Masterlist Remember Me, Remember You

Masterlist • Remember Me, Remember You

summary: In a dystopian future where memory manipulation thrives underground, Jungkook is a master at erasing and extracting memories. As a regular client, your reasons remain a mystery to him. But when one day he dives too deep into your memories, will you both restore your memories and confront the painful past, or continue living as strangers? pairing: memory manipulator!Jungkook x f!reader genre: dystopian!AU, cyber punk!AU, S2L, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: deliberate memory manipulation, trauma, grief, loss of identity, romantic tragedy, kind of emotional manipulation, hurtful memories, probably smut at some point, more tba total word count: tba

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

COMING 2025

a/n 2: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for this fic 💕

Check out my other work here!

All Rights Reserved © @runariya 2024

OC is still redeemable because she can still feel things. She's not truly dead, there's still another side of her. I'd like to imagine it like an alchoholic who still loves their family, but just really having a hard time letting go of their bad habit. The past can chain and weight you really bad, but as long as you're still conscious of your dark side (can tell the difference between evil and good), there's still a chance. Though I may be naive to have these thoughts; I don't know the mind of a criminal.

Hey anon 💕

I think it’s absolutely true what you say. The fact that she can still feel something means there’s hope. I really like how you put it, like someone struggling with their addiction but still having that love for their family deep down. It’s such a powerful image, and it really resonates. The past can be such a heavy burden, can't it?

But as long as she’s aware of her dark side, there’s still a chance for her to break free somehow. Maybe it’s a bit naive, but I believe that too—there’s always room for redemption, even for the lost sheep.

Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with me. I really appreciate it and it means a lot 🥰 ly

Thank you so much for recommending my fics 🥹💕 that’s so nice of you

JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS(16)°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔:･°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔:･

☁ roses | Jungkook X Reader | One-Shot | @keehomania

☁ Heart's Detour | biker!Jungkook x afab!reader | One-Shot | @winterchimez

☁ THE LOVE PROGNOSIS | jungkook x female reader | One-Shot | @awrkive

☁ THE BLACK ORCHID PROJECT | Jeon Jungkook x Reader (Y/N) | Series | @dumbheadblog

☁ Infinity | alien!Jungkook x human!reader | Three-Shot | @runariya

☁ BBYDADDY | JK X Reader | Series | @muniimyg

☁ THE SACRIFICE: Children of the Moon | Jungkook x f. OC | Series | @madrain230

☁ the exile | prince!jungkook x f!reader | Series | @stxrvel

☁ Y(E)ARNED | alien!Jungkook x human seamstress!female reader | Series | @runariya

☁ UMBRELLA | Crush!JK X Reader | One-Shot | @xovisa

☁ Level Up | gamer! female reader x swordsman! jungkook | @taevjim

☁ BAD HABIT | spiderman!jungkook X Reader | One-Shot | @hannieehaee

☁ BORDEAUX ! | CEO!JK X Reader | One-Shot | @frmisnow

☁ CLOSER | jungkook x reader | One-Shot | @ckhaine

☁ DIVINE FEMININE | jungkook x fem!reader | One-Shot | @gimmethatagustd

☁ Prospects | JJK x fem! reader [x KNJ] | Series | @jeoncasino

☁ Chasing Cars | brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader | Series | @oddinary4bts

☁ EAGER DAYS | Idol!JK X Reader | Series | @jeoncopi

☁ Save The Date | Fuckboy!Jungkook x reader | @cherrypandora

☁ The Law of Attraction | Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader (feat. Jimin x Reader) | Series |@jexnkookie

☁ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 | stalker!jk X “good girl”!reader | One-Shot | @maisanshine

tysm 😭💕 it means a lot!

The Auction (JJK) • Chapter 1

summary: After being sold to a dangerous wolf hybrid at a secret auction, you find yourself bound to him in a game of control and obsession. pairing: wolf hybrid!Jungkook x cat hybrid!female reader genre: mafia!AU, hybrid!AU, dystopian!AU, S2L, dark romance, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: DDDNE, angst, violence, trauma, hybrid trafficking, JK is an Alpha, nud!ty, hormone suppressants, b!ting, blood, sniffing, the obsession is slightly showing, murd€r, gun, branding, fainting, lmk if I forgot smth - THX word count: ~ 1.8K

a/n: why would I give you a sneak peek when I could just gift you the first chapter? hihi 🤭 the chapters to this story will be as short as this one...soooo....and PLEASE MAKE SURE TO CHANGE YOUR SETTINGS, I CAN'T TAG SOME OF YOU 😭

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

masterlist • 2

You haven’t slept in days, haven’t felt right in yourself for even longer, but somehow the adrenaline still floods through you, keeping you wide awake, on edge, your senses sharper than they’ve ever been, catching every little movement around you like your life depends on it, which is truly does.

It’s hard to believe that just two months ago, you were innocently walking down the street, not paying any attention to the blacked-out car with its door wide open or the figure standing across the pavement pretending to be on the phone. You had no idea then that you’d soon wake up miles away in another country, surrounded by other cat hybrids, far from the only home you've ever known.

You’re not stupid—you know exactly why they took you, what they’ve got planned, what they want from you. Even so, you stubbornly refuse to accept the grim future they’ve laid out for you.

The factory hall you’re crammed into now, in some grubby back room with the other hybrids, is every bit as filthy as your once-pristine black fur. What was once sleek and soft is now matted with dirt, so vile it makes you want to gag.

You’ve overheard the men who dragged you here talking about some hidden annual auction, where dangerous men from all over the world come to bid on the likes of you. Ever since, the other hybrids have been breaking down, sobbing and begging, their wails so relentless you feel like your brain is going to explode. Yet you stay quiet, ears pricked, your senses locked on every faint sound coming from behind the door.

Soon enough, they come for you all, shoving you roughly through the corridor you were brought down earlier, though this time they steer you down a different path, lining you up on a shabby makeshift stage. The construction site-style floodlights beam down so harshly that you can’t keep your eyes open for long, the brightness overwhelming and painful.

Through your squinting eyes, you catch glimpses of the men gathered in front of the stage—some muttering quietly to each other, others smoking as they lazily size up each woman. You search for even a hint of kindness in their faces, but of course, there’s none to be found—only cold stares from the most powerful predator hybrids. You feel completely exposed, even with clothes on, so vulnerable that it’s a wonder you don’t simply keel over from the intensity of being watched.

The auction starts soon enough, but it drags on endlessly, until finally, you’re the last one to be put up for bidding. It’s a shock when your price rockets past the others by millions. What doesn’t surprise you in the least is when a dangerous wolf hybrid steps forward to claim you. You knew, from the moment they snatched you off that street, that your life was always headed straight to hell. 

When you arrive at your supposed new ‘home’, the wolf hybrid, who had you driven in a separate car from his, two golden retriever hybrids—one male and one female—greet you silently, as the wolf hybrid barks out “Get her ready, run all the tests.”

They bow nervously to him with obvious fear, muttering, “Yes, Alpha,” before leading you stumbling over your own feet away.

They scrub you clean, working the conditioner into your fur, detangling the knots that have formed over time. It ought to feel soothing, and on some level it does, but the very fact you’re being ‘prepared’ for something you can’t even begin to imagine keeps you from feeling any real sense of comfort. They run a barrage of tests—urine, blood, checking for illnesses like STDs—and though there’s some relief in knowing you’re healthy despite your malnutrition, the fear never leaves you. Your tail, now soft and groomed, curls tightly between your legs, trying its best to shield your bare chest from their prying eyes.

Once they’ve finished prodding and poking you, they dress you in clothes that fit a little too well, and when your fur is finally dry, they lead you up several floors until you reach the penthouse.

The space is shrouded in darkness, save for the twinkling lights of Busan’s cityscape outside. Every surface, from walls to ceiling, is dark and gleaming, with deep brown furniture blending into its shadows, the only touches of light come from minimal brass-coloured décor scattered sparingly around the room. The golden retrievers push you silently to the centre, where the wolf hybrid lounges lazily on a leather sofa smoking a cigar, his eyes fixed on you, never wavering. The retrievers do nothing more than bow silently and exit, leaving you alone under his cold gaze.

His stare penetrates you, inspecting every inch of your trembling body from your twitching cat ears down to your feet, while the heat from the nearby fireplace stings your fragile skin. You try to lower your gaze to the floor, hoping to escape the intensity of his, but his dark eyes pull yours back like they have their own magnetic force.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

You want to answer, you really do, but it’s as if your voice has been lost since the day you were taken, and your only response is the bristling of your tail in an instinctive attempt to protect yourself.

When it becomes clear you won’t speak, he’s not having any of it, and his voice booms, “I said, what’s your name!”

You flinch at the loud slap of his tone, a frightened hiss escaping your lips before you can stop it. His expression darkens, one eyebrow raised in irritation as his finger taps impatiently against the backrest.

Summoning every ounce of willpower, you manage to whisper your name.

“Speak up,” he snaps. “I’m not a fucking feline.”

You gulp, clearing your throat as best and silently you can, and try again with a parched throat, this time just loud enough for him to catch. He nods, seemingly satisfied for now.

“Strip,” he orders after a long pause, his cold eyes locked onto yours, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The last thing you want to do is obey, but you can see the anger rising rapidly in him again, and you know better than to push your luck. Trembling, you begin to undress, feeling utterly exposed even before your clothes hit the floor. He watches you with the cold detachment of someone examining an object rather than a person, and though you’re fully naked, your tail desperately tries to cover your most private parts.

The wolf hybrid sighs heavily as he stands, exuding a casual dominance that reminds you exactly who he is. He moves around you slowly, inspecting every inch of you while you stare blankly ahead, your ears twitching nervously to follow his movements.

He stops behind you, towering over your smaller frame, and you feel his cold hands glide up your arms, squeezing your shoulders lightly before his nose brushes against your neck up to the back of your ear. He inhales deeply, and you feel your legs grow weak with a dizzying wave of fear.

“You smell divine,” he mutters to himself, though the words ring loudly in your sensitive ears. “But something’s off.”

His hands trail back down your arms, his nose following the curve of your spine, your fur standing on end as goosebumps spread across your skin. He stops at your lower back, just before your tail begins, sniffing intently before, without warning, sinking his teeth into your soft flesh. You yelp in shock and pain as he spits something metallic onto the floor beside you.

“Fucking bastards,” he growls, and you know he’s right. The implant he’s just bitten out was the one messing with your hormones, suppressing your natural cycle and heats, placed methodically where you can’t reach. Though the bite stings violently and blood trickles down your legs, you feel immediate relief now that the implant is finally out.

He runs his hand back up your spine, stopping when he reaches your neck, his fingers grazing over the small burn mark where your slave number is branded into your skin. The sensation makes you shudder violently, triggering nerves that are too raw to keep you standing still, but he seems entirely unbothered by your reaction.

“Alpha…” a voice interrupts. The door opens and a crocodile hybrid strides in without so much as a knock, freezing when his eyes land on you. Instinctively, you try to back away, only to bump into the wolf hybrid behind you, making you tense even further.

The crocodile hybrid doesn’t move, his gaze fixated on you with a predatory gleam in his eye. You hear a low growl rumbling from the wolf hybrid behind you, followed by the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked close to your sensitive ear, and then a deafening shot. You flinch and scream violently, hands flying to your ears in a desperate attempt to cover them, but the damage is already done—your ears ring painfully as you crouch down, overwhelmed by the unbearable noise, tears collecting in your lash line.

It takes a moment for your senses to return, and when they do, you realise the wolf hybrid is crouched beside you, his legs brushing yours, his hands gently rubbing your upper arms soothingly as he murmurs, “I’m sorry, kitten,” kissing against the top of your head. All while the crocodile’s body lies crumpled on the floor in a growing pool of blood nearby.

You tremble uncontrollably, paralysed by fear, your mind struggling and utterly unable to process what happened around you. But the wolf hybrid doesn’t seem to care, helping you back up to your feet, brushing your soft hair over your shoulder to reveal the burn mark once again.

You barely dare to breathe as he steps away, but when you see him take an iron rod from near the fireplace and hold it in the flames, heating it until it glows angry red-hot, memories of the previous branding flashes through your mind like an alarm. You panic, your breath coming in desperate, frantic gasps. “No, no, no…” you chant quietly, but your body is frozen in place, still paralysed by the overwhelming terror.

The wolf hybrid, unfazed to the core, pulls the rod from the fire and walks towards you. Just before the hot metal touches your skin, branding you over the old mark, you hear his voice growl behind you, cold and final, “You’re mine now.”

You scream until your ears begin to bleed, your voice tearing through your throat as you collapse onto the cold, hard floor, the world around you fading into a welcoming, merciful blackness.

masterlist • 2

a/n 3: hope you enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for this fic 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Check out my other work here!

All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024 taglist: @jksusawife, @darkeneddiary, @dumbheadblog, @justjkkkkk, @staytinyville, @jaiuneamesolitaiire, @ericawantstoescape, @mjuser, @sp1derk0ok, @fluttershyvanilla

Tysm 🥹💕 yes and yes! Let the wholesomeness swallow you whole 🤭

Y(E)ARNED (JJK) • 2

pairing: alien!Jungkook x human seamstress!female reader genre: alien!AU, S2L, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: poor handling of sadness and fear, a lot of hurt, phone call with Namjoon, talk about bonding, tears, OC is rather dramatic, a little bit of fluff, JK calls OC "princess", showdown repeats itself, angst, hurt, sadness, a lot of tears, resignation, smut, oral (f.receiving), f!ngering, big d!ck JK, unprotected s€x (pls don't do it), doggy style, minor tentacle involvement, possessiveness, minor dirty talk, "good girl", hair gripping, lmk if I forgot something pls word count: ~5.3k

a/n: part of the "Dice With Destiny" project by @thebtswritersclub and @creativepromptsforwriting | I just couldn't help but dice again 🫣 sry

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

1 • masterlist

In the days that follow, you find yourself lost in a fog, unable to fully grasp the transformation that has occurred between you and Jungkook, no matter how many times you turn it over in your mind. It is as though the foundation of your relationship, once solid and easy, has shifted imperceptibly beneath your feet, leaving you both fumbling for a balance neither of you anticipated needing. And yet, despite this unspoken gulf now separating you, Jungkook appears determined—fiercely so—to drown the cracks with a wave of affection, as if by loving you more intensely, he could somehow compensate for the void that can never be entirely bridged, no matter how much either of you wills it so.

But the weight of it all begins to smother you, it’s a constant undercurrent, tugging at your every breath, pulling you under until the smallest things set you off without warning. You retreat, bit by bit, as your emotions swell and break uncontrollably. Tears fall from your eyes in the most inconvenient moments, anger flares up for no tangible reason, lashing out at those around you even when you know deep down they have done nothing to warrant it. It’s as if the shock of everything has numbed you to rationality, and yet the pain remains unbearable, a needle against your tender heart, piercing at both you and Jungkook alike. You can see the toll it takes on him, the hurt swimming in his gaze when he looks at you, though he tries so hard not to let it show. But what can you do? The aftermath of this storm offers no remedy, no balm, only a bitter reminder of what cannot be undone.

Your days blend into each other, and more often than not, you fall asleep hunched over your laptop in your shop, exhaustion overtaking you after hours spent desperately scouring every corner of the internet for some hope, some solution to this cruel fate. Is there truly no way for a Seraphenti to bond with someone of another species? The information you find is dishearteningly sparse, frustrating in its lack of clarity. Only six cases known. Six. Six Seraphenti who managed to bond with partners outside their own kind—yet even then, the bond wasn’t what it should normally have been, not in the way it’s supposed to be, not in the way you hoped it to be. The Seraphenti in those cases had not bonded directly with their partners; no, biology saw to that. Instead, they had bonded with themselves, two of their tentacles intertwining in an act of resigned finality, signalling that their search was over—though their true connection, the one to another soul, remained forever out of reach.

You reach out to these apex Seraphenti, hoping against hope that one of them might hold the answer you’re so desperately seeking. But five immediately pushed you towards the last one—Namjoon. He speaks to you in a voice that carries both understanding and kindness, a voice that you can’t help but find calming despite the ache coursing in your chest. “I believe it has to do with the love I have for her,” he tells you, his words careful. “And, of course, a great deal of willpower. I spoke to the others, and the common thread between us all seems to be just that—love, an unshakable love for our partners, and a strength of will that perhaps goes beyond what is typical. There’s no doubt in our hearts, none at all.”

His words, though kind, do little to soothe the ache biting away at you, the ache that grows more aggressive with each passing hour. Jungkook is as stubborn as they come, more determined than anyone you’ve ever known, and his willpower is unmatched—he’s accomplished everything he’s ever set his mind to, so how could this, of all things, be different? How could this be the one thing that eludes him? And then, the thought worms its way into your mind, an unwelcome intruder that refuses to leave: perhaps it’s not a question of willpower at all. Perhaps, despite all his love for you, it simply doesn’t reach the level required for a true bond. Perhaps it’s his love, after all, that falls short.

You don’t say this aloud, of course, though Namjoon seems to hear the unspoken despair in your long, weary sigh. “I’m sorry,” he tries gently, the regret in his voice evident even through the line. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear. But if there’s a way for him to bond with you—well, with himself, really—I think you don’t need to worry so much. I can tell how deeply you love him, and love… love is never wasted.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, the words barely a whisper. They hang in the air, heavy with resignation, as though you’re thanking him more out of habit than genuine belief that he might be right.

“No worries,” he replies, his tone warm. “If you have more questions, or if you ever want to meet up with me and the others, don’t hesitate to reach out. We’re here for you.”

“All right,” you whisper, forcing back the tears that threaten to spill over your red eyes. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

As you end the call, the silence that fills the room seems louder than it should be. You rub at your eyes, your face, trying to chase away the exhaustion that clings to you like a second skin. You want so desperately for things to work with Jungkook, for this cruel twist of fate to somehow resolve itself. But the fear is there too, circling in the back of your mind. What if it doesn’t? What if, no matter how much you want it, it simply can’t be? You’re not sure you could bear to stay in this place, to remain on this planet where every street corner, every familiar face, every stray memory would only remind you of what could have been but never was.

You had thought, for a fleeting moment, that you had found your home—not just here on this planet but with Jungkook. And now, it seems as though perhaps your destiny lies elsewhere, forever moving, drifting like a leaf caught on the wind. Maybe you’re not meant to belong anywhere, not to any one place, not to any one person, but only to yourself and your sewing machine, crafting a life from fragments as you pass through it. A quiet sob escapes your lips as you rise from your chair, gathering the scraps of fabric strewn about your workspace, though this time you don’t return them to their rightful places on the shelves. Instead, you fold them carefully, placing them in the moving boxes still scattered throughout your storeroom.

The act feels final, a quiet resignation, a silent acceptance of the hurt you know can’t be undone, no matter how much you might wish it could be. Perhaps this is the only option left to you—leaving it all behind, even Jungkook, so that he might find the happiness he deserves, even if it’s not with you.

And then, just as he does every evening, you hear his footsteps, soft yet unmistakable, on the old wooden floor of your shop. The sound sends a pang through your chest, knowing he’s come to take you home, to ensure you don’t walk alone in the dark all by yourself.

“Hey, princess,” he greets you softly, his voice warm yet tinged with the sadness you wish you didn’t have to see there, hurting you even more than it already does. Knowing that you are the cause of this, that his suffering stems from you when all you want is for him to be happy.

You don’t turn to face him, your hands still busy folding the last of the fabric, your gaze fixed on the boxes before you. “Hey.”

“What are you doing?” he asks, stepping closer, his hand resting gently on your back, its warmth both comforting and unbearable at once. His eyes, you know, are on the boxes.

“I’m packing,” you reply simply, your voice devoid of emotion, though the tears are already sliding silently down your cheeks.

“Why?” he whispers, and you hear the crack in his voice, the heartbreak so tangible it nearly breaks you too.

You can’t answer him, not really. All you can do is shrug, helpless against the tide of emotions threatening to pull you under, your gaze remaining fixed on the boxes that hold more than just fabric—they hold your resignation, your acceptance of what cannot be changed.

And then, without warning, Jungkook pulls you up into his arms, holding you tight against his chest as if he could somehow keep you from slipping away. His voice, broken, pleads softly against your skin, repeating over and over again, “Please don’t leave me.”

But there’s nothing else you can do but nod, eyes glazing over, lost in the space just behind his shoulder, seeing nothing but the shadows of a love slipping away.

The following morning, Jungkook convinces you to take a step back, to shut the door of your shop for just a day, to close yourself off from the world and let the noise, the tension, the suffocating weight of everything that has been gnawing at your heart, dissipate into something softer. And at first, it does—there’s a glimmer of peace in his words, a balm in the simple idea of spending the day with him, untethered from all that binds you both in knots. You agree, if only because it feels like the right thing to do—because, for once, it feels like you’re choosing something together, rather than trying to unravel the tangle that fate has made of your lives.

You sleep in, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the morning light filtering lazily through the curtains as if the universe itself has decided to take a pause, allowing the two of you to rest in this fragile pocket of serenity. You bathe in each other’s presence, letting the quiet intimacy between you unfold like something sacred, something tender. For the first time in a long while, it feels right—like the two of you are simply existing, not worrying, not striving, but just being, together. 

Later, you venture out for a leisurely stroll through the nearby park, the air warm against your skin, leaves rustling in the trees above as you walk hand in hand. There’s a lightness to it, a sense that, perhaps, you can both breathe a little easier today. You can feel the tension within you, and within him, slowly beginning to ebb away, like a tide retreating from the shore, leaving behind only the faintest traces of its presence. The hurt that has wrapped itself so tightly around your hearts seems to loosen its grip, just a little, and you find yourself grateful for this fleeting respite from the storm that has raged between you for so long. 

It's a tentative first step towards something resembling normalcy—a small, almost imperceptible shift in the air between you, a whisper of trust that just perhaps there’s a future where things might be all right again. You glance at him occasionally, his eyes softer, his smile less weighed down by the burdens of sadness and uncertainty. Even his tentacles, usually so motionless when you’re together, seem more at ease, their movements languid and unhurried, as though they’ve finally begun to acknowledge your presence in a way they hadn’t before. It’s as if they’ve come to sense you too—recognising, in some quiet way, that you’re not just passing through but are perhaps someone who will remain by Jungkook’s side for a long time yet.

The day feels effortless at first, a gentle rhythm of comfort and routine, until it comes time to venture to the grocery store. It’s a new one, not far from the park, and the unfamiliarity of it prickles at the back of your mind. There’s a moment of hesitation as you both step inside, but you push through, determined to hold onto the lightness that has graced your day so far. You and Jungkook move together through the aisles, your fingers entwined, his hand warm in yours, though you can feel the slight tension creeping back into his grip as the crowd around you thickens. The store is bustling with Seraphenti, more than you’re used to seeing, and the sight of so many of them stirs something uneasy in you, an undercurrent of anxiety that starts to gnaw at your calm. His hand begins to sweat slightly, the grip tightening, and though you don’t want to admit it, your heart begins to race just a little too.

You try to shake it off, to keep yourself grounded in the moment, reminding yourself that you can’t live in avoidance forever. You can’t hide from the world just because the risk of something going wrong exists. You tell yourself that this is just a regular day, just an ordinary task, something that you both should be able to handle together. But the unease remains, no matter how much you try to silence it, and you can sense the same tension rising in him as he steers you away from the busiest aisles, his eyes darting around in search of something—perhaps escape, perhaps reassurance.

It’s when you’re standing before the cooling section, the faint hum of the refrigeration units filling the space around you, that the nightmare you thought you’d left behind comes rushing back with terrifying clarity. You’re looking at the yoghurt options, trying to decide on something that will be addible for both you and him, when she appears—an ethereal Seraphenti, gliding through the aisle with an elegance that makes everyone elsestop in their tracks. She’s beautiful, in that otherworldly way that Seraphenti often are, and though she shares a vague resemblance to you, it’s clear she belongs to another realm entirely, one you can never hope to touch. Her presence seems to hold the entire store captive, every gaze drawn to her as she moves with effortless grace, matching Jungkook’s usual self.

She comes to a stop beside Jungkook, reaching for some yoghurt as well, and that’s when it happens. 

Jungkook swallows dryly, skin paling in seconds, and the yoghurt he holds begins to tremble violently in his hands as he whispers frantic, broken “no’s” under his breath. His tentacles, which had been so calm mere moments ago, suddenly rise of their own accord again, twisting and writhing towards hers in a movement that feels almost inevitable. She notices it too, her own tentacles responding in kind, and when her eyes meet his, they soften with a hope that nearly brings you to your knees.

You stand frozen, the world tilting on its axis as your heart hammers painfully in your chest. Tears prick at your eyes, your hands trembling as you struggle to maintain even a semblance of composure. You reach out for the yoghurt in Jungkook’s hands, more out of instinct than anything, placing it back in the cooler before it slips from his grip and shatters on the floor. You don’t know what to do—how could you, when the very thing you feared most is unfolding right before your eyes—again?

You take a step back, the weight of the moment pressing down on you with a force that threatens to crush you entirely. Your mind races through the memories of all the moments you’ve shared with Jungkook—the laughter, the tenderness, the quiet pillow talks of the mornings spent wrapped in each other’s arms. You think of all the time you wasted, mired in hurt and sadness, wishing you could turn back the clock and hold onto those fleeting moments of joy. But now, standing here, watching as his tentacles dance with hers in a way that feels so natural, so effortless, you know that those moments are slipping through your fingers like sand, and never to be reclaimed.

And then, before you can retreat any further, Jungkook moves with a desperation that breaks your heart all over again. He grabs hold of you, pulling you against him, his body trembling with the force of his emotions as he wraps you in his arms. He’s crying, silently but violently, his shoulders shaking as he presses his face into your hair, his voice a broken whisper against your skin. “I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, the words tumbling from his lips again and again. “I never wanted this. I love you. I love you.”

You clutch at his shirt, your fingers gripping the fabric as though it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. You want to tell him that you love him too, that you always have, but the words lodge in your throat, stuck behind the tears that blur your vision. You can’t bring yourself to say it—not now, not when it would only serve to twist the knife deeper into your heart. Instead, you hold onto him, letting this be your last moment together, the last time you will feel the warmth of his embrace, the last time you will ever be this close to him. You shut your eyes tightly, blocking out the sight of their tentacles intertwining, blocking out the cheers of encouragement from the crowd around you. You try to drown it all out, but then comes Jungkook’s cry—a sound so raw, so full of anguish that it shatters the air around you. 

And in the sudden, shocked silence that follows, all you can hear is the sound of your own sobs, mingling with his as the two of you hold each other, broken but unwilling to let go.

It takes every ounce of strength you have to pull away from him, to step back and release your grip on his shirt. His hands fall away from you too, without hesitation, as if he knows that this is the end. You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes—you don’t want to see what comes next, don’t want your last image of him to be one of him finding happiness with someone else. But before you can turn and walk away, his hand catches your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

You turn, slowly, your vision still blurred with tears, but as you force yourself to look at him, what you see is not at all what you expected. Jungkook stands before you, tears still streaming down his face, his nose red from crying, but there’s a peace in his expression that you’ve never seen before. He smiles at you—warm, genuine—and though it breaks your heart to see him like this, knowing that his happiness isn’t because of you, it also heals something deep within you. Because at least he’ll be happy. Even if it’s not with you.

“I love you,” he whispers, and this time, the words hit you square in the face and chest, knocking the breath from your lungs. 

You blink, confused, and glance behind him, expecting to see the female Seraphenti, her tentacles still entwined with his. But instead, you see her standing there with tears in her eyes, clapping, her tentacles floating freely around her, untouched. The crowd around you erupts into applause too, their cheers ringing in your ears, but all you can do is stare at Jungkook, your heart pounding in your chest as you force him to step sideways, looking past him, to where his own tentacles have coiled around one another—bonded, not with hers, but with themselves.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, the words escaping you in a rush of disbelief and overwhelming relief. You collapse to the floor, your hands covering your face as sobs wrack your body—tears of joy, of disbelief, of a happiness you never thought you’d feel again. Jungkook falls to his knees before you, wrapping you in his arms as the two of you cry together, holding onto each other as though you might never let go.

How you manage to finish the grocery shopping and return home with Jungkook by your side remains a mystery, one you have no desire to unravel, as if the details of that journey are irrelevant now, lost in a haze of pure unreality. What truly matters, what holds your attention with fierce power, is the longing that pulses through you, a desire that takes shape in the form of Jungkook’s body—every inch of him calling to you like a siren’s song, tempting you towards the only thing you now wish to explore fully and consciously.

You find yourself pressed against the wall that leads to his bedroom, your back arching as Jungkook’s larger frame towers against you, his hands mapping the landscape of your body with an eager hunger, his touch both desperate and tender. Your fingers weave through his hair, pulling him closer with an intensity that suggests you may never let go, as though in this moment he is your lifeline, the very air you breathe, and somehow he truly is. He lifts you with ease, carrying you as though you weigh nothing more than air, laying you down on his bed with a gentleness that makes your heart race even more. There is something in his gaze, a reverence that leaves you awestruck, your heart fluttering as you marvel at the sight of him.

With one quick movement, he pulls his shirt over his head and discards it, revealing his bare chest to you, every inch of him chiseled and breathtaking. Your heart stutters as you drink in the sight of him, the rise and fall of his chest, the faint red marks on his neck where your fingernails had scratched moments before, his lips swollen and flushed from your kisses. The sight of him undoes you entirely, a pulse of heat spreading through your core, the ache between your legs becoming almost unbearable. And yet, despite the haze of lust that clouds your mind, it’s his tentacles that draw your gaze, now bonded with themselves in a way that makes your body react instinctively, a fresh wave of desire coursing through you at the sight, making you pussy cream and clench without restraint.

You waste no time in peeling off your clothes, your fingers trembling with impatience as you bare yourself to him, your lips bitten red in anticipation. Jungkook watches you with darkened eyes as he follows your movements, his lips parting slightly as his tongue sweeps across them, as if starving for days on end. He’s undressing now too, pulling off his remaining clothes with a slowness that only heightens the tension between you, and when he finally stands before you, fully naked, the sight of his Seraphenti dick makes your thighs press together instinctively, rubbing them together to feel a little bit of friction you desperately need. His length is enormous, veined with red and dripping steadily from the pointed head, the sheer size of it enough to make your breath catch in your throat and saliva collecting in your mouth. But even as a small thrill of apprehension flickers through you, there’s no denying the deeper, primal need that overrides everything else—you need him, desperately, more than anything.

With a strong grip on your ankles, Jungkook pulls you effortlessly towards the edge of his bed, your legs dangling over the side, your weeping pussy now hovering just out of his reach. The lust in his eyes is unmistakable as he kneels before you, his gaze locked onto your slickened folds with an intensity that nearly sends orgasms through your whole body. You force yourself up, sitting just enough so that you can reach out and grab him by the hair, making sure his eyes meet yours. For a moment, the lust in his expression softens into something deeper, more profound—a look of pure devotion that melts your heart even as your arousal surges to new heights, leaving you dripping with need.

“I’ve loved you since the day I met you, Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice breaking with emotion, your heart swelling with colours you’ve never known existed. His face splits into a radiant smile, teeth flashing, his front two slightly protruding in a way that only adds to his charm. That smile revives something within you, a sense of purpose you thought you lost, a promise you make to yourself—to keep that smile on his face for as long as you live, no matter what it takes.

“I love you too. With everything I am,” he murmurs, but even as the words leave his lips, his expression shifts into something far more dangerous, a smirk that promises both pleasure and adoration. Before you can react, he pushes you gently down onto the bed, his hands guiding you to lie flat as he positions himself between your legs.

There’s no hesitation in him as he kisses your slit, his tongue soon following, dragging slowly along your folds before he begins to devour you with a fervour that leaves you gasping. His mouth latches onto your clit, sucking and licking with a need that borders on desperation, the wet sounds of his tongue mixing with the obscene squelching of his finger as it plunges into your pussy. Your mind spins, the room tilting as pleasure surges through you in waves, your body trembling beneath him as his deep groans vibrate against your sensitive flesh. His muscles flex and ripple beneath his skin, his back arching with each movement of his head, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of him—this beautiful, otherworldly being who worships your body with such raw intensity.

And then more of his fingers enter you—two at first, then three, stretching you in a way that makes your eyes water with a delicious burn, your walls tightening around him as your mind begins to cloud with the promise of an impending high. His fingers scissor inside you, spreading your slickness until it coats his entire hand, glistening in the light of the room. “You taste so fucking divine,” he moans against your clit, and it’s all you need to fall over the edge, your pussy clenching hard around his fingers as you come with a force that has you gushing all over his arm.

“Such a good girl for me,” he praises, his voice rough and low, sending a new wave of shivers down your entire body as he continues to suck on your clit, slurping up every drop of your release before it can add to the mess on his skin. When you finally come down from your high, your vision slowly clearing, you look up to see Jungkook hovering over you, his thick cock in hand, leaking with arousal as he licks the remnants of your cum from his fingers, sucking each one clean. The sight nearly makes you cum all over again, and you feel a fresh surge of creamy wetness between your legs, your body already eager for more.

But before he can move over you, you roll onto your stomach, pushing up onto your knees, your ass high in the air as you present yourself to him, your breasts spilling onto the mattress, back arched in the way you know he loves. You know his kind bonds sexually from behind, and you want him to claim you, to make you his in every possible way. Jungkook freezes for a moment, his breath catching as he stares at your ass, transfixed by the sight of you bent over for him.

“Make me yours, Jungkook,” you keen, your voice breathy and desperate as you shift your knees to find a more comfortable position, your ass now taunting him even more. His hands are on you in an instant, strong fingers kneading the flesh of it lovingly as he positions himself behind you. He leans down, kissing a slow trail along your back, his tentacles following the path of his lips, their cool touch making goosebumps appear across your skin until he reaches your ear, his breath warm against your cheek, his hand gripping your head to make you look at him.

“Should I get a condom?” he asks, his voice strained with need.

“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation. “I want to feel everything of you.”

“As you wish, princess,” he groans before pressing a kiss to your lips, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a possessiveness that leaves your pussy gasping. He positions himself at your entrance, his cock massive against your hot folds, and with a slight movement of his hips, his tip slips into you, the stretch immediate and oh so good as he pushes deeper.

The moan that escapes your throat is swallowed by his kiss, his hands caressing your sides before they settle on your hips, gripping you firmly as he begins to thrust slowly into you. He rises to his full height, towering over you as he fucks you with slow, measured strokes, each one pushing you closer to the brink of insanity. His tentacles trail up your arms, brushing over your skin in soft, teasing strokes, while his fingers dig into your hips with a possessive strength that leaves you feeling utterly claimed. “You’re made for me,” he groans, his voice low and primal. “Fuck, princess, I love your little pussy so much.”

“Jungkook,” you cry out, his name the only coherent thought left in your mind as he pounds into you, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more frantic as he chases his release, his tentacles toying with your clit as your vision blurs with stars.

He leans over you again, his hand again gripping your hair as he forces your face to the side, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough with possession. “You hear that, princess? You’re mine.” His pace increases, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate, and you can feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter until you’re nothing but a trembling, incoherent mess beneath him.

“Say it!” he demands, his voice a guttural snarl. “Fucking say it.”

“I’m yours, Jungkook!” you sob, your body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you, your walls clenching around his cock with a force that sends him over the edge. He lets out a low, primal moan as he spills into you, his cock twitching violently as his release floods your pussy, hot and thick.

Jungkook collapses on top of you, his body trembling as he struggles to hold himself up on shaking arms, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But still, he peppers your shoulder with kisses, his lips soft and gentle against your skin, while his tentacles stroke your sides, legs and arms in soothing patterns. “I’ll never let you go,” he rasps between breathes.

“And I’ll never leave,” you whisper, your throat dry but your heart full.

As his tentacles come into view, glistening in your juices on the mattress beside you, you reach out to pat them gently, making both of you giggle, the sound light and full of love. 

And so, after all that time, all the yarned threads of fate tugging you this way and that, pulling, twisting in their maddening ways, you find yourself where you always were meant to be. No more yearning, no more restless nights; only the serene, almost melodic understanding that every piece has fallen into place just as it was always meant to be. Always meant to be Jungkook.

1 • masterlist

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed this little two-shot👀 lmk what you think in any way you like! I physically couldn't keep up with the analogies like I did in part 1—sryyyy

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for eventual bonuses 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

All Rights Reserved © @runariya 2024

taglist: @dumbheadblog, @darkeneddiary, @jksusawife, @justjkkkkk, @fluttershy-vanilla, @nikidream24, @ericawantstoescape

My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 5

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: covering up of wounds, thoughts about past mud€r, awkward morning, lies, fluff, 700 in 3 Jungkook because I couldn't not write it, inner conflicts between good and bad, detailed description of inner autopsy, scalpel in thigh, blood, stitching without local anaesthesia, drinking, fluff, OC drops a hint to her dark side, Jungkook is oblivious in so many ways it physically hurts, smut, f!ngering, worshipping, oral (m. receiving), protected s€x, OC rides him (it's the way that you can ride~), pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 7.6K

a/n: I thought I'd upload tomorrow as a present for ✨ Jungkook Day ✨ but I’m going to be busy, so here’s the chapter a little early. It’s a bit of a treat, mostly fluff and smut, pushing the plot forward, so ENJOY! After this one, we’ll be spiralling fast and hard 🫢 Please don’t come at me!

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

prologue • 01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • masterlist • 06

The next morning, you stand in your small shared bathroom that after all these years still feels too small, the kind of tight space that seems to crowd you when you’re already feeling a little claustrophobic. You’re staring into the mirror, eyes a little distant, trying to assess the damage from last night, trying to make sense of everything that happened in the darkness of night. The faint bathroom light flickers once, just as if it’s mimicking the wavering thoughts in your head, and you finally focus on yourself again. 

Your neck isn’t much of a problem, the slight pinkish bruise barely visible when the light isn’t catching just right, so masking it with some make up isn’t much of a problem. You can make it disappear entirely, almost like nothing happened. Almost. What does concern you however is the little cut on your swollen, puffy bottom lip. The skin is stretching tight over the small cut that’s stubborn in its defiance, refusing to be ignored. It’s not big, nor is it deep, but it’s prominent in the way it catches the light, just enough that someone standing close to you might notice. Someone like Jungkook.

Brushing teeth only added to the inflammation, which you gladly don’t feel, but will be adding to the problem of covering up. You curse softly under your breath, wondering how you’ll manage to keep it truly hidden, to dodge any questions about why your lips look like you’ve been punched in the face, what you actually have been.

You rummage through your cosmetics bag, hands shaking a little more than you’d like to admit as you pull out a small tube of liquid plaster, dapping it accurately on it so it’s somehow a smoother surface. The rich plum balm next, gliding over your lips, darkening the pink flesh until it matches the colour of the bruised skin perfectly. The cut disappears, camouflaged, and for a moment, you feel satisfied like you’ve won some small, meaningless victory over your reflection. The mask is in place, or maybe just good enough as is it.

You sigh deeply, letting the air out of your lungs as if it could take away the heaviness that has settled in your chest, but it doesn’t. You look at yourself once more, turning your head side to side, searching for flaws you might have missed. You look…normal, more or less. Tired, though. There’s no hiding the shadows beneath your eyes, the slight droop to your shoulders. You haven’t slept well. Not because of the kill itself—strangely enough, that part almost brought a sense of clarity, like you’d purged something toxic from your system with a detox diet—but because of Pulse. 

The memory of his eyes haunts you still, the way they were full of devastation, that strange sadness that clung to him, lingered in your thoughts like a stain in your favourite shirt you can’t scrub out for the life of you. He shouldn’t bother you this much. He shouldn’t. You’ve done worse last night, seen worse in your entire life. But there’s something about him that keeps gnawing at you, lodged in your mind, needles that are too deep to pull out, and it’s irritating in a way you can’t quite describe.

Why does he have this power over you? It’s irrational, maddening if you think about it long enough. You find yourself asking over and over again if you’ve met him before, if maybe, in some way, he isn’t a stranger at all. You can’t pinpoint it, but there’s something. Something in the way his eyes looked at you, something in the way his presence affects you even now, long after the night has ended. You hate it. You hate him for making you feel this way. It’s like there’s a vice wrapped around your chest, and every time you think of him, it tightens, constricting just a little more until you go wild.

But there’s no time to dwell on it now. You push the thoughts away with a forceful shove, leaving them scattered behind you like you did yesterday with him standing there. No, today is not the day to think about him or anything that happened last night. You’ve got classes to get to, and you’re definitely running late right now. You take one last glance at the mirror, nod to yourself, and step out of the bathroom, trying to ignore this irritating feeling that’s settled over your head.

But of course, as soon as you open the door, the universe decides to throw you another curveball. Jennie is standing there, right outside the bathroom, completely oblivious to the concept of modesty, wearing nothing but Taehyung’s oversized shirt. Your brain freezes for a second, and all you can do is blink, trying to process the scene in front of you. Jennie looks just as startled, her wide eyes locked on yours, frozen in place like a deer caught in headlights right before its doom. 

“No. Fucking. Way.” You mutter under your breath, the disbelief seeping out of your pores. This can’t be real. But it is, and the longer you stand there, the more awkward it becomes. Jennie doesn’t move. You don’t move. And then, because the universe apparently thinks this situation isn’t awkward enough already, Taehyung steps out of his room and stops dead in his tracks as well. His eyes flick from you to Jennie, then back to you, and you can see the exact moment his brain short-circuits.

It’s almost comical, the way the three of you are just standing there in this ridiculous triangle of shock and embarrassment. But then, you’re the first to break free from the spell. You grin, sidestepping Jennie and making a beeline for the front door. You toss a hand over your shoulder as you call back, “I didn’t see shit.” Your voice is light, teasing, and you can’t help but giggle as you slip out the door.

But of course, you did see something. And it’s enough to make you file this away for later, something to question Taehyung about when the time is right. You’ll have to sit him down and roast him properly for this—though, knowing yourself, the topic will eventually circle back to Jungkook, and how your friendship shifted too.

You’re walking down the usual pathway to your classes, when you spot Jungkook. He’s ahead of you, but even from a distance, you can tell something is off. He’s slouched, shoulders hunched forward, his usual confident stride replaced by something slower, heavier. Your heart skips a beat, but maybe you’re just imagining things, so, you jog the rest of the way to catch up to him.

“Kook! Wait!” you call out, breathless as you finally reach him. “You wouldn’t believe what I just walked in on!”

But the words die on your lips the moment you get a good look at him, and you’re painfully reminded that your first instinct is always right. He’s not the Jungkook you know. There’s something…different. His eyes are distant, unfocused, his expression hollow in a way that makes your stomach twist on itself, making the bright smile that had been on your face fade, replaced by a deepening worry as the seconds tick by.

“What’s wrong?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You can see the sadness in his eyes, the exhaustion that drips from him like mud. It mirrors your own feelings, but his seem deeper, darker, like he’s sinking into something you can’t reach.

“Nothing,” he says, but the word is empty, devoid of meaning. “I might skip class today.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Skip class? You never skip class. Kook, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are red, bloodshot, like he hasn’t slept in days, his muscles tense, coiled like a spring that’s ready to snap any minute. The unease inside you grows tenfold, spreading through your veins like wildfire. You replay yesterday’s date in your mind, sifting through every moment, every word spoken, every touch shared, searching for any clue, something that might explain his sudden shift. But all you can think of is that maybe, somehow, he regrets it. Maybe he regrets being with you, and the thought alone drowns you more than any ocean could.

“If it’s about yesterday,” you start, your voice hesitant, your thoughts stumbling over each other in their desperation to make sense of it all, “if you regret the date, we can still be friends, you know?”

For a moment, he’s completely still. Then, like a switch has been flipped, his whole demeanour changes to his usual self. His shoulders relax, his eyes lose some of that haunted distance, and he reaches out for you, pulling you into a tight embrace, squishing you against his firm pecs. His voice is firm when he speaks, simple and resolute. “No.”

“No?” you echo, stunned. You don’t know how to process the sudden shift, hell, even the last twenty-four hours.

“No,” he repeats, more gently this time. “It’s not about us, I promise.” His lips brush against your hair, his arms wrapped securely around you as if he’s trying to shield you from something you can’t see. “I want this. I want us.”

You feel yourself relax into him, the unease slowly seeping out of your body as naive relief floods in to take its place. “I want us too,” you murmur softly, leaning into his warmth even more.

Jungkook pulls back slightly, his hands cupping your face as he gazes down at you, his eyes filled with something that feels so much like devotion it almost makes you tear up. “I forgot to ask you something,” he teases, his voice lighter now, almost playful. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

His smile is lazy, like he already knows the answer, which you have to admit he does. Your heart skips a beat again, but for a very different reason this time. “Of course,” you grin up at him despite yourself still not trusting his mood swing. 

“Good,” he winks with a playful smirk. “May your boyfriend kiss you then?”

You giggle, unable to help yourself, the sound is bright and airy in the morning light. It’s ridiculous, the whole situation is ridiculous, but it feels so right. So normal. So him. So you. “Yes, please,” you whisper, and when his perfect lips meet yours, it feels like coming home. It’s soft, warm, everything you didn’t know you needed until this very moment. He tastes like comfort, like safety, like love.

And for that moment, you allow yourself to forget the world. To forget Pulse. To forget the shadows that still linger on the edges of your mind. For now, it’s just you and Jungkook, and that’s all you need and have. 

When you finally pull apart, he’s smiling down at you with nothing but affection in his eyes. “You sure you won’t come to class?” you try softly, hoping maybe he’s changed his mind too. 

But the moment you say it, you regret it. You can see the switch begin to turn again, his expression slowly shifting back to that distant look, the one that makes you feel like you’re losing him to something you can’t fight. 

“Nah,” he says after a pause, his voice quieter now. “Or… unless you want to work on our project?”

You shake your head, trying to keep your voice light. “We can do it another day.”

He shakes his head slowly, but there’s still that wall between you, something that he won’t let you see. “I’ll come by later,” he says, his voice distant again. “We can work on it then.”

“You sure?” you ask again, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sure,” he says, leaning down to kiss you one last time before you part ways. And even though something inside you still feels unsettled, you hold onto that moment, to the warmth of his lips, the softness of his touch, and the hope that whatever is weighing him down, you’ll figure it out before it eats him alive. 

The day drags on after that like thick honey without Jungkook beside you, every class feeling like an endless void of monotony. You find yourself standing now alone outside the autopsy lab in the late afternoon, waiting for him, though you can’t help the quiet doubt creeping in—he's late, for the first time ever, and part of you wonders if he'll even show. To pass the time, you and your friends huddled mere minutes ago to plan a semi-surprise birthday party for Jungkook at the Italian restaurant, you volunteering to do the speech. It was light, fun, a bit distracting, a way to fill the gaps he’s left in your day, but somehow you couldn’t seem to fully join the excitement as you plotted out the details, even though it’s a way to celebrate the person who has become so important to you.

Across the courtyard, you see a couple stroll by, hand in hand, their laughter soft and intimate, and for a moment, a quiet contentment settles over you. You no longer feel that familiar twinge of sadness when you see couples like this, but are reminded of how lucky you really are, how someone as special as Jungkook has walked into your life. That warmth sits with you, and you think it permanently has settled within you by now, as you glance back down the path.

Then, you spot him. Jogging towards you in a black t-shirt, his hair tousled and damp with sweat, Jungkook’s muscular frame catches you completely off-guard. His late arrival suddenly makes sense. He must’ve lost track of time at the gym, and now, here he is, rushing to meet you with that apologetic smile. But your eyes can’t fixate on his face—his muscles are somehow more prominent than ever, veins tracing lines up his tattooed arm like rivers on a map, pulsing with every step. You’re not even sure when your mouth dropped open, but it stays that way as he finally reaches you, breathless and sweaty.

“Sorry I’m late,” he pants, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, his breath fanning your face with every exhale. He steps back but keeps his hand on the small of your back, his touch doing nothing more than searing where he touches you.

Your throat feels as if it’s turned to sandpaper, dry and useless, but through a miracle unknown, you manage to stammer out, “Did you work out since this morning?”

Jungkook quirks an eyebrow, his lips quirking with amusement. “Yeah, why?”

“Kook, it’s been over five hours,” you exclaim, half in awe, half in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s an undeniable glint in his eyes. He knows exactly what effect he’s having on you. “I’ve been hitting my new goal.”

“What goal?” you implore, your curiosity piqued, though your attention keeps slipping back to the way his shirt clings to his chest and shoulders, as though it might tear at any moment.

“700 in the big three,” he replies, smirking with that lazy arrogance that only makes him more irresistible.

“700 in the big three,” you echo, the words floating out of your mouth automatically as your brain struggles to catch up. You can’t even properly process what he’s saying; you’re far too busy ogling him like some kind of starstruck fool.

“700 in the big three,” Jungkook repeats, his tone teasing now, the humour barely concealed behind his smirk. He watches you with that glimmer in his eyes, this confident, playfully condescending glimmer you never seen before on him.

It takes you a second—a second too long, really—but the realisation hits you like a punch in the guts. “700 kilograms in the big three lifts,” you murmur, the numbers looping in your head over and over like a broken record, the image of him lifting so much weight making your knees useless. And with each repetition, your heart rate picks up, your mind spiralling in ways that are anything but clinical. 

Jungkook watches your reaction with an amused glint, his laughter barely contained as he steps closer. “You good?” he asks after a moment, his smile widening at the stunned look on your face.

You nod—well, more like a broken bobblehead—completely overwhelmed. There’s something primal about the way he’s standing there, his raw masculinity sending your hormones into overdrive. And then, just when you think you might be able to regain some sense of control, or rather sanity, he leans down, his breath hot and still slightly quick against your ear, and rasps, “Shall we head inside?”

The words are innocent, off topic, so simple, so ordinary, but coming from him, in this moment with this tone, they feel like a challenge, like a provocation. Your body practically trembles at the sound of his voice, and your brain, already hazy from his presence, finally surrenders with waving flags. You’re helpless—utterly defeated by the sheer being of Jeon Jungkook—and at this point, you’d happily surrender to him again and again, for as long as he wants you to.

“Yes,” you breathe out, the word barely audible, more of a moan than an answer. You’re not even sure if you say it aloud or if it’s simply a thought that escapes your lips. But Jungkook hears it, and the atmosphere between you shifts in an instant. His body tenses, his eyes darkening with a hunger you’ve never seen in him before. It’s utterly raw and intense, and for a split second, you think you might combust under the weight of his gaze. There’s no softness, no tenderness in his eyes now—only desire, pure and unfiltered.

„Another time, ___.“ He doesn’t say anything else, as if he just answered your unspoken conversation, and gently guides you inside the building, his hand never leaving the small of your back. When you and Jungkook step into the lab, the freezing air of it cools you both significantly down, and as the door closes behind you, you try to gather your scattered thoughts, reminding yourself that you’re here to work, to be somehow professional enough to do the project. But with Jungkook beside you, radiating power and confidence, you know it’s going to be an uphill battle to stay focused on anything other than him.

Around you, everyone is already deep into their work, carefully peeling back layers of skin and bone in their inner autopsies. The only ones lagging behind are Ben and Juan, still caught up in their external examinations, fumbling slightly as they try to catch up. You don’t let it slow you down, though—you’ve already lost enough time. Without a word, you and Jungkook move, quickly pulling your gloves on and retrieving your body from the cooler unit. And just like last time, you find yourselves standing across from each other at the autopsy table, the cold steel beneath your fingertips again triggering you demons to come out and play. 

Jungkook’s eyes meet yours, kind and calm, and for a brief second, the darkness takes a step back, but it’s not enough when you look away, knowing better than to stand here with your emotions in overdrive. You can still feel the empathy radiating from him, a soft pressure against the walls you’ve carefully built around yourself, but you shut it out, wrapping yourself in the cold. It’s easier this way—safer.

And when that darkness within you finally consumes you fully, twisting its way through your thoughts, you feel the weight of your own hypocrisy. You’re the one who flips the switch now, pulls away, hides what lies beneath the surface. You realise then, slowly but oh so painfully, that it’s not just him keeping secrets. It’s you too, guarding those parts of yourself, refusing to let him in where it matters most. You shut him out, even as you crave his closeness, and in those moments, you know that the subtle divide between you isn’t just on him—it’s the walls you’ve built around your own heart, too.

“We should begin,” you note devoid of all the emotions it held before.

Jungkook nods, and so you reach for the scalpel, its cool handle familiar in your palm. You still feel his searching eyes on you, but you don’t look up, instead you slice the torso’s skin in the usual Y-shaped incision, down from the shoulders to the sternum, and meeting at the xiphoid process before extending down to the pubic symphysis. After peeling back the loose skin, muscle and tissue, you then begin cutting through the thin layers of fascia still clinging to the ribcage, exposing the pale white bones of the ribs.

Jungkook moves to the medical tool trolley, his gloved hands reaching for the rib shears. “Shall I...?”

“Yes,” you reply, stepping back slightly to give him room.

He carefully positions the rib shears between the ribs and begins clipping through the bones with a controlled strength, each snap of bone sending a soft vibration through the instrument. Jungkook works carefully, each snap of bone gentle, as if even now, he seeks to preserve some kind of dignity in death. It unnerves you a little, but as the sound echoes not only in the quiet room but inside your mind too—a crisp, definitive crack, similar to the thuds of Chulsoo as he hit the railings when he flew down the staircase, even though there’s no mess following the sound this time, only a slight shift in the body as the ribcage gives way under the pressure—you know there’s no chance for your emotions to be triggered.

With the ribcage removed, the torso opens before you like an unwelcome revelation, the organs lying in a strange, suspended silence, if waiting for you. The heart—the centre of all life, now still, now just another part of the anatomy to be examined—rests beneath the thin membrane of the pericardium, ready to be freed.

“The heart first?”

“Yes,” you nod with your voice sounding far away, almost hollow in your own ears. You reach for the scalpel again, making the first careful incision into the pericardium. The thin protective layer peels back, exposing the heart fully now, its grey, decayed mass sitting heavy in the cavity. And you wonder, if someone were to cut you open, would your heart, still beating, look the same? Rotten and past repair?

But you shake it off, “Forceps,” your tone more an automatic request than an engagement with him, the word just a tool to continue the work. Jungkook hands them to you, and for the briefest of moments, his fingers brush against yours, sending an unexpected jolt through you. You swallow it down with all your might, feeling utterly exhausted by now while you use the forceps to  gently peel back the rest of the pericardium.

Jungkook leans closer, his brow creased with concentration, his voice quiet as he observes the enlarged heart carefully. “It’s bigger than normal. Maybe hypertrophy.”

“Most likely. Possibly undiagnosed hypertension or cardiovascular disease,” you agree, letting the clinical words form a barrier between you and the moment. You trace your eyes over the heart’s pale surface, noting the thickened walls, the silent history of the body it once powered.

Jungkook nods, his hands moving carefully as he begins to sever the heart’s connections to the body, everything done tender, as though he’s cradling something fragile in his hands. When the heart is finally free, he lifts it with care, placing it in the tray. “We should weigh it,” he suggests, glancing at you with a gentle question in his eyes, one that lingers in the air between you, full of more than just the cold facts of death.

„Hm.“ You nod, watching as he places the heart on the scale. The weight flashes across the small digital display, confirming what you both already suspected.

“It must have strained him,” Jungkook sighs quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he’s speaking to the heart itself, or perhaps to the ghost of the person it belonged to.

“Yes,” you reply absently, your mind trying to ignore his empathy. You can’t afford to feel it, not here, not now.

“Next, the lungs?” 

But Jungkook’s suggestion hangs unanswered in the air, lost in the moment. There’s a sudden yelp behind you, and before you can react, Ben stumbles into your cart, knocking it violently over. A scalpel—thankfully still clean and sanitised—clatters off it and embeds itself in your thigh. The room goes still, breaths held, as everyone stares at the darkening spot of blood slowly spreading across your jeans. You feel the strange weight of the blade in your thigh, though there’s no pain. It’s just... uncomfortable, having a blade lodged in your leg. You sigh, long and heavy, while Jungkook exhales shocked, “Oh my god, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply slightly angered, though the room remains frozen. “Tae, do you have your kit with you?” 

All eyes are on you, including the professor’s, who looks more pale than the body on the table. You limp to a chair at the back of the room, Taehyung already swapping his gloves before casually grabbing his first aid kit. Jungkook hovers nervously, while Ben, on the verge of fainting, stammers out apologies. You wave them off half-heartedly, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. As Taehyung kneels before you and rips your jeans open around the scalpel, you say, “No worries, I can feel no pain. It’s no big deal.” But inside, you’re simmering with irritation at Ben’s incompetence.

Ben, looking horrified, blurts out, “What do you mean?! You’re hurt!”

Taehyung doesn’t miss a beat, yanking the scalpel out with not a care in the world, the metal clinking to the floor as you barely blink. He hums a soft tune as he begins cleaning the wound and stitching it up, while you explain, “NTRK1. I can’t feel pain. At all.”

Everyone is stunned to the core, everyone just able to stare as Taehyung works calmly, as if nothing unusual is happening. There’s a little bit of guilt within you, seeing Jungkook’s shocked expression, realising you should’ve probably told him and the others before now. But what’s done is done, and really, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not such a big deal.

When Taehyung finishes, he pats your good thigh with a small smile, „All done,“ and starts packing up his kit, leaving you sitting there, feeling more awkward than anything else.

„Could you all please just keep going?“ you try not to snap, but you know the irritation and exhaustion are clearly visible now.

“Let’s get drinks tonight,” you turn to Jungkook, knowing it’s no use, the weight of the day, hell the weight of the last few days, presses down on you too much, the accumulated stress leaving you wanting nothing more than to melt away in the comfort of something strong and cold.

“With the gang?” Jungkook asks still a bit shocked, but his eyes soften as they always do when you’re tired like this, as though he’s already prepared to do whatever it takes to lift your spirits.

You shrug, not really caring who tags along. “I don’t care. I just need a drink.”

Jungkook grins, nodding, and without missing a beat, he turns to the others. “Yo, we’re going out. You coming with?”

Everyone agrees with enthusiastic nods except for Hoseok, who’s laughing nervously as he looks at the clock. “This early?”

Jennie rolls her eyes at him and chimes in, “Oh come on, you can have your Sprite,” but then mutters under her breath with a mischievous smirk, “with vodka.”

You laugh softly, standing up and limping towards the locker room to change out of your scrubs. Jungkook is right there beside you after he put the cadaver into the cooler, his arm hovering protectively at your side, ready to catch you if you stumble. A line forms between his eyebrows out of concern, but you want to ease that worried look from his face, not wanting him to fret over something that feels so routine to you.

“Kook, I’m fine,” you reassure him, flashing a small smile. “I don’t feel anything; it’s just my muscle acting up.”

He shakes his head a little, his mouth pulling into a line as he watches your movements. “It’s still strange to me. All these years, I didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” you reply softly, not meeting his eyes for a second, afraid he’d discover more of what’s hidden. 

“Don’t be. It’s just a surprise, that’s all.”

After a few more steps, your leg starts to loosen up, and soon enough, you’re walking normally again. By the time you reach the familiar doors of your regular pub, it’s like nothing had ever happened.

The early evening moves swiftly, conversations flowing as easily as the drinks, everyone excepting your condition by the time food is served. The moment Jungkook and you announce that you’re dating, the group bursts into cheers and clapping, Yoongi muttering a sarcastic “about time” under his breath, though you don’t miss the glances Taehyung keeps casting in your direction, his brow creased with concern. You know it’s only a matter of time before you’ll have to talk to him, reassure him that everything’s okay—he just wants the best for you, after all. You’ll need to convince him that keeping certain things from Jungkook is still the right choice, for now at least.

Especially when Jennie, sitting beside Taehyung, is caught in the crosshairs of your teasing. Leaning back in your chair, you smirk over the rim of your drink and ask her slyly, “So, Jennie, seeing anyone lately?”

She shoots you a withering look, muttering a quick and firm “no,” while you catch the warning in her and Taehyung’s eyes. You hold back a laugh, already planning weeks of teasing them.

The night continues with light banter, and the worries and struggle of the past few days seem to dissolve into the air like the hot steam of your food. Being here with Jungkook and the rest of your friends, there’s a warmth that wraps around you, a kind of quiet contentment that settles deep in your bones. This, you think, is what you’ve needed. Just this—the laughter, the closeness, the easy way Jungkook drops his arm around your shoulder, always finding your free hand or brushing soft kisses on your temple and hair.

A few drinks in, after you and Jungkook have both had a couple of glasses, he leans in close, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. “Let’s get out of here.”

It’s not a question, and there’s something in his eyes, something inviting that makes it impossible to say no. You smile, knowing full well you’re both about to become the subject of endless teasing from your friends, but you don’t care. You bid them goodnight, waving off their playful remarks, your mind already too focused on Jungkook’s big, callused hand wrapped around yours, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room and universe worth paying attention to.

When you step outside, the night air is refreshing, cutting through the slight buzz you’ve got going from the drinks, sobering you up until there’s nothing left but happiness. The two of you walk side by side, hands swinging between you, and there’s this lightness in your chest you haven’t felt in days. You’ve always known that Jungkook brings a certain calm to your life, a kind of peace you’ve never really had before, but tonight it feels especially strong.

He’s laughing as you mimic one of your professors, trying your best to imitate the man’s deep, grumbling voice and exaggerated gestures. Jungkook throws his head back, his laugh echoing down the quiet street, and the sound of it makes your heart feel even more lighter. His hand squeezes yours as you twirl around, your movements carefree and loose, your inhibitions melting away as you let yourself bask in this moment, in him.

You leave his hand, spin a few times around a lamppost nearby, feeling the gentle night breeze on your flushed face. You’re not drunk nor buzzed anymore, just pleasantly warm, and in the soft glow of the streetlights, everything feels almost dreamlike. You’re smiling, Jungkook is too, and for once, you’re allowing yourself to be fully in the moment, free from the shadows that usually cloud your mind.

You really want this to work, really want him to know, so you start “Will you still be with me when I’ve killed someone?” The words slip out of your mouth as you spin, a strange mix of jest and sincerity lacing your tone. You try to keep the smile on your face, but there’s an uncertainty in your eyes that betrays you.

Jungkook laughs, catching your hand mid-spin, pulling you into his chest. He holds you there, his strong arms wrapping around you, his warmth enveloping you. “We’re going to be doctors,” he states with a grin. “Of course we’re going to kill someone by accident.” He pauses, brushing his thumb gently over your cheekbone as he cradles your face in his hands, his voice lowering into something tender, intimate. “And when that time comes, I’ll still be right here, standing next to you.”

Jungkook’s words repeat in your mind, and part of you aches to believe him. But there’s that vile voice inside, always nagging, always spreading doubt, reminding you of what you are, what you hide beneath it all. If he knew, would he really stay? you wonder if his patience and kindness could stretch this far, past the monster you are. It’s hard to imagine, yet you can’t help but cling to the hope that he’ll love you enough someday to not walk away. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am, because there’s nothing you could do that can make me leave.” And after a short pause, when his eyes drown you with their tenderness, he says the three words you didn’t expect. “I love you.” 

You’re floating, aren’t you? His eyes are so full of sincerity, it’s almost intoxicating, lifting you higher with every glance until you reach cloud nine where he awaits you. It’s too much, too good, but you let yourself get swept up in it, let the light of him fill you. The doubts are still there, of course, whispering their poison. But right now, you ignore them. You turn a blind eye to the darkness and deaf ears to the demon inside, because for once, you just want to feel this—this joy, this love—without the fear dragging you back down to the cold, hard floor.

„I love you too, Jeon Jungkook.“

And then he kisses you, a touch full of joy, soft with confidence and love. His lips meet yours, stealing your breath and offering his in return, and for now, everything fells right. You melt into his form, losing yourself as you gently suck on his plush bottom lip, and in that tender exchange, you feel whole.

When he parts, there’s a playful glint in his eyes „I think I forgot something.“

„Hm?“ you hum, still dazed from everything he is.

„Some weight for the 700.“ 

In one swift move, he sweeps you into his arms, cradling you effortlessly, and you can't help but laugh, breathless from the sudden rush. “You’re crazy,” you giggle, but the sound falters as you catch the predatory glint in his eyes. 

His gaze locks onto yours, and with each step he takes toward your dorm, your heart skips. “Oh, I am,” he murmurs, voice low. “Don’t think I forgot how you drooled over me.” 

Your laughter fades into silence, heat rising in your cheeks as wetness begins to pool between your thighs, his strength alone making your body respond instinctually.

When you finally make it back to the dorm and slip into your room, the space is drenched in darkness, save for the soft glow of light filtering in from the outside world. But you barely notice; all your attention is on Jungkook, his lips never leaving yours, hands roaming over each other’s clothed bodies with a heat that drowns out everything else. His breath is warm against your mouth, his tongue sliding over yours, and in each kiss, you taste him, feel him—everything he is, everything you crave.

His hands glide up your sides, fingers catching the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head, and you do the same, your eyes falling on his bare torso. You always knew he was strong, but now, with the soft light catching the curve of his muscles, it’s like he’s carved from something divine—each breath making his body shift and flex with a power that steals your breath all over again. His gaze drops to your breasts, your lace bra pushing them up, but he doesn’t linger for long before kissing you again, guiding you backwards until your legs hit the edge of your bed. You fall together, crawling onto the mattress as if you’re made for this, made for each other.

He trails kisses down your body, his lips oblivious of the scars that litter your skin in the dim lighting, and there’s a tenderness in his touch that feels almost reverent as he carefully pulls your jeans off, mindful of the fresh wound on your thigh. His hands move over your skin as though he’s worshipping you, like you’re something fragile yet unbreakable, and it’s so unfamiliar it makes you nearly tear up.

You can’t take it anymore—you grab him by the neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him back to kiss you as you fumble with his belt, his trousers quickly discarded with a kick of his leg. His lips move to your neck, tiny love confessions brushing against your skin between kisses, and when he finds the sensitive spots that make you moan, his hand slips beneath your underwear, fingers sliding over your wetness, his middle finger slipping inside you with ease as his palm presses against your clit. Your moan spills into his mouth, and he responds with a deep grunt that vibrates through his chest and into you, making your head spin even more.

“You’re so drenched,” he whispers, voice rough with desire, his finger slowly pumping in and out, each word sending waves of bliss through your body.

Your hands wander down his strong body, both of you discarding the last of your clothing in no time. His cock is to die for, long and girth like you never seen before, pulsing with dark veins making it even bigger, the tip glistening with precum. The sight makes you dizzy with want, every coherent thought slipping away as you take in the sheer beauty of him, his body and mind utter perfection.

“I love you,” you breath, pushing him gently onto his back with your small hands on his firm chest, straddling his tiny middle. Your arousal drips onto him, making him moan beneath you, his hands gripping your hips as you lean down to kiss his neck, sliding lower until your tongue teases his small, dark nipples. He bucks his hips into the air, the soft groan from his lips music to your ears.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper as you kiss your way down his body, eyes locking onto his cock when you finally reach it. His gaze follows you, full of lust yet still brimming with undeniable love.

You wrap your tiny hand around him, biting your lip as you keep eye contact, waiting for his reaction. His hips buck involuntarily, and that’s all the confirmation you need. You take him into your mouth, the weight of him sliding over your tongue, hitting the back of your throat as you work the rest of him with your hand. His moan fills the room, deep and guttural, one of his hands gripping the sheet while the other’s gripping your hair as he gasps, “Oh my god.”

And oh my god indeed. He tastes like heaven, feels like a dream as you pick up the pace, sucking harder, giving him everything he deserves until his abs tense and his thighs tremble. He stops you then, pulling you up to his mouth, kissing you deeply as your hands fumble for the nightstand. You quickly hand him a condom, watching as he bites it open, his hands shaking slightly as he rolls it on.

“Shouldn’t I prepare you more? It might hurt,” he murmurs, concern painting his face.

But you shake your head, kissing him softly. “I’m good. I won’t feel it,” you say, positioning yourself over him.

He pauses, his hands gripping your shoulders, eyes wide. “You won’t feel it?” he’s nearly squeaking full of disbelieve.

You laugh softly, realising your wording was off and correcting yourself. “No, I’ll feel it, just not the pain. Remember?”

Realisation floods his features, and he chuckles lightly embarrassed. “Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry.” His eyes drift down to where your juices drip onto his pelvis. “Okay.”

With that, you slowly sink down onto him, taking him inch by inch until he’s fully nestled inside you. The moan that escapes both of you is loud, filling the room as the overwhelming sensation of being joined like this crashes over you, throwing both your heads back. He fits perfectly, filling you in a way that makes everything else fade away, and when you start to move, it’s like you’re floating, flying in heaven, each drop of your hips sending you higher.

Jungkook matches your rhythm, thrusting up into you with an unrelenting drive, his stamina pushing you further and further until the room seems to shimmer in all the colours of the rainbow. You watch him, mesmerised by the way his muscles flex, the sheen of sweat on his skin making him look like some otherworldly being. And then it hits you—your climax tearing through you with a long moan as your juices spill out around him, soaking everything in their path.

Jungkook’s eyes lock with yours, his pace quickening as he chases his own release, his voice hoarse as he gasps out, “I love you,” before his orgasm hits, spilling into the condom as you ride out the waves of your own high together. It takes what feels like forever to finally come down, and when you do, you collapse onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily, hearts pounding in sync. No walls between you.

prologue • 01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • masterlist • 06

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like! please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕

a/n 4: The next chapter will have a time skip, so there won’t be scenes like Jungkook’s surprise b-day party. However, drabble requests and character asks are open, though it might take me some time to write them ☺️

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