Midnight Rchive

Chapter 12 - Terms and Conditions

Warnings: kidnapping, captivity, dark and possessive Yoongi

Masterlist

By the time Yoongi came home, she had spent the entire day waiting. Every sound of a car outside made her look up. Every notification from the security system made her stomach tighten.

When the front door finally opened, her heart immediately started racing. She hated that.

Hated that one sentence from him could determine whether she slept tonight or spent another week wondering if her mother was still setting an extra plate at the dinner table.

Yoongi stepped inside, removing his shoes near the entrance.

His eyes found her almost immediately. As they always did.

For a moment neither spoke.

Then she stood. Slowly. Carefully.

As if moving too fast might somehow change his answer.

"Yoongi?"

He looked up.

"Hm?"

Her fingers tightened around each other.

"I just wanted to ask..."

The words caught briefly in her throat.

"If you've had a chance to think about what I asked earlier."

Silence.

For a second his expression remained unreadable.

Then he nodded.

"I have."

Her stomach dropped. Because suddenly she wasn't sure she wanted to hear it.

Yoongi walked past her into the living room and sat down on the couch. Calm. Unhurried. Certain. The sight alone made her nervous.

Finally he looked at her.

"I'll let you call your mother."

Relief hit so hard it almost hurt. For one brief, stupid second she actually smiled.

Until he continued.

"On one condition."

The smile disappeared immediately. Of course. Of course there was a condition.

Her chest tightened.

"What condition?"

Yoongi held her gaze. His answer came without hesitation.

"You are going to marry me."

Silence.

The room seemed to empty itself of air.

For several seconds she genuinely thought she'd misheard him.

"What?"

"I'll arrange the call."

His voice remained calm. Steady.

"As many calls as necessary."

She stared at him. Unable to process what she was hearing.

"You'll be able to speak with your mother."

Still calm.

"Your family."

The horror slowly settled in.

"You'll be able to tell them you're safe."

"Stop."

The word came out sharper than intended.

Yoongi fell silent.

"Stop talking."

Her heart was pounding now. Loud enough to hear.

"You can't be serious."

"I am."

A laugh escaped her. Disbelieving. Almost hysterical.

"You are actually trying to negotiate with my family."

"No." His gaze never wavered. "I am giving you a choice."

That made her angrier than anything else.

"A choice? You think this is a choice?"

She stared at him.

"You're putting a price tag on my mother."

"No." His voice remained frustratingly calm.

"You asked me for something. And I'm willing to give it to you. I'm just asking for something in return."

The words landed like gasoline on fire.

"Oh, that's very generous of you."

"Relationships require compromise. I'm compromising."

"I asked to call my mother."

"And I said yes."

She froze. The realization arrived slowly. Terribly. Because he wasn't wrong. He hadn't said no. He'd given her a condition. A horrible one. A manipulative one. A completely insane one. But still a condition. Which meant the decision now sat in her lap. Exactly where he wanted it. The responsibility had shifted. And they both knew it.

The realization made her sick.

"You planned this."

Yoongi said nothing. Which was answer enough.

She laughed once. A broken sound.

"You're unbelievable."

"I know."

The worst part? He sounded tired. Not smug. Not victorious. Just tired. As if this hurt him too. And somehow that only made her angrier.

"Do you know what you're asking me?"

His answer came immediately.

"Yes."

"No, I don't think you do." Her voice cracked. "You have no idea."

Silence.

"My mother is probably losing her mind."

The anger began slipping. Something more painful replacing it.

"She doesn't know where I am." Her throat tightened. "She doesn't know if I'm even alive."

The room blurred slightly. And suddenly she wasn't talking to Yoongi anymore. She was talking to herself.

"My parents tried for four years before they had me."

The words escaped before she could stop them. Yoongi's expression shifted slightly. Just enough.

"I'm their only child." Her eyes burned. "They wanted me so badly."

A shaky laugh escaped her. "And now I've just..."

Her voice broke. "...disappeared."

Silence. Heavy. Painful. She looked away. Because suddenly she couldn't look at him anymore.

All she could see was home. Her mother checking her phone constantly, waiting for her message. Her father pretending not to worry, trying to comfort his wife. The empty chair at family dinners. The birthday cake next week. One candle older. One person missing.

The image hurt so much she had to close her eyes. When she opened them again, Yoongi was still watching her. Waiting. Patient. Terrifyingly patient. As if he already knew she would eventually have to make a choice. And for the first time since she'd arrived in this house, she realized just how dangerous desperation could be.

Because she wasn't deciding between yes and no anymore.

She was deciding whether she was willing to sacrifice a lifetime for five minutes with her mother.

And that terrified her.

More than the proposal itself.

⸻⸻⸻⸻ ☽ ◯ ☾ ⸻⸻⸻⸻

The following afternoon felt strange. Not because anything happened. Because nothing did. No answer. No decision. Just silence.

She spent most of the day drifting from room to room, unable to focus on anything. Every time she sat down, her thoughts returned to the same place.

Marriage.

The word followed her everywhere. By evening she hated it. By night she hated herself for even thinking about it.

The next morning wasn't any better. Yoongi left early in the morning. She ate her breakfast alone. She didn't mind it. In fact she was even happy for his absence this time.

She was halfway through a cup of coffee when the sound of unfamiliar voices reached her from downstairs.

Her entire body froze. No way. Slowly, she stood.

Her heart was already racing before she reached the staircase. The closer she got, the clearer the voice became.

And then she saw him. For a moment, she genuinely forgot how to breathe.

Kim Namjoon.

Standing in the middle of the living room. Real. Not through a screen. Not through old Run BTS episodes. Not through fan edits and interviews. Real. Close enough to touch.

The sight hit harder than expected. Because somewhere deep inside her, the fan she used to be still existed. And seeing him now felt like opening a door to a life she'd almost forgotten belonged to her.

"Namjoon?"

He smiled softly.

"Hi."

Warm. Polite. Almost normal.

She stared for a second too long before remembering how human interaction worked. Because it was Kim Namjoon. Actually standing in front of her.

"Hi."

Brilliant. Fantastic. Years of imagining what she'd say if she ever met BTS. And that was what came out. Hi.

At the same time, another thought crept in.

Did he know?

Did he know who she really was? Did he know why she was here?

Namjoon's smile widened slightly.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Y/N."

And that's when she knew.

"You know."

Not a question. A fact. The irony nearly made her laugh.

"I know."

The room suddenly felt colder.

"Why are you here?" She couldn't even hide the hurt.

Namjoon gestured toward the couch.

"May I sit?"

The question startled her. As if he needed permission from her in a house she wasn't even allowed to leave. She wasn't the Lady of the mansion, she was the prisoner.

Still, she nodded.

A moment later they sat across from each other. For several seconds neither spoke.

Then Namjoon smiled softly.

"You know, this is probably the strangest introduction I've ever had."

That caught her off guard. A small laugh escaped before she could stop it.

"There has to be competition."

"Oh, definitely." Relief flickered across his face.

Good. At least she could still laugh.

Namjoon leaned back slightly.

"I've heard a lot about you."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Should I be concerned?"

"A little."

Another laugh. Then the smile faded. Not completely. Just enough.

"How are you doing?"

His question settled heavily between them. Simple. Ordinary. Impossible.

She looked away.

How was she doing?

She was trapped. Lonely. Angry. Homesick. Exhausted. Terrified. Confused.

"I've been better."

Namjoon's expression softened immediately.

No joke. No fake optimism. Just understanding.

"I don't doubt that."

Neither spoke for a moment.

Then Namjoon glanced at her again.

"You know... I don't agree with everything he's done."

The honesty surprised her.

Namjoon held her gaze.

"But I know he cares about you."

A humorless smile touched her lips.

"For whatever that's worth."

The words sounded almost identical to something she'd been thinking herself.

Namjoon sighed and continued.

"He talks about you constantly."

That surprised her.

"He does?"

"Yeah."

She stared.

Namjoon chuckled softly.

"It's actually getting annoying."

For the first time, she could almost picture it.

Yoongi.

Talking about her. Mentioning random things she'd said. Things she'd done. Complaints. Arguments. Tiny details.

The image felt strangely intimate. And somehow she hated it. Because a part of her liked it.

Namjoon seemed to notice the conflict passing across her face. His smile faded slightly.

"He's terrified, you know."

She frowned.

"Of what?"

The answer came immediately.

"Of losing you."

"Namjoon." For a second she simply stared at him. "I never had the option."

His smile disappeared.

Silence. Heavy. Uncomfortable. Real.

For the first time since arriving, Namjoon had no response. No reassurance. No argument. No way to soften what she'd said. Because she was right. And they both knew it.

Namjoon exhaled slowly.

"He loves you, you know."

"Don't. Don't do that."

"I'm not defending what happened."

"Yes, you are."

"No." Namjoon's voice stayed calm. "I am only telling you the truth."

She laughed. A horrible laugh.

"The truth?"

"He's not playing with you."

"Do you hear yourself?"

Namjoon rubbed his face. Exhausted. Because he didn't actually disagree with her. That was what made it so difficult.

"If I thought he was going to hurt you..." He stopped. Reconsidered. "If I thought he wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't be sitting here."

"He's already hurting me."

That landed. Hard. Namjoon had no answer. Because she was right.

The silence stretched.

"Why aren't you helping me?"

Namjoon looked down, almost as if he was ashamed of himself, ashamed to look at her face.

"Because he's my family. He is my brother. Helping you means destroying him."

Simple. Honest. Awful.

Not because he agreed. Because he couldn't betray Yoongi.

The realization slowly settled over her. And that was the moment hope died in her chest.

Not everyone was willing to save her. Not even the good ones.

Then before leaving, Namjoon said something that lingered:

"I think eventually you'll have to decide whether you want to spend the rest of your life fighting him..."

He paused.

"...or trying to understand him."

His hand settled on the doorknob.

"Because one choice keeps you exactly where you are right now."

He glanced back at her.

"The other gives you back everything you've been asking for."

The room fell silent. And suddenly she understood.

Namjoon knew. Not just about her being here. Not just about Yoongi's obsession. But Yoongi's plans.

The condition. The proposal. All of it. And she absolutely hated him for saying it. Because she knew he had a point.

Sooner or later, she was going to have to make a decision.

And there was no version of it where she won.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Taglist: @mikaela-uhm

@human169

@r0sek00kie

@iveivory

@namjoonsnook

@3lectraheart

@sw33tcupcake

@pjmsneverland

@demarie04

@lostsomewhereinthegarden

@devilzliaison

@mygagustd93

@llallaaa

@queenrhia

@praetae

@agusthord

@sassybearfire

@liciaunlockmyheart

@airwolf92

@bebesnyia7

@kingsqueensandvagabonds

@leeknowsbigtoe

@fairyv-ice

@moilk34

@mar-lo-pap

@reesesbutterwithwoozi

@sparxaf

@archived-iraya

@mimisks

@wendabean

@lyoongx

Don't Disappear Yet got a new cover picture. 🥰🌸🦋⭐ Do you like it? 🫶✨ 😊💕

Thank you so much for reading and for your support! 🤗🌹 It is always a pleasure to know that my readers are enjoying DDY. 🥰❤️

I know right, that condition dropped like a bomb 💣, literally... Yoongi thinks if they marry she'll give up trying to escape. But will she...? 👀

And Namjoon... I mean till chapter 12 he seemed pretty reasonable and logical, right? But after the last chapter, can you even be sure...? 👀

Aww, please don't cry 🥺😢

Yes, first few weeks she was mostly focused on herself and trying to survive or escape. And now as the time passes and her emotional state becomes a bit more stable, she started thinking more rationally. Now she is thinking about her family and what they are doing without her.

Chapter 11 - Bargaining

Warnings: kidnapping, captivity, dark and possessive Yoongi

Masterlist

The next morning felt like punishment.

She woke up with her skull splitting in half. A dull ache pulsed behind her temples.

For several seconds she simply lay there, staring at the ceiling and regretting every decision she'd made the night before.

Watching Run BTS. Crying. Yoongi. Then the whisky. More crying. Yoongi again. The things she'd said. The conversation.

Her eyes squeezed shut.

"Oh, God."

Heat rushed into her face. She remembered enough Not every detail. Enough. More than enough.

She groaned and rolled onto her back, throwing an arm over her eyes.

Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.

Now she had to live with the memory of drunkenly crying over Min Yoongi like some heartbroken teenager. The thought alone made her want to disappear.

Eventually she forced herself out of bed. The bedroom felt stuffy. Too quiet. She wandered toward the window. Outside, the sky was grey. Rain clouds gathering in the distance.

Without really thinking, she glanced toward the calendar hanging near the desk. And froze. The date. For a second she simply stared at it. Then her stomach dropped.

Next week. Her mother's birthday was next week. The realization hit so suddenly it felt physical. A sharp ache somewhere beneath her ribs.

She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. Every year they spent it together. Every year. Family dinner. Birthday cake and candles.

Nothing special at all, yet everything special to her.

Just family. Just home. Just knowing where everyone was.

A painful lump formed in her throat. Her mother would be setting an extra plate again. Still hoping. Still waiting.

Had she tried to call or visit while she was being held captive in Min Yoongi's mansion? Had she reported her missing to the police by now? Or did she still believe that her daughter was still in Korea, happily enjoying her vacation?

Maybe she checked her phone every morning, hoping for a message. Maybe her heart leapt every time it rang. Maybe she told herself, day after day, that today would finally be the day her daughter came home.

She couldn't even tell her she was alive. Couldn't tell her she was safe. Couldn't tell her anything. The thought hurt so much she had to take a shaky breath.

For months she'd focused on herself. Survival. Escape. Anger. But suddenly all she could think about was her mother. Wondering. Waiting. Growing older. And completely helpless.

Tears burned unexpectedly behind her eyes.

"No."

Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

She had to try, she had to ask him. Even if she already knew the answer.

An hour later she walked downstairs. Halfway down the staircase she stopped.

Voices. Not normal voices. Sharp voices. Yoongi's voice.

"...I gave very clear instructions."

His tone wasn't loud. That somehow made it worse.

She frowned and continued down the stairs. The scene waiting for her in the kitchen immediately made her pause.

Three maids stood lined up near the counter. All of them looking terrified. And in front of them stood Yoongi. Arms crossed. Expression cold. The half-empty whisky bottle sat on the kitchen island between them like evidence in a murder trial.

Y/N immediately understood. The whisky. Of course.

"Which one of you was on duty yesterday?"

Nobody answered. The silence stretched. Yoongi's jaw tightened.

"I asked a question."

One of the women visibly flinched. One looked seconds away from tears.

Y/N blinked. She had never seen him like this before. Not really. She'd seen him angry. Seen him frustrated. Seen him lose control. But this was different. Controlled. Calculated. The kind of authority that made people nervous without him needing to raise his voice.

Finally one of the maids stepped forward.

"I-I was, sir."

Yoongi looked at her.

"Then explain to me how she got access to this."

He tapped the whisky bottle.

The woman immediately lowered her eyes.

"I thought the cabinet was locked."

"You thought?"

The disappointment in his voice somehow sounded worse than anger.

"I specifically ordered every cabinet containing alcohol or medication to remain locked."

Silence.

"I know, sir."

"Clearly you didn't."

The maid looked seconds away from crying.

Something uncomfortable twisted inside Y/N's stomach.

"Yoongi."

Every head turned toward her. Including his. The cold expression softened immediately. So quickly it was almost disturbing.

"You're awake."

She ignored the concern in his voice. Instead she looked at the frightened maid. Then back at him.

"Can I talk to you?"

A slight frown appeared between his brows. Something in her voice must have given her away. Because his expression immediately softened.

"Of course."

Y/N glanced toward the staff.

"Alone."

Yoongi followed her gaze. Understanding flashed briefly across his face. A few seconds later he nodded.

"You can all leave."

The relief was immediate. The maid's eyes widened slightly, a flash of gratitude shining through before it vanished. Moments later, the maids were practically rushing out the door. As they left, the tension in the room eased, if only a little.

Because now Yoongi was looking at her. And Y/N suddenly remembered why she'd come downstairs. The headache. The birthday. Her mother. The knot in her chest returned immediately.

For the first time, she suddenly wasn't sure how to start. All the words she'd prepared upstairs felt stupid now. Too small. Too weak. Yoongi waited. Patiently. Eventually she looked away.

"My mom's birthday is next week."

The words came out quietly. Almost fragile. The concern in his face deepened. Y/N swallowed. Hard.

"We always celebrate together."

Silence. Her fingers tightened around her sleeve.

"I keep thinking about her."

Her voice cracked slightly. The humiliation of it made her look away immediately.

"I keep wondering what she's thinking."

Another pause.

"What she's been told."

The kitchen suddenly felt too bright. Too exposed.

"My family doesn't know if I'm alright."

The words landed heavily between them.

"They don't know if I'm hurt."

She laughed once. A terrible, broken sound.

"They don't even know if they should keep looking."

And suddenly she hated herself for what came next. Because it sounded like begging.

"I just want to know she's okay."

Silence. She took a shaky breath.

"Please, let me call her."

Yoongi's expression shifted slightly. Just enough.

"I want to hear her voice and let her know that I'm okay."

Her throat tightened.

"Five minutes."

Still silence.

"One phone call."

The kitchen felt very quiet suddenly.

"Please..."

She stared at him. Waiting. Hoping. For the first time in a very long time.

"No."

The answer came so quickly she almost didn't process it. For a second she simply stared at him. Then she laughed. A short, disbelieving sound.

"What?"

"No."

The kitchen fell silent. Something cold settled in her stomach.

"Yoongi,—"

"I said no."

Just one word. Firm. Final. The hope she'd been holding onto since waking up began slipping through her fingers.

Anger flared instantly.

"Why?"

"Because I said no."

The words hit like a slap. She stared at him. Weeks ago she would've screamed already. Now she just looked tired.

"So that's it?"

Silence.

"That's your answer?"

Still nothing.

A bitter laugh escaped her.

"My family doesn't know if I'm dead or alive."

Yoongi's expression didn't change.

"They don't know where the hell I am."

Nothing.

"They don't know what happened to me."

Her voice cracked. And for the first time since entering the kitchen, she stopped sounding angry. She just sounded hurt.

"They are probably worried sick by now. Calling, checking, asking my friends."

Something flickered across his face. Gone almost immediately. But she saw it anyway.

"You know what the worst part is?"

Her eyes burned, throat tightened.

"I don't know if my mother cries herself to sleep."

"Y/N—"

"No."

This time she cut him off. Not loudly. Just desperately.

"I'm not asking you to let me leave."

She inhaled.

"I'm not asking for my passport. I'm not asking for my freedom. I'm not asking for my phone. We can call with your phone even... All I'm asking... I'm asking for five minutes."

Yoongi looked away. The movement was small. But she noticed.

"You can stand beside me the entire time."

Nothing.

"You can listen to every word."

Still nothing.

"You can put the call on speaker."

His hands clenched briefly at his sides. The first real crack.

"I swear to you, I won't say anything."

The words came out broken. Humiliating. Honest.

"Please, Yoongi."

Silence. A long silence. Long enough for her hope to begin dying all over again.

"I'll think about it."

She froze.

Her heart stuttered painfully inside her chest. Not yes. But not no. And after everything, it felt dangerously close to hope.

⸻⸻⸻⸻ ☽ ◯ ☾ ⸻⸻⸻⸻

The studio was quiet. Too quiet. Yoongi sat alone on the couch, phone resting loosely in his hand. The screen had gone dark several minutes ago. He hadn't noticed. His thoughts kept returning to the kitchen. To her voice. To the way she'd looked at him. Not angry. Not hateful. Just desperate. That somehow felt worse.

A knock sounded against the open door. Then Namjoon walked in. One look at Yoongi's face and he sighed.

"Oh, good."

Yoongi glanced up.

"What?"

"You have that look."

"What look?"

"The one that tells me you're about to create a problem for yourself."

Yoongi rolled his eyes.

Namjoon dropped into the chair opposite him.

"Want to tell me what happened?"

"No."

"Great."

Silence.

Namjoon waited. Years of friendship had taught him patience.

Eventually Yoongi spoke anyway.

"She wants to call her mother."

The joking expression disappeared immediately.

Namjoon leaned back.

"Oh."

That was all he said. Just one word. But somehow it filled the room.

"Her birthday is next week."

Silence. Namjoon studied him carefully.

"And?"

Yoongi rubbed a hand across his face.

"I don't know."

Namjoon actually laughed. The sound startled him.

"You don't know?"

"No."

"That's new."

Yoongi shot him a look.

Namjoon raised both hands.

"I'm serious."

He leaned forward slightly.

"You always know."

Silence.

"You knew when you brought her here."

Yoongi looked away.

"You knew when you decided to keep her."

Still silence.

"You knew when you planned a future with her without actually asking her."

The room grew quiet. Because Namjoon wasn't wrong. Yoongi always knew. He made a decision. Then lived with it. Simple. But this wasn't simple anymore. Because every possible outcome felt wrong.

If he refused — She'd suffer. If he agreed — Everything could fall apart.

Namjoon seemed to follow the same train of thought.

"You think she'll try something."

"I know she will."

No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just fact.

That earned a sigh.

"Then why are you even considering it?"

The question lingered.

Yoongi stared at the floor. For several seconds he didn't answer.

"Because she cried. She begged. She never begged for anything before."

Namjoon froze. The confession hung heavily between them. Raw. Honest. Dangerous.

"I can handle her being angry with me."

Silence.

"I can handle her hating me."

His voice grew quieter.

"I can handle her screaming and fighting me."

Namjoon said nothing.

"But that..."

Yoongi swallowed.

"That was different. Seeing her like that... It broke me."

The room fell silent. Outside, rain tapped softly against the studio windows.

Eventually Namjoon leaned back in his chair. Studying his friend. The exhaustion. The guilt. The devotion. The obsession. All tangled together so tightly they could no longer be separated.

"You know what your problem is, hyung?"

Yoongi looked up. Namjoon offered a tired smile.

"You keep trying to find a version of this where nobody gets hurt."

Silence.

"There isn't one, hyung."

The words landed hard. Because they were true. Painfully true.

Namjoon stood. Grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair.

Before leaving, he paused near the door. And delivered the final blow.

"If you let her call her mother, she'll probably try to escape."

Yoongi's jaw tightened.

"If you don't let her call, she'll resent you even more."

Silence.

Namjoon opened the door. Then glanced back.

"For what it's worth..."

Yoongi looked up.

"I don't envy you."

A pause.

"No matter what you choose, you're going to lose something."

And with that, he left. Leaving Yoongi alone. With a dark phone screen. And thoughts he didn't want to have.

For a long time he sat there in silence, staring at nothing. Namjoon was right about one thing. There was no version of this where nobody got hurt. But that didn't mean there wasn't a solution or he couldn't come up with one.

Yoongi had never been the type to give up because a problem looked impossible. So far every obstacle had found an answer eventually. Every setback. Every crisis. Every impossible situation.

He just needed to find a middle ground. A way to give her something without risking everything. A way for neither of them to lose. A way to give her what she wanted. And finally get something he wanted in return.

Slowly, the tension eased from his shoulders.

Because somewhere beneath the guilt and exhaustion, an idea was already beginning to take shape.

Dear awesome readers of Don't Disappear Yet,

I have a question for you:

Do you enjoy Namjoon's presence and perspective in the story? Would you like to see more of him and his involvement in the situation?

As for me... since Namjoonie is my bias wrecker 🥹, I simply couldn't relegate him to a minor role. I somehow ended up making him the resident philosopher of the story instead. 😂

That said, I'm curious to hear your thoughts. Do you like the role he plays so far, or would you prefer less (or more) of him?

I'd love to know what you think! 💜

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Taglist: @mikaela-uhm

@human169

@r0sek00kie

@iveivory

@namjoonsnook

@3lectraheart

@sw33tcupcake

@pjmsneverland

@demarie04

@lostsomewhereinthegarden

@devilzliaison

@mygagustd93

@llallaaa

@queenrhia

@praetae

@agusthord

@sassybearfire

@liciaunlockmyheart

@airwolf92

@bebesnyia7

@kingsqueensandvagabonds

@leeknowsbigtoe

@fairyv-ice

@moilk34

@mar-lo-pap

@reesesbutterwithwoozi

@sparxaf

@archived-iraya

Chapter 10 - Permanent

Warnings: kidnapping, captivity, dark and possessive Yoongi

Masterlist

Yoongi had been staring at the same unfinished lyric for twenty minutes. The cursor blinked mockingly on the screen. Waiting. Nothing came. Usually the studio helped. Music helped. Work helped. Whenever things became too loud inside his head, he buried himself in production until everything else disappeared.

Lately it wasn't working. His gaze drifted toward his phone. The lock screen remained dark. No notifications. No messages. Nothing. Not that he expected any. She wasn't allowed a phone. The irony wasn't lost on him. A humorless smile briefly touched his mouth before disappearing again.

There had been a time when his phone never stayed quiet for long. A random meme she'd found on the internet. A blurry picture of a meal she'd have in a restaurants of Seoul. Voice messages sent while she walked back to her hotel room after sightseeing. Links to songs. Screenshots. Questions. Thoughts.

Nothing important. Everything important.

His thumb brushed absently against the edge of the screen. Sometimes he caught himself opening old conversations. Scrolling. Reading messages he'd already memorized. Looking at pictures she'd sent weeks ago. Listening to voice notes longer than necessary.

Back then she had talked to him because she wanted to. Now she lived in his house. Slept under his roof. Sat across from him at dinner. And somehow he had never felt further away from her.

His jaw tightened. Because if he allowed himself to think about it for too long, he'd start missing things he could never get back. The easy conversations. The late-night texts. The way she'd chosen him freely. And that was one loss he refused to dwell on.

The house had been quiet when he left that morning. Y/N still asleep. Curled beneath the blankets. For a moment he could almost pretend things were normal. Then last night replayed itself inside his head.

"The boys want to meet you."

The immediate change in her expression. Shock. Suspicion. Hope. God. That hope. It had appeared so quickly. Like a starving person spotting food. And then:

"But I don't think you're ready for that yet."

Gone. Just like that. The disappointment in her eyes had lingered with him all day. Not because she'd been angry. He was used to angry. It was the look that came before it. That split second where she'd genuinely believed she might get out.

His jaw tightened. Another memory followed.

"You ruined my life."

A different night. Different fight. Same pain in her voice. Then another.

"I hate this."

And another. The sound of her crying through a locked bedroom door. The sound he still hadn't gotten used to. The sound he wasn't sure he ever would.

His eyes closed briefly. He didn't regret keeping her. Not for a second. If given the choice again, he'd make the same decision. Every time. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that loving her and hurting her had become inseparable. And no matter how many times he reminded himself it was necessary, it still felt like swallowing glass.

The studio door opened. Yoongi didn't look up.

"You look awful." A familiar voice. Namjoon. Of course.

"Good morning."

Namjoon walked inside carrying coffee. "It's six in the evening."

"Then good evening."

The younger man snorted and dropped into the chair across from him. For a while neither spoke. Years of friendship made silence comfortable. Eventually Namjoon glanced toward the abandoned lyrics on the monitor.

"Nothing?"

"No."

"That's new."

Yoongi rubbed a hand over his face. "Tired."

Namjoon studied him for a moment. "Another fight?"

Silence. His answer came a few seconds later. "Not exactly."

One eyebrow lifted. Yoongi stared at the floor. For some reason the next words felt strangely difficult.

"She asked me to stay."

That got Namjoon's attention. "What?"

"The other night." A pause. "After a nightmare."

Namjoon blinked. Well. That was unexpected. "That's progress."

Yoongi laughed softly. A humorless sound. "That's what I thought."

The bitterness underneath surprised even him.

Namjoon frowned. "What happened?"

A long silence stretched between them.

"Then in the morning she looked like she hated herself for it."

Something uncomfortable settled between them. Because Namjoon understood immediately. Of course she did.

Yoongi leaned back against the couch. Exhaustion visible now. No masks. No idol persona. Just Yoongi.

"One day she talks to me." His voice was quiet. "The next she can't even look at me." Another pause. "One day she laughs." He thought about the tea. The couch. The way she'd laughed about Jungkook. The way she'd forgotten herself for a few minutes. Then he remembered the look in her eyes when he'd mentioned the members. Hope. Followed by devastation. His chest tightened. "The next day she remembers what I am."

Namjoon said nothing. Because there wasn't really anything to say. Eventually he sighed: "Can you blame her?"

Yoongi's jaw tightened. "No."

The answer came immediately. Too immediately. Silence settled again. Heavy. Uncomfortable. Until Namjoon finally sighed.

"How long are you going to keep her hidden?"

Yoongi didn't answer.

Namjoon watched him for a moment. "That was not a rhetorical question."

A long silence stretched between them. Finally he spoke. "As long as I have to."

Namjoon watched him. "And after that?"

Yoongi looked annoyed already. "If you have a point, say it."

Namjoon leaned back. "What exactly do you think happens here, hyung?"

Silence. Namjoon leaned back in his chair. For a moment he simply studied him. The bandaged hand. The exhaustion hidden beneath calm eyes. The terrifying certainty that hadn't left him since this whole thing began.

"Tell me something."

Yoongi waited.

"How do you actually see this ending?"

The question lingered between them. Unlike before, Yoongi didn't hesitate. Not even for a second.

"I don't."

Namjoon's eyebrow lifted. Yoongi's expression remained unchanged.

"I see it continuing." Silence. "I see her staying." His voice was calm. Matter-of-fact. Like discussing something inevitable. "I see her accepting it." Namjoon said nothing. "I see her accepting me." Still silence. "I see her understanding. I see her choosing me. I see her staying because she wants to."

Yoongi's gaze drifted toward the studio floor. Far away suddenly. Like he was looking at something only he could see. "A house that's actually lived in." The corner of his mouth twitched faintly.

Namjoon felt his stomach tighten. Because this wasn't obsession talking anymore. This was a future. A real one.

"I see her waiting for me when I come home." Yoongi continued quietly. "I see her wearing my ring." The words landed heavily. "I see her as my wife." Silence. "And maybe one day…" For the first time he hesitated. Only slightly. The smallest crack. "I see her as the mother of my children."

Namjoon closed his eyes briefly. There it was. The thing nobody else understood. This wasn't temporary. This wasn't possession for the sake of possession. Yoongi wasn't keeping a hostage. In his own mind, he was building a life. Which somehow made it worse.

When Namjoon finally spoke, his voice was careful.

"Then you have a bigger problem."

Yoongi frowned. "What problem?"

Namjoon held his gaze. "If that's really the future you want…" He gestured vaguely toward the world outside the studio. "…you can't keep her hidden forever."

Yoongi said nothing.

"The members are already asking questions."

"They'll manage." Yoongi rolled his eyes.

"Maybe." A pause. "But what will you do when your family finds out?"

For the first time, Yoongi's expression shifted. Only slightly. Enough. Namjoon saw it immediately. And pressed.

"Eventually your parents will visit." Silence. "Or your brother will come over."

The room suddenly felt smaller. Yoongi's jaw tightened. For the first time since the conversation started, uncertainty flickered across his face.

Namjoon leaned forward.

"What will you say then?"

⸻⸻⸻⸻ ☽ ◯ ☾ ⸻⸻⸻⸻

At first she thought it was another guest room. The mansion had too many rooms. Too many hallways. Too much empty space. She rarely explored anymore. Mostly because every corner reminded her she couldn't leave.

Today she was looking for something to pass the time again, something to occupy herself and make hours go faster until he arrived home. Nothing more.

The room at the end of the hallway stood partially open. Curiosity got the better of her.

Inside, sunlight spilled across pale wooden floors. Simple. Comfortable. Normal.

For a moment she almost closed the door again. Then she noticed the bookshelf. Her steps slowed. The titles looked familiar. Too familiar. One after another.

Books she'd mentioned during late-night conversations weeks ago. Books she'd loved. Books she'd reread. Books she'd recommended.

She reached out automatically. Fingers brushing worn spines. A few Korean editions. A few English ones. One she'd spent weeks trying to find back home.

A strange feeling settled in her stomach. Slowly she looked around the room again. The blanket folded over the armchair. The tea collection on the side table.

The scent diffuser she used downstairs. The same brand of candles she'd once mentioned liking. The exact brand. The exact scent.

On the shelf opposite, she found books and study materials for learning Korean. They covered everything from Hangul and handwriting practice to beginner grammar, vocabulary, and everyday conversation.

A frown creased her brow.

Why would he need resources like these when Korean was his mother tongue?

Unless...

Silence filled the room. Her chest tightened. Because suddenly she understood.

This wasn't a guest room. At least not anymore. This room had been waiting for someone.

For her.

Not in a frightening way. Not locked. Not obsessive. Just prepared. Thought about. Planned. Like someone had been imagining her here long before she'd ever arrived.

The realization should have made her uncomfortable. Instead it made her sit down heavily in the armchair. Staring at nothing. Because for the first time she was forced to confront something she'd spent weeks avoiding.

Yoongi wasn't waiting for her to leave. There was no end date. No expiration date. No future where he got bored. No future where he woke up one morning and changed his mind.

As far as he was concerned this was forever.

⸻⸻⸻⸻ ☽ ◯ ☾ ⸻⸻⸻⸻

She didn't realize how long she'd been watching until three episodes had passed. The room was dark now. Only the television illuminated the couch.

On screen, a much younger Yoongi was bickering with Jungkook over something completely ridiculous.

She smiled. Then immediately frowned. No. She wasn't supposed to be smiling. But another scene played. And another. And despite herself, nostalgia slowly settled over her.

God. She remembered watching these. Years ago. Wrapped in blankets. Scrolling through translations. Waiting for new uploads. Laughing at the exact same moments.

Back then everything had felt so simple. She had been a fan. He had been an idol. There had been an ocean between them. An impossible distance. Safe. Necessary.

Now she knew the way his footsteps sounded in the hallway. The way he took his coffee. The way he looked when he was exhausted. The way he smiled when he thought she wasn't paying attention.

The realization made something ache unexpectedly inside her chest.

On the television, Yoongi laughed. A real laugh. Unrestrained. Her favorite kind.

The sight hit harder than it should have. Because for a second she forgot where she was. Forgot herself. Forgot everything.

And all she could think was: I used to love him.

The thought arrived quietly. Simple. Honest.

Loved.

Past tense.

At least, that's what she told herself...

But if that was true, why couldn't she stop looking at him?

She stared at the television, at the man she'd spent weeks trying to hate.

One video became another. Then another. Then another. Before she realized it, she finished 12 Run BTS episodes from years ago.

The quality was worse. They looked younger. Louder. Happier.

And there he was. Yoongi. Complaining. Rolling his eyes. Pretending not to care while obviously caring. Exactly the way she'd always loved him.

She watched him laugh at something Jungkook said. Watched Jimin throw himself dramatically across the floor. Watched Namjoon break something. Again.

A smile tugged at her mouth despite herself. For a few minutes she forgot. Forgot the locked gates, the cameras, the guards. The life waiting for her somewhere beyond these walls.

For a few minutes she was just a fan again. And somehow that hurt more. Because she remembered exactly how much she had loved him. Not this version. That version. The one on the screen. The one who never looked back at her. The one who couldn't hurt her.

The realization hit unexpectedly hard. She paused the video. Silence immediately filled the room. Her eyes burned.

"God."

She rubbed her face. Suddenly she didn't want to watch anymore. She didn't want to think anymore. She didn't want to feel anymore.

Her gaze drifted toward the liquor cabinet.

And stayed there.

⸻⸻⸻⸻ ☽ ◯ ☾ ⸻⸻⸻⸻

By the time Yoongi got home, something felt off immediately.

The television was still running. The lights were on. But the house was unusually quiet.

His stomach tightened.

"Y/N?"

No answer.

He moved through the living room. Then stopped.

There she was. Sitting cross-legged on the floor. A half-empty bottle of whisky beside her. A glass dangling lazily from her fingertips. And Run BTS playing on the television.

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly.

"...Seriously?"

She looked up. A slow smile spread across her face.

"Oh." Her voice dragged slightly. "Look who finally came home."

Definitely drunk. Wonderful.

Yoongi walked over and stopped beside her. His gaze dropped to the half-empty bottle. Then to her. Then back to the bottle.

"You drank half of this?"

"It was already open."

"That's not a defense."

"It is for me."

He sighed. She looked terrible. Red eyes. Messy hair. Blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

Something twisted painfully inside his chest.

"You've been crying."

The smile disappeared instantly. For a second she just stared at him.

Then she looked away.

"Not your business."

Yoongi crouched in front of her. Carefully. Slowly. The way he always approached her now. Like she might disappear.

"Why?"

A bitter laugh escaped her. "Seriously?"

His jaw tightened. The answer was obvious.

Still.

"I want to hear you say it."

She stared at him. Then pointed drunkenly toward the television. At the frozen image on screen.

A younger Yoongi. Laughing. Alive. Free. Normal.

"That's why."

Silence. Something unpleasant settled in his stomach.

She laughed again. Except there was no amusement in it. Only sadness.

"You know what's funny?"

No answer.

She looked back at the television.

"I used to love you."

The words hit harder than they should have.

Because of the tense.

Used to.

Yoongi felt it immediately. Still he stayed quiet.

"I bought your albums." Her voice wavered slightly. "I voted."

Silence.

"I defended you online." Another laugh. Smaller this time. "Which is embarrassing."

"Y/N—"

"I cried when you cried."

The room felt heavier. Every word landing exactly where she intended.

"And I was proud of you."

Yoongi looked away first. Just for a second. Just long enough. When he looked back, her eyes were wet.

"And then I met you."

There it was. The knife. Straight through the ribs.

Neither spoke.

The television continued playing softly in the background. Somewhere on screen Jungkook was yelling about something ridiculous.

Neither of them heard it.

"I wish I hated you."

The confession came out barely above a whisper. Yoongi's chest tightened painfully.

"I really do." She laughed shakily. "But I can't."

That one surprised him. For a second neither moved.

Then she took another drink. Or tried to. Yoongi caught the glass before it reached her mouth.

Immediately she frowned.

"Give it back."

"No."

"Yoongi."

"No."

She glared.

The expression would have been intimidating if she wasn't wrapped in a blanket like an angry burrito.

"You know..." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I've seen the way you look at me."

Dangerous. Immediately dangerous. Yoongi knew it.

"Y/N."

"No." She pointed at him. Accusatory. Drunk. Far too honest.

"You wanted me from the beginning."

Silence.

"You still do."

His jaw tightened. "You're drunk."

"So?"

"So you're not thinking clearly."

That earned another laugh. Except this one sounded mean.

"What exactly is stopping you?"

The question froze the room.

Yoongi stared at her. "What?"

She shrugged. Looking everywhere except his eyes.

"You already took everything else." The words landed like a punch.

"My phone."

Silence.

"My passport."

Silence.

"My life. My freedom."

His stomach twisted.

"You took every choice I had. So what's stopping you from taking that too?"

She finally looked at him then.

"It's not like we haven't done it before."

The room went completely still.

"And I have seen the fire in your eyes that night in the hotel room."

For a second Yoongi genuinely couldn't breathe. Because suddenly he understood. She wasn't tempting him. She wasn't teasing him. She was testing him. Trying to understand where the line was. Trying to figure out if there even was one.

When he finally spoke, his voice came out quieter than intended.

"Because I want you to choose me."

She stared at him. And then she laughed. Actually laughed. A broken sound.

"That's funny."

Pain flickered across his face.

"You kidnapped me."

The words settled between them.

"And somehow you want me to choose you, when in reality I don't even have a choice."

Ugly. True. Unavoidable.

"And you actually expect me to choose you..."

Neither looked away.

Eventually Yoongi reached forward and gently took the glass from her hand. This time she didn't stop him. She looked tired suddenly. Very tired.

"I hate you."

His chest tightened. "I know."

"You fucking bastard."

Still calm. Still patient. Still infuriating.

"You don't get to sit there acting reasonable. Like you are some kind of hero!"

Silence.

"You don't get to save me from myself."

Her voice cracked. Anger mixing with tears.

"You put me here."

Every word hit exactly where it should. And the worst part? He agreed. Completely.

"I know."

The answer only made her angrier.

"Stop saying that."

No answer.

"Fight back."

Nothing.

"Defend yourself."

Still nothing.

Tears finally spilled down her cheeks.

"I hate when you do that."

Yoongi swallowed. Hard. Then quietly stood.

"Come on. Let's get you to bed."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Y/N. Please don't make this harder."

Slowly, Yoongi held out his hand. After a long moment, she took it. Only because she was drunk. Only because standing felt difficult. At least that's what she told herself.

He helped her upstairs. Helped her into bed. Pulled the blanket over her carefully. The same way he always did.

For a while neither spoke. Then finally he turned toward the door. And stopped. Because her hand had wrapped weakly around the sleeve of his hoodie. Not holding him. Just stopping him. Barely.

Yoongi looked back. Her eyes were already half-closed. Heavy with exhaustion.

"You know what's the sad part?" she asked.

He stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

"I would've loved you." She gave him a sad smile. "I would've loved you if you let me."

Something shattered quietly inside him.

He closed his eyes. Swallowed hard.

For a moment he stood there. Unable to answer.

In the end, he said nothing.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Taglist: @mikaela-uhm

@human169

@r0sek00kie

@iveivory

@namjoonsnook

@3lectraheart

@sw33tcupcake

@pjmsneverland

@demarie04

@lostsomewhereinthegarden

@devilzliaison

@mygagustd93

@llallaaa

@queenrhia

@praetae

@agusthord

@sassybearfire

@liciaunlockmyheart

@airwolf92

@bebesnyia7

@kingsqueensandvagabonds

@leeknowsbigtoe

@fairyv-ice

@moilk34

@mar-lo-pap

@reesesbutterwithwoozi

Chapter 9 - The Cruelty of Kindness

Warnings: dark and possessive Yoongi, kidnapping, captivity

Masterlist

Namjoon knew.

He had known for some time.

Which was exactly why he was currently sitting across from Min Yoongi in an empty studio feeling a headache forming behind his eyes.

"You look awful."

Yoongi didn't even glance up from his phone.

"Good morning to you too."

Namjoon sighed. Outside the studio door, he could already hear the others arriving. Voices growing louder as they moved down the hallway. A few more seconds. That was all they had. A few more seconds before the chaos started.

His eyes drifted toward the white bandage wrapped around Yoongi's hand. The sight still made irritation flare inside him. Not because of the injury itself. Because he knew exactly where it came from.

"You should've gone to the hospital."

Yoongi finally looked up.

"It was a scratch."

"It needed stitches."

"It got stitches."

Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose. Sometimes talking to Yoongi felt like arguing with a brick wall. A very stubborn brick wall.

A memory flashed through his mind uninvited.

A month ago. The same studio. The same couch. The same exhausted man sitting across from him. Only back then there hadn't been a bandage. There hadn't been security guards. There hadn't been a woman living in Yoongi's house against her will.

Just obsession. Raw. Growing. Dangerous.

Namjoon remembered staring at him for a long moment before finally asking the question neither of them wanted spoken aloud.

"What are you planning to do?"

Silence.

"I haven't decided."

Bullshit.

Namjoon had known immediately. Yoongi only got quiet like that when he'd already made up his mind.

"What if she leaves?"

The question had lingered heavily between them. Yoongi's expression never changed. But his answer came immediately.

"I'll bring her back."

No hesitation. Just certainty. Cold. Absolute. Like discussing the weather. Namjoon remembered feeling his stomach drop.

"Hyung."

Yoongi's jaw tightened.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Look at me like that."

The anger had arrived suddenly. Sharp enough to surprise even Namjoon. For the first time that night, Yoongi looked genuinely irritated.

"You think I don't know it's wrong?"

Namjoon said nothing. Because they both knew he did. Of course he knew. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that it wouldn't stop him.

"I know exactly what it is."

His voice had gone quiet. Dangerously quiet.

"I know what people would call it."

Silence.

"But I'm doing it anyway."

Namjoon remembered staring at him. Waiting. Hoping. For some hesitation. Some doubt. Some sign that this wasn't really happening.

It never came. Instead Yoongi leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes briefly. Looking more exhausted than Namjoon had ever seen him.

"When you've spent your entire life losing things..." he said quietly, "eventually you stop accepting it."

Something painful twisted in Namjoon's chest. Because he understood. Not agreed. Understood. There was a difference. A huge difference.

Unfortunately love had a way of blurring those lines.

The studio door suddenly opened. Loudly. Destroying the memory instantly.

"Why are you two always hiding in dark rooms?"

Jimin walked in first. Taehyung right behind him. Then Jungkook. Then everyone else. Within seconds the studio felt alive again. Noisy. Chaotic. Normal. Or as normal as BTS ever got.

"Hyung."

Hoseok dropped into a chair beside Yoongi and immediately frowned.

"Your hand."

Yoongi looked down. Ah. Right. The hand. He'd almost forgotten about it. Unfortunately everyone else noticed too.

"What happened?" Jungkook asked.

"Nothing."

"That doesn't look like nothing." Jimin insisted.

"It's fine."

"But Hyung-" Taehyung started, but immediately was cut off by annoyed Yoongi.

"I said it's fine."

Seokjin narrowed his eyes immediately. The way only Seokjin could. Like a parent who already knew their child was lying.

"You've said 'it's fine' three times."

"Because it's fine."

"It's definitely not fine."

"Did you get into a fight?" Jungkook leaned forward.

The room went quiet for half a second. Then everyone burst out laughing. Even Yoongi. A small laugh. Brief. Gone almost immediately. But enough. Enough for all of them to notice. The room slowly settled again. And that was when Hoseok tilted his head.

"Huh."

Yoongi glanced up.

"What?"

"You've been smiling a lot lately."

Instant regret. He should've known better. The second those words left Hoseok's mouth, every head in the room turned toward him except Namjoon. Like sharks smelling blood.

"Oh my god."

Jimin's eyes widened.

"Oh my god."

"No." Yoongi already sounded tired.

"No what?" Taehyung asked.

"Whatever you're about to say." Yoongi rolled his eyes.

"Namjoon hyung? Why aren't you curious?" Jungkook glanced up at Namjoon. "Do you know something that we don't?"

"Why does hyung know something and we don't?" Taehyung whined.

"There's someone." Jimin chirped.

"There isn't."

"There is."

"There isn't."

"There absolutely is."

His bandaged hand now forgotten, the accusations started flying immediately. Questions. Theories. Terrible guesses. Most of them wrong. Meanwhile Namjoon remained silent. Watching. Because unlike everyone else he already knew.

The others weren't going to let this go. Not today. Not anymore.

"Fine."

The single word cut through the room instantly. Everyone froze. Yoongi sighed. Already regretting it.

"Fine what?" Jungkook asked suspiciously.

"There is someone."

Dead silence. Then chaos. Pure chaos.

"What?!"

"HYUNG!"

"You're kidding."

"No way."

"When were you planning on telling us?"

"Did Namjoon hyung already know about this? Is that why he is silent this whole time?" "Why didn't you tell us?"

Yoongi rubbed a hand across his face. A mistake. Immediately. Because now they were even louder. Questions coming from every direction.

Until finally Seokjin asked the one that mattered.

"When do we get to meet her?"

The room quieted instantly. Yoongi's expression changed. Just slightly. But enough. Enough for Namjoon to notice. Enough for Namjoon's stomach to sink. Because for the first time all morning Yoongi looked nervous.

⸻⸻⸻⸻ ☽ ◯ ☾ ⸻⸻⸻⸻

The bed was empty when she woke up. For a few seconds she simply stared at the spot beside her. The dent in the mattress. The blanket folded neatly back where he had been sitting.

Gone.

A strange feeling settled in her chest. Not relief. Not disappointment. Something worse. Confusion. She groaned softly and threw an arm over her face. God. What was wrong with her?

The memory returned immediately. Clear enough to make her cringe.

"...Can you just stay until I fall asleep?"

The words echoed inside her head with horrifying clarity. She had asked him. Not the other way around. She had been the one who stopped him from leaving. The realization made her stomach twist.

"Idiot," she muttered to herself. Her voice sounded embarrassingly small inside the large bedroom.

She sat up slowly. The room was quiet. Sunlight spilled through the curtains. Everything looked normal. Beautiful even. And that was part of the problem. Nothing about this place looked like a prison. Nothing except the fact that she couldn't leave it. Her gaze drifted toward the door. The locked door. The invisible cage. Immediately guilt was replaced by anger.

Good. Anger was easier. Safer. Because the alternative was thinking about the look on Yoongi's face last night. The exhaustion. The honesty. The way he'd answered every question without trying to defend himself.

"I hate this."

"I know."

"You ruined my life."

"I know."

"Do you ever feel guilty?"

"All the time."

The memory made something ache unpleasantly inside her chest.

She hated it. Hated that she could still see traces of the man she'd admired for years. The man whose music had helped her survive some of the worst periods of her life.

The man who donated quietly. Who comforted people through songs. Who carried his own scars so openly.

That version of Yoongi still existed. And that was the problem. If he had been a monster, this would have been easier. If he screamed at her. Hit her. Threatened her. Humiliated her. She could hate him properly. Completely.

Instead he made breakfast. Remembered how she liked her tea. Sat outside her bedroom when she had nightmares. And looked at her like she hung the fucking moon.

A frustrated sound escaped her throat.

"No."

She shoved the blanket away.

"No."

Her heart was already trying to betray her again. Trying to soften. Trying to understand. Trying to empathize. Dangerous things. Very dangerous things.

Because understanding him didn't change reality. Understanding him didn't unlock the gates. Understanding him didn't give her back her life.

He still kidnapped you.

The thought landed hard. Necessary. Grounding.

He still took your phone. Your passport. Your freedom.

The anger settled again.

Good.

She needed the anger. Needed it like armor. Without it she was afraid of what might happen. Afraid of how easy it would be to stop fighting. To stop resisting. To accept the version of reality Yoongi kept trying to build around her. A life where this was normal. A life where this was love. A life where she belonged to him.

The thought made her chest tighten. Because a small, traitorous part of her was getting tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of being angry. Tired of carrying the same hatred every day. And that scared her more than anything else.

Because maybe the walls weren't the only thing trapping her anymore. Maybe exhaustion was starting to do the rest. The realization left a bitter taste in her mouth.

She climbed out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. Halfway there, a familiar cramp twisted low in her abdomen.

She froze.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Another cramp followed. Stronger this time. And immediately she knew.

Not that she'd had any warning. Her periods operated on pure chaos, appearing days or sometimes even weeks late, basically showing up whenever they felt like it just to keep things interesting.

"No."

She closed her eyes.

"No, no, no."

Of course. Because apparently being kidnapped wasn't enough. Now her body had decided to join the conspiracy. Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.

The bathroom was warm.

Sunlight filtered through the frosted window, casting pale rectangles across the marble floor.

For a moment she just stood there staring at her reflection. Messy hair. Oversized sleep shirt. Dark circles under her eyes. She barely recognized herself anymore.

Another cramp twisted through her lower stomach. She winced.

"Fucking Fantastic." Her voice echoed softly around the empty room.

Just what she needed. Kidnapping. Identity crisis. And now this. Nature's lack of mercy.

She grabbed the edge of the sink and took a slow breath before opening one of the drawers beneath it. Mostly out of habit. She wasn't expecting much. Maybe towels. Maybe toiletries.

Instead she froze.For several seconds her brain genuinely failed to process what she was looking at.

Pads. Tampons. Multiple brands. Multiple sizes. Heating patches. Even chocolate.

Her eyes slowly moved across the neatly organized drawer. Then the next one. More. Everything. Absolutely everything. Already there. Already waiting. Prepared. A strange feeling bloomed inside her chest. Small. Warm. Dangerous.

Because for one awful second it felt... Thoughtful. Caring.

The realization hit so suddenly she physically stepped backward.

"No."

Her voice came out sharper than intended.

"No."

Her eyes dropped back to the drawer. The supplies remained exactly where they were. Silent. Innocent. And somehow that made them worse.

Because she knew exactly what had happened.

At some point... Weeks ago... Yoongi had stood in a store looking at period products. Thinking about her. Planning for her. Making sure she would have everything she needed.

The image arrived so vividly in her mind that it made her stomach twist. She could practically see him. Standing in front of shelves. Researching brands. Comparing labels. Trying to figure out what she preferred.

The thought should not have affected her. It absolutely should not have. Yet something painful tightened unexpectedly inside her chest.

Nobody had ever done that before. Not like this. Not with that level of attention. Not with that certainty.

And there it was. That horrible feeling again. The feeling that always arrived whenever Yoongi did something kind. The feeling she hated most.

Because it made everything complicated. It would be easier if he were cruel. Easier if he treated her badly. Easier if he gave her permission to hate him.

Instead he remembered things. Paid attention. Anticipated needs she hadn't even thought about yet.

The warmth spread through her chest before she could stop it. And immediately anger crashed down on top of it. Hard and violent.

"No."

She slammed the drawer shut. The sound echoed through the bathroom. Her breathing had quickened. She could feel it. Could feel herself slipping somewhere dangerous. Somewhere she absolutely could not afford to go.

"Come back to your senses."

She pressed both palms against the sink. Staring at herself in the mirror.

"This isn't caring."

The reflection stared back. Tired. Confused. Vulnerable.

"This is creepy."

Her voice sounded stronger now. More certain.

"He didn't buy these because he loves you."

Her throat tightened.

"He bought them because he planned for you to still be here."

Silence. The words settled heavily between her and her reflection. Because that was the truth. The real truth. Not the softened version her exhausted heart kept trying to create.

Yoongi hadn't stocked those drawers because he respected her. Or because he cared about her choices. He stocked them because he never intended to give her one.

A shiver crawled down her spine. Suddenly the drawer didn't seem thoughtful anymore. It seemed terrifying. Like another piece of evidence. Another reminder. Another quiet confirmation that this wasn't temporary.

That every detail of this life had been planned long before she arrived. The pads. The clothes. The books. The skincare. The room. The house. Her. Everything.

A prison didn't stop being a prison just because somebody put flowers in it. The thought settled heavily inside her chest. Grounding. Necessary.

Slowly she opened the drawer again. The supplies sat exactly where they had before. Neatly organized. Waiting.

She hated herself a little when relief still flickered through her.

Because despite everything, the cramps hurt. The heating patches would help. She obviously also needed the tampons and pads. And for the first time since waking up, she realized how exhausted she actually felt.

Her eyes lingered on the drawer for a few more seconds. Then finally she grabbed what she needed. Hating the strange mixture of anger and gratitude twisting together inside her chest. Hating that she couldn't separate them anymore.

And most of all hating that part of her understood exactly how happy it would make Yoongi to know she'd used them.

⸻⸻⸻⸻ ☽ ◯ ☾ ⸻⸻⸻⸻

By the time Yoongi got home, the cramps had become unbearable. Not enough to keep her in bed. Just enough to make everything irritating. The light was too bright. The couch wasn't comfortable enough. Her own skin felt wrong.

She was curled up beneath a blanket when she heard the front door open. A familiar knot immediately formed in her stomach. She hated that she could recognize the sound of his footsteps now. Hated that she knew the rhythm of them.

The house had been too quiet all day. Now suddenly it wasn't.

"Y/N?"

His voice carried through the hallway. A moment later he appeared in the living room. The second his eyes landed on her, his expression changed. Subtly. But enough. Concern replacing whatever exhaustion work had left behind.

She immediately looked away.

"Don't."

He blinked.

"Don't what?"

"Look at me like that."

A pause.

"You don't feel well."

Not a question. Of course not. Nothing ever escaped him.

She groaned and pulled the blanket higher.

"I'm fine."

"You look miserable."

"Thank you."

To her annoyance, a faint smile appeared on his face. Small. Brief. Gone almost immediately. He stepped closer.

"You ate?"

She hesitated. Bad sign. Yoongi sighed.

"You didn't."

"I wasn't hungry."

Another lie. They both knew it.

Without another word, he disappeared toward the kitchen. She rolled her eyes and pulled the blanket higher around herself.

A few minutes later, she heard cupboards opening. Water running. The soft clink of ceramic against the counter. The faint smell of ginger and honey drifted through the room.

Her curiosity eventually won. She looked toward the kitchen.

Yoongi was standing at the stove stirring something carefully, shoulders relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen all day.

“What are you making?” she called.

“Tea,” he answered without looking up. “The ginger one. It usually helps with cramps.”

That caught her off guard for a different reason.

“You know that?”

“I know a lot of things.”

His tone was light, almost teasing.

She should have found the answer unsettling. Instead, she felt herself watching him longer than intended.

He moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, measuring honey without checking, testing the temperature with the back of a spoon. Nothing clumsy or uncertain about it.

Twenty minutes later they ended up sitting in the living room with steaming mugs between them, snacks, fruits, blankets. The television playing quietly in the background. Neither of them actually watching it.

For the first time in weeks, they weren't arguing. Not because anything had been resolved. Because she was tired. And because Yoongi seemed determined to distract her from the fact that her body was actively trying to kill her.

Apparently his chosen method was storytelling.

For a while he just talked. Not about them. Not about what happened last night. Not about the house. Just... things. Small things. Work. The studio. The members.

At first she only listened because it was easier than thinking about the dull ache twisting through her stomach. Easier than thinking about where she was. Then somewhere along the way she realized she was actually listening. Really listening. Not because he was her captor. Not because he was trying to distract her. Because he was Yoongi.

The same Yoongi whose voice had filled her headphones for years. Whose songs she knew by heart. Whose interviews she'd watched late at night when she couldn't sleep. The same man who had once existed safely behind a screen. A person she had admired from a distance for so long that sometimes it still felt surreal to hear him talking about his day from the other end of the couch.

The realization settled uneasily inside her chest. Because for a few minutes she had forgotten herself. Forgotten the house. Forgotten the locked gates. Forgotten why she was supposed to hate him. And that frightened her more than she wanted to admit.

"...and then he called me three times."

She blinked and looked up from her mug. At some point she'd stopped listening and gotten lost in her own thoughts.

"Who?"

"Jungkook."

"Three times?"

"Three times."

"Why?"

Yoongi stared at her.

"He forgot where he parked."

A laugh escaped before she could stop it.

"What?"

"He was standing directly in front of the car."

"No way."

"Yes. He sent a picture."

That made her laugh again. A real laugh this time. Yoongi felt something warm settle quietly inside his chest. He continued before she could catch herself.

"Then Namjoon spent twenty minutes looking for his phone."

She immediately pointed at him.

"Don't tell me." A knowing look crossed her face.

Yoongi's mouth twitched. "It was in his hand."

Her eyes widened. "No."

"Yes. He asked all of us to help him find it."

A disbelieving laugh escaped her. "You're lying."

"I'm not."

"He was holding it the entire time?"

"The entire time."

"Oh my god."

"He even called it from someone else's phone."

That did it.

She dropped her head back against the couch and laughed. The kind that made her eyes crinkle.

"That's actually ridiculous."

"I know."

"Please tell me somebody said something."

"Jin hyung told him maybe the phone got tired of him and ran away."

That earned another laugh. God. He missed hearing her laugh. The realization hit harder than expected. For a moment he simply watched her. The way her eyes crinkled. The way her shoulders relaxed. The way she looked younger when she wasn't angry. Safer. Happier.

His chest tightened. He looked away first.

"You know," she said after a moment, "you make them sound normal."

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Something shifted immediately.

Yoongi looked at her over the rim of his mug.

"They are normal."

She smiled faintly. "No."

His eyebrow lifted. "No?"

"No." She shook her head. "They're BTS."

For the first time all evening, Yoongi laughed. Actually laughed. A short, genuine sound. And somehow hearing it in person felt completely different from every video she'd ever watched.

"We're really not that interesting."

She gave him a look. "You sold out Wembley."

"So did Ed Sheeran."

"You are impossible."

"So I've been told."

A quiet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he lifted his mug. The sight caught her off guard. Not because of the smile. Because of how familiar it felt. The way he sat on the opposite end of the couch. The way he talked about the members. The way he casually complained about his day over tea. For a moment it felt so normal that it was almost easy to forget herself. Almost.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the mug.

Years ago she would have given anything to sit across from Min Yoongi and listen to him talk about his day. Back then it had been an impossible fantasy. Something that belonged to late-night daydreams and concert videos. Now it was reality. A twisted, ruined version of it.

Yet somehow the old excitement still lingered beneath everything else. And she hated herself a little for it. The realization made something uncomfortable twist inside her chest. The tea suddenly tasted bitter.

She stared down into the mug. Trying not to think too hard about any of it. Eventually a comfortable silence settled between them.

Then Yoongi spoke again. Almost casually.

"The boys want to meet you."

Everything inside her froze. Her head snapped up immediately.

"What? You mean...?"

Yoongi leaned back slightly against the couch.

"Yes, I mean the members."

The room suddenly felt smaller. Her pulse quickened.

Meet her? Meet her how? As what? A fan? A girlfriend? A hostage? A secret?

Did they know? Did they know what he'd done?

The questions came so quickly they almost made her dizzy.

Surely they didn't. Surely if they knew, someone would've stopped him. Someone would've said something. Wouldn't they?

Or maybe they did know. And if they did know... What did that say about them?

Maybe they all knew. Maybe they were all helping him. The thought made her stomach turn. Are six of the most loved men in the world willing to look the other way?

Then another thought arrived. Quieter. More dangerous. Outside. People. The outside world. For the first time in months. Her heart skipped.

Maybe... Maybe this was it. Maybe this was finally an opportunity. A chance. A mistake on Yoongi's part. A crack in the cage. She opened her mouth. Already thinking. Already planning. Already imagining.

But Yoongi spoke first. Calmly. Without looking at her. Like he'd already followed every thought racing through her head.

"But I don't think you're ready for that yet."

Silence. Her stomach dropped.

Slowly, Yoongi lifted his eyes to hers. And the look in them told her everything.

He knew.

Every hope she'd allowed herself to feel over the last five seconds. Every possibility. Every escape plan.

He'd seen it all. And crushed it before she ever had the chance to speak.

The tea suddenly felt cold in her hands.

While across from her, Yoongi simply took another sip of his own.

As calm as ever.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Author's Note

Dear readers of DDY,

Thank you so much for all the love, support, comments, and theories you've been leaving. ❤️

I'm finally back from my holidays and, to make up for the wait, today's chapter is a little extra long. I hope you enjoyed spending some more time with our favorite problematic man and his very complicated situation. 😌

Also, after seeing all the struggles with notifications and taglists lately, I tried formatting the taglist differently this time. Fingers crossed it actually works and everyone gets notified properly.

As always, thank you for reading, screaming, suffering, and enabling my questionable writing decisions.

Love,

your calming melody ♡

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chapter 8 - Cracks

Warnings: dark and possessive Yoongi, kidnapping, captivity

Masterlist

After that night, Yoongi stopped touching her almost entirely.

No casual hands against her waist while passing in the hallway.

No brushing hair away from her face.

No absentminded fingers against the small of her back guiding her through rooms.

Nothing.

The distance should have relieved her.

Instead, the absence became noticeable everywhere.

Especially because Yoongi still looked at her the same way.

That terrifyingly focused attention never changed.

If anything, it grew worse.

Like he was constantly thinking.

Calculating.

Monitoring himself as carefully as he monitored her.

And she realized something slowly over the following weeks:

Yoongi was afraid of himself.

Not in a dramatic way.

Not because he thought he would hurt her physically.

Because he knew exactly how deeply obsessed he’d become.

Knew how fragile his self-control actually was beneath all the calmness.

So now he compensated by tightening control elsewhere.

More cameras appeared around the property.

The guards rotated more frequently.

The gates required multiple access codes now.

And every single male employee disappeared from the mansion completely.

At first she didn’t even notice.

Then one morning she looked around the breakfast table and realized every staff member in the house was female.

Every maid.

Every cook.

Every assistant.

Every cleaner.

She laughed in disbelief.

“You cannot be serious.”

Yoongi looked up from his coffee.

“What?”

“You replaced every male employee.”

He continued stirring sugar slowly into his cup.

“Yes.”

“Because of what? Jealousy?”

“Partially.”

The honesty stunned her every single time.

“Yoongi, that’s insane.”

“No,” he said calmly. “It’s preventative.”

She stared at him.

“You hear yourself, right?”

“I don’t want strange men around you.”

“They weren’t strange men! They were employees.”

Yoongi finally looked at her properly then.

Dark eyes steady.

Sharp.

“They looked at you too much.”

Heat crawled unpleasantly up her neck.

“What?”

“The cook especially.”

The bluntness caught her off guard completely.

“You’re imagining things.”

“I’m not.”

His expression hardened slightly.

“They knew you were vulnerable.”

“I’m not vulnerable.”

“You are here.”

“You don’t get to decide who’s dangerous to me.”

“Yes,” Yoongi said softly. “I do.”

The conversation ended there.

Like most conversations with him did.

Not because he shouted her down.

Because once Yoongi decided something, it became immovable.

Absolute.

The psychological exhaustion started affecting her more around the second month.

Not acceptance.

Not affection.

Just exhaustion.

Living in a constant state of fear and anger took energy she eventually no longer had.

Especially because Yoongi remained relentlessly consistent.

He never hit her.

Never screamed at her.

Never retaliated when she lashed out emotionally.

He simply endured her hatred with horrifying patience while continuing to care for her anyway.

And slowly that consistency began wearing cracks into her anger.

Not because she forgave him.

Because human beings weren’t built to sustain that level of emotional intensity forever.

One night she woke from a nightmare screaming and gasping hard enough to make herself dizzy.

For several confused seconds, she thought she was back home.

Then reality returned all at once.

The room.

The house.

Him.

Panic surged immediately through her chest.

Before she could fully calm herself, the bedroom door opened.

Yoongi stepped inside instantly, hair messy from sleep, concern obvious across his face.

“You okay?”

She stared at him silently, still breathing hard.

Of course he heard.

Of course he came.

Yoongi moved closer carefully.

“You were crying.”

“I’m fine.”

It was obviously a lie.

He sat slowly on the edge of the bed, keeping distance between them.

Not touching.

Never touching unless invited now.

“What was the dream about?”

“You.”

The answer slipped out before she could stop it.

Pain flickered across his expression immediately.

Still, he stayed calm.

“What happened in it?”

“You wouldn’t let me leave.”

Silence settled heavily between them.

Then he said quietly:

“That’s not a dream.”

Something about the honesty shattered her composure unexpectedly.

Tears burned suddenly behind her eyes again.

“I hate this,” she whispered.

Yoongi looked down at his hands for a long moment before answering.

“I know.”

“You ruined my life.”

Another pause.

Then:

“I know.”

God.

Why did he always do that?

Why did he never defend himself properly?

She wanted him to justify it. Argue back. Give her something clean to fight against.

Instead he accepted every accusation while still refusing to let her go.

It was maddening.

“I don’t understand you,” she said shakily.

Yoongi’s jaw tightened faintly.

“That makes two of us.”

She wiped angrily at her face.

“I don’t even know why you want me this much.”

That made him go very still.

For a second, she thought maybe he wouldn’t answer.

Then finally:

“Because you saw me correctly.”

The room felt heavier immediately.

She frowned slightly. “What does that even mean?”

Yoongi hesitated.

Like he was deciding whether to say anything at all.

“Everyone else,” he said finally, “sees pieces of me.”

A pause.

His fingers flexed once against his own palm.

“The idol. The producer. The celebrity. The version they need.”

He exhaled quietly through his nose.

“No one really listens past that.”

Her expression shifted slightly. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he said simply.

That made her go quiet.

Yoongi’s gaze lowered briefly.

“Telling people you’re tired gets old. After a while they stop hearing it.”

Silence stretched.

“But you didn’t.”

That landed differently.

Her chest tightened unexpectedly.

“That fansign conversation?” he continued quietly. “You didn’t treat me like something to consume. You actually understood things I’ve never explained out loud.”

He glanced at her then.

Not intense.

Just direct.

“You listened like it mattered.”

She swallowed.

His eyes finally lifted to hers again.

“It felt like finding oxygen after years underwater.”

The intensity in his gaze made her breath catch slightly.

There it was again.

That unbearable sincerity.

Not manipulation.

Not performance.

Real feeling.

Raw enough to make her uncomfortable.

“I didn’t know what to do after that,” Yoongi admitted softly. “I tried thinking rationally about it. Tried giving you space.” A humorless smile flickered briefly across his mouth. “Didn’t work.”

She stared at him silently.

Because for the first time since being taken, he sounded tired of himself too.

“I knew I was becoming obsessed,” he said. “I’m not stupid.”

“Then why didn’t you stop?”

The question hung heavily between them.

Yoongi answered immediately.

“Because I didn’t want to.”

The honesty stole the air from her lungs.

No excuses.

No denial.

Just truth.

“I could’ve let you leave Korea,” he continued quietly. “I could’ve convinced myself texting was enough. But eventually you would’ve moved on.” His gaze sharpened slightly. “And I couldn’t tolerate that outcome.”

The terrifying part was how logically he framed it.

Like he had genuinely evaluated every possibility before deciding this one was preferable.

“You say that like it’s reasonable.”

“No,” Yoongi corrected softly. “I say it because it’s true.”

Silence stretched between them again.

Then finally she asked the question she’d secretly wondered for weeks.

“Do you ever feel guilty?”

His expression changed immediately.

Not defensive.

Worse.

Sad.

“All the time.”

The answer stunned her.

“Then why—”

“Because guilt isn’t stronger than my feelings for you.”

His voice stayed calm.

Certain.

“And if I let guilt decide things,” he added quietly, “I would lose you.”

Something painful twisted unexpectedly in her chest.

Because she believed him completely.

Yoongi stood slowly from the bed then.

“I’ll leave you alone now.”

He turned toward the door before she spoke again suddenly.

“…Wait.”

He stopped instantly.

The single word affected him visibly.

She noticed that too.

Her throat tightened slightly.

“I…” God, why was this difficult? “Can you just stay until I fall asleep?”

Yoongi went completely still.

For one terrifying second, she thought maybe she’d made a mistake.

Then he answered softly:

“Of course.”

He sat back down carefully beside the bed, keeping the same respectful distance as before.

Neither spoke again.

But long after her breathing finally evened into sleep, Yoongi remained awake beside her, staring quietly into the dark with something dangerously close to happiness settling inside his chest.

Dear readers of DDY,

I found a chance to update my taglist finally! :D

Taglist: @mikaela-uhm @human169 @r0sek00kie @iveivory @namjoonsnook@3lectraheart@sw33tcupcake@pjmsneverland@demarie04@lostsomewhereinthegarden@devilzliaison@mygagustd93@llallaaa@queenrhia@praetae@agusthord @sassybearfire @liciaunlockmyheart @airwolf92 @bebesnyia7 @kingsqueensandvagabonds @leeknowsbigtoe @fairyv-ice @moilk34

Please have a look and let me know if I added everyone who wanted to be on this taglist. Also let me know if your name was added here accidentally and you actually did not want to be on the taglist, then I will remove you. :)

Chapter 7 - Punishment

Warnings: dark and possessive Yoongi, kidnapping, captivity

Masterlist

After the knife incident, things changed.

Not dramatically.

That was the problem.

If Yoongi had screamed at her or locked her in a room or threatened her, she could have held onto her anger cleanly. Could have hated him without complication.

Instead, he became gentler.

More careful around her.

And somehow that felt worse.

The next morning, every sharp object in the kitchen was gone.

Not just knives.

Scissors. Corkscrews. Peelers. Even glass dishes disappeared, replaced with soft plastic versions that made her feel humiliated every time she used them.

Yoongi never mentioned it directly.

Never threw the incident in her face.

But she noticed the changes everywhere.

The bathroom mirror had been replaced with one that couldn’t shatter.

Medication cabinets were locked now.

Balcony doors required codes.

It was suffocating.

Because none of it felt malicious.

It felt… preventative.

Like Yoongi had spent the entire night thinking not about how she might hurt him, but how she might hurt herself in another moment of panic.

That realization unsettled her deeply.

Especially because she could still remember the expression on his face when she’d raised the knife.

And every time she caught sight of the bandage still wrapped around his hand, shame twisted low in her stomach again.

Because even injured, Yoongi never once acted like she had hurt him.

Only like he was worried she had almost hurt herself.

Not fear.

Heartbreak.

Two days later, she stopped speaking to him entirely.

At first, Yoongi assumed she just needed space after the incident.

He respected that.

Mostly.

He still checked whether she ate. Still sat quietly across from her during meals even when she ignored him completely. Still asked whether she slept well despite receiving no answer.

Patient.

Steady.

But underneath that patience, frustration slowly began building.

Because silence from her felt unbearable.

He could survive anger.

Survive screaming.

Even survive hatred.

At least those things meant she was engaging with him.

But this?

This felt like disappearing.

And after weeks of carefully managing every interaction between them, Yoongi knew exactly why she was doing it.

Punishment.

Maybe not consciously.

But she had realized something important the night of the knife incident:

Her affection affected him far more than his control affected her.

So now she withheld everything.

No eye contact.

No replies.

No acknowledgment whatsoever.

And despite all his discipline, it was working.

By the fourth day, Yoongi looked exhausted again.

She noticed immediately.

Of course she did.

He sat at the dining table scrolling absently through his phone while untouched food cooled between them. His jaw looked tense. His eyes shadowed from lack of sleep.

“You need to eat,” he said quietly after nearly ten minutes of silence.

She continued staring out the window.

Something flickered in his expression.

“Please.”

Nothing.

Yoongi set his phone down carefully.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” he said evenly. “But this isn’t productive.”

Still nothing.

His chest tightened painfully.

God.

He missed her voice.

It was pathetic.

He knew it was pathetic.

But after finally experiencing what it felt like to have her attention fully on him, this silence felt unbearable.

“Talk to me.”

She stood abruptly from the table and walked away.

The chair legs scraped loudly against the floor.

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly.

That sharp ache returned to his chest again.

The same one that had existed ever since she tried to leave him.

Except now there was something uglier mixed into it too.

Resentment.

Not toward her.

Toward the situation.

Toward the fact that he was doing everything possible to care for her and she still looked at him like a monster.

Some nights he lay awake wondering if there was any version of this where she eventually loved him willingly.

Other nights he decided he didn’t care anymore.

As long as she stayed.

The punishment happened accidentally.

At least that was what Yoongi told himself afterward.

She had started pushing boundaries more aggressively lately.

Nothing major.

Small things.

Testing him.

Seeing how far she could go before he reacted.

Ignoring curfew inside the house.

Refusing meals.

Attempting to access locked doors.

Once, she even tried flirting subtly with one of the younger guards just to watch Yoongi’s expression darken from across the room.

That one had almost made him lose his composure entirely.

The guard disappeared the next day.

She felt guilty afterward.

Not because of Yoongi.

Because the guard had looked genuinely terrified when security abruptly removed him mid-shift.

Still, some cruel part of her had enjoyed seeing Yoongi affected for once.

Enjoyed proving he wasn’t nearly as calm and detached as he pretended to be.

Which was exactly why she pushed too far that evening.

Yoongi returned home late after an especially stressful schedule.

She could tell immediately.

His shoulders were tight beneath his coat. His expression distant and exhausted as he loosened his watch while walking into the kitchen.

“You waited up?” he asked softly after noticing her sitting there.

She shrugged.

Truthfully, she had.

The realization annoyed her.

Yoongi moved automatically toward the refrigerator before pausing slightly.

The female maid normally responsible for preparing late meals was gone tonight.

Instead, one of the older male kitchen staff stood near the counter finishing cleanup.

And she was talking to him.

Laughing softly at something he’d said.

Yoongi stopped moving.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

The staff member noticed first.

His face paled immediately.

“Sir.”

Yoongi’s gaze stayed fixed on him.

“How long has he been in here with you?”

The question wasn’t directed at the staff member.

It was directed at her.

She leaned back in her chair slowly.

“A while.”

Wrong answer.

She saw it immediately in the subtle shift of Yoongi’s jaw.

“He shouldn’t be alone with you.”

“Why?” she asked coolly. “Scared I’ll run away with him?”

The older man looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor.

Yoongi remained very still for a moment.

Then said quietly:

“Leave.”

The staff member bowed quickly and practically fled the kitchen.

Silence settled heavily afterward.

She crossed her arms.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You know the rules.”

“Oh my god,” she laughed sharply. “You really are jealous of every man who breathes near me.”

“Yes.”

Again.

No hesitation.

No embarrassment.

Just blunt honesty.

“You don’t own me.”

“I know.”

“Then stop acting like it!”

Yoongi looked at her carefully.

Measured.

“Did you enjoy provoking me?”

The question caught her slightly off guard because he sounded genuinely curious.

Not angry.

That only irritated her more.

“At least someone around here reacts like a normal person.”

Something hardened subtly in his expression.

There.

Finally.

A crack.

“You think I’m not reacting?”

“You act like nothing bothers you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then maybe show it once in a while!”

The words echoed sharply through the kitchen.

Silence followed.

Yoongi stared at her for several long seconds.

Then he spoke quietly.

“Go upstairs.”

Her stomach tightened instantly.

“What?”

“Go to your room.”

The calm authority in his voice made heat flare through her chest immediately.

“No.”

His eyes darkened slightly.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“There it is,” she snapped, standing abruptly. “There’s the controlling asshole underneath all the fake patience.”

Yoongi’s composure slipped for the first time in weeks.

Not explosively.

Coldly.

“You deliberately crossed a boundary tonight.”

“A boundary?” she laughed incredulously. “You mean speaking to another human being?”

“You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“And what if I did?”

Silence.

Then finally:

“Upstairs.”

Her pulse quickened.

Something about his tone made the room suddenly feel smaller.

She hated that part of herself still responded instinctively to his authority now.

Hated that living with him had already started conditioning her reactions.

“No.”

Yoongi stepped closer slowly.

“You need to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Her voice cracked sharply through the kitchen, but Yoongi didn’t answer immediately this time.

That was new.

He just stood there watching her, jaw tight beneath the exhaustion on his face.

Something unsettled in her chest at the sight.

Usually he would soften things.

Usually he would de-escalate.

Tonight he only looked tired.

“I hate this,” she said shakily. “I hate the way you act like this is normal.”

His gaze dropped briefly toward the floor before returning to her.

“I’m trying to make this easier for you.”

The answer hit something raw inside her.

“Stop acting like you’re helping me!” she snapped. “You kidnapped me!”

“I know.”

Not defensive.

Not angry.

Just tired.

And somehow that exhausted acceptance made her even angrier.

“You stand there acting calm and reasonable while you keep me trapped here like some fucking pet!”

Before she fully realized what she was doing, she shoved him hard.

The movement happened fast.

Too fast.

Something in Yoongi finally snapped.

“Stop fucking pushing me!”

His hands closed around both her wrists instantly, and before either of them fully processed it, he shoved her backward hard enough for her lower back to hit the kitchen counter with a sharp sound.

The impact knocked the breath from her lungs.

Silence crashed into the room.

Yoongi froze.

So did she.

For one horrible second, neither of them moved.

His grip around her wrists was tight.

Too tight.

His chest rose heavily beneath the dark fabric of his shirt, composure hanging by a thread now instead of sitting neatly behind his expression like usual.

And for the first time since she’d met him, he looked angry.

Not explosive.

Not violent.

Worse.

Restrained anger.

The kind dragged down under months of pressure and sleepless nights and constant self-control.

“Stop pushing me.” He repeated.

The words came out low and strained.

Almost rough.

A chill crawled suddenly down her spine.

Because he sounded human now.

Not careful.

Not endlessly patient.

Just exhausted.

Worn thin.

She stared up at him, breathing unevenly, suddenly hyperaware of how trapped she was between his body and the counter edge digging into her spine.

Then panic flickered across her face.

Tiny.

Instinctive.

But Yoongi saw it immediately.

And the second he did, everything in him seemed to break.

His hands released her so fast it was almost violent in reverse.

Like he couldn’t get away from her quickly enough.

Horror crossed his expression.

Real horror.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology came instantly.

Too fast.

Too genuine.

He took an actual step backward from her, breathing hard now, like he was disgusted with himself for losing control even for a second.

But the damage had already settled between them.

She rubbed at her wrists automatically despite the fact he hadn’t truly hurt her.

The gesture twisted something viciously inside his chest.

Because for one brief moment, in his hands she had been afraid of him again.

And after everything he’d done to keep her here, to convince himself he was protecting her, that expression still shattered him completely.

Chapter 6 - The damage of gentle hands

Warnings: dark and possessive Yoongi, kidnapping, captivity

Masterlist

Three weeks into captivity, Yoongi finally made a mistake.

Until then, he had controlled everything carefully.

Too carefully.

That was what made living with him so psychologically exhausting.

He anticipated problems before they happened. Thought through consequences. Avoided unnecessary conflict whenever possible. Even when she screamed at him, insulted him, refused food, ignored him for days, he rarely reacted emotionally in the moment.

He absorbed it.

Adjusted.

Adapted.

Like he was trying to build a life around her resistance instead of crush it outright.

Which was exactly why she hated him so much.

Because some traitorous part of her kept noticing the effort.

And she did not want to notice it.

Did not want to see the way he came home exhausted at three in the morning and still checked whether she had eaten dinner. Did not want to notice him quietly replacing the tea she hated with the one she liked after overhearing her complain once under her breath.

Did not want to think about how carefully he maintained physical distance from her after realizing sudden touch made her panic.

It would have been easier if he were cruel.

Instead, he acted like a man trying to earn affection he had no right to ask for.

And that made everything uglier.

More confusing.

More dangerous.

Especially because despite all his self-control, Yoongi was still possessive.

Terribly possessive.

She discovered that slowly.

At first, it was subtle.

A female maid began bringing her meals instead of one of the older male staff members after Yoongi noticed him lingering too long during conversation.

One afternoon, she mentioned an actor she found attractive while watching television.

Yoongi went quiet for the rest of the evening.

The next day, every drama featuring that actor had disappeared from the streaming recommendations.

Another time, one of the security guards smiled at her sympathetically after she dropped a glass in the kitchen.

Yoongi replaced him within twenty-four hours.

She noticed.

Of course she noticed.

“You’re unbelievable,” she snapped one night after realizing yet another male staff member had suddenly vanished. “What, are you worried someone’s going to steal me from you?”

Yoongi looked up from his laptop calmly.

“Yes.”

The immediate answer stunned her silent.

He didn’t even sound embarrassed.

“I’m not your girlfriend.”

“I know.”

“You don’t own me.”

“No,” he agreed quietly. “But I am responsible for you.”

The phrasing made anger flare instantly inside her chest.

“I’m not a fucking pet.”

His jaw tightened faintly.

“I never said you were.”

“That’s how you treat me.”

“No,” Yoongi said softly, closing the laptop carefully. “If you were a pet, this would be much easier.”

Something uncomfortable twisted in her stomach at the exhaustion in his voice.

He looked genuinely worn down lately.

Not regretful.

Just tired.

Like loving her had become something painful and relentless.

Good, she thought bitterly.

He deserved it.

The knife incident happened on a Thursday.

It started badly from the beginning.

Yoongi had been gone almost the entire week because of schedules, leaving before sunrise and returning late into the night. She barely saw him except during exhausted late-night dinners where he looked half-dead from lack of sleep.

And despite herself she had started waiting for those dinners.

Not because she liked him.

Because they broke the silence.

Because after weeks trapped inside the house, Yoongi had become the only real constant in her life.

She hated that realization violently.

So when he came home especially late that night smelling faintly of expensive perfume that wasn’t hers, something ugly and irrational twisted sharply inside her chest.

A female stylist had apparently hugged him after a recording.

He mentioned it absentmindedly while loosening his watch.

“She got foundation all over my jacket,” he muttered, annoyed.

And somehow that was enough.

“Poor thing,” she snapped before she could stop herself. “Must’ve been so difficult for you.”

Yoongi looked up immediately.

The hostility in her tone surprised him.

“What?”

“You seem very close.”

Realization flickered across his face slowly.

Then something warmer followed.

Dangerously warm.

“Are you jealous?”

Her expression hardened instantly.

“No.”

The answer came too fast.

Yoongi noticed.

Of course he noticed.

A small smile tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth for the first time all week.

“I barely spoke to her.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do.”

“I really don’t.”

“You’re upset.”

“I’m trapped in a house against my will,” she snapped sharply. “Of course I’m upset.”

The warmth disappeared from his face immediately.

Right.

There it was again.

The wall between them.

Yoongi exhaled quietly and stood from the table.

“I’m going to shower.”

“Have fun.”

He paused slightly at the bitterness in her voice before leaving without another word.

The moment he disappeared upstairs, guilt irritated her immediately.

Not because she felt bad for him.

She absolutely did not feel bad for him.

She was just frustrated.

Restless.

Angry all the time lately.

Angry at him. Angry at herself. Angry at the way isolation had started warping her emotions into something unrecognizable.

And worst of all, angry because she had felt jealous.

The realization made her feel sick.

Yoongi found her in the kitchen twenty minutes later.

She stood barefoot near the counter cutting fruit aggressively with one of the kitchen knives the staff had apparently forgotten to lock away after dinner prep.

The second he saw the knife in her hand, his entire body tensed.

Not fear for himself.

Fear for her.

His voice stayed carefully neutral.

“Baby.”

She looked up sharply.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t have that.”

Humiliation burned hot through her instantly.

Of course.

Of course he didn’t trust her.

“You think I’m going to stab you?”

“I think you’re upset.”

“So?”

Yoongi approached slowly.

Calmly.

Always calm.

“It’s dangerous when people are emotional and armed.”

Something in the wording pushed her over the edge.

Weeks of captivity.

Isolation.

Confusion.

The constant psychological pressure of him always being there.

Always watching.

Always understanding too much.

She snapped.

“Do you know what’s dangerous?” she laughed sharply, gripping the knife tighter. “Being kidnapped by a fucking psychopath!”

Yoongi stopped moving immediately.

Not angry.

Alert now.

“Put the knife down.”

“No.”

Her breathing had quickened hard and uneven.

She suddenly felt trapped all over again.

Trapped in the kitchen.

Trapped in the house.

Trapped inside his life.

“You don’t get to control every single thing I do!”

“I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“You’re keeping me prisoner!”

His expression tightened slightly.

“Please lower your voice.”

The calmness shattered something inside her.

“Fuck you!” she screamed, tears burning suddenly down her face. “I hate you! I hate you so much!”

Pain flashed across Yoongi’s face before disappearing behind control again.

“Okay.”

“Stop saying okay like this is normal!”

“You’re distressed.”

“No shit!”

She hurled the cutting board violently across the room.

It crashed loudly against the cabinets.

Yoongi didn’t even flinch.

That only made her angrier.

“You think you know me so well?” she cried. “You think this is love? You don’t love me! You love controlling me!”

“No,” he said quietly. “I love you.”

The certainty in his voice made her chest ache with frustrated fury.

“You don’t even care that I’m miserable!”

“That’s not true.”

“Then let me go!”

Silence.

Heavy.

Final.

“No.”

The word broke whatever fragile restraint she still had left.

Before either of them fully realized what was happening, she lunged forward and shoved him hard.

Yoongi stumbled backward into the counter, genuine surprise flashing across his face for the first time that night.

Then everything unraveled at once.

The knife came up between them in one frantic movement. Not planned, not deliberate, not even fully conscious.

Just panic. Rage. Fear exploding all at once.

Yoongi reacted instantly.

His hand shot out and caught her wrist before the blade could reach him.

A sharp sound cut through the kitchen.

For a second, neither of them understood what had happened.

Then Yoongi’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly.

Her eyes dropped.

Blood welled across his palm in a thin red line where the blade had sliced into him during the struggle.

The sight ripped the air from her lungs.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

The knife still hovered inches from his chest.

Yoongi’s bleeding hand remained locked around her wrist, blood slipping between his fingers and dripping steadily onto the floor. Crimson streaked across his skin, spotted the front of his shirt, slid down the edge of the counter.

If his reflexes had been even a second slower, the knife would have gone into his chest instead.

The realization hit her so hard she nearly stopped breathing.

The kitchen fell completely silent except for their uneven breaths and the soft drip of blood against tile.

She stared at the knife in horror.

At his blood.

At her own hand still holding the weapon.

Yoongi stared back at her.

Not angry.

Not frightened.

Devastated.

That was somehow worse.

Slowly, carefully, his grip loosened around her wrist.

The knife slipped from her numb fingers and crashed against the floor.

Without taking his eyes off her for long, he pushed the knife farther away across the tile with his foot.

“You could’ve hurt yourself,” he said softly.

Not you could’ve hurt me.

Her throat closed painfully.

“I—I didn’t mean…”

The words shattered apart before they could fully leave her mouth.

Tears spilled down her face instantly, hot and humiliating.

Not because he was hurt.

Because she no longer understood what she was becoming.

Yoongi finally glanced down at his bleeding hand as though he’d forgotten about it entirely.

When he reached toward her with his uninjured hand, she flinched backward automatically.

The reaction landed visibly.

Like something inside him cracked quietly under it.

But his voice remained painfully gentle.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Don’t touch me,” she whispered, broken.

Yoongi stopped immediately.

Silence swallowed the kitchen again.

Then, after a long moment, he said softly:

“I’m going to lock the knives away from now on.”

The shame hit harder than any punishment ever could.

And from the exhausted sadness in Yoongi’s eyes, it hurt him too.

Chapter 5 - The softness of chains

Warnings: dark and possessive Yoongi, kidnapping, captivity

Masterlist

The first week was the worst.

Not because Yoongi hurt her.

Because he didn’t.

That was what unsettled her most.

She had expected screaming. Violence. Threats. Maybe chains. Maybe bruises. Something monstrous and obvious she could point to and say there, that’s evil, that’s wrong, that’s the villain.

Instead, Yoongi remained terrifyingly calm through all of it.

Methodical.

Patient.

He moved her into a large house on the outskirts of Seoul within twenty-four hours of taking her from the hotel. Somewhere private. Hidden. Expensive enough that every locked door somehow looked elegant instead of sinister.

The bedroom he gave her was bigger than her apartment back home.

There were fresh flowers on the nightstand.

A stack of books in her language.

Clothes in her size.

Skincare products she’d casually mentioned liking once during a text conversation.

It made her skin crawl.

Because it meant he had listened to everything.

Remembered everything.

Planned everything.

“Do you like it?” he asked quietly the first time he showed her the room.

She stared at him in disbelief.

“Are you serious?”

Yoongi’s expression tightened slightly, but he stayed composed.

“I want you comfortable.”

“I want to go home.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, controlled almost immediately.

“I know.”

The calmness in his voice infuriated her.

“How are you acting like this is normal?”

He leaned lightly against the doorway, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

Because unlike her, he had already accepted what this was.

Accepted what he had done.

Accepted that there was no version of reality anymore where he let her leave.

“I know this is difficult for you right now,” he said evenly. “But I need you to understand something clearly from the beginning.”

She glared at him silently.

“I am not going to hurt you. I’m not going to force myself on you. I’m not going to punish you for being upset with me.” His gaze held hers steadily. “But you are staying here.”

The finality in his tone chilled her more than shouting would have.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I already did.”

Her chest tightened.

God.

He sounded so rational.

So controlled.

Like he’d genuinely weighed every possibility before arriving at this conclusion.

It made him infinitely more frightening.

“You think this is love?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

No hesitation.

No embarrassment.

Just certainty.

“And eventually,” he continued quietly, “you’re going to understand why.”

At first, she refused to speak to him unless necessary.

Yoongi expected that.

Prepared for it.

He gave her space while still remaining constantly present somehow. If she skipped meals, he noticed. If she slept badly, he noticed. If she cried in the bathroom at night thinking nobody could hear her, somehow he noticed that too.

And he always responded the same way.

Patiently.

Steadily.

Like this was a long-term process instead of a crisis.

That patience began wearing her down faster than aggression would have.

Because she couldn’t predict him.

One evening, three days after arriving at the house, she finally exploded.

“You’re insane,” she snapped as he set dinner down in front of her untouched for the third time. “Do you understand that? None of this is okay!”

Yoongi sat across from her quietly.

“You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“That’s a lie.”

“I don’t care!”

“You should.”

The sharpness in his voice surprised both of them.

Silence fell immediately afterward.

Yoongi exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face before speaking again.

“I know you hate me right now.”

“I do hate you.”

A tiny pause.

“I know.”

No defensiveness.

No anger.

Just acceptance.

And somehow that made the guilt twist unpleasantly in her stomach.

She hated that.

Hated that he could make her feel guilty while being the one holding her captive.

Yoongi looked exhausted lately. Sleeping only a few hours between schedules and rushing back home immediately afterward. She noticed dark circles beneath his eyes getting worse every day.

Not that she cared.

She absolutely did not care.

“Eat,” he said quietly.

“No.”

His jaw flexed slightly.

“Please don’t start fighting me over basic things.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

His gaze lifted to hers carefully.

Measured.

“I actually do.”

The reminder made anger flare hot inside her chest.

Without thinking, she grabbed the plate and shoved it off the table.

The ceramic shattered loudly against the floor.

Food scattered everywhere.

Silence.

Her breathing came hard and uneven immediately afterward.

Part of her expected him to finally snap.

But Yoongi only stared at the broken plate for a moment before looking back at her.

Disappointed.

Not furious.

Somehow worse.

“You could’ve hurt yourself.”

She laughed sharply.

“Seriously? That’s your concern right now?”

“You’re barefoot.”

His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the shattered ceramic pieces near her feet.

Something inside her twisted painfully.

Because he genuinely was worried about that.

Not the mess.

Not the disrespect.

Her.

“I’m not hungry,” she said again, weaker this time.

Yoongi studied her silently for several long seconds.

Then finally stood.

“Okay.”

That caught her off guard.

“…Okay?”

“You don’t have to eat right now.” He moved calmly around the broken plate, crouching to begin collecting shards carefully. “But I am going to make you something else later.”

She stared at him.

“You’re just letting this go?”

“I understand why you’re angry.”

“That doesn’t make this okay!”

“I know.”

“There you go again!” she snapped. “Acting reasonable like this isn’t some horrifying thing you’re doing!”

Yoongi placed another ceramic shard onto the tray quietly.

“I don’t think kidnapping you was morally good.”

The bluntness startled her silent.

“I think it was necessary.”

Her stomach dropped slightly.

There it was again.

That terrifying logic.

Not impulsive obsession.

Not blind madness.

Conviction.

“I tried to think of another solution,” he continued calmly. “I did.”

“You could’ve just let me leave.”

His expression hardened slightly for the first time all evening.

“No.”

The single word landed heavily between them.

Because he meant it completely.

He rose to his feet again, setting the tray aside.

“I knew what would happen if I let you go back home.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough.”

He stepped closer slowly.

Not threatening.

Intentional.

“You would’ve gone back to your normal life. Maybe we’d text for a while. Then less. Then eventually not at all.” His eyes stayed fixed steadily on hers. “And I would’ve spent the rest of my life thinking about you.”

Something emotional flickered briefly across his face before smoothing away again.

“I’m not interested in surviving you,” he said quietly.

The honesty knocked the breath from her lungs for a second.

And she hated that some part of her understood it.

Not agreed with it.

Understood it.

That dangerous loneliness underneath him.

That desperation to hold onto the first person who made him feel seen instead of consumed.

It made resisting him emotionally much harder than resisting cruelty would’ve been.

Because cruelty was simple.

Yoongi wasn’t simple.

That was the problem.

The first escape attempt happened fourteen days later.

She’d been watching carefully.

Learning routines.

Studying the guards.

Yoongi never physically restrained her, but the house itself was heavily secured. Keypads. Cameras. Locked gates. Staff everywhere.

Still, eventually she noticed something.

Every Thursday night, one of the maids took trash bags out through the side entrance shortly before midnight.

The alarm remained disabled for exactly forty seconds.

It wasn’t much.

But it was enough.

She waited until the house quieted completely before slipping carefully from her room barefoot, heart hammering violently against her ribs.

The hallway was dark.

Silent.

Every tiny sound felt deafening.

She moved quickly downstairs, pulse roaring in her ears as she approached the side entrance.

Thirty more seconds.

Twenty-five.

The maid disappeared outside briefly.

Now.

She ran.

Cold night air hit her face as she slipped through the partially closed door and sprinted toward the outer gate barefoot across wet pavement.

Freedom.

Oh my god.

Freedom.

Adrenaline surged wildly through her body.

She almost cried from relief.

Then—

“Stop.”

Yoongi’s voice.

Behind her.

Calm.

Too calm.

She froze.

Slowly turned.

He stood several yards away near the driveway dressed entirely in black, hands tucked into his pockets.

Like he’d been expecting this.

Rain dampened dark strands of hair against his forehead.

His expression wasn’t angry.

Just tired.

Disappointed.

“How—”

“The cameras alerted me when you left your room.”

Her stomach dropped.

Of course they did.

“You monitored my room?”

“I monitor the entire house.”

She backed away instinctively.

“I’m leaving.”

“No.”

“You can’t keep me here forever!”

Yoongi walked toward her slowly.

Measured.

“You’re freezing.”

“I don’t care!”

“You don’t have shoes on.”

“Fuck you!”

Something flickered briefly across his face at the outburst, but his voice remained controlled.

“Come back inside.”

“No.”

Rain soaked through her thin pajamas now, making her shiver violently.

Yoongi noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

“You’ll get sick,” he said quietly. “Come on, don't make it difficult.”

“I’d rather get pneumonia than stay here.”

The words landed harder than she intended.

He stopped walking.

For a second, something genuinely wounded crossed his expression.

Then disappeared.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“No,” he said softly. “You’re just trying to hurt me.”

The terrifying part was that he sounded correct.

Like he knew her already.

Yoongi stepped closer again.

“This doesn’t have to be miserable for you.”

“You kidnapped me!”

“And I’m taking care of you.”

“You’re controlling me!”

“Yes.”

The blunt honesty startled her.

“I’m controlling your environment because right now your decisions are based entirely on fear and anger.” His gaze stayed steady on hers. “I’m waiting for the point where they aren’t.”

She stared at him in disbelief.

“You hear yourself, right?”

“I hear myself perfectly.”

Rain dripped steadily from his hair now.

Neither moved.

Finally, quietly he said:

“Come inside, baby.”

The softness in his voice nearly broke her unexpectedly.

Not because it comforted her.

Because part of her wanted it to.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

Dear readers of Don’t Disappear Yet 💌

Just a little update from me: 🌸 I’ll be away on holiday for the next 2 weeks, so I unfortunately won’t be able to respond to messages, interact much, or add new people on the taglist during that time. 🥺✈️

But please don’t hold back!! 💕 Your comments, reactions, and support always make me so happy, and they genuinely motivate me more than you know. 🥹💖 I’ll still be reading everything once I’m back!

The good news is: I’ve already scheduled the next 4 chapters for you all. 🌟 There will be 2 chapters per week while I’m gone, so the story will continue even if I’m not around hehe 😌😏📚✨

Once my vacation is over, I’ll come back and reply to everyone properly. 🤗💕 Thank you again to every single person who reads, likes, reblogs, comments, and supports this story. It truly means the world to me. 🌷

Take care of yourselves and have a wonderful time everyone!! ☀️💞

Love,

Your CalmingMelody 🎶🎵