Forbidden Fixation (Obsessed!Doctor x Male!Reader)

(S/b)'s Guilt - 21

The sky was dark by the time (S/b) spoke their last direction: "Turn right here" and the gun gestured towards a small dirt road that went off the highway into the unclaimed forestry. Kisaku turned the vehicle slowly, each uneven divot, rocking the gun nearer. As they slowly traversed down this unnamed road, the pine trees became taller and blacker. There was no moon out. Not tonight.

Thin, low hanging branches came out like the frail arms of children, clawing the sides of the vehicle. As they dragged across the car's roof, Kisaku tried to not think about what lied ahead for him.

However, the end of the road came too soon. It was punctuated by a foul, decrepit house. Its paint was stained with age and pine nettles. The second step on its front porch had its board snapped in half. Aboveground, it appeared to be two stories of nothing but a neglected, backwater dwelling.

But Kisaku's distaste didn't matter.

"Park," (S/b) gestured the gun.

So, he parked.

"Get out of the car. Don't turn around. Walk to the porch and up the steps; back to me."

Kisaku hesitated, setting a lingering look on the bag he had dumped in the passenger seat. He didn't want to leave the safety of this vehicle — he didn't want to leave things where he had with Y/n — He was scared for his life — the all-consuming thought of Y/n being forced to acquire a new psychiatrist after Kisaku failed to show up — He knew the second he left his car, it was over.

(S/b) would kill him out here and his body was unlikely to be recovered. Still, he had gone this far. He pulled the key out of the ignition and unbuckled his seatbelt. The seat buckle clanging against the wall of the car echoed in the silence between the two.

"You'll tell me the truth — the whole truth?" the doctor asked, raising his eyes to meet (S/b)'s.

The (man/woman) merely scoffed derisively, "Get the fuck out of the car."

Sensing the other's unforgiving impatience, Kisaku slowly exited the vehicle. With his back firmly to (S/b), he walked forward. The board of the first step bowed and groaned as Kisaku's foot landed on it. He passed over the second step altogether. As he stood firmly on the porch, he noted the deplorable amount of dirt and debris.

"What is this place?" Kisaku asked, his natural curiosity getting the better of his common sense.

"My uncle's place," (S/b) surprisingly offered up the information. "He's dead too."

"Who killed him?" Kisaku didn't know if his own question was joking or not.

"Heart disease," (S/b) muttered. "Now, get in."

The doctor swallowed down the lump in his throat and let his hand fall on the rusted handle before him. The front door squeaked loudly as he pushed it open. The screen door that used to cover it had been completely torn off its hinges, left to lean against the wall beside the doorway.

He took a single step inside. There was a thick, dark red carpet whose designs had long since faded. A leather couch that surprisingly held up against the test of time. An armchair with a floral design — a kitchen behind the living room, sickeningly yellow. Stairs were on Kisaku's right.

"We're going down," (S/b) said nastily, pointing the gun to the door right across the room from the front entranceway.

Dread and trepidation in equal measures pooled inside the doctor's gut. He stepped forward anyway, reaching a hand out to the handle of the nondescript, stained white door.

Then he inhaled too sharply, coughing on the dust that coated the very air in this place. For there — right there — on a low table by the basement door was a picture frame.