Kim Soekjin - Tumblr Posts
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D-10 until the J-Hope Jubilation
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When You’re Hurt
Ot7x Reader- BTS Reactions Pt.2
Summary: How each member reacts when you have been harmed or injured.
Warnings 🚨: Mentions of harm, mental health, accidents, and assault
Jimin
I hadn’t been in the best mood recently. I was extremely depressed and couldn’t get out of my funk. I sat around the house most days and did absolutely nothing; however, it was getting noticeable worse.
I was home alone when the depressive episode hit me like a truck. I got up off the couch and decided to go into the kitchen. I grabbed some cucumbers, mushrooms and cabbage and started chopping way. Cooking was the only thing that could cheer me up since it was what I was good at, but that wasn’t even working today.
Suddenly, I was back in my daze- spaced out from everything around me. My body jolted forward as a sharp pain rushed from my hand. I sliced my palm straight through the meat. Blood was gushing out so quickly that I didn’t have time to think.
I don’t like the sight of blood and typically get queasy just looking at it. I started to feel light headed. I grabbed the edge of the counter top, then everything went black.
I woke up in my bedroom with my hand wrapped tightly in a white bandage. Some blood was seeping out, but nothing compared to what happened earlier. I got out of the bed and walked into the living room. I could hear a scrub brush sawing at the floor in the kitchen. I slowly walked in the kitchen to see Jimin on his hands and knees cleaning up the spilled food and blood. He looked up at me surprised. He got up propping himself up with his knee.
“Y/N you should be resting not out here.” He grabbed my waist and kissed my cheek. I could feel his hand start rubbing up and down my back.
“Jimin what happened?”
“I honestly don’t know. Once I got home I saw you on the ground.” He paused for a moment to clear his throat. Jimin’s eyes were swelling up with tears. “I was so scared. Seeing you helpless on the floor. You’d been so down recently and I thought.” He trailed off. My heart sank into my chest.
I turned to face him, stroking his cheek with my free hand. “I would never leave you that way.” He held me in a tight embrace. He pulled away and I used my thumb to move the tears off his cheek.
“Y/N I need you to get better so I don’t lose you. This can’t happen again. I can’t lose you.” I shook my head in agreement. He kissed me one more time, as he walked away he cleared his throat to get his composure back. He got back to cleaning the floor.
“I love you.” Jimin looked up at me and smiled.
“Get your rest. I’ll be in there to take care of you once I get done.” I nodded my head yes and walked back to the bedroom.
Jin
I was on my way home when all of a sudden I felt someone following me. That feeling when you know you aren’t alone. I turned the corner and was met by a dead end. The figure stopped the moment I stopped waiting for me. I turned around and booked it. I moved my feet as fast as I could past him, but he grabbed my waist and stared to laugh. He ripped my shirt and cover my mouth with their hand. I tried to scream but was shoved to the ground. I slammed my knee against the concrete, but I refused to go without a fight.
He bent down and I kicked him in the jaw. I immediately took off running. I let my body guide me to where I was trying to go.
I opened the door to my apartment. Once I hurriedly locked the door I broke down crying. Jin must have heard me because I heard his footsteps rush over to me. He tried to calm me and grabbed my arm to help me get back on my feet. I could tell he noticed my torn shirt and bloody knee. Jin sat me on the couch. All I could do was cry hysterically.
Jin didn’t ask any questions. He moved me into the bathroom and helped me get out of my torn clothes. He fixed up my knee and got me a fresh pair of sweats. I began to calm down some after several hours. My body had been in shock. I honestly was lost for words. I don’t know how or when, but we were back in the living and Jin was standing in front of me near the tv.
“What happened Y/N?” I couldn’t help but to start to get chocked up.
“I was coming home and someone grabbed me and he umm… he tried to… you know.” I began to sob again. Jin rushed to my side and held me. He didn’t say a word, he only held me. We sat in silence for what felt like hours until he spoke.
“I won’t ever let anyone hurt you. I promise” Jin said quietly. I looked at him and shook my head to signal that I understood. “Anything you need, I’ll be here for you.” I faintly smiled. His presence was more than enough. For the rest of the night he sat with me and made sure I ate. Whatever I needed he was there.
V
I was at the coffee shop when all of a sudden some man came up behind me ripping my purse from off my shoulder, nearly dragging me with it. I ended up catching my fall only to hear a snap come from my wrist. I grabbed it in pain. Not only was my wrist broken but my purse was stolen.
I sat in the hospital as the doctors gave me the news I had already predicted earlier. My wrist was broken in two places. I sat on the hospital bed waiting for them to wrap my arm for the cast.
Taehyung walked into my room stunned. He hugged me so tightly that i couldn’t breathe. I winced out in pain and I pointed down at my wrist to show him he was holding me too tightly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. What happened?” I took a deep sigh.
“Robbery gone.” His eyes widen.
“Robbery? Are you okay? Did anything else happen?” Taehyung began speaking a mile a minute. I grabbed his shoulder to get him to stop.
“Tae, I’m safe and I’m okay.” He sat on the hospital bed and waited with me. The doctors came in and wrapped my arm in a cast. Taehyung kept kissing my cheek and reassuring me the entire time. I was one to express his affection and it felt nice. Once we were done he took great care of me for the rest of the day. He made sure all the credit cards were canceled and that I didn’t get my cast wet.
We laid in bed cuddled up watching a movie. All things considered, I had a great day that was spent with Tae. He was amazing through it all and I almost forgot the events that happened this morning. Tae paused the movie abruptly and I looked up at him.
“I hate that that happened to you today and I couldn’t do anything. I’m supposed to be there and I wasn’t. I guess I am having a hard time dealing with that part.” I sat up.
“It’s not your fault Tae. I didn’t know it was going to happen. I’m okay though. A broken arm hurts but I’m okay.” I stroked his face and gave him a kiss. I noticed a tear swim down his cheek. He smiled at me and pulled me in closer. There wasn’t much he could do and we both knew that. He made me feel safe which was the most important thing to me.
RM
I had been getting threats online. It was nothing new, but it was messing with my mental health. Every hateful thing I was starting to believe about myself. I was becoming consumed with it all. I would get online and another comment about how horrible I looked or how RM could do better. Our relationship was not that public but even a rumor could get you hate.
Namjoon came home late as I starred in the distance waiting for him in the living room. Tears kept flowing down my cheeks, but I kept my eyes on the painting that consumed the wall. Namjoon walked over and kneeled down in front of me. I looked down at him and then back at the painting.
“It’s too much Joon.” He looked at me confused. I could see his heart nearly beating out of his chest. He saw that my phone was open and the long threat that knew every detail about me. The message expressed all the harm they wished upon me. Not all were mean, but this felt different. It broke me.
“I can’t Joon. I wanna give up.” I always struggled with certain thoughts and this kind of attention was making it worse. Joon picked me up and sat me on his lap. I cried into his shoulder. I could feel his heavy breathing as I listened to the pounding of his heart.
“Y/N it’s okay.” I felt extremely vulnerable to the point that it was embarrassing. Joon pulled me away. “I don’t want you reading these anymore. Okay? You are a great woman and I don’t need you believing this stuff.” He grabbed my phone and turned off the comment options.
“Joon, I’m sorry.” He held me tightly again. We sat there for about thirty minutes. I got off his lap and walked into the bedroom. He followed behind making sure I wasn’t alone for a second. That’s when he noticed the printed out messages. He read through them and shook his head in disbelief.
“I never knew it was this bad Y/N. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was ashamed. It’s been so much and I didn’t want to hurt you.” I sat down on the bed.
“I can handle this. I’m worried about you. I need you to be okay Y/N. I can take stuff like this, but you should have to.” Joon wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed the back of my neck. “This won’t happen anymore.”
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:
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