I Am In Love With That Jk Merman Story Of Yourssss , You Are Such A Talented Author !!!! Keep It Up With

I am in love with that Jk merman story of yourssss , you are such a talented author !!!! Keep it up with the good work .

Even i want to request a prompt after that story because i believe only you have the capability to bring that prompt to life (only if you want to write ofcourse, no pressure )

I have never read an ABO fic with enemies to lovers troupe in modern era , I mean just imagine them being the high-school academic rival wolves who can't bear standing eachother

but the moment they turn 18 and their wolves will develop some special senses and powers, they both will realise that they both are actually mates . damnnn now image the strong pull their wolves will feel towards eachother making them go crazy ( their wolves will fall in love with eachother the moment they will recognize eachother as mate and start rebelling their human counterparts and start convincing them to love eachother too .)

and how bad they will try to hide it , deny their wolves forbid their animal counterparts from eachother only to fail miserably in the end because yeah that mate bond will win 🥹

You can choose any BTS member you want because I love and enjoy reading all seven of them so go for any member you want .

Borahae 💜 , no pressure if you are not interested in writing this prompt , I will still adore you and your work 💜 😘 so feel free to reject this request if you want .

part of the prompt game pairing: alpha!Jungkook x omega!female reader genre: fantasy!AU, "E"2L, ABO, high school romance warnings: Jungkook's the most pitiful teenager in all of existence, bad handling of emotions/feelings, a lot of cliques, denial, a little bit of physical fighting, mentions of blood, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 2.754

a/n: tysm for all your compliments, I'm so flattered 🫂 I've tweaked your request a tiny bit to fit the character of OC better and left out marking etc. bc they're still so young 🥹 hope that's okay 💕

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He hates you.

No, he loathes your entire existence.

That Miss Perfect attitude, excelling in everything you do as if it’s the easiest task in the world. You’ve been enemies since high school started—not because either of you declared it so, but because Jungkook simply can’t stand you.

You, on the other hand, are oblivious to this feud, always kind and friendly towards everyone, especially Jungkook. He doesn’t understand how you do it, staying so humble and kind towards him when he takes every opportunity to throw jabs your way, or cause you minor inconveniences, like not holding the door open or letting you trip more times than he can count.

It’s infuriating to watch you be so lovely, especially when you’re not only the smartest but also the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen—something he will never admit. Ever.

“Jungkook?” Your soft, sweet voice startles him. He’s been too busy glaring at the papers scattered before him, his thoughts circling back to you. There's no one else in the lecture hall, and he didn’t even realise you’d entered. You seem to appear out of nowhere, catching him off guard. “I think you dropped this.”

You’re smiling again, that blinding smile of yours, starry eyes sparkling with joy, courteous as ever. He wants to scream. He doesn’t want this treatment from you, not when you’re a little older than him—well, only two months, but still. You’re 18 now, with your wolf, while he’s not, which only deepens his resentment. Once again, you’re ahead, better at something.

The whole school talked about your wolf. Despite your gentle nature, everyone was shocked to learn after your first turn that you’re an omega—one of the very few in the city, the only one known in school. It’s yet another thing Jungkook can’t stand, especially now that everyone, wolf or not, showers you with attention.

“Not mine,” Jungkook lies through his teeth, eyeing the pencil still held out towards him in your small, delicate hand, your nails perfectly manicured.

“Oh…” you murmur, glancing down at the pencil, your brows drawing together in disbelief. Of course, you don’t believe him. “But it’s got your initials, and it’s the one you’re always using.”

Damn you! Of course, you know it’s his favourite. He should’ve seen this coming.

“You think I’d use it after your germs have contaminated it?” Jungkook scoffs.

“That’s not very kind.” You purse your lips, those beautiful lips.

“It’s the truth, ___.”

“Is it okay if I keep it?”

What?! “What?” Jungkook can’t believe his ears. Why would you want to keep it?

“Can I keep your pen? It would be a waste to throw it away, especially when it looks so cool.” You repeat, smiling again.

The pencil is cool, and Jungkook has half a mind to just snatch it back, but he won’t give in. He won’t concede even the smallest defeat.

“I don’t care,” he grumbles. It’s enough to make you burst with joy, your face lighting up as you clutch the pencil to your chest.

“Thanks, Jungkook! You’re so kind!”

“Whatever.”

And ‘whatever’ indeed, because seeing you every day with his pencil, as if it’s the most precious thing in the world, drives him mad. He regrets his decision. He wants it back. It’s his, and what’s his should stay his, but it isn’t—and it makes him livid.

Livid in a way that fuels his pettiness, pushing him to new lengths to make your life difficult. He puts fake spiders in your bag, bumps into you when you’re struggling with your food tray in the canteen. But all of it is in vain, because you’re an omega—everyone’s darling. Every time something inconvenient happens to you, a horde of people rushes to your aid.

This alone is enough to make Jungkook reconsider his actions—or rather, the attention he’s giving you. It’s not like you care. It’s not like you treat him any differently when he’s mean. So what’s the point? At some stage, he’s not even sure why he started all this, why he loathes you so much. If he’s honest, you’ve never actually wronged him. Not once. And now, he’s running out of ways to break you, to show everyone your true colours, because no one can be this perfect, right?

It’s the Friday before his birthday weekend when you approach him again, this time holding a small present. You look up at him as he stands by his locker.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you say softly.

“What do you want?”

“Uhm, I know Sunday’s your 18th birthday and… well, I know you didn’t invite me to your party, which is totally fine! Don’t get me wrong! But I just wanted to give you this because it’s a big birthday, right? So, yeah…”

The tiny gift is wrapped in floral paper with a neatly tied bow, and it looks exactly how he imagined your presents would. It screams 'you', and he’s unsure what to say. He reckons he should just take it and thank you, but the way you’re looking up at him, so small and kind despite knowing you weren’t invited, bothers him like a sock slipping off mid-walk.

Jungkook reluctantly takes the present, ignoring the slight relieved droop of your shoulders and how your warm, soft fingers brushed softly against his.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, his eyes transfixed on the gift.

“Happy birthday, Jungkook. I hope it’ll be everything you wanted and beyond.”

And with that, you turn away, a light spring in your step, your hair moving behind you like a fairy’s wings.

Jungkook doesn’t waste any time after you leave, ripping the gift open in a rush of curiosity, only to freeze, stunned, when a tiny jewellery box is revealed to him. He’s never received any jewellery before, and the fact that it’s a gift from you—a female ‘stranger’, no less—makes his nerve endings prickle with discomfort. The idea of receiving something so personal feels wrong somehow, and yet, despite this strange feeling creeping over him, he still finds himself opening the small red box.

Inside, nestled on an equally red velvet cushion, is a delicate necklace with a pendant that bears his initials. It’s the prettiest necklace he’s ever seen, and the worst part is that he can already picture himself wearing it, the style so perfectly matching his aesthetic that it’s rather unsettling.

He carefully takes the necklace from the box, letting it twist and turn in the sunlight, the metal gleaming ever so mesmerising. But that’s when he notices an engraving on the back of the pendant, and as he peers closer, he fights the urge to rub his eyes.

You’ve had ‘alpha’ engraved onto it. There’s no way anyone could be so bold as to assume another person’s future rank, and yet here you are, making such an assumption about him. Jungkook can’t help but think maybe he was right all along—there’s something strange about you. You’re just a little too perfect, a little too confident in your kindness, a little too bold in your presumptions.

Shaking his head, he lets the necklace fall back into the box, snapping it shut and tossing it carelessly into his locker, fully intending to forget about it sooner or later. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Saturday night and Sunday come and go in a blur of noise, people, and anticipation. Jungkook has invited practically everyone he knows to his birthday party, hoping that with the arrival of his wolf, his mate might finally be revealed as well. But no one who attends is his mate, and this realisation drags his mood dangerously low. He feels a nagging stab in his chest that he can’t shake, made even heavier by the recurring thought that you, little Miss Perfect, were right all along—Jungkook has become an alpha, just as you predicted. Typical.

What infuriates him even more is that on Monday morning, as you—like always—walk past his locker on your way to the lecture hall, the world seems to slow around him. He watches in disbelief as you suddenly stop, staring at him with wide eyes that shimmer with unshed tears. You look stunned, but more than that, you look happy, as though you’ve just discovered something wonderful. And then, in the midst of his confusion, his inner wolf starts to go wild, barking ‘mate’ over and over again, leaping with excitement inside him.

It should be a moment of joy, a moment where he feels relief and happiness in finally knowing who his mate is. But instead, all Jungkook feels is denial, a desperate refusal to accept the truth, even though, deep down, he knows that you’re everything he ever wanted in a mate.

Still, he turns away from you, ignoring the way your face crumples, the way your bright, hopeful tears turn into ones of sadness, the way you rush past him with your head down, leaving his wolf whimpering in confusion and hurt. Jungkook tries to convince himself that this can’t be real, that it can’t be right, even though every part of him knows it’s exactly what he wanted, what he’s been waiting for.

In the days that follow, he struggles to keep up his usual routine of tormenting you, making snide remarks whenever he gets the chance, but there’s no joy in it anymore. You’re not kind to him the way you used to be, not anymore. You don’t smile at him, don’t even really smile at anyone; instead, you accept his cruelty with a resigned, sad look in your eyes and a forced, brittle smile that never quite reaches your eyes.

Each day, it becomes harder and harder for Jungkook to suppress his wolf, who clearly isn’t on the same page with his cold treatment of you. His wolf growls at him, restless and unhappy, frustrated with the way things are. And Jungkook knows—he understands why—but he feels trapped.

How could he possibly make things right after all he’s done to you? How could he ever redeem himself after letting his bitterness and resentment carry him so far? It doesn’t help that the necklace you gave him is now tucked securely under his shirt, the cool metal pendant resting against his chest, near his heart, multiplying the ache that’s slowly but surely forming there as well. He fiddles with it absentmindedly, the action soothing in a way he can’t explain, though it only makes the guilt grow.

“Jungkook?”

He no longer startles when you appear, his wolf always sensing your presence before you even speak, and your voice has become so quiet, so broken, that it doesn’t have the same effect it once did.

Looking at you now, standing there with your eyes downcast and your voice soft, makes him wish he could take it all back—every harsh word, every petty action. He wishes he could go back and rewrite everything, build something good between you instead of tearing it down. But it’s too late for that, far too late, and he knows it.

When he doesn’t respond, you gather the courage to continue, your voice wavering slightly. “I know it’s random, but I noticed your grades haven’t been as good as they used to be. I know you’re not the kind of person who needs help, but… if there’s anything I can do, just let me know, yeah?”

He wants to snap at you, wants to push you away, but he’s so exhausted—exhausted from pretending he doesn’t care, exhausted from pretending he hates you, and most of all, exhausted from fighting this undeniable bond between you.

Tears prick at his eyes, overwhelming him with guilt, frustration, and something else he can’t quite name. He’s so fed up with himself, so trapped in the mess he’s made that he doesn’t know how to fix it, doesn’t even know where to start.

“Hey… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say, your voice tinged with panic now as you shift nervously on the spot, your hands reaching out towards him only to pull back, unsure of what to do. “I’m sorry…”

“Stop!” Jungkook yells, and the sound of his own voice surprises him. You flinch, your entire body recoiling as if he’s physically struck you, your trembling hands clasping tightly in front of you.

“I… I’m sorry.” Your bottom lip quivers, and before Jungkook can say anything else, you turn and run, disappearing down the hall, leaving him standing there with the misery of his guilt pressing down harder than ever.

To think it couldn’t get worse was the stupidest thought Jungkook ever had, because it got worse. Not only did his little outburst suffocate him in guilt, but it also made you avoid him every chance you got. It also didn’t help that most people noticed your changed persona, adding one plus one and recognising Jungkook as the culprit.

He doesn’t fault them, doesn’t really mind the insults coming his way, of being heartless for not wanting a mate like you, when he knows they speak the truth. He doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t deserve someone who he clearly hurts without a true reason.

And the way his inner wolf retreats now from him too, is something he understands as well, because there’s literally nothing he could do to mend what he’s broken.

It’s one afternoon after classes have just finished, and he’s walking out of the school when he notices you cornered against the wall by some other alphas, three in total. Jungkook’s immediately enraged, and it’s then that his wolf rises to full strength, baring his teeth and growling violently.

You’re clearly uncomfortable, clearly scared of what might happen, especially when one of these alphas gets in your face, giving you no way to escape. The last straw for Jungkook is when one runs his filthy finger along your beautiful face.

“Hey!” Jungkook roars, storming towards the alphas who have now turned to laugh in his face. “Back off.”

“What?! She’s fair game.” One mocks, while you’re still pressed against the wall, but your eyes are hopefully locked onto Jungkook.

“I said back off my mate.”

They do, but only to now lunge at Jungkook, thinking that outnumbering him will shoo him away. But it doesn’t—Jungkook won’t let anyone else touch you, his wolf and himself ready to do anything to protect you. And so, Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to take each one of them down.

Driven by adrenaline, he doesn’t notice the sting of the hits he couldn’t block, but it’s nothing compared to the urge to protect you with all he has, all he is.

One after the other falls to the floor, while blood trickles from his split lip, knuckles burning and swollen, his chest still heaving, his wolf still angrily jabbing at the air.

“Jungkook?” His eyes snap up to you when you call for him, and he’s relieved to find no repulsion or fear in them when they lock onto him.

“Are you okay?”

“Thank you,” you nod, and his wolf wags his tail, barking mate, deafening all his other senses.

“Good."

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?”

You hesitate, and it makes him feel powerless all over again, but eventually you whisper, “Because I’m not who you wanted.”

It’s broken, it’s defeated, and it’s everything he never wanted his mate to say, because it’s not the truth. Never was. Never will be.

“But you are.” Jungkook tries to smile, despite knowing it’s not hopeful or kind, but sad in all the ways his decisions led it to be.

“I am?”

Seeing your eyes gradually returning to their lively, sparkly self is more than he ever wished to witness, more than he ever should receive, but everything he ever wanted.

“You are. Always were.”

And with that, he opens his arms, stepping over the still-groaning alphas to get closer to you.

With a push off the wall, you sprint into Jungkook’s arms, tears of relief running down your cheeks as he embraces you like you wished he would from the start. But it doesn’t matter, because no time apart could ruin the feeling of him embracing you and your bond.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook mumbles into your hair, inhaling the magnificent scent of you.

“It’s fine, everything’s fine.”

And as you cling to him, your wolves finally as content as you are, you know that you’d never change a thing, because it’s better to be loved willingly than with no other choice.

I’d die to hear Jungkook sing ‘All Time Low’ by Jon Bellion

Welcome to the Graveyard of Abandoned Fics 🕯️🔦

Here lies the collection of fics that just didn’t survive my creative chaos. Whether they ran out of steam or just didn’t get enough love, they’re chilling down here 🧍🏻‍♀️

☁️ HEART'S REVIVAL (JJK VERSION) | CEO!Jungkook x reader

☁️ DA CAPO AL FINE | concert master!Jungkook x violinist/cellist!female reader

☁️ HEART'S REVIVAL | CEO!Yoongi x reader

The Auction (JJK) • Chapter 3

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: angst, being held hostage, repeated sniffing, obsession and possessiveness, OC snaps, JK is twisted and doesn't understand the concept of personal space, lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 3.2K

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! 💕

1 • 2 • masterlist • 4

For six consecutive long days, the routine repeats itself, a charade of all charades, like the ticking of a clock inside a cage, each second tightening around you. You remain confined to that room, trapped beneath its opulent veneer, while Jimin is your only fleeting connection to anything resembling humanity. Once a day, he brings food, and with it, moments of silence that gradually give way to hushed conversations, the kind that seep into your bones and momentarily calm the tremors within you. 

His words, ringing with understanding and a soft insistence that perhaps this new life is safer, better even, echo in your mind like a lullaby you can’t quite believe in. And yet, they cling to you, especially when night falls, and Jungkook returns to claim the bed beside you. 

Every night is the same – he enters, his presence filling the space like night swallowing light, and without a shred of modesty, he strips, showers, and slips into bed next to you. He always presses a kiss to the back of your head, and though you feign sleep, you know he senses your wakefulness, yet does nothing, only lies there, close enough to feel the warmth of him, his breath against your skin. 

Despite Jimin's persistent reassurances, the soothing rhythm of his voice telling you over and over that this is where safety lies, that it’s time to surrender and accept, there’s something within you that won’t quiet. It claws at you relentlessly, this urge to escape the gilded prison Jungkook keeps you in, the urge to break free from the walls that hold you in their cold grip. And as each day passes, you find yourself resisting more, your defiance growing like a dark bloom, unfurling slowly but surely. 

It begins simply enough, with you speaking those words, softly, unsure at first, each morning before Jungkook leaves “I want to go home.” Each time, your voice grows a little stronger, like an incantation you hope will break the spell, but his response never wavers, always delivered with the same calm and maddening certainty that chills you to your core: “You are home.”

But today, however, is different, as you actively choose defiance. When Jungkook returns from whatever dark kingdom he rules outside these walls, you aren’t curled in bed, waiting like some fragile thing for his presence to weigh down upon you. No, you stand in the centre of the room, your spine straight, your eyes unwavering like steel as they meet his. The air between you crackles for the first time, your pulse quickening as his dark eyes lock onto yours. He towers over you, his height and strength an undeniable force, but something within you surges recklessly. Jimin’s words—'you’re different, he won’t harm you'—echo in the recesses of your mind, feeding you a false sense of untouchability. 

Jungkook stops, his gleaming eyes narrowing slightly, taking in the shift in you, the way you stand as though you might fight back. And for a moment, the silence between you is pulsing with all the unspoken things that have yet to come crashing down.

“I want to go home,” you hiss, the snarl of your voice trembling out of your lips, fury seeping into every fibre of your being as your tail bristles, stiff with the kind of raw anger that claws at your very bones, your fangs bared in a snarl that betrays the storm brewing beneath your skin.

Jungkook’s lips curl into a smirk, a sinister amusement flickering in his dark gaze as his own tail wags lazily behind him, as if your defiance, your venom, is nothing more than entertainment to him—a game. “You are home, kitten,” he drawls, each word dripping with an insidious confidence that grates against your ears like nails on glass.

“I’m fucking not! Let me leave, Jungkook!” you scream, your voice rising in a pitch that borders on desperation, though you refuse to let him see just how deep that desperation runs. You plant your feet, refusing to yield, the ground beneath you trembling with the intensity of your defiance.

His laughter rings out, cold and mocking, as if your resistance is something to be cherished, not feared. “You are home,” he repeats, the laughter still lingering on his lips like a twisted song. “Best you accept it.”

“No!” The word tears from your throat, a battle cry, as you snatch the nearest objects—ornate vases, delicate sculptures—and hurl them at him with all the strength your body can muster. They fly through the air with reckless force, but Jungkook’s reflexes are a cruel thing, too swift for your own good. He dodges them with an effortless grace, catching a few in his large hands, his laughter never faltering, only growing darker with every failed strike.

“Fucking asshole!” The words spill from your lips like the objects flying his way as you charge at him, wild and untamed, your small frame launching forward in a futile attempt to claw at him—to tear at his chest, his face, his eyes—any part of him you can reach in your blind rage. But it’s no use. His reflexes are sharper than your anger, and in a single, effortless motion, he captures you in his arms, his strength overwhelming you with ease as he holds you against his chest, his grip nevertheless careful, your limbs thrashing in vain against him.

He grins down at you, that same dangerous glint dancing in his eyes, his tail swaying in satisfaction. “There it is,” he murmurs, his voice low and amused. “Knew there was fight in you somewhere.”

“You’re sick,” you spit in his face, neck bend upwards, your voice laced with disgust, your body shaking with the effort to free yourself from his grasp, though every movement only serves to tighten his hold.

“Sick? Only when you’re not near me.” He chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest into yours. “But I think it’s time you finally got out of this room, don’t you think?”

For a brief moment, hope flickers within you, a fragile thing, but it shatters almost immediately, splintering into jagged shards.

“You’re going to get dolled up,” Jungkook continues, his voice laced with an almost playful malice, “and you’re going to stand by my side, like you belong there. Understand?”

“Where are you taking me?” The question tumbles from your lips before you can stop it, though you already know the answer will not offer you any comfort.

He smiles, that dark and twisted thing that never quite reaches his eyes. “You’re mine. It’s time the world knows it.”

His words are a poison that not only tastes bitter in your throat but settles deep in your gut, twisting your insides with a repulsion so visceral it nearly makes you sick yourself. But you know you must play along—there’s no other choice. You need time, space to think, to plan, to escape, maybe use this opportunity right away. 

As he leads you to the bathroom, his hand never leaving your waist, he hands you a box, its contents revealed to be a dress of the deepest black, the silk of it shimmering as if it holds the very night sky within its folds. The heels, impossibly tall and elegant, glint with the same ethereal quality.

“Twenty minutes,” he says, voice low and commanding as he brushes it against your temple. “Not a second more.”

And with that, he disappears, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the weight of the dress in your hands. It feels like something from another world, its silk as soft and black as your own fur, as if it’s been spun from darkness itself. When you slip it on, it moulds to your body as though it was made for you, each line and curve crafted with an almost haunting precision. You catch your reflection and it’s unnerving—you look powerful, ethereal even, a creature of shadow and elegance, yet it’s not the kind of power you want to feel. You paint your face with the same false obedience, styling your hair just as much, even as the fear of what might happen should you fail to escape gnaws at your bones.

When you step out, Jungkook stands waiting, phone to his ear, but the moment he sees you, he cuts the call without a word, his eyes darkening with something far more dangerous than desire. “My goddess,” he breathes, striding towards you with that same unrelenting confidence, his arm slipping around your waist as he buries his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent while your body recoils, revulsion too strong deep within you.

He keeps his grip strong as he leads you down to the underground garage, his hand possessive against your waist, his fingers biting into your flesh as he speaks in low, measured tones. “We’re heading to a meeting,” he explains, “and you’re going to stand by my side, silent and still. It’s not a game, kitten. It’s a trial, a test to see if you’re truly capable of being who I think you are. No running. No words. You keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, do you understand?”

You say nothing, your silence the only answer you’re willing to give as you approach his sports car. But Jungkook is not a man who accepts silence. He turns you towards him, his fingers gripping your jaw with a force that leaves no room, his eyes flashing with anger. “Do you understand, kitten?” he growls, the name dripping from his lips like a curse.

“Yes,” you growl back, the word forced through clenched teeth.

Jungkook’s grip loosens, his fingers trailing gently over the skin he has just bruised, his voice softening into something almost tender. “Good girl. Now be a darling and get in the car.”

He opens the passenger door for you with a sense of chivalry you didn’t expect from him, before rounding the car and sliding in behind the wheel. His dark eyes gleam in the shifting streetlights as he navigates the roads with ease, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the window ledge, his tattooed arm flexing with every corner he takes.

When you finally arrive, it’s not the seedy underworld you expect but an ordinary nightclub, at least on the surface. A valet opens your door as Jungkook steps out, tossing the keys carelessly into his hands before guiding you inside, his grip never once leaving your waist, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip from his grasp the moment he lets go.

But you don’t enter the club. Instead, you’re led down a narrow staircase to a dimly lit room where a poker table waits, surrounded by other predator hybrids, their eyes gleaming like hungry beings beneath the haze of smoke and the tang of alcohol, one chair conspicuously left empty, waiting for the king and his captive queen.

„Didn’t know you’d bring a to, Jaykay,“ the panther hybrid sneers, his voice dripping with mockery.

“Not a toy, Yoongi,” Jungkook remarks, though the usual venom in his voice is conspicuously absent, replaced instead by an unsettling glimmer of amusement that softens his otherwise brutal demeanour, a macabre joy lurking beneath the surface as if he revels in some private joke only they are privy to. 

The python hybrid leans forward, his eyes gleaming with serpentine curiosity, tongue darting out as he mutters, “She your mate, then?” His voice, slow and sibilant, carries a weight of knowing far more than he lets on. 

“No scent of him on her,” observes the bear hybrid sitting the closest with a low grunt, his tone laden with certainty, as if the absence of that primal mark renders everything clear and undisputed in his mind. 

Jungkook’s laughter spills from his lips, a dark melody of possessiveness, as he slowly unfastens the buttons of his jacket and sinks into his seat, pulling you unceremoniously onto his lap. His fingers dig into your side, a casual but deliberate reminder of his control, his breath warm against your neck as he murmurs, “Not yet, but we’re getting there, aren’t we?” His grip tightens with every word, a thinly veiled threat masked as affection.

You are not permitted the luxury of speech in this twisted theatre, and even if you were, the oppressive weight of their gazes—five pairs of predatory eyes stripping you bare—leaves you frozen. A simple nod is all you manage, the tremor in your chest betraying the steady composure you desperately try to maintain.

“What’s your name?” Yoongi, the jaguar hybrid, asks with a drawl, his eyes too sharp, too intent, the curiosity in them unnerving. 

Silence hangs heavy, your lips pressed together in defiance or obedience, but then Jungkook’s fingers dig into your flesh once more, not a painful gesture but a warning nonetheless. So you force the words past your lips, your voice sickly sweet, dripping with the obedience they all crave.

Satisfied, Jungkook introduces the others with a casual air, as though this grotesque gathering is nothing out of the ordinary. The python hybrid, the one with the slithering tongue, is Hoseok. The bear hybrid with the piercing gaze is Taehyung. Seokjin, an orca hybrid, watches you with an unsettling glint, while Namjoon, the lion hybrid, is the last to meet your eyes, his quiet intensity wrapping around him like a shroud. Their names carry a strange familiarity, as though they belong to men who live in worlds too dangerous for you, their wealth spilling carelessly across the poker table, every hand played with reckless abandon, their conversation laced with humour and hints of illicit dealings that linger just out of reach for your understanding.

You sit still, a mute observer, cataloguing their movements, their mannerisms, but most of all, you watch Jungkook as best as you can—the way he commands the space without effort, without hesitation, a king among beasts. His weaknesses, however, are elusive, hidden beneath layers of calm arrogance. Yet it’s Namjoon who eventually hands you his vulnerability wrapped in a careless taunt, his voice a low rumble as he speaks: “Why don’t you bet her, Jungkook? Spice things up a bit, yeah?”

The growl that reverberates through Jungkook’s chest is primal, a deep warning that vibrates through your very bones. Yet he remains composed, his fury tightly controlled, a stark contrast to the savage violence he once unleashed upon the crocodile hybrid without hesitation. “She’s mine. Not for bet,” he replies, the possessive claim woven through his words unmistakable.

“Let her choose,” Seokjin suggests, his voice like velvet, a smile playing on his lips but never quite reaching his eyes. “Don’t you want a way out, love? Any one of us would be more than willing to take you home, far away from this world you clearly don’t belong in.”

Your instincts scream warnings louder than any temptation his offer might hold. You feel it in the way Jungkook’s grip tightens around you, his muscles stiff, his senses flaring with something darker than mere possessiveness—something protective, as twisted as that may be. There’s no escape here, no safety in the arms of these men who gaze upon you with more hunger than mercy. The truth is bitter in your throat, but unavoidable. 

“I’m Jungkook’s,” you say, the admission falling from your lips with the cold, hard finality of a sentence passed down from on high. It’s not what you desire, nor what you ever would have chosen, but it is the truth—the only truth left to you in this labyrinth of power and control.

Seokjin exhales with theatrical disappointment, his voice an exaggerated sigh of regret, “What a shame,” while the others laugh, the sound hollow and sharp like glass shattering in the air. Beneath you, Jungkook relaxes, his hold softening ever so slightly, his hand tracing idle circles across your abdomen as if to soothe the tension he’s caused, though the unease in his body remains like an invisible tether wrapped tight around you both.

The night concludes with a quiet resignation as Taehyung stands, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he speaks. “Nothing more to win tonight,” he declares, the others rising one by one, exchanging their goodbyes with that careless friendship shared only by those who live just outside the law. 

They each take your hand in turn, brushing their lips across your knuckles in a grotesque parody of civility, their eyes never leaving yours. And with every kiss pressed against your skin, you feel Jungkook’s anger smouldering beneath the surface, simmering hotter with each unwanted touch.

When the room empties, when it’s just the two of you again, the atmosphere shifts drastically. His hand wraps around your arm, and in one quick motion, he spins you around to face him, his eyes dark and dangerous. Before you can react, he pushes you back against the table, lifting you effortlessly, stepping between your legs, his body a barrier to the only escape route, his presence overwhelming. One of your arms braces you against the table, the other futilely pressed against his chest in an attempt to push him away, to create space where none exists.

His hands travel up the length of your thigh, the fabric of your dress inching higher under his touch, his breath warm against your face as he leans closer, his voice low, a growl of dark amusement.

“Good girl,” if he could purr, he would, his lips ghosting against your ear. “Finally accepted that you’re mine, haven’t you?”

“Never,” you bite back, the defiance in your voice brittle as glass, your body trembling with a high-pitched growl that dares him to step back, to respect the boundaries you both know he will never acknowledge.

His grin is devilish, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Never say never, kitten,” he whispers, leaning closer until his lips hover just above yours, the mere breath between you both heavy with tension, a maddening dance of proximity without touch. The scent of him, pure dominance, floods your senses, the base instinct to submit warring with the ironclad resolve to resist, to defy.

When he finally pulls back, it’s not in retreat but in command, his hand gripping yours as he pulls you to your feet, forcing you to stand beside him. “Let’s go home,” he orders, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You speak, not because you expect anything to change, but because the words are a final act of rebellion, the last shred of control you can cling to, even if its just to annoy him. “My home?” 

He doesn’t even glance your way, his voice steady and cold as it always is. “Our home.”

1 • 2 • masterlist • 4

a/n 2: hope you enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

a/n 3: taglist is sadly closed

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Prompt game:

🥰🤪👽

Alien Jungkook's tentacles try to get attention from the reader. But reader is mad and giving Jungkook the silent treatment. So tentacles decide to take it in their hands (?). I'm sorry my imagination is bad, but i trust yours ;)

a/n: I hope it's alright that I used this request as a Y(E)ARNED bonus...it just fits the couple so well

To spend your days alongside Jungkook is nothing short of pure bliss, a kind of beauty that shows itself in moments both grand and unspoken. There is, indeed, a profound sweetness in being the object of his love, of his adoration, a warmth that seeps into every corner of your existence, making even the most ordinary hours shimmer with a peculiar magic. 

Yet, as with all such beautiful things, this love, though a balm for your soul, does not come without its moments of maddening frustration—little flashes of exasperation that threaten, every now and again, to undo all the softness with their dizzying intensity.

It is during these moments of quiet contentment, where you’ve developed a peculiar fondness for collecting miniature porcelain figurines of Earth’s animals—everything from delicate little ducks to turtles no bigger than a thumb, from bees captured mid-flight to cows rendered in the most absurd detail. 

You‘ve chosen each piece meticulously, though the greater part of the collection, truth be told, bears the mark of Jungkook’s love and generosity. There’s no species left unrepresented, no space on the shelf unfilled. But amidst them all, there is one that‘s your favourite, a tiny maneki-neko with a raised paw and a chubby little face, who commands the centre of the shelf of your now shared home. And of all the figurines, this one—Jackson, with his impossibly cute charm—holds a special place in your heart, the only figurine affectionately christened with a name, as if that alone elevates him from all the others. 

So when you hear the unmistakable, gut-wrenching sound of porcelain colliding with the hard floor while you’re busy tidying the kitchen, something inside you breaks too. 

You turn and see Jungkook standing by the shelf, frozen, his wide eyes filled with a kind of helpless guilt, his lips parting to release the softest, most regretful “oh-oh” that barely registers in the quiet room. Jackson, once proudly perched in his rightful place, is nowhere to be seen, and the realisation dawns on you as swiftly as the growing pit of frustration inside you.

“What did you do?” you ask, your voice tinged with horror as you throw unceremoniously the dish towel aside, running towards the shelf, your heart and mind already brace themselves for the worst.

Jungkook’s wide, panic-filled eyes lock onto yours, and as you glance down to to find poor Jackson, or rather what remains of him, shattered and scattered across the floor in a hundred tiny pieces before Jungkook’s feet, your heart shatters too, as though a part of it has been dashed against the cold floor with Jackson. 

“No…” you desperately whisper, the word as fragile as all your figurines, as you resist the overwhelming urge to drop to your knees  and gather the broken pieces, knowing full well that no amount of careful reconstruction will restore Jackson to his former state.

This isn’t the first time Jungkook, with all his towering presence and boundless energy, has accidentally decimated one of your precious figurines, his sheer physicality, though endearing at many other times, always at odds with the delicate world you curated and that is so easily fractured. But this time, it’s Jackson, and somehow that makes it worse.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” he stammers, his voice fumbling over itself as he scrambles for some sort of excuse, eyes darting as if searching for a way out of the mess he’s created.

“Oh, right,” you say, incredulous, “Jackson just leapt off the shelf, did he? Jungkook, you knew he was my favourite! How could you—how could you let this happen?”

“I swear, it wasn’t me… it… it was them!” he protests, pointing towards his remaining two and free tentacles that hover ominously behind him, as though they too have witnessed the grand disaster. The tentacles, however, seem none too pleased with his accusation; they rear up, jaws flexing as though insulted, ready to challenge his words, daring him to continue with the absurdity.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, turning away, exasperation and resignation rolling off you in waves, the whole spectacle having become too much to bear, leaving the wreckage of both Jackson and your patience in your wake as you walk away, tired of this particular chaos.

"Princess, please, I’m sorry!" Jungkook follows you in a desperate attempt to soothe your anger, fully aware that he’s really messed up this time.

But you don’t answer. He’s destroyed your things more times than you can count—accidentally, yes, but still enough for you to give him the silent treatment before you say something you might regret. So when you enter your bedroom, lying down on your side and huffing with a blank stare, you refuse to acknowledge Jungkook, who’s now kneeling before you, clasping your tiny hands in his, puppy eyes in overdrive.

"I’m really sorry, Princess. Please forgive me, I’ll buy you another Jackson." Jungkook’s pleading eyes would usually make you give in, but this time he’s destroyed more than just a replaceable figurine. No, he murdered Jackson, your precious maneki-neko, taking your good fortune with him. So, no, you’re not giving in. You pull your hands away from his and huffily turn around to avoid his face.

Jungkook scrambles to his feet at that, running around the bed, stumbling over his own big feet, and jumping onto his side. "I mean it, I’ll buy you ten! A hundred! A million! Please, Princess, don’t be mad at me." But again, you just turn back around.

You hear Jungkook sigh in resignation as he plops down on his pillow, mumbling apology after apology that you’re not willing to acknowledge. It doesn’t take long before you feel one of his tentacles tentatively brush along your shoulder, but you shake it off, too fed up to accept any affection.

It tries again, but this time, you stop yourself from pushing it away, realising the tentacle—or rather, they—aren’t the ones at fault. A second tentacle soon joins, poking your side as if to tease you into letting go of your anger. But you still are, not at them, but at Jungkook. You start to pet them, though, and the simple action begins to soothe your frustration.

"Oh, so you’re giving them attention but not me?!" Jungkook whines.

"My precious babies," you coo lovingly, "got accused of doing something they didn’t."

"But they did! It’s all their fault!" He shouldn’t have said that, because his tentacles don’t see it like that though, and the next thing you hear is Jungkook yelping, "Ouch! Don’t attack me! Ouch! You’re supposed to protect me! Hey!"

You do your best to suppress the laugh bubbling up, knowing full well Jungkook deserves it for lying so boldly. When his tentacles slither back towards you, settling over and in front of you, you resume petting them, while Jungkook sulks silently behind you.

Your anger gradually fades, the soothing motions of Jungkook’s tentacles helping you calm down. "Do you know why Jackson was my favourote? He was the first figurine you ever gave me. On our 100th day anniversary." 

He remains silent, so you go on. "He wasn’t just a figurine. He was a symbol of our relationship and our good fortune."

"I’m sorry," Jungkook whispers, clearly sad now.

"You can’t replace him."

"I know."

"And you can’t make him whole again."

"I know." His voice is faint now, as if he truly understands just how deeply he’s messed up.

His tentacles begin to run along your arms, sensing your sadness too. You feel movement behind you, and as Jungkook’s breath fans across your neck and his big hand lightly strokes your arm alongside his tentacles, your resolve to stay mad a little longer disappears entirely. You turn around, facing his beautiful face and mesmerising eyes.

"I never understood why he was your favourite, but now I do. I’m really sorry, Princess."

"S’fine," you mumble, gently stroking his cheekbone.

"Do you want to know what my symbol of our relationship is?"

"Hm?"

Jungkook’s connected tentacles lift behind his back. "This. And this is something that’ll never break, no matter what."

Your eyes well up with tears because, frankly, he’s right. It shouldn’t be a fragile figurine that carries the very symbol of your love, but Jungkook himself. You regret ever giving Jackson that meaning, because there’s something so much stronger than porcelain—a living, conscious bond that shows just how meaningful and overwhelming your connection with Jungkook is.

"I’m sorry."

"You don’t have to be. Please don’t say that. I love you, Princess."

"I love you too, Jungkook."

And it's true, you’re the happiest woman in the world, now and always.

Thx angel ☺️💕 he is 💀

My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 7

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: mental and emotional breakdown, vomiting, OC is deranged, threatening a friend, mentions of murder, mentions of survivor's guilt, minor blood, kind of self harm but not really idk, minor violence, mentions of guns and mental killing, non-con kiss, Seokjin returns hihihihi, pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 6.6K

a/n: 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 • 05 • 06 • masterlist • 08

You try to flee from the agony, but it clings to you, insidious like an unwanted shadow. Leaving Pulse behind, or perhaps more accurately, leaving Jungkook behind, feels futile, for as soon as the door to your dorm closes with a heavy thud, that fragile dam within you, painstakingly constructed, gives way under the weight of its burden. Grief, ancient and visceral, coils around you like a serpent, twisting itself through your veins, flooding every corner of your being with its oppressive force. It's that same, bottomless grief that first strangled you when your parents were wrenched from this world all those years ago, and now it returns with terrifying precision, suffocating you beneath the unbearable consequence of your actions.

You think, in some distant part of yourself, that you can almost hear your heart being torn asunder, the slow, agonising rip of it reverberating within your chest, so excruciating that it steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping, shattered between the sobs and screams that tear their way out of your throat. The walls close in, unbearably tight, pressing inwards until you feel as though you might be crushed beneath their relentless force, and in that suffocating moment of panic, you claw at your mask as though it alone is to blame for your torment. You tear it off with frantic hands, your fingers trembling as they grip the edge of your bodysuit, and you pull, you pull with a kind of desperate fury, the fabric splitting beneath your fingers as though it's the only thing holding you together. And in the madness of it all, as your mind spins out of control, you are haunted by the endless flood of memories that crash merciless over you.

They come to you in disjointed and searing fragments, fragments of a life that seems so achingly distant now, a life spent with him, a life spend with Jungkook. The years you shared in that strange, beautiful friendship, the hours of classes, the late-night study sessions that bled into laughter and stolen glances. The nights out, surrounded by your circle of friends, where the music would pulse through your veins like a drug, and somehow, always, you would find yourself dancing with him, just the two of you lost in your own rhythm. Your first date, the tentative steps of something more, the way his hand felt when it first closed around yours, the softness of his lips when they met yours in that first kiss. Every memory flickers behind your eyes like an old film reel, playing out in vivid detail, only to be consumed by flames, each precious moment burning away until nothing remains but ash.

You convinced yourself, that you had chosen the right path, that this was the only way forward, blind to the wreckage it would leave behind. You thought, perhaps naively, that you had no other choice, but now you watch helplessly as the future you once envisioned is consumed by the very flames you ignited. And there he is, the love of your life, the one who stood in your way, who tried—again and again—to stop you from venturing down this road of ruin, and yet, you were too blinded by your own conviction to see him clearly. It is unbearable, this realisation, unbearable in a way that nothing else has ever been, and it breaks you anew, shattering the remaining pieces of yourself that you thought could no longer be broken. You believed, foolishly, that you had already reached the bottom, but now the floor opens up beneath you once again, and you find yourself falling, bleeding, crumbling into the abyss.

You don’t even realise Taehyung is there at first, kneeling before you, his voice piercing through the haze, but still distant, as though he is calling out from another world. He shakes you, his hands gripping your arms with a desperation you barely register, and through your sobs, you hear him scream your name, demanding that you return to the present, to this unbearable reality you so desperately want to escape.

“Whose blood is it?!” Taehyung’s voice cracks, his hands now slick with the blood that stains your bodysuit, the dark red smearing against his impeccable skin as he shakes you once more.

“Jungkook,” you press out, the word little more than a broken sob that falls from your lips, barely coherent, but it is enough. 

He freezes, his mind scrambling to piece together what you’ve just said, to make sense of Jungkook’s name tangled in the web of violence and revenge that brought you to this point. “What happened?” he asks, his voice hoarse, confusion and fear having taken over him.

“Pulse,” and even the name feels like a blade driving into your chest, twisting and cutting deeper. “He’s Pulse.”

And that’s when you collapse, completely, utterly, into Taehyung’s arms. He holds you tightly, his arms wrapped around your trembling frame as you weep and scream, each sob, each cry more gut-wrenching than the last. He doesn’t need to ask, doesn’t need to finish the question that hangs between you—he can see it written all over your face, the blood, the anguish, the guilt. You look as though you’ve taken a life, and in a way, you have. But not Jungkook’s. No, not his.

“He’s alive,” you manage to force out between the sobs, though your voice is weak, trembling. “He doesn’t know who I am… but I do.” The words come out in fragments, barely strung together, as if your very mind is unable to piece it together, causing the room to begin spinning, your stomach lurching with a sickening twist.

You scramble to your feet, feeling the bitter and acrid taste rise in your throat, you shove Taehyung aside as you stumble towards the sink, your body convulsing with the need to purge everything inside you. Vomit spills from your mouth, your body vibrating with the effort, and yet Taehyung is there again, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back as you retch and sob, the two actions indistinguishable from one another in your defeat. It feels endless, this purging of body and soul, as though you are trying to expel the very grief that consumes you, but it will not leave, no matter how violently your body tries to rid itself of it.

Eventually, time loses meaning. There is no calm, no peace, only detachment, a numbing of the senses as you sink into the void, the emotions blunted by exhaustion. You find yourself hours later on the couch, staring at nothing, your body still covered in grime and blood, as though you have been marked by your own sins. Taehyung sits with you, silent now, listening as you recount the events in a voice that no longer feels like your own. By the time you finish, there is nothing left of you—nothing human, nothing whole. Just an empty shell, waiting to crumble or drift away in the vast.

Two days pass, two agonising days where the world outside your dorm seems irrelevant, shrinking into nothingness, where time is a concept you aren’t willing in taking part in. You don’t leave, not even for a breath of fresh air, not even to stand in the doorway and remind yourself that you are still alive. No, you remain cocooned in the darkness of your room, where the only thing you manage to do is sleep, or more accurately, drift in and out of unconsciousness, and breathe scarcely, the rise and fall of your chest the sole reminder that life hasn’t fully abandoned you just yet. Simply existing, a laborious task you undertake simply because you have no other choice, every other function too arduous, too monumental. 

Jungkook's texts remain unanswered, each one lighting up your phone screen only to be ignored, their presence quiet, persistent, like ghosts hovering on the periphery of your vision, waiting for acknowledgment that never comes. And even if you’d try, you can’t bring yourself to open them, to confront the reality they represent.

Taehyung, ever the watchful guardian, told you that Jungkook stopped by yesterday, that he stood at your door looking confused—no doubt—and bruised—literally—and that Taehyung had sent him away, stating you were just sick and wouldn’t want him to be too. You can’t help but wonder what kind of expression Jungkook wore, whether his eyes were filled with hurt because you clearly push him away, or if perhaps he had begun to understand, just as you have, that things between you have shifted into an irretrievable space. 

And yet, even as you lie there in your bed, wrapped in the suffocating embrace of your own thoughts, you find yourself going over and over how to tell Jungkook the truth. You turn the idea over in your mind until it becomes clear that there’s nothing left to lose, nothing at all. There’s no point anyways, and so, you stop thinking, stop agonising over the what-ifs and the should-have-beens, and instead, you allow the darkness to engulf you, to consume you whole, until it’s all that remains. Numbness takes over, a cold and unfeeling balm to your pain, and with that emptiness filling you, you eventually rise from your bed, pull on some clothes without bothering to cover the bruises that mar your skin or the dark circles under your eyes.

As you step out of your room, your foot hesitates mid-air, pausing just shy of the threshold as the sound of voices drifts from the shared living room. Instinctively, you retreat, pressing yourself against the cool surface of the wall, the texture rough beneath your fingers as you strain to catch the low, muffled tones of Taehyung and Jennie. They’re clearly deep in conversation, and something in the way their voices dip and linger tells you this is no light-hearted chat.

Taehyung speaks first, his deep voice full of emotions despite the effort he’s making to keep it steady. “So… you don’t want to be in a relationship with me.” His words are more like a statement, the hurt buried within them barely masked, but you know him too well—you can hear it, the crack in his voice that betrays the vulnerability he’s trying to hide.

Jennie responds with an awkward laugh, one that grates on your nerves, all too familiar in its attempt to smooth over tension with a flippant wave of indifference. “Tae, I thought we were clear—this was always just about sex.” You don’t have to see her to know that she’s probably fluttering her eyelashes, flashing that disarming smile she uses to manipulate her way through life, her nonchalance acting as a shield against any genuine feeling.

“If that’s what you want,” Taehyung murmurs, quiet, almost resigned, and it’s that tone—that quiet, aching acceptance—that pushes you to finally move.

Without thinking, you step out from behind the wall, your eyes locking onto Jennie as you pass them sitting there on the couch, Taehyung’s face unreadable but painfully familiar to you in its vulnerability. You stop, your gaze empty as you fix Jennie with a stare sharp enough to cut her throat open. “If you keep fucking him, I’ll kill you,” you say, your voice calm, cold, the words sliding out with a deadly simplicity that should startle even you.

Jennie’s eyes widen, a gasp leaving her tinted lips as she recoils ever so slightly, as though your threat has physically struck her. Her bravado falters, her laughter dying on her lips as she leans back, putting space between you as if she can escape the venom in your words.

Taehyung stands abruptly, his voice barely a whisper but laced with disbelief as he says your name, the sound of it more like a plea. His wide eyes search your face, bewildered, confused, as though he can’t quite believe what just happened, can’t understand why you, of all people, would be the one to say something like this.

You glance at him, unbothered, because you know—know too well—that he’ll never defend himself, never push back against the people who hurt him, who chip away at his heart until there’s nothing left but quiet resignation. He’s never been good at protecting himself, not his feelings, not his soul, and if he can’t do it, then someone has to, and somehow that someone is always you.

“What?” you reply, your voice tinged with boredom, your gaze flicking lazily between the two of them. “Don’t act like you don’t know who I really am.” You don’t give them another second of your time, don’t bother explaining yourself further, because what’s the point? You turn on your heel and walk out of the dorm, the door closing behind you with a finality that feels like an exhale.

The dark outside surrounds you in an instant, yet even in the fading light you can still make out the leaves that litter the autumn ground beneath your feet, the trees towering above like mourners at some grim funeral. It’s as if the world is still grieving alongside you, each leaf falling like a tear, the trees shedding them as though they too feel this sorrow you once had. The sky is scattered with stars, glimmering faintly like remnants of a forgotten dream, and for a fleeting moment, you find yourself mulling over the notion of wishing upon a star, even though you know deep down it’s pointless. You’re a million years too late, the star dead, burned out, nothing more of what it once was. And somehow, that feels fitting, because in a way, so are you, hollowed out inside, no hope left, your own light snuffed out long before you even realised it was fading.

The project—the one you’ve been working on with Jungkook—has reached its halfway point, but even that feels distant now, irrelevant. Still, there’s something that pulls you towards the autopsy lab, something about its sterile coldness that calls to you, perhaps because it mirrors the chill that’s settled in your bones. Perhaps you think the dead can offer you some comfort, some understanding in their quiet repose, their eternal stillness a strange balm to your unrest.

As you step into the lab, it feels like a small breath of relief, like the tension that’s gripped you for days has eased, if only a fraction. The room is empty, silent, and for the first time in what feels like an age, you are alone. There is a stillness here that doesn’t ask anything of you, that doesn’t demand you feel or react. Here, death surrounds you, but it’s not the kind of death that wounds, not the kind that carves into your soul and leaves you hollowed out. It’s just there, silent and constant, and somehow, that brings you a kind of peace. 

Your fingers find a scalpel, twirling it absentmindedly between your hands as you lean against the cold metal of the lab table. The subtle vibration of your phone in your back pocket pulls you out of the temporary trance, and instinctively, you fish it out, your eyes blinking against the brightness of the screen as you try to focus on the messages that have accumulated. 

(two days ago) JK: Hey love, are you late?

(two days ago) JK: Class already started. Where R U?

(two days ago) JK: Love? What’s wrong?

(two days ago) JK: I’m coming by later

(two days ago) JK: Why isn’t anyone opening the door?

(two days ago) JK: Tae said you’re sick, I’ll come by tomorrow with some medicine

(two days ago) JK: I miss you sm

(two days ago) JK: I love you too

(one day ago) JK: Tae send me away, what’s wrong, love? 

(one day ago) JK: I really need to talk to you, I love you

(six hours ago) JK: pls just answer

(one minute ago) JK: ____, pls just talk to me…

Another one from Jungkook, his name flashing up at you. But this time, there’s nothing—no flicker of emotion, no surge of fear or guilt or  longing or anything at all. You feel nothing. You type out a quick response: “I’m at the lab.” That’s all you send. No explanation, no apology, just the plain, detached truth. You shut off the phone and toss it onto the cart beside you, feeling its weight leave your hands as you turn back to the scalpel. You press it lightly to your finger, piercing the skin just enough to let a drop of blood well up, watching it with a strange, idle fascination as it forms, dark and red, before slowly sliding down the curve of your fingertip.

It’s almost amusing, this strange condition, this numbness that’s now emotional as well. You should feel something—pain, guilt, sorrow—but all of it has slipped away. And yet, despite the numbness, there’s still something within you that recognises the faint trace of emotion, of what it once meant to be human. It’s a reminder, a cruel one perhaps, that you were once capable of feeling, of connecting, of living. But maybe you weren’t born for that. Maybe you weren’t born to live at all. Some people aren’t, after all. Some are born to fight, born to endure, not because they’re strong or brave, but because the universe has decreed it. You think of them now, those souls with grit and fire coursing through their veins, the ones destined to face trial after trial, each one leaving them more broken than the last. Perhaps you’re one of them. Perhaps that’s all you’ve ever known—how to fight, how to struggle, not to live but how to survive in a world that seems determined to tear you apart. It’s not the life you would have chosen, but it’s the life you’ve been given. And so you fight, because it’s all you know how to do.

Jungkook arrives not long after. You hear him before he even enters the room, the sound of his hurried footsteps echoing through the building, the breath catching in his throat as though he’s run all the way here. He stands in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room until you feel them land on you, standing still as a statue by the bench.

“___, I’ve been trying to reach you for days,” he says, his voice soft, almost pleading. There’s something in his tone, something that should stir something within you, but you remain still. 

You don’t turn to face him, don’t even flinch at the sound of his voice. Instead, your eyes remain fixed on the blood still slowly trickling from your finger, a crimson thread winding its way down your hand, wrist, down your elbow and you hum in acknowledgment, but nothing more. He’ll learn the truth soon enough. There’s no point in turning around, no point in explaining what he will inevitably discover on his own.

“I really need to tell you something,” Jungkook continues, taking a cautious step forward but stopping short of closing the distance between you, as if afraid to bridge the distance entirely. He hesitates, and you can hear the struggle in his voice, the way it trembles with what he’s about to say. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for so long, but I kept putting it off. I was scared, I didn’t want to ruin things, but I can’t hide it anymore. I don’t want to destroy what we have by waiting too long.”

His words falter, and there’s a beat of silence before he continues, the truth finally breaking free. “I... I’m…”

The words are barely out of his mouth when you cut him off, your voice flat and devoid of emotion. “Pulse,” you say, laying the scalpel down on the bench with a soft clink. You sense his shock before you even turn to face him. You can feel it in the stillness that follows, in the way the air between you seems to shift with disbelief, and soon enough his shocked face confirms it.

“How... how do you know?” he stammers, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I never told—”

But his words die in his throat as you slowly turn around, your eyes meeting his with a gaze so empty, so devoid of the warmth he once knew, that you see the shift in him immediately—the softness in his eyes melting into shock, then horror, as his gaze travels over the bruises that litter your face, your skin, the evidence of the battle still fresh on your body. His lips tremble, his hands shake, and you watch as the realisation dawns on him, the truth crashing down with brutal clarity.

"No," he whispers, his head shaking in denial as he takes a step back, and it’s then you realise the calm that always surrounded you both wasn’t peace at all, but merely the stillness at the eye of your hurricane, and with that single step away, he finally stands face to face with the unforgiving devastation you truly are, the full force of your destruction crashing over him. “No!” He roars, the sound of it echoing through the lab as he explodes into a fury you’ve never witnessed in him before. He throws carts to the ground, his fists slamming into the walls with a force that rattles the sterile instruments around you. “I should have known! I should have fucking known!”

He paces the room like a caged animal, his hands pulling at his hair, his voice a raw, desperate scream that reverberates in the air. It should be painful to witness, his heartbreak, his sense of betrayal—it mirrors the devastation you felt when you first uncovered the truth yourself. But you don’t feel it. You don’t feel anything at all. You don’t feel the pain, the heartbreak, the regret that should accompany this moment. There’s only emptiness inside you, a deep, cavernous void where your heart once was, that has swallowed everything else. The darkness that you’ve allowed to consume you has taken root, and nothing remains but its cold, unrelenting grip, nothing Jungkook says or does can touch you now.

“You fucking bitch!” he screams, storming towards you in a blind rage. His hands find your throat, shoving you back against the cold metal of the table, his arm pressing against your neck with a force that should terrify you, but you feel nothing. His face is burning in anger, his teeth bared as he leans in close, his breath hot against your skin. “You played me,” he spits venomously through clenched teeth, his eyes wild with fury. “You played me so fucking well.”

His grip tightens, cutting off your air, but you remain still, staring at him with a detached calm as the edges of your vision begin to blur. Even as he strangles you, even as your body screams for oxygen, there’s no fear, no pain, no emotion at all. You’re nothing more than a shell now, a lifeless body of the person you once were, and nothing he does can change that. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of your mind, the softer version of yourself pleads for mercy, begs you not to give up, not to let it all die. But that voice is faint now, overpowered by the demon that stands before it, pushing it to the ground, gun drawn and ready, its finger on the trigger.

“I fucking hate you,” Jungkook snarls, his voice breaking as he releases you, pushing away from you as if the very sight of you sickens him. He turns to leave, his steps quick and furious just to escape the truth you know there’s no escaping from. 

And it dawns on you, gentle yet impossibly clear, creeping in with a quiet force that nearly makes you laugh, that you loved him so deeply, so fiercely, that you didn’t even see it, didn’t realise until now, standing here in this strange fallout between you, that he never truly loved you back—not in the way you had convinced yourself he did; you had always believed he cherished you like a palace, a place he revered, something precious to hold onto, but now the truth shows itself crystal clear—he treated you more like a hospital, a temporary refuge, a place to heal, because love-sick people leave when they’re cured, right? And in that laughable clarity, you understand he was always bound to walk away.

“So I was right,” you say coldly, your voice devoid of emotion, as though speaking from the depths of a grave. “You won’t stand by my side.”

He freezes, his shoulders shaking, though whether it’s from silent sobs or a fresh wave of anger, you can’t tell. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t offer any reply. He simply starts walking again, leaving you behind like you always knew he would.

The door slams shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the empty lab like a gunshot. But you can’t tell if the echo that lingers in the air is from the door slamming or from the trigger finally being pulled.

The rest of the week unfolds with an unexpected lightness, as if the weight of pretending to care has finally lifted, and with it, the burden of social interaction. You drift further from your friends, from everyone, really, isolating yourself in a solitude that feels more like a relief than a punishment. It's not loneliness that gnaws at you but a clarity, the kind that comes only when you’re alone, when the world quiets and you can hear your own thoughts again—thoughts that are singularly fixated on bringing down Dojin, the last piece in the game you’ve been playing for far too long. There's no rush, no looming deadline, but the hunger inside you, that insatiable beast, demands closure, and so do you. You want him gone, and you’ll do whatever it takes to silence the monster, him and yours, once and for all.

Jungkook, meanwhile, avoids you like a plague. He’s taken to sitting as far from you as possible in lectures, his presence reduced to a shadow, one that doesn’t dare cross yours. His eyes never stray in your direction, not once, as if the very sight of you is more than he can bear, as if your existence itself scorches him. It’s funny, in a way—how you once believed he’d be the one to walk through the fire for you, to catch you when you fall. But now you know the truth: the flames have already consumed you, and you didn’t fall, not really. You hit the bottom so hard that no one could have caught you even if they’d tried.

So when you see him now, surrounded by girls eager to take your place, the campus women who’ve noticed that your so-called relationship has been broken off, it doesn’t stir anything in you. No jealousy, no bitterness. Just indifference. You’re almost glad for him, that he’s trying to move on, though you can’t help but notice that he turns them all away, not one succeeding in breaking through his stoic defences. But it doesn’t matter. Not to you.

What does matter, what flickers a spark of irritation deep within you, is finding Jungkook standing in the entryway of the canteen with the class sweetheart by his side, the two of them blocking the door as if they’re the gatekeepers to something precious. You consider turning around, but your body reminds you that it needs sustenance, even if your mind couldn’t care less. You push forward, your expression a blank slate, and when you reach them, you shove Jungkook aside with a rough push to his back. “Move aside, dulls,” you mutter, walking past without a backward glance, not caring to see their reaction the slightest. 

The canteen is quieter than usual, making it easier to get your food. You spot your friends gathered at their usual table, Taehyung waving you over, his expression hopeful despite the tension that still lingers between you, his reasoning of ‘overstepping of his boundaries’ just not cutting it for you. But you don’t feel like dealing with any of them—not Hoseok’s boundless energy, not Yoongi’s unnervingly perceptive gaze, and certainly not Jennie’s presence, still simmering from your last interaction. You walk past them, choosing an empty table in the corner, and begin picking at your food, though each bite feels more like a chore than anything satisfying.

You don’t get far before Yoongi slides into the seat next to you, uninvited as usual, his presence so quiet yet so impossibly loud. He doesn’t say anything at first, just sits there, and you feel his smirk before you even look up. 

“Scared of sitting with the cool kids?” he teases, his voice as light as ever, though you know better than to take him at face value. His words are always layered, always digging at something deeper.

“Nah fam, I’m good over here,” you mutter, barely glancing at him, your focus still on the plate in front of you.

Yoongi hums in response, but he doesn’t move. He stays, his silence probing at your patience, waiting for you to crack, and, as usual when it comes to him, it doesn’t take long before you do.

“What do you want, Min?” you snap, raising your eyes to meet his, though your irritation barely fazes him.

He clicks his tongue, leaning back casually as if this whole interaction is merely a game you didn’t know you were partaking in. “You don’t need to hide, you know. I already know.”

You blink at him, your brow furrowing. “Pardon?”

“I said, I know. About you. About Jungkook.” His words hang in the air, deliberate, and for a moment, you’re sure you’ve misheard him. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

His eyes don’t waver. “I know you’re Stasis. And I know Jungkook’s Pulse.” He says it so casually, like he’s commenting on the weather, but it hits you like a punch to the gut. You swallow hard, the food in your mouth turning to paste, impossible to get down as his revelation sinks in.

Your gaze darts past him, back to the table where your friends sit, laughing as if nothing is wrong, as if everything is normal. Jungkook is with them now, his back to you, and even from here, he doesn’t glance your way. Hoseok waves at you after he notices you looking, his smile bright and infectious, but you can’t muster anything in return. When you turn back to Yoongi, his expression is unreadable, his eyes dark and knowing.

“I assume you’re distancing yourself for his sake,” Yoongi continues, his tone measured, “but it’s not doing either of you any good. He doesn’t hate you for what you are. Neither do Taehyung or I.”

“I’ve killed people,” you state, your voice low, a taunt more than a confession, daring him to react.

Yoongi merely shrugs. “We’re all aware.”

It’s like he’s discussing something mundane, like the fact that you’ve taken lives is no more significant than the colour of the sky. And then he adds, after a pause that stretches too long for your taste, “I’m not saying it’s okay. I’d rather someone else had done it for you, to be honest. It’s not something I’d ever wish on your soul. But Dojin and his minions… they deserved it. Worse, even. Still, it shouldn’t have been you.”

His words leave you colder than you expect, not because they hurt, but because they don’t. It’s the first time anyone has said something like that to you—something that acknowledges the weight of your actions without condemning you entirely. Not even Taehyung had ever been this direct, this understanding. And that’s the thing about Yoongi, he has this uncanny way of seeing straight through to the core of people, into the deepest parts of their brain, of understanding them in a way that feels more like insight than judgment.

But you can’t let him or his words get to you. Not now. He’s always been the rational one in the group, the quiet observer, and while you can handle his understanding, you know others won’t. You know Hoseok or Jennie would react the same way Jungkook did, and that thought alone is enough to make you brush Yoongi’s words aside, smirking in an attempt to deflect, too curious for your own good. “How did you find out, anyway?” 

Yoongi laughs softly, his shoulders shaking with that silent, almost boyish chuckle of his. “That’s for me to know, and for you to never find out,” he laughs, his gummy smile flashing before he rises from his seat, giving you no time to respond as he walks back to the others, leaving you sitting there, bewildered.

You watch him go, wanting to call after him, demand an explanation, but you don’t. Instead, you shake your head with your lips pressed into a straight line, raising your brows in disbelief. You startle and let your features fall flat immediately. It's an expression Jungkook first made years ago, one that the rest of your friend group quickly adopted—and now, without thinking, you did it too. It’s a small, almost unconscious act, but it’s what makes you realise just how deeply you're intertwined with them, Jungkook included, even when you try to distance yourself, to protect them from your darkness and the hurt it brings. 

You steal another glance at the group, your eyes drifting almost reluctantly until they land on Jungkook, and for the first time since everything fell apart, since the truth came crashing down and shattered whatever love remained between you, he catches your gaze, however briefly, though it feels like an eternity stretched across a single heartbeat; his eyes, once so full of warmth and kindness, now seem empty, void of all the light they used to carry when looking at you, and in that split second of connection, you feel the distance between you both stretch immeasurable, as though the person you once knew has disappeared entirely.

You think bitterly about what Jungkook would expect from you now, what he might be waiting for—an apology, maybe, for hiding the truth. But apologising is something you’ll never do, not when he’s guilty of the same. He hid his own truth from you, kept you in the dark when you both should’ve been standing on even ground. So, no, you won’t be the first to break, to pretend your betrayal outweighs his. You had already seen it in his eyes, the way he’s shut you out, like there’s nothing left to salvage between you. And maybe there isn’t. Maybe you crossed that line long ago, and no apology, no confession, will ever change that.

A cynical thought slices through your mind, oh so cruel—you wonder if, deep down, he thinks you shouldn’t have survived at all. He doesn’t know about your survivor’s guilt, but it wouldn’t matter. In the end, the result is the same. To him, you’re as good as dead. What difference would it make if you hadn’t made it through that tragedy? He won’t say it, of course—he’s not cruel like that—but you can’t help but think it’s there, hiding beneath the surface. The broken pieces between you feel irreparable, like there’s no version of this story where you come out alive in his eyes, and that truth settles in your chest like lead as you stand and leave, not caring for your plate. 

After lunch, you sense the shift in Jungkook, the way his gaze lingers on you, probing, as though he’s piecing together something Yoongi might’ve whispered after returning to their table, a subtle change you try to ignore even when the last class ends and he doesn’t approach you; you tell yourself it’s nothing, brush it off like everything you always do these days, until the moment you hear your name echo across the campus, pulling you to a halt on your way back to the dorm.

The early night is crisp as you turn around, your breath fogging before you, Jungkook’s footsteps slow, the night wrapping around the two of you like some kind of reluctant truce, his face softening into something resembling resignation, or maybe kindness, a far cry from the cold indifference he’s worn since the fallout, and you tilt your head, still not quite sure what’s changed, what’s suddenly drawn him back after he made it very much clear he wanted nothing to do with you.

But before you can even form a thought, there’s that voice—too familiar for your own comfort, coming from behind, cutting through the moment like it’s nothing, “Knock, knock.”

Jungkook freezes, and you, swallowing the urge to roll your eyes, force out a sharp, “Not now, Seokjin,” trying—and failing—to keep the annoyance from your tone. 

“Oh, but my little angel, I think now’s just perfect,” he murmurs, his voice dropping beside your ear as he drapes his arm around you with lazy ease, the overpowering scent of his cologne mixing with the bitter smoke of his cigar dangling from his lush lips. You remain locked onto Jungkook’s gaze, only to find anger flaring there now, replacing any hint of warmth that had surfaced just moments ago.

“You owe me, my pretty angel,” Seokjin whispers with that disgusting calm, fingers tightening around your face as he forces it to meet his, and despite all the time that’s passed, despite the years since you last saw him, he looks exactly the same, not a single day older, as though he’s stepped out of your past untouched by time.

“I said not now, Jin,” you grit through clenched teeth, fighting to shake off his grip though you know full well that you can’t overpower the man who trained you, the one whose taken advantage of your broken soul so easily. 

“Do as I say, or you’re history,” he hisses, eyes flaring with that dangerous craze you’ve learned not to provoke. You knew this day would come, the day you’d have to settle your debt, but as it stands before you, all you can think of is how much you wish you could push it off, how desperately you’d hoped for more time without knowing. 

Jungkook steps forward, sensing your discomfort, but what happens next leaves both of you frozen—Seokjin pulls you closer, his lips crushing against yours, forcing his tongue past your lips, the acrid taste of smoke flooding your senses until your eyes sting with the vile intrusion. He’s never done this before, never crossed that line, but years apart could’ve twisted him into a darker madness, something far more dangerous, and as he pulls back, you can only wipe your mouth with the back of your sleeve, resigned, as he leads you towards the sleek black car waiting nearby behind you. 

“Where are you taking me?” you ask, bitterness lacing every word, fully aware that tonight will be another step down the path that has turned you more and more into the very demon you were shaped to become.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Seokjin replies, casual as ever, unbothered as ever “now get in the car—you know I don’t fancy seeing you with one of the Neanderthals.” 

You open the passenger door, casting one last stoic glance back towards Jungkook, still standing where you left him, his face no longer hard with anger, but softened, full of regret, and in that moment, you realise there’s something else he’s been hiding from you all along.

prologue • 01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • 05 • 06 • masterlist • 08

a/n 2: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like! MBV-Game Part III:

a/n 3: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕

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