavior, graphic depictions of abuse and murder, stalking, morally ambiguous and morally corrupt characters, and is overall labeled as dead dove do not eat. Each chapter will have a specific set of warnings, but this is your series warning.
→ Series Disclaimer: The members of BTS that appear in this fic are for face and name claims only. They do not represent real-life depictions and are not intended as reflections of characters or values. This is a work of fiction, please treat it as such. This work in no way, shape, or form, seeks to condone abusive and violent behavior.
→ Type: Series
→ Word Count: 6,647
→ Genre: yandere, smut, psychological thriller
→ Main Masterlist: here
→ Series Masterlist: here
→ faq | series playlist |
→ Part of Hali's Happy Agust writing event
→ Chapter Warnings: Mentions of a traumatic experience, mentions of readers father murdering mother during a psychiatric episode, toxic relationship behaviors, failing relationships, reader is kind of a bitch, mentions of trauma and anxiety, a lot of negative thoughts (reader is just upset that she doesn't feel like she is mentally healing), bickering, Taehyung is an asshole in parts but he is Trying™️, reader is very clearly not in a good mental state, mentions of therapy, mentions of triggers that cause ptsd / traumatic responses
A/N: I'm going to be honest, I am for once in my life sort of free-writing this. I have a very loose plan, but I'm a little overwhelmed by all the WIPS I have so I decided to go with the flow on this one. I'm a little unsure how many chapters it's going to be, but I'm thinking between 10 - 12. I have never written a psychological thriller before, but it is a genre that interests me. Please ensure you are reading warnings - I am not trying to romanticize any of the actions featured in this work. This follows the story of reader who has had something traumatic happen, and her journey into... worse things. It's a psychological thriller. Not a romance. Please do not bully me or be hateful about a piece of fiction - I really wanted to branch out my genres.
TAG LISTS ARE NOT AVAILABLE FOR THIS WORK DUE TO IT'S SENSITIVE NATURE. PLEASE DO NOT ASK TO BE TAGGED.
You wake up most mornings screaming. Today is no different.
It mostly happens the same way each time: thrown into sudden alertness, heart beating hard and adrenaline pumping through you so hard you swear you can hear the roar of the rapids in your ears. Sweat clings to you as you crawl from the grave of sleep, clawing at the body bag-like sheet that sticks to your every surface.
When it first started to happen, the adrenaline made you vomit. Sometimes onto the vinyl flooring of your bedroom. Sometimes directly onto your blanket – you’d bought almost seven of them in the past year.
The sickness still haunts you when you wake up, but you’re not vomiting in terror anymore. You’re unsure if it’s because your body has muscle memory. Either way, you’re grateful you can have a glass of water at night without worrying about retching every time your alarm goes off.
Panting, you rip back sweaty covers. They peel from your skin like a second layer, a snake shedding skin every morning before you slither from your bed. The floor is freezing, making you shiver as you dart with acute awareness toward the bathroom, flicking the light on.
Shadows dance across your room. There is a salt lamp in the corner, the orange glow a warm, comforting light that helps you fall asleep. You don’t sleep in the dark anymore. Not after what you have dubbed The Incident.
You turn on the shower and the steam billows over cool white tile and muted, neutral tones. It smells like the eucalyptus bundle tied to the shower head – a recommendation by your therapist. It’s supposed to calm you, though it truly does nothing for the anxiety.
At least it smells nice.
Hot water peels another layer of skin-like terror from your frame. Escaping the sheets is the first part of every morning. Burning away the looming sense of terror is the second part.
This is your ritual. You’ve learned how important routines are. Before The Incident, you had never really considered a ritual or routine. Things were done as needed, you flowed with every bend in the river and every dip in the hill.
Even a slight deviation from your plans now is enough to send you into a panic attack. The spontaneity of life, the terrifying unknown that at any second, everything could flip.
It happened to you once. Why shouldn’t it happen again?
You grit your teeth when you get out of the shower and tap your phone. Taehyung had stood you up for spending the night again, and when you see that your texts to him asking when he was coming over were read at 2:15 in the morning, it’s all you need to know he was out.
Out.
That has become more common for him. Spending time with friends or his brother. Giving you space, despite not having asked for space. You want to beg him to stop giving you fucking space.
Taehyung is the only thing that is a deviation in your life. It makes little sense since you had once been sure of him. But now, it’s difficult to communicate. To cross the gap rapidly growing between the two of you. He’s been bending to the point of breaking, and you have already broken far too severely to meet him halfway.
You feel your temper flare. Just one night. Just one night of comfort. Of reliability. Of things being like they used to be. How many times over the last year and a half have you asked him desperately to just be patient with you?
Too many times.
Taehyung doesn’t say it, but you see the flare in his nostrils when you ask. The slow closing eyes as he takes a deep breath. Counts to five. Opens his eyes, liquid caramel, to look at you and nod curtly.
A small voice whispers he’s been trying. It’s you, not changing.
The louder voice is a hiss: take as long as you need. He should change with you.
If your anger is an animal, it is a black mamba: striking, inky, lethal. You do not hesitate to let the wrath coil and strike. You don’t pull back your venom, delivering each bite and insult with as much pain as possible.
You hate it about yourself – there is a list, but this seems like the easiest one to tackle.
Instead of responding and letting the oily wrath wind you up and encourage you to send a string of texts, you lock your screen and ask your Alexa to play your morning playlist. Soft, soothing sounds of piano fill the apartment. Nothing like the haunting melodies and terrifying crescendos of Mozart, but soft music made for a coffee shop.
Classical music often sounds too haunting for you now, and you hide from all of the parts of the world that could make you feel shadows. Anything to avoid shaded corners, and opaque feelings.
Have you always been afraid of the dark? Your therapist asked.
Quite the contrary. The dark was something that you never had any reason to fear. You’re sure you remember having a healthy aversion to it as a child, but as you grew older, it never occurred to you that monsters could be real. Shakespeare had spoken truly: Hell is empty and the monsters are all here.
You follow the rest of your morning routine: get dressed. Pack your bag. Make your coffee. Grab lunch from the fridge. Head to work.
The organization doesn’t rule your life in all places: there are still piles of shoes by the door, both yours and Taehyung’s. There are piles of books on the table and dishes in the sink that are starting to smell a little too ripe. Your fridge and pantry are not color-coded and you still lose things.
But things are always in the right place in the morning for you: your mug next to the coffee machine, your lunch in the fridge, your purse on the dresser.
There have been terrible mornings when Taehyung had taken your mug from the counter after your shower and left early for a meeting before you, and it had sent you into a spiral so bad that you called him crying, unsure if you were awake or asleep and begging him to come home.
You think that is perhaps when Taehyung no longer started to bend. He had been bending for so long that he had lost all elasticity, dropping until he was boneless and tired.
Tired of you, tired of being woken up, tired of being summoned at the sound of you screaming in your apartment or over the phone.
Sleeping at Taehyung’s is no longer an option. His bed is comforting enough: it smells like him, it’s bigger than yours, and it’s soft. But it’s somewhere you haven’t lived in enough to know every corner, every cranny. You have not spent weeks seeking out the apartment yourself. You have no way to guarantee that your cup will be where you fucking needed it in the morning.
Somewhere between leaving your parking garage and work, you drift. You don’t remember where your mind goes or what songs play through your speakers. When you shut the car off, you stare at the concrete wall of the garage at work and realize you have no idea if any of the lights you passed were green.
It’s like that sometimes.
When you enter the elevator, you shed your third skin of the morning. The last remaining dregs of the nightmare slip away and stay in the parking garage to haunt the shadowed corners filled with cobwebs.
Good. The nightmares have no business being at your job.
Cool air greets you when the elevator doors open. There is a massive sitting area front and center to the editing floor of Kim Publishing, with cute chairs and soft couches. Behind it, there’s an all-glass conference room with empty chairs, dim lights, and presentation screens.
You pass the break room to the immediate right, freshly redone backsplash over the sink and countertops, the smell of coffee drifting through the galley-style window as Lido waves at you from where he blinks tiredly at the machine.
Through a narrow hall of glass-walled offices and out into a complex maze of cubes and cubbies is where you find your little corner of the world, desk lamp dim and diffuser powered down. Jimin isn’t in yet, his laptop closed and his string lights muted.
Jimin is your favorite person in the world, perhaps even more than your boyfriend. You think Taehyung knows that and is grateful that you have Jimin – it gives someone he can share the load with.
You frown when you hang your purse on the hook next to the mini-locker of your desk wall. There’s a cup of coffee on your desk, a green stopper sticking out of the top. You lean over and turn it by the lid, rolling your eyes when you see the note scrawled in neat, slanted writing.
Hope today is a better day.
It would be a better fucking day if Taehyung hadn’t stood you up the night before again. Yanking the chair from under your desk, you sit down and nudge the coffee out of your way, determined not to give it any mind. Buying you coffee won’t make up for the shitty move he pulled.
You try not to think about how it’s been months of this: canceled plans, little fights that always end up with you crying and him apologizing or you apologizing and saying I’m trying followed by his I know.
A coffee on your desk in the morning to say sorry. A note on your screen to try and make up for him not knowing what to say. Sometimes there was even a donut from your favorite place with the coffee, though you had no idea how he made the time to drive out of the way for them – though the gesture was usually appreciated.
Usually being the key word.
Powering everything on, you eye the coffee again. Decide that letting it go to waste isn’t rebelling. You toss the stopper in the trash as Lido passes, warming his hands on his cup. There is a tap on the divider wall between you and the other desk, making you jump in your seat.
“Jesus,” you gasp.
The sound of rolling wheels on the carpeted floor sounds before Yoongi timidly peaks around the front of your desk, which faces the open office with windows and cabinets at your back. “If I could turn water to wine, I assure you that you’d be sipping Prosecco.”
“Hmm. Don’t tempt me.”
Yoongi grins and you grin with him.
Quiet, gentle Yoongi usually keeps to himself. He seems to really only ever talk to you and occasionally Jimin, hard-pressed to roll himself away from his darkened desk. The wall between the two of you is too high to peek over at one another, but you think he wouldn’t bother anyway.
As a senior editor, Yoongi should have his own office. They’re still constructing it – have been for the last seven months – but he’s content to sit on the other side of your wall, tapping occasionally to see if you’re there.
On mornings like this where you are the first two people in the office, he’s more likely to peel himself away from his quick typing. Your coworkers call it the turtle coming out from his shell when he speaks, despite you asking them to stop.
Yoongi is cute – there’s little denying it. Long, black hair that glows like spilled ink behind his ears – which he is often tucking said hair behind. Stormy eyes that remind you of the sea churning against dark cliffs as the thunder rolls. A soft mouth that seems painted to pout, often blush-pink from how often he chews his lips. A button nose that he scrunches when he doesn’t like something, and broad shoulders that he hides under blazers a pinch too big.
But Yoongi is quiet. Unsettlingly so, to most.
The first two months he had been with the company, you can’t remember him speaking much. Your coworkers tried to include him in things, but after the incredibly painful first-day lunch with the team and his refusal to acclimate smoothly at team building, everyone left him alone.
You think he prefers it that way. You don’t blame him.
Despite Yoongi being painfully shy and rarely speaking unless he has to discuss his work, present, or assign editors’ work from above, you liked his calm demeanor. It began to grate your nerves how much Jess and Yelena complained that it was weird that he doesn’t have social media, or that no one knows anything about him, or that he has no idea what TikTok is.
“Did you finish A Little Life yet?” He asks.
“Ugh. Talk about torture porn.”
His laugh is deep and those feline-sharp eyes of his glitter. “Torture porn? Is this another term I don’t know because I am from ye olden days?”
“Please, you are not old. Don’t let those assholes bully you into thinking you are.”
His cheeks are blush-kissed as he tilts his head down. “Thanks.”
“And to answer your question, no. But it’s like the author gets off on hurting characters. Jude literally never had a moment of happiness. Ever. It is pain for him the entire way through.”
“But it’s like that for some people, you know? Sometimes there is no reprieve.”
“I mean, I guess? It’s kind of dark to think that it will always be that way though. I like to try and have a little hope.”
Yoongi shrugs. “Some people were made to suffer.”
You weren’t meant to be here, you were made to punish.
The words come back to you, a bad memory. As quickly as you flashed the smile at Yoongi, it’s gone. He sees your smile drop and his eyes round, unsure what he’s done. You shove down the sour feeling of emotional rot boiling your stomach.
You shove the coffee around with your pointer finger. “I guess. Lots of emails this morning. Yikes.”
He hesitates. “Yeah.” He licks his lips. “I’m sorry if-“
“The turtle is out!” Yelena’s voice ruins whatever apology Yoongi is about to make. You throw her a nasty clare over the top of the screen, but she ignores you. As usual, her eyes are for Yoongi. “Morning, Yoongi. How are you?”
“Fine.”
Yoongi unsticks the wheels from the carpet. Rolls to his side of the cubes. Does not ask Yelena how her day is. She rolls her eyes and continues to her cube, squealing at Lido who is her cubemate that she doesn’t like the smell of his cinnamon coffee.
There are two gentle knocks against the wall between you and Yoongi. Your lips twitch and you sigh, knocking back twice.
Once for bad, twice for good.
It’s a good morning. You are determined to make it so.
So you sip Taehyung’s apology coffee, and get to the emails in your inbox, drowning out Yelena’s yipping and letting the phantoms of your nightmares drift away.
-
Someone looms over your desk. You look up, blinking the focus from your eyes. You have been dialed in, reading through a new manuscript for a fantasy series. Taehyung looks down at you over the monitor screen.
Taehyung is the most beautiful person in the world, you think. When your mother was alive, she had warned you that poison dart frogs were beautiful as well. She had admitted regret for the statement after your first year of dating him. In your mother's mind, there was no one better for you than Kim Taehyung.
It feels like her death has made the words come true somehow.
His golden hair is styled backward off his forehead, a single strand escaping. He had dyed it gold a few months ago, and though you love his dark hair, it suites his honey-toned skin and his caramel eyes. His bone structure is flawless, dusky lips pulling into a tentative smile. High cheekbones, symmetrical face, piercing eyes with a gaze so intense that it used to be hard for you to keep eye contact with him for long.
“Hi.” His voice is deep and soft. It’s made for crooning, and you love the sound of Taehyung singing to old jazz records while he’s cooking or in the shower. Your stomach flips. He looks tired – sounds tired. “Do you want to go to lunch?”
“I’m pretty busy.”
“Oh. Alright. I was going to go to Kaiju – do you want me to bring you back a roll?”
You start typing again. The anger from this morning sours the thought of him doing something nice for you, despite the coffee he brought you being drained dry. Sushi is one of your favorites, and you haven’t been in a while. “I guess, thank you.”
“Okay.” He chews his lip for a moment. You can hear Jimin typing louder than usual, studiously trying to ignore the awkward tension that is now invading your shared space. “Love you?”
It comes out like a question. One that you don’t have the answer to. Does he love you anymore? Things have been difficult and you feel him drifting away, no matter how many times you try to rationalize that sometimes couples go through tough times.
You feel the strain when you nod. “Love you.”
And you do love Taehyung. It’s just... not easy anymore. You feel stuck, trapped between the nightmares you have at night clawing to be let in and the nightmare of your days riddled with difficulties and misunderstanding.
Taehyung was great when your parents first... passed. Passed is the word you’d started using -like putting a tiny bit of antiseptic on a gaping wound.
It isn’t healing.
At first, he hadn’t left your side after their death, and he had held you through the nights when you were screaming and shaking, or you couldn’t sleep. He was there to press a kiss to your brow, to step into the shower because you couldn’t be alone. He stared at the ceiling with the lights on in your room when you were unable to stand the dark.
It’s been over a year and a half of this, and he’s still here. But he looks tired – says he’s tired. He won’t say it to your face, but he’s angry with you. Angry that you’re not better. Angry that you can’t fix it. Angry that he’s given up so much for you.
Your keystrokes become angry. You have given up plenty for him. You refused a promotion out of fear of nepotism, not wanting to gain more animosity because you were dating the owner’s son, despite said son working in the talent acquisition department and having nothing to do with how you perform.
You have already made concessions. You are trying and spending a good chunk on therapy to be better for him. Just like he had asked.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” You snap at Jimin’s question, irritation viper-quick. You can sense his expression before you sigh and look at him. His blond hair is styled perfectly, brushed back off the forehead, and exquisitely coiffed. “Sorry, Jimin. You didn’t deserve that.”
He doesn’t. For the last year and a half, he has been your only real friend. You have pulled away so much from everyone else that besides Taehyung – and Yoongi at work – Jimin is the only one actively checking on you.
Jimin is an angel. He looks the part: beautiful half-moon eyes that glitter every time he smiles, lush lips made for a Botticelli painting, dainty features that blur the line of feminine and masculine day to day, and a slim, rounded nose that softens him.
He is also impossibly thoughtful and forever kind. He doesn’t get mad that you snap at him. Instead, he spins in his chair, leaning back and linking his hands behind his head. Today he’s in ripped jeans, Chelsea boots, and a creamy Chanel sweater.
“What’s the deal?” He asks, eyes flicking you up and down. “More fighting?”
“Honestly? No. We’re not fighting so much as being angry in silence.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah. He was supposed to spend the night last night and instead, went out for drinks with Jin.”
“Brother bonding?” You shrug. “He’s been doing that a lot.”
“Yeah. It’s not fun.”
“Have you talked to him about it?” You scoff and roll your eyes. You start typing again, hating the question. Of course you’ve talked about it. You've talked about it a million times. “I’m serious, you have to talk to him about it.”
“And say what? The same thing I've already said a million times?”
“Say that if he can’t do this anymore, he needs to say so.”
Your blood runs cold. You turn to look at Jimin, emails forgotten. You clench your teeth for a moment, taking a deep breath in through your nose. “You mean tell him to break up with me like he’s been wanting to do for months?”
“You don’t know what’s the case.”
“Right. It doesn’t matter. You’re right. He should just break up with me if that’s what he wants.”
Jimin sighs. “That isn’t what I meant, darling. I’m sorry I made you feel worse.”
“It’s okay.” You stand. “I’m going to catch some fresh air. I’ll be back.”
-
When you get back from your walk, there’s a plastic box of takeout sushi on your desk. Your mouth flickers in a soft smile. You’ve been an ass and you know you owe Taehyung an apology. Probably more.
Jimin gives you a questioning look and with a long, gentle sigh, you nod your head.
Walking is good for you. Sometimes you need to get away and organize your thoughts. It’s so easy for them to get entangled and ensnare you, trapping you within your mind until you’re helpless.
That’s where your demons always find you. Lost in the tendrils of frustration, hopelessness, and self-doubt.
Ever since your parents died, it has become incredibly difficult not to spiral into terrible moods that often leave you feeling gutted. You’ve lost most of your friends at this point. People got tired of having to wear heavy armor for your anger and walk on eggshells around your feelings.
Canyou blame them? You don’t think so.
Angela, the only therapist that you’ve liked so far, keeps telling you that it’s not your job to comfort people about the result of your trauma. If they cannot handle you at your worst while you’re working on it, then you should let them go.
You went through something most people never have nightmares about, Angela had said. It is not your job to remind people that you’re still healing.
While you like that Angela says that, you also wonder if that’s the best advice. Responsibility is a two-way street – your friends are not responsible to mind their every word around you either. Especially not as you approach two years of being like this.
It’s hard. You don’t know what’s right. All you know is that you still feel bad about it, and you’re unsure how to fix it. More time, you think. With more time.
Tossing the endless thoughts into a drawer in your mind, you slam it shut and lock the key to sit down and enjoy your lunch.
Popping open the top, you frown and eye the sushi roll. It doesn’t look like your regular – and you only get two specific rollsfrom Kaiju. Picking one up with your finger, you inspect the creation. You see the bit of green and it smells familiar.
Anger tickles your belly.
“Jimin, can you try this and tell me if this is asparagus?” you ask cryptically, handing out the roll to him.
“Bleh,” he grimaces. “For you? Yeah.”
Jimin holds out his hand and you drop the roll into his palm. He pops it into his face and takes a few inquisitive chews before his face sours, eyes closed into half-moons and lips puckered. He grabs his wastebasket and spits, something that would normally make you laugh, but not in this case.
He sticks out his tongue, making retching sounds as he unscrews his water and takes a few long swigs. “Definitely asparagus. Is he crazy? Aren’t you allergic?”
Your smile is bland. “I am allergic, Jimin. Thank you for remembering that small detail that apparently the man I’ve been dating for over two years cannot.”
“Yikes.”
You push yourself up from your desk and march past Yoongi’s desk. His cat eyes have a question in them, peering at you over his monitor. You shake your head as you pass, storming toward the stairwell that will take you up to Taehyung’s floor. You hope that by using the stairs, your anger won’t be as pointed.
It doesn’t work.
Your steps are fueled by irritation as you march through the marketing and acquisitions office. Eyebrows raise as you go – probably because these departments rarely see you visit Taehyung anymore, in addition to the fact that there is probably steam coming out of your ears.
Taehyung, thankfully, has his own office as a senior talent acquisition agent. His job is to browse social media, blogs, and any other digital space for aspiring authors who have promise. He received the promotion a little over a year ago after breaking Kim Publishing into the fanfiction space, finding the diamonds in the rough among talented online writers.
When you storm into his office, he looks genuinely surprised, hesitating to take a bite of the sushi that he was preparing to swallow hole, you’re sure. You close the door behind you and yank on the cord for the blinds, the soft zzzz as they close echoing your irritation.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He asks, setting the piece of sushi down.
“Me? What the hell is wrong with you? I’m allergic to asparagus.”
“And?”
You all but throw the plastic container of sushi at him. His nostrils flare and the vein in his jaw ticks. Good. If he rises to the occasion, you can at least get through this fight without feeling guilt.
“This roll has asparagus - why would you get this for me?”
“I just ordered a roll I thought you would like, I don’t know!”
“You think I like allergic reactions?”
“No! I didn’t know what was in it?”
“Why wouldn’t you just order what I always get?”
He throws his hands up. “How would I know what you get? We haven’t eaten out together in almost four months.”
“Oh, so now because we don’t go on dates you’ve forgotten things you’ve known since we started dating over two years ago? Even Jimin remembered I was allergic to it!”
“Dude, can we not do this right-“
“I am not your ‘dude’ Taehyung,” you seethe. Spit flies out of your mouth with the force of the words. You feel the snaky feeling of your anger coil, ready to strike. “I don’t understand how you fuck up something so easy.”
“Lower your voice.” He drops his tone, deep and commanding. He sits forward, pressing his palms on his desk. His chest rises and falls as he starts getting worked up, eyes like thunder. “We are in an office.”
“Don’t speak to me like I’m a child.”
“Then don’t throw a fit like one. It is a fucking sushi roll, Y/N. You didn’t eat it. It’s not the end of the fucking world. I got it wrong – I am sorry – but to come in here screaming at me like this is insanity.”
Taehyung realizes the moment he says the word that he’s made it worse. You flinch back like you’ve been slapped. That word rings through you over and over again, ricocheting off each corner of your mind.
“Baby, that’s not what I meant.”
Insanity. Insanity. Insanity.
You’re being insane. You’ve lost your mind.
How many nights had you worried about doing exactly that? How many sessions with your therapist had you begged her to tell you if you were going insane? How does one measure insanity? Is it when you were often being irrationally or was it when you started experiencing delusions?
There were so many definitions and you were afraid of them all.
But most of all, you were afraid of becoming your father. You were afraid of succumbing to the type of insanity that people talked about when you lost the battle against your weakening mind and slipped into a delusion that ended in killing your wife and chasing your daughter into the dark basement of your home.
The type of insanity that was painted on news articles and stations and social media and everywhere you looked for the rest of your life.
Man Murders Wife He Believes Is A Demon.
A Daughter Survives Brutal Murder, Escaping to Basement for Two Days.
A Father and Husband Commits Murder-Suicide – Leaves Behind Only Daughter.
Suddenly, you no longer feel angry. You feel sick, the hunger clawing its greedy talons at your stomach is replaced with something insidious. Bile burns the back of your throat as blood rushes in your ears, that insult carving out a space in your head.
Never in your relationship has Taehyung used that word, you think. You can’t remember him using it when you first started dating – especially after he met your father, who was a gentle soul dealing with severe PTSD issues and a slipping mental, growing worse with time.
He’s never used it especially after The Incident.
Taehyung is still apologizing, face pale as he stands, hands held out in front of him like he’s trying to placate a child or a wounded dog. Perhaps you are no better than a wounded animal, caged and corner. Maybe you should be put up for adoption.
Or maybe you should be taken out back and given the same treatment as Old Yeller.
“Baby-“
“Fuck you.” It comes out with trembling force – you realize you’re shaking all over. “Fuck you, Taehyung. I cannot believe you just said that.”
“I didn’t mean it-“
“You did,” you snap, ripping the door open and leaving the boxed sushi on his desk. “You did mean it. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I am crazy. Just like my dad, right?”
Taehyung doesn’t have time to respond. You’re out of his office and into the hallway, leaving much faster than when you came. You don’t know if anyone is looking at you or how loud you were being. All that you know is that you’re crying and you’re not holding it together very well.
How professional.
When you get to the stairwell, you make it to your floor but you don’t re-enter the offices just yet. Instead, you sit on the stairs and let your head fall into your hands, tucking your knees under your elbows to support the weight of your crying.
You keep the sounds as soft as you can, but you can’t hold back the hot tears that run down your face. Your stomach is queasy, a mixture of adrenaline, anger, and something else that feels awful.
It’s difficult not to sink into the thoughts that this really is your fault. Your situation with Taehyung. Your inability to just process your grief like a normal human being and move on. You’ve read so many books on how to cope with grief and how to deal with a loss of a loved one, but none of them really help.
You need a book that is specifically detailed on My Dad Killed My Mother During A Mental Episode and Chased Me Into A Basement Where I Hid for Two Days.
Barnes and Noble didn’t have that volume. You checked.
Of course, there were people who wanted to write your story. Your answer was the same: what story? Your dad wasn’t a fucking science experiment or some case of insane people being criminals and murderers.
For as long as you can remember, your dad’s service in the military had left him a little off. Shortly after your fifth birthday, he retired with full honors. He took a job at a local library – he loved to read, like you – and that’s where he stayed.
Your mother was a true matriarch. Strong and proud and beautiful, with the mind of a whip and intelligence to boot. But she was so gentle, a kind soul who liked making muffins on Sunday mornings with freshly picked blueberries from the garden. Your dad liked to garden.
It’s difficult to remember exactly when he started to see and remember things incorrectly. Even in those first few years of your childhood, his nightmares woke you up in the middle of the night. You even remember hearing him in the kitchen once, drawing you out of your room to see what the noises were.
There was nothing like the terror of your father grabbing you at ten years old and pressing you close to him, whispering Shhh. They’re coming.
Nodding, you had obeyed, following his nightmare. He was sitting with his back against the cabinets next to the fridge, keeping his eyes on the front door. He opened an arm for you to slide against him and you did. He smelled like aftershave and your mom’s perfume, and his embrace was warm as he wrapped his arm around you.
You had stayed with him trembling and silently crying for two hours before your mother found the two of you. Your dad had already drifted back to sleep, leaning against the counter and you were tucked into his side, too afraid to move in case they saw you.
It had been a hard night for your mother. Seeing the fear in your eyes. You had been so afraid to let your dad go, telling your mom over and over that he said they were hiding in the kitchen.
On his worst days, that memory always bubbled up. Just a dad and his kid sitting in the kitchen, united in an unnamed terror.
The terror - they - could have been anything or anyone. It was different over the years. Sometimes he had nightmares or memories of something he had seen as special forces – the ones who went in to do terrible things silently and slither out.
Other times they were…. you weren’t really sure.
A strong imagination and a pension for fantasy novels were something you and your father shared in common. You remembered him reading The Hobbit to you as a child, and he absolutely loved reading Wheel of Time on the good days when the smell of blueberry muffins wafted from the kitchen, and you lay on the couch with the cat, Riyu.
Sometimes, you wonder if his love for books is what fueled the poison of his afflicted thoughts. He saw ogres and orcs, shadows that weren’t there, and could wake up from a nightmare, but still be trapped inside the demon's lair when he was conscious.
The door to the stairwell opening makes you flinch. You lift your tear-stained face to see the intruder. Yoongi quietly shuts the door behind him, not even letting it click. He presses his back against it, face impassive.
“Can I sit?” he asks after a few moments filled with you sniffing and straightening. You nod and he offers a soft smile. Your heart leaps a little. His smiles were so few and far between that, it’s always dazzling when he parses one out for you. “Want to talk about it?”
You shrug. “Same shit.”
“Same shit doesn’t make it easier. Even if it was new shit, doesn’t feel very good.”
“Poetic.”
“Hey, I just read the stuff, I don’t write it.”
You smile, despite yourself. You look down at your hands, wet with your own tears and smeared with a little bit of mascara that you have rubbed from your eyes. “I bet you think this is pathetic, huh?”
“No, I don’t. I don’t think that struggling is pathetic, regardless of the circumstance.”
“Really?”
“Really. Having relationship problems doesn’t make you pathetic, it makes you-“
“If you say it makes me human.”
“- human,” he laughs. You join him, your light laughter the melody to his bass. “Sorry, I know that was cliché. I’ve been editing a romance novel today, I can’t help it. I feel it’s just asking to turn my vocabulary into purple prose.”
“Ooo a romance novel. Tell me about it.”
He heaves a sigh, leaning back on his elbows as he looks up at the winding stairs. His hair falls back a little, silky smooth. It’s longer than it’s ever been, and you think it looks sort of nice. He’s not wearing his glasses today, which is a little disappointing. You love when he has on his square frames.
“It’s the usual. Girl meets boy, they fall in love. There is something keeping them apart – this time, it’s girl’s family thinks that the boy isn’t good enough for her because they’re rich and he’s poor. I’m at the part at the fight, but they will ultimately get back together.”
You whistle. “Remind me why you’re not in marketing?”
“Hey, I find the errors, I give suggestions. A reader does not a salesperson make.”
You smile, sniffing. You have to admit that you feel a little bit better. For the first time since you started crying, you’re not thinking of Taehyung’s careless words or the way that your rotting relationship continues to decay.
It’s like an ulcer that bleeds a little more, that eats a little more every time you fight.
“You hungry?” Yoongi asks you. “I actually had Kaiju delivered – I have an extra roll. Asparagus free – honestly, who even likes that stuff anyway?”
You look at him cryptically. “What kind?”
“Dragon Roll – it has crab, avocado, spicy mayo, and cream cheese, all deep fried.”
You think about it. Before you can answer, your stomach lets out a long, terrible growl, sending you both into light laughter. “That does happen to be my favorite from there. As long as I’m not going to make you go hungry for the rest of the day and you allow me to pay you.”
“I won’t go hungry the rest of the day, and you’re absolutely not paying me.”
“You cannot give me that for free – those are expensive, Yoongi.”
“Look, you’re having a rough day.” You give him a look but he gives you a look of his own – round eyes with a soft pout. You relent, if only because it’s a little cute to see him indignant. “You’re in the stairwell crying. I’m allowed to say you’re having a rough day. Just accept the offer and we can pretend you got it yourself.”
With a huff, you stick out your hand for him to shake. “You drive a hard bargain, but deal.”
Yoongi’s hand is warm when he takes yours. Your stomach flips again, the tips of his fingers rough and the grip of his hand firm. You never realized how much larger his hands are than yours, fingers long and elegant like a painter or musician.
Taehyung has hands like that as well – delicate and beautiful. He has artists’ hands, often spending his free time painting in the spare bedroom of his apartment or arranging frames of photos that he himself took. You’ve always admired Taehyung’s hands.
They are very different from Yoongi’s despite-
No. Comparing their hands is weird and inappropriate. You shake the thought from your head as Yoongi shakes your hand firmly. Once. Twice. He stands, hand still wrapped in yours as he hauls you to your feet.
Opening the door for you, Yoongi gives you a soft smile and encouraging nod. You shoot one back, thankful for him.
Sometimes, you wonder why Taehyung can’t be a little more like Yoongi. Thoughtful. Patient. Understanding.
Perhaps in another life.
/ SERIES PREVIEW / NEXT CHAPTER /
-
TAG LISTS ARE NOT AVAILABLE FOR THIS WORK DUE TO IT'S SENSITIVE NATURE. PLEASE DO NOT ASK TO BE TAGGED.
#haliiimede writes#bts smut#bangtan boys#bts fanfic#min yoongi fanfic#bts min yoongi#min yoongi smut#yoongi smut#bts yoongi#yoongi fanfic#yoongi x you#suga bts#suga fanfic#suga smut#halishappyagust#tw: yandere#yandere yoongi#tw: toxic relationships#tw: trauma
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hey! i was curious on how you started to write stories? were there any specific accounts that inspired you to?
Hello~ do you mean abberation specifically or writing in general?
In general: I always was kind of into writing. I was that emo kid in school who would write depressing and dark "poetry". Back in 5th grade, we had to do a writing assignment based around this mansion. At the time, I loved Agetha Christie's 'And then there were None', so I wrote a murder mystery story called "Panic! At the Disco vs Green Day". That was my first time I ever wrote anything. Eventually I figured out what fanfiction was and a terribly written Fairy Tail fic was where THAT all started 😅
(TW- mention of self harm and suicide attempt)
For Abberation: Back in jr year of high school, I was admitted into psychiatric care for suicide attempt, self harm, all that 'good' stuff. And I've also always loved psychological horror/thrillers. So I have a weird like for hospital and psych ward aus. Back when I still wrote for kpop, I wrote a BTS hospital au and it did fairly okay. I wanted to do another one but tweak it a bit, make it more on the thrilling side and less... "romanticising". I also got a lot more into Yandere after finding out what the term actually was that I was so enamored with. So, here is where Abberation came in.
Uhh hope all that was what you meant, sorry if it wasn't \;^;/.
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— armypedia 🧩 epilogue
Chapter 7: Epilogue: Teamwork Makes the Dreamwork
⟢ pairing: none
⟢ credit: co-written with @heathfritillary ♡
⟢ genre: horror au | thriller au | angst | minor smut | thriller/spooky |
⟢ rating: 18+ | mature themes & explicit content
⟢ story warnings: Horror, Psychological Horror, Violence, Kidnapping, Torture, Pain, Delusional Thinking, Explicit Language, Minor Character Death, Weapons, Fire, Blood, Additional Warnings Identified This Chapter: mentions of death, mentions of illness, mentions of pain psychological and physical, fear, paranoia, mentions of past triggering events, mentions of sex
⟢ wc: 1,287
⟢ summary: Wanna play a game? 🧩 The members of BTS find themselves awakening, one by one, seemingly abducted and with no clue as to what is going on. Soon, they’ll have to piece together puzzles designed specifically for the KPOP group as they are forced to participate in a sick game of life and death, conducted by someone who has a point to prove. This eight chaptered horror fanfic takes inspiration from the movie franchise, Saw.
⟢ author’s note: thanks for reading for spooky season. please remember this is a work of fiction. we love all of the members equally and very much. this is only for spooky season. please respect their privacy irl. This is the end of the fic so if you stuck by, I appreciate it! It was my first collab with my twinnie, and its amazing to see how much we’ve grown in a year of writing!
| armypedia masterlist | hisunshiine masterlist |
It had been months since the inciting events. It was all over the news; the entire world collectively held their breaths when the guys stood in front of a press conference telling in great detail what happened to them the day they were taken.
Still unsure how the sasaeng was able to drug and move 7 able-bodied, grown men from one point to another, avoiding all security cameras the idols had installed around their dorm, they spoke, sharing their story. ARMY’s around the world listened in horror as the youngest member had to reveal the terrifying position he was forced to be placed in.
A woman was found dead, remnants of mechanical torture devices, weapons, and gasoline filled a warehouse on the outskirts of Seoul, where seven young men had been involuntarily ripped from their home and forced to play games constructed by a deranged fan.
But it had been months.
After weeks of therapy sessions, nightmares, arguments, and growing animosity as well as dealing with the aftermath, the seven young men found themselves able to establish some sort of order and structure.
It wasn’t easy, and days would inevitably occur when they would find themselves lost and scared again, but they reverted to the one thing they knew best, their fans and the eternal love to create music. At the end of the day, they could seek refuge in knowing that they did, in fact, overcome the disheartening trauma. Not only that, but the fact that they overcame it together, as BTS, with the power of teamwork.
A trusted assistant knocked on each of the boys’ rooms delivering a sealed letter to each of them. Upon reading their individual letters, Namjoon gathered the other six, where they revealed to each other that they all had received a letter. Although the content of each members’ letter differed, it was from the same person. Terrified, they sat together in their living room as one after the other read the content of his letter out loud for the others to hear.
The nightmare was supposed to be over. She was found dead, after everything was said and done, yet the guys could sense their fear return as an overwhelming crippling apprehension emerged; even in death the woman still had so much power over them. The feeling that she could somehow still be watching them never faded for long.
The Taehyung biased BTS fan explained in her letter that she was writing to them as she watched over them. For months, she planned how she was going to execute her revenge. Jimin frowned and could not understand what they’d done that was so terrible that an ARMY decided to hurt them. Seokjin continued reading his letter out, and there the kidnapper further explained how she felt neglected by the guys and that they seemed to have lost their sincerity along with allowing fame to take them from her.
“She sounds entitled as hell,” Yoongi blurted and the other members nodded in agreement.
Their schedules, their private lives, any dates or plans they had, she knew them all and listed how she obtained the information. Taehyung shivered and Hoseok embraced him as Seokjin kept reading further. The woman explained in great detail how accessible they were to her and she could potentially keep watching them without anyone ever finding out.
Seokjin couldn’t contain his disgust and Namjoon hastily grabbed the letter from him. “It’s alright, I can read what mine says.”
With a clenched jaw, Namjoon hesitantly read the excruciating motives behind the deranged fan. He knew he was forcing his members to relive the day but when he gathered them, he knew that this was something they had to face as a team…as hard as it was.
She described in great detail how she gained access to their personal information, going as far as hiring people and manipulating others in order to extract what she needed to complete her mission.
“This bitch had zero remorse,” Hoseok spat angrily.
Namjoon nodded as he continued. She was terminally ill and had wished for them to reach out to her as her dying wish but after months of—what she deemed as rejection—she decided to reach out to them instead.
“What letters? How did she reach out?” Seokjin bewilderingly asked.
“We didn’t get anything from a dying fan,” Taehyung chimed in, “I would have remembered that. Hell, I would have even personally driven us to her.”
“The point isn’t her old letters,” Jungkook gazed up at Namjoon, “It’s the fact that she felt rejected by us, right?”
Namjoon nodded once more. He reached out for Jungkook’s letter and began reading it out loud for the members. In this one, she explained how tired she was at seeing BTS everywhere when no one knew of their true colors. At some points, she hated them and wished the worst to happen to them. Often, she wrote, she contemplated whether or not to go forward with her findings and expose them.
Jungkook gulped, “She’s talking about the BTS that ARMY doesn’t know.”
“Like how you like this particular escort?” Seokjin raised a teasing eyebrow.
“Or how Hobi-hyung fantasizes about our ARMYs?” Taehyung teased and everyone glared profoundly at him. Leaning into his chair, he bit his tongue as he apologized. Hoseok, unlike Jungkook, couldn’t handle the guys teasing him about his experience. While the others had someone to lean up against during the horrific day, Hoseok was by himself.
It fell quiet for a long moment after all the seven letters were read out loud. None of them knew what to say, so they simply sat and stared off in the distance as the horrifying memory of that day enveloped their thoughts.
It wasn’t easy to relive that day.
Even after all of the obstacles and hard work the guys needed as a group, as well as individually, to cope with the aftermath of that day, it was all still mind-blowingly fresh in their memories. Jungkook more so than the others. Unlike his bandmates, he’d chosen to kill a life to save himself and another; he desperately needed more therapy than the others.
Namjoon sat beside the youngest and Jungkook immediately leaned into his form seeking comfort.
When the deranged fan kidnapped them, she robbed them of their freedom and even though she justified it to herself as an act to revive the Bangtan Sonyeondan she used to love, she thoroughly fucked them up. As strong as they attempted to seem for their ARMY’s, they couldn’t deny that they were nowhere near healed.
“It’s so vile,” Jimin murmured as he hugged himself. “Why would she feel the need to teach us a lesson?”
“What lesson?” Yoongi stood. “She didn’t teach us anything except that we aren’t safe from anyone that truly wants to fuck with us.” His voice was filled with rage and the remaining members couldn’t do much but agree. “Security? A joke,” he continued, “cameras? A joke.” Yoongi sprung his arms out as he gestured around. “It’s all a fucking joke. We aren’t safe and we will never be safe.”
“We’re safe right now, hyung,” Namjoon murmured and Seokjin agreed while standing up.
“I understand receiving these letters after all this time has you feeling uneasy, Yoongi,” his older brother placed his palm on his shoulder, “we all feel that way, but I think we can learn something from this,” he gestured at Jimin’s letter, “She said we are brothers and we as BTS take pride in our camaraderie. We should remember who we are and that there’s absolutely nothing we cannot survive and do as long as we are together,” Seokjin looked around at his younger brothers fondly.
“As long as we are seven.”
#bts imagines#armypedia#bts#armypedia series#bts reactions#bts fanfic#bts fanfiction#OT7 Horror#bts scenarios#OT7 Halloween#bts au#bts angst#hisunshiine writings#ot7 angst#Bangtan#halloween fic#horror fic#BTS Horror#BTS Halloween
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all i’m asking for is some good psychological thriller/horror/suspense bts fics preferably with a lot of pain and betrayal bc I like to hurt....... and all I get is werewolves and shit like that...... worlds biggest fandom and my preferences are still too niche
#like I don’t mind the supernatural shit but like give me the HORROR of it#if anyone knows any good psychological fics pls send them my way🤧#I’m desperate at this point#been thinking about the serial killer Jin au a lot n I might just write it down my damn self#bts fanfic#bts fanfic rec#help me
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