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kthice · 1 month ago

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JJK'S CASE | JUNGKOOK FF (M) •ongoing #2

Summary: A town shrouded in mystery. A detective entangled in a web of secrets. As Jungkook delves into the buried past, he unearths a truth far more sinister than he ever imagined. Some stories are forgotten for a reason—because once the truth is revealed, there is no turning back.

pairing: jungkook x reader •genre: dark romance, psychological thriller,mystery detective oc

warnings: vióléncé ánd gráphíc dépíctíóns óf hárm, psychólógícál ábúsé, mánípúlátíón., dárk thémes óf révéngé ánd páín., déscríptíóns óf ínténsívé cáréss, térrór, ánd prófánítý, mátúré lángúágé (prófánítý) ánd viólént áctíóns, RÈVÈNGÈ, 18+, m*rder, g*re and several mature scenes.

MASTER LIST

• 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 •14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 epilogue

Chapter 2

YONGDONG POLICE STATION

6 PM

Jungkook stepped into the office, the scent of aged wood and ink filling his nostrils. The place felt frozen in time, as though it had been untouched for years, its walls lined with shelves crammed with old files and records. The soft hum of the fluorescent lights above only added to the eeriness of the space, flickering every now and then like the place was fighting to stay alive.

He sat stiffly in the dimly lit conference room, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and old paper. A large corkboard stood at the front, covered with photographs of people-men, women, and even children-all pinned under the same glaring title: Missing.

Captain Min, an older man with sharp eyes and a tired expression, stood at the front, flipping through a thick file. Beside him, Detective Jiho leaned against the desk, arms crossed, his jaw tight as he exhaled sharply. The atmosphere was tense, the weight of unsolved cases pressing heavily on the room.

Jungkook cleared his throat.

"So... what's the situation?"

Captain Min didn't look up as he spoke.

"We've had multiple disappearances over the last year. No bodies, no ransom notes, no traces left behind. These aren't ordinary cases, Jeon." He finally lifted his gaze, his voice taking on a grim note. "And they go back way further than just last year."

Jungkook frowned. "How far back are we talking?"

Jiho pushed off from the desk, grabbing a separate stack of files and tossing them onto the table. "Fifteen years," he muttered. "But the pattern only became noticeable in the last few."

Jungkook flipped open the nearest file, his eyes scanning the reports. The victims had no direct connection-different ages, different occupations, different social backgrounds. Yet there was something eerily similar about them all.

"No leads? No suspects?"

Captain Min exhaled. "We had a few, but nothing ever stuck. The locals don't talk much, and the ones who do either disappear or... stop talking."

Jungkook glanced at him. "Stop talking?"

Jiho's jaw clenched. "We've had cases where witnesses swore they saw something-strange figures, movement in the woods, people who weren't supposed to be there. Then, a week later? They refuse to say another word. Almost as if something... or someone... got to them."

Jungkook felt a chill creep up his spine.

Captain Min looked at him with a firm expression ."Maybe an outsider like you will see something we missed."

Jungkook nodded. But as he looked down at the collection of names, dates, and photographs, a sinking feeling settled in his gut.

Something wasn't actually right about this town.

Jungkook's desk

Jungkook adjusted the stiff collar of his navy-blue shirt as he stepped into the dimly lit briefing room. The space smelled of stale coffee and old leather, the air thick with an unshakable weight. A low hum of murmured conversations, the shuffle of case files, and the occasional tap of a pen against a wooden table filled the silence.

A manila folder landed in front of him with a dull thud.

"This is yours now," Jiho said, voice edged with something close to resignation. The senior detective leaned back against the desk, his sharp gaze flickering to Jungkook. "It's not pretty."

Jungkook ran his fingers along the worn edges of the folder before flipping it open. A stack of aged documents, faded photographs, and crime scene reports greeted him. The first page detailed names and dates-people who had disappeared over the past fifteen years.

He frowned. "Brief me about it properly, will ya?"

Jiho sighed, rubbing his jaw. "Too long. At first, it was one or two people-easy to write off as runaways or accidents. But then, it kept happening. People just... vanish."

Jungkook flipped through the photographs-grainy black-and-white snapshots of smiling faces, now nothing more than ghosts of Yongdong. No common thread. No known connections.

"And no bodies? No traces?"

"Not a damn thing," Jiho muttered. "They don't leave a trail. No calls, no bank activity, no signs of struggle. Just... gone." His fingers tapped against the table. "And the weirdest part? Most of them disappeared near the forest."

Jungkook's grip tightened slightly on the file. He had passed the forest on his way into town-its dense, towering trees forming an almost impenetrable wall of shadows. There was something about it, something unspoken. Too still. Too watchful.

Jiho smirked, almost like he could read his thoughts. "Welcome to Yongdong."

Jungkook glanced up. "What's with this 'welcome to Yondong thingy you're doing? Its annoying"

Jiho let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Yongdong's a graveyard with a heartbeat." He turned toward the corkboard pinned with old, yellowed newspaper clippings. "Used to be a normal town, but after the disappearances started, people packed up and left. Now? It's mostly the ones too stubborn or too afraid to go. The ones who pretend they don't know anything."

Jungkook followed his gaze. An old aerial map of the town was tacked onto the board. It was a simple layout-clusters of houses, a single main road cutting through the center, and at the farthest edge, the forest. The ink had faded, but the darkness of the trees remained, swallowing the borders like an ink stain spreading across a page.

"The locals don't talk,or else we would have some track in hand" Jiho continued. "They keep their doors locked, their heads down. Outsiders? They don't like us much. Not because they think we'll solve this." He scoffed. "Because they think we won't."

Jungkook thought back to his arrival. The wary glances. The hushed whispers that cut off the moment he entered a room. The way the shopkeepers turned away like they hadn't seen him at all.

He tapped the folder. "And this?"

Jiho sighed and pulled out another document. This one was older, the pages yellowed and fragile. A deep red stamp at the top read:

Cold Case.

Jungkook scanned the details.

Crime: Double Homicide Date: 15 years ago

He turned the page, eyes landing on the first crime scene photograph.

A man, lying in a pool of blood, his skull fractured beyond recognition.

The second photo-another body. An older man, stab wounds deep in his chest.

His stomach tightened. The brutality of it was different from the disappearances. This was messy. Personal.

And then his gaze fell on the witness statement.

Witness: Kim Taehyung.

Jungkook's breath stilled.

His fingers hovered over the name as an unsettling feeling curled in his chest.

Jiho was watching him carefully. "He was a kid when it happened. Eleven, maybe twelve. He was the only one who saw it."

Jungkook flipped to the next page-a shaky, handwritten account.

"I saw the man with the axe first. He was standing in the clearing, staring down at the other man. There was blood on the ground. A lot of it. He looked at me, but... his eyes. They weren't normal. It was like he wasn't real. Like something else was wearing his skin."

Jungkook swallowed.

"He was found in the forest the next morning," Jiho added. "Alone. Barefoot. Kept saying the same thing over and over."

Jungkook looked at him. "What did he say?"

Jiho's expression darkened.

"The forest keeps them."

A heavy silence settled between them.

Jungkook closed the file, pressing his palm against the paper as if he could absorb the weight of it.

Outside, the sun had begun its slow descent, casting elongated shadows through the station windows. The town of Yongdong stretched beyond them, quiet, unmoving.

Watching.

Jiho exhaled, pushing off the desk.

"I hope you find them, Jungkook." His voice was quieter now, tinged with something that almost sounded like regret. "But in this town? Hope doesn't last long."

Jungkook didn't respond.

Because for the first time in a long time, he felt it.

The distinct, creeping sensation that he was stepping into something far bigger than he could ever understand.

And that maybe, just maybe-

It had been waiting for him all along.

---

Somewhere in Yongdong

The world was painted in hues of gold and green, the late afternoon sun stretching long shadows across the mossy ground.

The forest hummed with life, but in a quiet, unintrusive way-soft rustling leaves, the occasional chirp of a hidden bird, and the gentle murmur of the stream flowing past smooth stones.

Hanna sat on the edge of a large, sun-warmed rock, her legs dangling freely over the water. The cool current lapped at her ankles, sending a pleasant shiver up her spine as she let her toes skim through the ripples. Tiny fish darted away from the disturbance, their silvery bodies vanishing beneath the glassy surface.

The weight of the world did not exist here.

She tilted her head back, closing her eyes, letting the warmth of the sunlight seep into her skin. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching in the light like strands of silk.

For once, she wasn't thinking about anything.

No worries. No responsibilities.

Just the steady rhythm of the water, the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, and the feeling of absolute peace.

And then-

A rustle.

Barely audible, just a shift of movement behind her.

Before she could react, something soft brushed against her hair, featherlight and delicate.

A voice followed, low and teasing, filled with a warmth she knew all too well.

"Guess who?"

A small, knowing smile ghosted across her lips. She didn't need to turn around.

"Taehyung," she murmured, not bothering to hide the fondness in her voice.

A rich chuckle. "How do you always know?"

"Because you're predictable," she teased, finally opening her eyes. Her fingers instinctively reached up, brushing against her hair-only to find something woven into it.

She blinked.

A crown.

A delicate, slightly uneven wreath of wildflowers, their petals still dusted with tiny specks of earth. Daisies, buttercups, and small white blossoms she didn't recognize had been carefully braided together into a makeshift circlet.

Hanna turned her head slightly, watching as Taehyung plopped down beside her, stretching his long legs out next to hers. He was grinning, clearly pleased with himself, his dark brown curls slightly ruffled from the wind.

"You should've seen me," he said, shaking his head dramatically. "I nearly died fighting off a bee for the last flower."

Hanna laughed, tilting her head. "A bee, huh?"

Taehyung leaned back on his elbows, his deep brown eyes glinting with mischief. "It was ruthless. Stared me down like I had stolen its family heirloom."

"Poor thing," she mused. "Maybe you did steal its favorite flower."

Taehyung gasped in mock horror. "Are you taking the bee's side over mine?"

Hanna shrugged, fighting back a smirk. "Maybe."

A soft breeze wove through the trees, rustling the leaves above them. The world felt so distant here, yet so perfectly whole. The golden light of the setting sun dappled the ground through the canopy, bathing them in warmth.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Taehyung reached out, picking at a stray blade of grass beside him, his fingers absently twisting it around as if his hands always needed to be doing something. Hanna watched him from the corner of her eye, taking in the way his lips curved ever so slightly at the corners, the way his eyes softened whenever he was around her.

"You're too quiet," he murmured after a moment, his voice gentler now. "What are you thinking about?"

Hanna hummed, swaying her feet in the water, watching as tiny ripples fanned outward. "Nothing."

It wasn't exactly a lie.

But if she said the truth-that she felt safe in this moment, that she wished time would slow down, that she never wanted this kind of peace to slip away-she wasn't sure she'd be able to meet his gaze.

Taehyung didn't press her. Instead, he reached for a stray daisy resting near his knee, twirling it between his fingers. The motion was slow, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

Then, with an almost imperceptible smile, he leaned in and tucked the tiny flower behind her ear.

His fingers brushed against her skin-warm, fleeting, but enough to send an unspoken weight into the air between them.

Hanna swallowed. "What was that for?"

"You looked like you needed one more," he said simply.

She stared at him, trying to decipher the look in his eyes. Something soft. Something unreadable. Something she didn't want to name.

Instead, she let out a small laugh, nudging his arm. "You're impossible."

Taehyung smirked. "And yet, you tolerate me."

Hanna pretended to think. "Maybe because no one else will."

"Hey!" He gasped, pressing a hand over his heart as if deeply wounded. "I'll have you know, I'm very lovable."

Hanna turned to face him fully, raising an eyebrow. "Are you?"

He nodded. "Absolutely."

A pause.

Then-without warning-he reached out and flicked water at her.

The cold droplets hit her skin, shocking her out of the moment.

"Taehyung!" she shrieked, scrambling backward, barely avoiding the second splash aimed at her.

But he was already laughing, his deep, boyish chuckles echoing through the quiet of the forest.

"Oh, you're in for it now," she warned, scooping up a handful of water and launching it at him.

Taehyung yelped, shielding himself with his arms. "Hanna, no-!"

Too late.

Within seconds, they were locked in a full-blown water fight, splashing and laughing, their carefree joy blending into the golden afternoon.

By the time they finally collapsed back onto the rock, breathless and drenched, Hanna was laughing so hard she had to clutch her stomach.

"You-" she gasped between giggles. "You look like a wet cat."

Taehyung turned to her, his hair dripping, his lips stretched into a helpless grin. "And you-" he tapped her nose lightly with his finger, "-look like someone who just lost a battle."

"Lost?" She scoffed. "I so won that fight."

Taehyung sighed dramatically, flopping backward onto the rock. "Fine, fine. You win, your highness."

A victorious smile tugged at Hanna's lips. "As long as you remember that."

Another pause. This time, the silence between them was softer, filled with nothing but the quiet sounds of the stream and their steady breathing.

Taehyung turned his head slightly, watching her. His expression had changed.

It wasn't mischief anymore.

It wasn't teasing.

It was something else-something unspoken, something lingering just beneath the surface.

Hanna felt it too.

But neither of them said it.

Instead, she sighed, resting her chin on her knees, letting the moment stretch on for just a little longer.

Here, with Taehyung beside her, with wildflowers tangled in her hair and the sun dipping lower into the horizon, she could pretend-for just a little while longer-that the world beyond this stream was still kind.

That nothing bad would ever come for them.

Even though, deep down, she knew better.

---

The sun dips low in the sky, casting long shadows across the forest as the evening settles in.

The golden light bathes everything in a soft, fading glow, but the cool breeze that sweeps through the trees whispers a warning of the night to come. It's a time of transition-day to night, light to darkness, safety to danger.

And Jimin is there, hidden in the shadows, his eyes never leaving the pair of figures walking ahead: Hanna and Taehyung.

His posture is rigid, almost predatory, as he stands just outside their line of sight, his body melting into the trees, becoming one with the forest itself.

His eyes, cold and unblinking, narrow in an almost calculating way. He watches how Taehyung moves, his steps protective, the way his body subconsciously shifts to shield Hanna from whatever might be lurking in the open spaces of the woods.

The tension between them is palpable, a quiet electricity that Jimin can almost taste.

He leans slightly forward, his breath barely audible, but the steady rhythm of his pulse is deafening in his ears. His fingers twitch as he watches Taehyung subtly place his hand at the small of Hanna's back, guiding her, his thumb brushing against her skin in what should be a comforting gesture.

But Jimin sees it differently. His lip curls ever so slightly, his chest tightening with a feeling he can't quite name but knows too well. He imagines himself there, standing in Taehyung's place, his hand on Hanna, his thumb brushing against her soft skin.

The thought alone makes his skin crawl in a way that excites him.

No one can protect her like I can, he thinks, an edge to his thoughts. Taehyung doesn't know what she really needs.

He's just a distraction.

Hanna, completely unaware of the eyes on her, keeps walking, her pace slow and peaceful, but there's a tension in the way she holds herself, the way she glances nervously around the woods.

She's on edge-good. Jimin smiles to himself. He can see the cracks in her mask, the way the unease settles in her bones. She's not as untouchable as she thinks.

His gaze flicks between her and Taehyung, studying every moment, every glance, every subtle shift of their bodies. Taehyung's protective nature irritates him, but there's something else-a fascination, a twisted admiration. He doesn't like that someone else feels the need to take care of Hanna.

He doesn't like that she might be turning to someone else for safety, for comfort, for attention.

The light from the setting sun seems to illuminate Hanna in a golden halo, casting her in an ethereal glow. It's almost beautiful. But the beauty feels wrong to Jimin.

It should be his to control, his to shape. It burns his mind that she's not looking at him, not seeking his help, not relying on him.

He can feel his anger rising, though it's tempered by something darker-a twisted sense of control. Jimin smiles to himself, eyes gleaming as he watches Taehyung speaking softly to Hanna, his voice low and soothing. Jimin can't hear their words, but it doesn't matter. He knows what Taehyung is doing-he's trying to reassure her, trying to ease her into the safety of the forest's dark embrace.

But she doesn't need him, Jimin muses, stepping slightly closer. His shoes barely make a sound on the forest floor as he moves, just enough to close the gap between them, just enough to get a better look at Hanna's face. Her eyes are darting around, her mind working through a dozen possible scenarios, but her gaze never shifts toward Jimin.

It's like she doesn't even know he's there-doesn't know that he's been watching her for days, stalking her from the shadows, waiting for a moment just like this.

The darkness that swells inside of him sharpens. It's not just jealousy now, it's possession. Hanna is his-she always has been, even if she doesn't realize it yet. She'll see it soon. He'll make her see it.

The forest feels suffocating as his mind races, each thought darker than the last. Jimin watches as Taehyung's protective grip tightens slightly on Hanna's arm. Taehyung, ever the good guy, ever the hero. But what Jimin sees is a weakness, a flaw-a vulnerable crack in the armor.

Hanna laughs lightly at something Taehyung says, her voice sweet, and for a fleeting moment, Jimin can almost hear it in his mind, the way her laugh might sound when it's directed at him, when it's just the two of them, alone. But then it's gone, and the jealousy flares again.

The ache to be the one she trusts, to be the one she relies on-it's overwhelming, and Jimin can't help but feel the need to close the distance, to finally step into the light.

But he doesn't. Not yet. He enjoys the torment of watching them from the distance, enjoying the growing sense of power that settles into his bones. The sense that he controls this, that every step they take is only bringing them closer to him.

His fingers curl into fists, the sensation of adrenaline coursing through him. Soon, he tells himself. Soon.

As the evening light begins to fade, Jimin watches as Taehyung and Hanna stop at a clearing. They exchange a few more words, and Jimin can't help but let a quiet, psychotic chuckle slip past his lips. It's not loud enough to be heard, but it's there, dark and filled with intent.

Something will happen soon. Something he's orchestrating from the shadows, something that will change everything.

---

The motel room was suffocating. Stale air clung to the walls, mixing with the faint scent of cigarette smoke from whoever had stayed here before him. The flickering yellow light above the bed did little to push back the shadows curling in the corners.

Jimin sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers gripping the cheap motel phone, thumb hovering over the dial pad. He didn't want to make this call. He had promised himself he wouldn't.

Yet, here he was.

A deep breath.

He pressed the button.

The dial tone rang once. Twice. A third time.

Then-a click.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and expectant. The air on the other end of the line was eerily still, as if the person on the other side was waiting-watching.

Then, finally-

"You took your time."

The voice was smooth, almost pleasant, but beneath it lurked something sharp. Something cold.

Jimin felt his grip on the phone tighten. "She's here."

A quiet hum. No surprise. No rush. Just patient amusement.

"And?"

Jimin swallowed, his throat dry. His knee bounced restlessly. "I-" He hesitated, licking his lips. "I don't know what to do."

A soft chuckle. "Yes, you do."

Jimin's heart slammed against his ribs. His fingers curled into his palm, nails digging into his skin. "No, I don't," he snapped, though his voice wavered. "This wasn't-this wasn't part of the plan."

A pause. Then, that voice again-calm, composed, like someone explaining the rules of a game to a reluctant player.

"It's always been the plan. You just don't want to accept it."

Jimin exhaled sharply. He rubbed his temple, trying to push away the weight pressing down on his chest.

"She's different," he muttered.

The other person chuckled again, but this time it was laced with something darker.

"You sound like a fool."

Jimin's teeth clenched. "You don't understand."

"I understand perfectly," the voice countered, unimpressed. "You're hesitating. You're letting sentiment cloud your judgment."

Jimin shut his eyes, pressing his palm against them as if he could block out the voice in his ear. "I never wanted this."

"But you do," the voice murmured, almost tender now, almost mocking. "You want her, don't you?"

Jimin's breath hitched.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then-

"She won't stay if she finds out," Jimin whispered. "If she-"

"She won't find out," the voice interrupted smoothly.

Jimin wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe a lot of things.

"You don't have to do this," Jimin tried, one last, desperate plea. "There's another way."

A pause. Then, the voice on the other end exhaled slowly. The sound was thoughtful, measured.

"You still don't get it, do you?"

A faint tapping sound came through the receiver, like fingers drumming against a surface.

"I have plans."

Jimin's stomach twisted.

"Big ones."

The tapping stopped.

"She's just the beginning."

Jimin's skin went cold.

Before he could respond, the call ended.

The dial tone buzzed in his ear.

Jimin sat there, staring blankly at the wall, the echo of that voice still ringing in his mind.

Somewhere, out in the city, someone was already setting things in motion.

And Jimin... Jimin had just run out of time.

---

A dim, flickering bulb cast long, distorted shadows across the small, cluttered room. The air was thick, suffocating, the scent of burning wax mingling with something more metallic-something faintly coppery.

Hanging up his phone, the lone man stood, his fingers tracing over old, yellowing newspaper clippings pinned to the cracked wall in front of him.

He smirked, lips curling into a slow, unsettling smile as he tilted his head, studying the overlapping photographs, notes scrawled in red ink, and faces crossed out with thick, jagged lines.

Some were missing persons reports; others were crime scene photos. His fingers stopped at a particular image-a young girl, smiling in the photograph, completely unaware of the dark fate that had awaited her.

He let out a soft chuckle, almost amused by the naïve innocence frozen in time.

The room was silent except for the rhythmic tap of his fingernail against the glossy surface of the photo.

His eyes flickered to another pinned article-a report from fifteen years ago, detailing the brutal murder of Kim Yoohan and another man whose identity had been erased from public records. His gaze darkened.

"So, they're still searching for ghosts, huh?" he murmured to himself, voice laced with mirth. "How adorable."

He turned away from the wall and reached for the small wooden table nearby. A candle burned low, its wax pooling over the edges, and beside it, a small, battered notebook lay open.

Ink-stained pages held scribbled notes, calculations, and dates. His hands, steady and precise, picked up an aged silver lighter, flicking it open with a metallic snap. He held it over the pages, watching the flame dance dangerously close.

But he didn't burn them. Not yet.

Instead, he shut the notebook with an almost reverent touch, pressing his palm against the cover as if it held something sacred. His fingers tightened, nails digging into the leather-bound surface.

"It's almost time."

His voice was barely a whisper, but in the silence of the room, it carried an eerie weight. He let out a slow exhale, eyes flickering to the only other source of illumination in the space-a single, grainy CCTV monitor set up on the desk.

The screen displayed a dark, deserted street outside a café. A woman walked across the frame, her dark hair swaying slightly with each step.

Unaware. Unprotected.

He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving the screen. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, tapping absently, as if contemplating his next move. Then, a smile-cold and knowing-spread across his face.

"Patience, patience... We'll see each other soon."

The screen flickered.

The candle sputtered.

And in the suffocating quiet, the darkness around him seemed to hum with anticipation.

---

The night stretched like an abyss, swallowing every whisper of sound. The dim glow of the streetlights flickered uncertainly, casting elongated shadows across the nearly deserted alley.

The town, though small, was never truly silent-yet tonight, an eerie stillness lingered, thick and suffocating.

Footsteps echoed against the damp pavement.

A young woman-mid-twenties, wrapped in an oversized beige coat-hurried along, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. Her breath misted in the cold air, her pace quickening with each step. Something wasn't right. She could feel it.

The sensation of being watched slithered down her spine, an unshakable weight that made the hairs on her arms rise. The streets were empty. No stray dogs rummaged through trash. No late-night wanderers stumbled home from the town's lone bar. It was unnatural.

A whisper of movement-a faint shuffle, barely there-sent her heart into a frenzy.

She turned sharply. Nothing. Just the yawning darkness of the alley behind her.

Her fingers fumbled inside her coat pocket, searching for her keys. She was only a few streets away from home. If she could just make it-

A metallic scrape rang out. The sound of something dragging along the concrete.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to move faster. Her shoes slapped against the pavement, the only noise in the oppressive quiet. She didn't dare look back again.

Then-

The light above her flickered and went out.

Darkness swallowed her whole.

She barely had time to scream before something cold and gloved clamped over her mouth. Her body lurched backward, arms flailing, trying to fight-but whoever was behind her was stronger. Much stronger.

A sickly-sweet scent flooded her nostrils. Chloroform.

Her vision blurred, limbs losing their strength as she thrashed uselessly. The last thing she saw before the void took her was a vague silhouette-tall, unmoving, watching. And then she was dragged into the shadows, disappearing without a trace.

The town remained silent.

As if it never happened .

-----------

A/n : aah this chapter is so short. But i promise to write long chapters as we gradually move on with the story. Things will slowly get revealed soon.thanks for reading<3 . Don't forget to vote and comment ily ❤️

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mariocki · 4 months ago

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RIP Christopher Benjamin (27.12.1934 - 15.1.2025)

"That was another reason, in a way, that I decided to give [stage acting] up, because I was getting a bit - a bit dicey with the lines. People sort of wrote down, quite often, the things I said... instead of the things I should have said. They were known as my bloopers: 'Benjamin bloopers'. Some of my inventions were very good, I must admit. My feeling was, if I dried, I had to say something - and so that something was something that amused the rest of the cast considerably, quite often."

#christopher benjamin #character actors #death ment tw #rip #doctor who #henry gordon jago #jago and litefoot #the avengers #danger man #the prisoner #the saint #armchair thriller #the sandbaggers #the man in room 17 #special branch #baffled!#the fellows #the forsyte saga #pride and prejudice #hawk the slayer #with thanks to The Sirens of Audio on YT from whose interview i paraphrased the above quote #in many ways the archetypal character actor; although he'd played leading roles in repertory theatre at the beginning of his career‚ once #he made the move to TV in the early 60s Chris soon found himself in supporting parts and guest spots. not perhaps the route to stardom‚ but #it ensured a long and healthy career; he made appearances on pretty much every major brit tv show of the 60s 70s and 80s‚ often as jocular‚#vaguely authority types. but he was by no means typecast; there were cold and calculating villains too‚ dangerous criminals and insidious #manipulators. he may not have become quite a household name‚ but his range and clear ability won him many fans in his long career #perhaps mostly he'll be remembered for his work on DW (both classic and new but especially as rascally Jago opposite Trevor Baxter's more #genteel Litefoot; I'd also rec his delightful work on (surely the greatest version of) Pride and Prejudice‚ or his Armchair Thriller serial #or perhaps his first Prisoner ep for a little glimpse of how well he could do sinister on top of jovial #plus more than 20 years with the RSC... that's not a career to be sniffed at‚ stardom be damned. rip

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amygdalae · 8 months ago

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I'm working on a Halloween party playlist teehee

#not sure if im even gonna throw one its just a fun exercise to make a playlist for it #adding staple songs (ghostbusters. thriller. monster mash. dragula) as well as #some of my favorite goth rock n darkwave hits. with more of an ephasis on palatability #since in theory id want to appeal to a range of tastes #gonna hit up my sibling whos more into rap pop and indie than me to see if they have any spooky sounding recs from their area of expertise

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thisbluespirit · 5 months ago

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Films watched (1930s): THE LADY VANISHES (Gainsborough, 1938); dir. Alfred Hitchcock; adapted by Sidney Gilliat & Frank Launder (based on The Wheel Spins by Ethel Lina White). Starring Michael Redgrave, Margaret Lockwood, Dame May Witty & Paul Lukas.

"People don't just disappear into thin air."

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inevitably-johnlocked · 6 months ago

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Hey Guys!

Another weekend without a fic list ready or any asks, so I took it upon myself collect some fics for a Spooky-Themed list that I will probably have never gotten an ask about anyway. Since I've a lot of Halloween lists, I thought I would try something different and put out some Horror and Thriller Themed fics! I went through my MFL list and tag-searched "horror" and "thrilller", so these fics are ones that the author has tagged as such, so I can't guarantee frights... but I hope that y'all will enjoy this list anyway! I haven't read any of these so please heed the tags!

AND if you have a fave horror or psychological thriller story you've written or want to recommend, PLEASE do in the notes or reblogs and I'll add them to this list!

Happy Spooky Season, everyone!

HORROR / THRILLER FICS (MFLs)

See also:

Halloween Fics (Oct 2018)

Halloween and Ghosts (updated Oct 31/21)

Halloween Fics 2023 (MFLs)

5FF: Spooky Saturday Edition (Oct 31/20)

Ghosts / Figments (Updated Oct 2023)

Within by songlin (T, 992 w., 1 Ch. || Horror) – Amazingly enough, John notices it first. It must be something to do with combat instincts, or paying attention to nagging feelings despite any amount of contradictory evidence, or just paranoia. Whatever it is, it boils down to this: something is wrong.

Little Slices of Death by Enterthetadpole (E, 994 w., 1 Ch. || Friends To Lovers, Horror, Humour, Happy Ending, Case Fic, Romance) – Sherlock Holmes gets involved in a case where the victims and crimes that are eerily similar to the works of a certain horror author stories. Will he solve the case before the people around him die around him?

I O U by MintoKitsune (T, 1,299 w., 1 Ch. || Horror / Drama, Kidnapping) – Moriarty kidnaps John and leaves Sherlock a little message... A short one shot about Jim being his mean ol' self. (FFNet)

These Hands of Yours by okapi (E, 2,700 w., 1 Ch. || ACD Canon || Supernatural Elements, Horror, Hands, Anal Fisting / Fingering, Halloween) – Holmes has casts made of his hands. Watson falls in love. So do the hands.

The Babadook by CatieBrie (T, 6,886 w., 1 Ch. || Babadook Fusion || Post-TRF, Horror, Demonic Possession, Violence, Halloween, Grief, Angst with Happy Ending) – “A children’s book,” John mutters as he flips it open. The pages are scrawled with beautiful charcoal lines and thick black ink. The cover, bright red, edges the open pages and something tugs at the back of John’s brain. It’s a familiar feeling, black and tarrish and thick in his thoughts. He shakes it off and picks the book up off his bed, turning so that he can sit on the edge and spread the book out across his knees. If it’s in a word or it’s in a look, you can’t get rid of the Babadook. He turns the page, ignoring the pressure building beneath his chest. There’s a closet on one page; paper doors meant to be opened by the reader flutter as John reads the text on the other page.

Black Cat by CatieBrie (E, 7,158 w., 1 Ch. || Psychological Horror, Supernatural Elements, Disturbing Themes, Body Horror, Sex, Major Consent Issues / Possible Rape, MCD, Intent Magic, Ambiguity) – He’s watching Sherlock crawl up his body, doesn’t have to see to know he has a blade tucked away somewhere, knows his body will react no matter what. “Do you know what this is, John?” Sherlock holds up a doll made of rudimentary cloth stuffed with god knows what. It’s wearing a crude rendition of John’s favorite striped shirt, denim pants and the hair is too fine and blonde-shocked-grey to be anything else but his. John tries to answer, has no voice, shakes his head. “It’s a poppet.” Sherlock explains, pushes the arms together and John’s limbs react, snapping to his sides and remaining there even as he tries desperately to struggle free.

The Spirit Child by VelvetMace (M, 7,287 w., 1 Ch. || Psychological Horror, Disturbing Themes, Horror, Gore) – A small wooden box filled with clay and feotus bones yields more than just clues to a violent murder. A Halloween Story. Read at your own risk -- and I do not say this lightly.

Leaves by DiscordantWords (NR, 7,513 w., 1 Ch. || Dreams and Nightmares, Dream Sharing, Halluciinations, Horror / Unsettling, Ambiguous/Open Ending) – It came on a Wednesday, with the post.

Ruins of the Dark by philalethia (M, 8,205 w., 1 Ch. || Dark Sherlock AU || Post-TRF, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Blood and Gore, Suicidal Thoughts, Extremely Dubious Consent) – Three years after “The Reichenbach Fall,” Sherlock comes back. But he comes back wrong.

The Web by DiscordantWords (M, 8,421 w., 2 Ch. || Post-TRF, Horror, Spiders, Horrific Imagery, Spying, Mild Gore) – Moriarty is dead. That doesn't mean he isn't watching.

I Could Try by Arcwin (T, 9,583 w., 5 Ch. || Greek Mythology Crossover || Post-TRF, Orpheus and Eurydice Myth, POV John, Pining John, BAMF John, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Horror, Angst with Happy Ending) – John is grieving Sherlock's death post Reichenbach until one day, he sees the violin case, and something inside him tells him to pick it up. Crossover between BBC Sherlock and the Greek tragedy Orpehus and Eurydice, wherein Eurydice is killed for her beauty and taken to the Underworld. Orpheus, being the son of Apollo (the God of Music and Medicine) travels to the Underworld to convince (via playing his lyre) Hades and Persephone to let Eurydice go. Orpheus then must travel with Eurydice behind him, not looking back, until they exit to the land of the living.

Puzzlebox by standbygo (E, 9,867 w., 5 Ch. || Hellraiser Fusion || True Love, Supernatural Elements, Psychological Horror, First Kiss, Post S2, Angst with Happy Ending) – A love story with horror. A horror story with a happy ending.

Apprehension by BashfulBunny (M, 14,339 w., 19 Ch. || Thriller, Romance, Kidnapping, Drug Use, Medical, Undercover, Road Trips, Hurt/Comfort, BAMD Captain John, Action/Adventure, Falling in Love, Angst with Happy Ending, Mercenary John, Fluff and Angst, Protective John/Sherlock) – John and Sherlock have never met and don’t know each other. For some reason John kidnaps Sherlock (maybe he thinks he’s working for good people, while in fact they are bad and lie to him; he’s got an order to kidnap Sherlock Holmes and deliver him to somebody. John himself isn’t a bad person though). John is protective. When he realises that he, in fact, has done a really bad thing (and was lied to, depending on the scenario), he saves Sherlock (from his employers perhaps) and wants to take him back where he’d taken him. But he won’t be able to get rid of Sherlock easily, or at all for that matter. Sherlock won’t go.

Scream! by johnwatso (E, 15,250 w., 8 Ch. || Scream Crossover || Post S4, Horror / Slasher, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Case Fic, Minor Character Death, Copycat Killer, Three Garridebs Moment) – An unknown number starts calling Sherlock and asking questions about horror movies. John is pretty sure it's a serial killer.

The Writing on the Wall by grannysknitting (M, 24,139 w., 11 Ch. || Pre-S2, Horror/Supernatural, Mild Gore) – Lestrade notices John behaving oddly at a crime scene. Unfortunately so does Mycroft. What is it about the people living at 221B? (FFNet)

Still of the Night by michi_thekiller (E, 30,762 w., 22 Ch. || 1950s Dark Vampire Greaser AU || Vampire Sherlock, Greaser Sherlock, Nerd John, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Period-Typical Homophobia, Horror, Seduction) – 1.) Curfew must be obeyed. 2.) Streets must be clear by sundown. 3.) If you find yourself out after curfew, seek shelter at the home of a friend, relative, or neighbor whom you know and trust. 4.) Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES should any unknown persons be allowed into the home after curfew.

From a Well, Dark and Deep by Vulpesmellifera (M, 32,691 w., 18 Ch. || Post S4, Supernatural Elements, Horror / Mild Body Horror, Bed Sharing, Possession, Hand Holding, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Coming Out, Alternating POV, Nightmares, Caring John, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is desperately trying to reconcile his newfound memories and feelings within his transport—a transport that won’t quit with the nightmares and the strange, fiddly anxieties that crop up at the most inopportune moments. On the advice of his psychiatrist—not that he’s thrilled to be taking the man’s advice, but needs must—he's going to mark the anniversary of Eurus’ torments. That explains why he visits the well. What he finds at the well, though, is entirely unexpected. Meanwhile, John Watson has finally come to terms with something he’s ignored his entire life. He’s ready to share that something with Sherlock, except Sherlock isn’t acting himself. It's not the time for confessions, and John determines he must get to the bottom of his best friend's affliction before he can reveal anything. Part 3 of Vulpes' Halloween Johnlock

Slender: However Improbable by philalethia (M, 33,378 w., 5 Ch. || Slender Man AU || Post-TRF, Case Fic, Horror, Science Fiction, Supernatural Elements, Mild Gore) – Six months after The Fall, John is falling apart. Then a homeless woman is thrown from the roof of St. Bartholomew's; a tall, thin man in a black suit begins follow him; and John slowly realises that both he and Scotland Yard are very, very out of their depths.

Where The Ghosts Have Voices by HappyJuicyfruit (M, 37,691 w., 12 Ch. || Supernatural AU || Ghosts, Magical Realism, Light Horror, Fluff and Smut, John Can See Ghosts, John Whump, Emotional Manipulation, Dark Magic, Coma, Injury Recovery, Blow Jobs, Anal, Happy Ending, John’s Past, Mr Holmes, Powerful John, Holmes Brothers, Sherlock’s Past, Past Viclock, Drug Abuse, Hair Pulling) – John has lived his whole life as an outcast. It is only when he meets Sherlock, that be realizes being a freak might not be such a bad thing, and that the curse he has lived with his whole life may be a gift after all.

This Is Family by SaraStarchild (T, 39,840 w., 16 Ch. || Hereditary AU || Psychological Horror, Body Horror, Demonic Possession, POV Third Person Limited, Protective Mycroft, Cults, Mycroft Whump, Sherlock Whump, Major Character Death, Graphic Violence, Retelling) – When the Holmes family's secretive mother and matriarch, Ellen Holmes, passes away, the family she leaves behind – father Martin, sons Mycroft and Sherlock, and daughter Eurus – begins to unravel cryptic and increasingly terrifying secrets about their ancestry. The more they discover, the more they find themselves trying to outrun the sinister fate they seem to have inherited. This is, pretty much, a word-for-word retelling of the 2018 Ari Aster film, Hereditary. Part 1 of Sherlock Halloween Stories

Emergency by EmeraldUrAFreak (M, 40,353 w., 24 Ch. || Teenlock AU || Teen Romance, Drug Use, Angst, Hospitalized John, Broken John, John Whump, Absent Parents, Sherlock Fixing John, Insecure John, Younger John, Older Sherlock, Helping Each Other, Papa Lestrade, Case Fic, Alternating POV, Mild Gore, Horror, Non-Graphic Violence, Corpses) – Recovering drug addict Sherlock Holmes meets supposedly permanently hospital stuck John Watson. As they become friends- and maybe even more - they have ups and downs finding out each other’s pasts. Sherlock is shocked at how deep John's goes resulting in a case of new stakes. Fixing old relations and creating new ones that are hard to keep in this dreadful time. They never knew what was waiting around the corner.

The Straw Man Fallacy by Vulgarweed (E, 40,422 w., 8 Ch. || Wicker Man AU || Ritual Sex, Sacrifice, Mystery and Horror, Romance, Fuck or Die, Dubious Morality, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pagan Festivals, Public Sex, First Time, Case Fic, Virgin Sherlock, Scotland, Kilts) – Summerisle is not a welcoming place to visitors, but it shows its best face at May Day. For ulterior motives.

Curse of the Were-Tuna by WhoGroovesOn (E, 46,916 w., 9 Ch. || Were-Creature AU || Nudity, Aquariums, Fish, Body Horror, Curses, Cuddling, Romance, Transformations, Frottage, Anal, Fem! Moriaty/Moran, First Time) – John couldn’t help but feel as though the large tuna beyond the glass was staring at him, which was weird because it’s not like fish had eyelids, they always seemed to be staring at things.

Distortion by holmesian_love (NR, 51,585 w., 23 Ch. || Post S4, Faked Suicide / Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Examination, PTSD, Psychological Horror, Blood, Spiders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Parentlock with Rosie, Angry John, Confusion) – John Watson is persuaded to move back into Baker Street with Rosie. The friendship -though delicate - is mending slowly after everything they've been through. That is, until strange events start happening to John which begin to disrupt the happy life they have been creating. Is there a medical explanation, or is something more sinister at play? Will they discover the cause before it tears them apart for good?

To Be Human by ohlooktheresabee (NR, 78,437 w., 13 Ch. || Post-THoB, Graphic Violence, Synesthesia, Case Fic, Serial Killers, Kidnapping, BAMF John, Sherlock is a Mess, Asexuality/Demisexuality, Torture, Protective John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Medical Procedures, Queerplatonic Relationships, Asperger Syndrome, Thriller, Insecure Sherlock, Touching, Caring John, Affection, Hurt Sherlock, Touch Starvation) – There is a serial killer on the loose with a penchant for collecting the brains of his victims. Sherlock, John and Scotland Yard are on the case, but something about the chosen victims has Sherlock on edge. While they piece together the clues that will lead to the killer, John begins to realize that the way his best friend thinks may sometimes be more a hindrance than a help...

The Killing Principle by Vulpesmellifera (E, 104,593 w., 46 Ch. || American AU || Gay John, Serial Killer Mary, Bum Appreciation, Sherlock is William, Dating Difficulties, BAMF Sherlock, Slow Burn, Thriller, Confessions, Whump, Angst with Happy Ending, Minor Character Death) – John Watson served twice in AmeriCorps, married his high school sweetheart, and then entered med school. A sudden arrest and accusation of multiple murders ends his promising career, irrevocably altering his life's trajectory. Acquitted of his wife’s crimes, John spends the next ten years as the maligned ex-husband of convicted serial killer Mercy Mary. A job offer draws him out of hiding and back to Connecticut - the very state where the crimes were committed. He needs the money, and the job is a dream. Then he meets the brilliant William Vernet, and it seems like he has a second chance at life and love. But the past has a way of catching up.

Monsters in the Woods by ArwaMachine (E,114,760 w., 16 Ch. || 1980′s Summer Camp Horror AU || Character Death, Violence, Gore, Spooky Stuff, Blow Jobs, Anal, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Period-Typical Homophobia) – John isn’t particularly sure why he took the counsellor position at Camp Baker Stream, an American-style summer camp for rich kids. He isn’t fond of the wilderness, nor is he fond of kids. He also isn’t sure if he’s fond of his cabin-mate, a strange bloke named Sherlock Holmes who seems perpetually on edge and more than a bit of an arse. It certainly doesn’t help that apparently the camp has a sordid past—a series of gristly murders that took place eight years ago, perpetrated by one James Moriarty. Sherlock seems convinced that the events of the past are doomed to repeat, but that idea seems to fall in the realm of the impossible. That is, until camp counsellors start going missing… Inspired by every 80s slasher flick that is so bad it’s good, this fic merges summer camp horror tropes with the BBC Sherlock universe, adding a sprinkle of smut for good measure!

Welcome to Silent Hill by Cleo2010 (M, 130,227 w., 37 Ch. || Silent Hill Fusion || POV First Person Sherlock, Unrequited Love, Psychological Horror, Violence / Gore, Monsters, Nudity, Drug Use, Harm to Children, Cults, Distressing Imagery, Torture, Death) – John is missing. When Sherlock receives a text summoning him to Silent Hill he's intent on reclaiming his friend but the town has other ideas. Our detective must battle through a world shaped by his own troubled psyche as he uncovers the town's secrets, attempts to find John and hunt down Jim Moriarty. Part 1 of the Welcome to Silent Hill series

In the Deep, Where Dark Things Sleep by HardlyFair (M, 184,979 w., 26 Ch. || Scorpio Races AU || Graphic Violence, 1960′s, Slow Burn, Past Drug Use, Bed Sharing, Water Horses, Folklore, First Kiss/Time, Horror Elements, Vet!John, Protective John, Magical Realism, Horse Racing, Mutual Pining, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort) – The closer time crawls to November, the more water horses the Scorpio Sea spits out. The colder Thisby becomes. Sherlock Holmes is an islander - completely surrounded by the water. John Watson, he knows, comes from the mainland and lives for the Races. On the first of November, Sherlock will race. The man holding steady by his side is someone he never expects. A Scorpio Races AU (Maggie Stiefvater), but no knowledge of the book needed.

WORKS IN PROGRESS

Closure by S_IRIS (E, 28,718+ w., 12/45 Ch. || WiP || Alternate Universe || Viclock then Eventual Johnlock, Falling in Love, Horror, Case Fic, Adventure of the Gloria Scott Adaptation, Emotional / Psychological Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Angst with Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Sherlock in Denial) – After a brush with death, Sherlock is convinced by Victor to recover in their country house and give their crumbling marriage one last chance. But the retreat turns into a nightmare when Sherlock starts to feel a malevolent presence in the house and finds no one believing him except the son of the missing groundskeeper.

The Things That Haunt Us by BRNZ (E, 92,993+ w., 18/? Ch. || Graphic Depictions of Violence, Dead People, Child Death, PTSD John, Psychological Horror, Nightmares, Bed Sharing, Heavy Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Developing Relationship, Childhood Trauma, Domestic Bliss, BAMF John, Friendship / Love, POV John, Pining John, Therapy) – What happens when a post war vet with PTSD takes up with a madman detective and they spend time investigating and solving some truly horrific crimes? How does the doctor who can kill with steady hand process all that additional trauma? How do we recognise that our past still haunts us, in ways we don't realise? When you are caught in a vicious cycle of needing the thrill of the chase, and having to deal with the fallout...what happens when you might need to choose between the two for your own sanity? The story of how two damaged men managed to find their way back to each other and begin to make a future together.

#johnlock fic recs #horror fics #thriller fics #spooky fics #my fic recs #fic rec sunday

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thicknick19 · 26 days ago

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Tell No One

Part Four: Don't Let Them Take Me

The Voice

You’re asleep when the knock comes. Not a sound you’ve heard since arriving.

It’s soft. Controlled. But it’s a knock.

You sit up slowly, heart pounding behind your ribs.

No one enters without a key. No one knocks. That’s been the rule.

No contact. No warning. No escape.

You don’t move. You listen.

The knock comes again.

Then a voice, muffled through the steel.

“EXR-117. Step to the door.”

It’s clipped. Too formal. Detached.

“You’re being relocated. Please comply.”

Yesterday

You know why they’re here.

They sent you to the exercise corridor again—longer this time. Too quiet. Too open.

That’s where you saw him again.

The other subject. The one from before. The one who talks too much.

He sat on the bench near the mirrored wall, stretching like it was just another ordinary day.

No escort. No staff. Just him. Waiting.

“Hey,” he said, eyes still forward. “Still got your shadow?”

You didn’t answer.

“I’ve seen how your lights flicker. The warm meals. The extras. Someone’s watching you.”

You kept walking. You should’ve kept walking.

But he stood up and followed. One step. Then another.

“The last girl who got that kind of attention? Gone. Not relocated. Gone.”

You stopped. You turned. Your voice was louder than you meant.

“Don’t talk to me. Don’t follow me. You don’t know anything about me.”

He didn’t flinch.

“I know enough,” he said. “You’re being watched more closely than anyone else. But it’s not protection. It’s observation.”

He leaned in, voice low:

“When they’re done watching you, they’ll want to see what you do without him.”

You shoved him.

Not hard. But enough.

The impact echoed—his shoes scraped loudly against the floor as he stumbled back.

And then—

Sirens.

Sharp. Short. Not deafening—just alerting.

Doors opened fast.

Two staff members entered the hallway like they’d been waiting just out of frame. They didn’t speak. They didn’t hesitate.

They grabbed him.

He cursed. Struggled.

“I didn’t touch her! I didn’t do anything! She—she’s the one who—”

One of them jabbed a needle into the side of his neck. Quick. Precise.

He went still. Limbs slack. Eyes wide.

They dragged him down the corridor by the arms, his heels scraping the floor.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

They didn’t look at you. They didn’t need to.

You’d already broken the rules.

And someone had seen everything.

The Observation Log

That night, your dinner tray comes with something extra.

A folded slip of paper—tucked under the utensils like it belongs there.

You bring it to the desk. Open it slowly.

It’s a document. A report. Not for you.

SUBJECT: EXR-117 Emotional engagement fluctuates in response to isolated stimuli. Observer interference suspected. See logs: 09.02, 09.04, 09.06. Note: Observer M22 exhibiting pattern divergence. Attachment behavior escalating.

Your skin goes cold.

They know someone is watching you more closely than they should. They don’t name him. But you know who it means.

The one behind the mirror. The one who moved your bed. The one who left the blanket. The one who hasn’t stopped since.

The Isolation Room

You don’t sleep.

In the morning, they don’t take you to the corridor.

They take you to a new room. Smaller. White. Blank. No mirror. No lights that change. No sounds. No blinking red light.

You sit on the floor and wait.

Ten minutes. Twenty.

Then you speak.

“What is this? Am I being punished?”

No answer.

You knock. You shout. You stand. Pace. Sit again. Nothing changes.

“Where is he?”

The silence eats the words.

You feel it for the first time—not just the absence of comfort, but the absence of him.

“Please,” you whisper. “Don’t make me disappear.”

Still nothing.

You don’t know how long you’re in there. Time doesn’t work in blank space.

And then, the door opens.

They bring you back to your room.

Everything is the same.

Except your bed. It’s been made differently. The way you like it.

And there's something new folded neatly on top.

A heavier blanket. Familiar weight. Familiar scent.

He was here.

While you were gone—he came back.

The Attempt

You fall asleep holding the edge of that blanket tight in your hands.

And then the knock comes.

“EXR-117. You’re being relocated. Please comply.”

You sit up slowly. Turn your eyes to the mirror.

“Don’t let them take me.”

The light blinks.

Once. Then again. Then—faster.

The Breach

The door opens.

Two masked staff. One with restraints. One holding a tablet.

“Please don’t resist. This is for your safety.”

You step back until your spine touches the mirror.

The light flares.

Then—darkness.

Not flickering. Not fading. A full blackout.

A soft mechanical shift behind the mirror.

And then—movement. Not loud. Not threatening. Just the sense of presence on the other side.

A low electrical hum. A hiss of air. A click.

Something is being overridden.

You don’t see him. But you know who it is.

Then—light. Back on. Blinding.

The staff looks to the mirror. Then each other.

“Pulling back. Subject compromised. Possible breach of observation.”

They leave.

They don’t look back.

The Message

That night, there’s no food on your tray.

Only a single piece of folded paper.

You open it slowly.

No name. No signature.

But the red light on the mirror is blinking again.

Steady. Solid. A heartbeat you’ve started to recognize.

He's not supposed to care. He's not supposed to intervene. But he has.

And now you know—he won’t stop.

Taglist: @riasturns@poppetbaby02@johnheart@bells-sturn@user1smvtysturniolo@finnickodairslut @bellxx9 @ariastur9z @sage-burrow@theylovedemi @persephonesluvs @elisebeattie@novalovesstvrz@angelsturniolo@honey-zozo@idek1234567891@darksturnioloqueen@alexisa78

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