Quick Important Question Regarding My Beloved Villain
Quick important question regarding ‘My Beloved Villain’
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Awww thanks for the amazing feedback luv 💕 it’s more fun if they are friends, trust me on this one muahahahah 🫣
My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 1
pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn fic rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: panic, trauma, blood, physical violence such as punch!ng, de@th of both parents + witnessing it + footage, Dojin has influence over law enforcement and whatnot, mentions of underground fight club and mafia, mentions of wounds, jealous Jungkook, autopsy lap, mentions of bodies, please lmk if I forgot something word count: ~ 5.1K
a/n: okay Angels, here's the first chapter *yeeey*! It's just a little warm-up to the story. Hope you enjoy ☺️ a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕
prologue • masterlist • 02
The warmth of the September sun wraps around you like a tender embrace as you sit on the wide field of grass of the campus park with your closest friends. The day is nothing short of perfect, yet their conversation drifts past you, lost in the gentle chorus of birdsong from the tall and old trees above. You close your eyes and breathe deeply, letting the sun’s rays and the dappled shadows of leaves play across your flushed skin. Somewhere in the distance, church bells toll at lunch hour, their echo both a call to mess and a cue of time’s steady march. It’s a peaceful moment, one that you savour with quiet reverence, knowing all too well that such moments are fleeting.
Taehyung rests his heavy head in your lap, his hair soft beneath your fingers as you play with his curls all while he relaxes before your next class. You remember the days when you begged him not to ruin his hair with dye, and back then, he didn’t listen. But now, he leaves it natural, save for the perm that enhances the curls you adore so much. It’s a small victory, even though this victory didn’t arise from you, but won through his newfound obsession with colour analysis, face shapes and whatnot which you’re thankful for nonetheless.
But as your fingers weave through his hair, your mind drifts back, step by reluctant step, to a night you’d rather forget—a night with the sight of Taehyung’s hair dyed an electric blue. You remember standing at the door of his family’s home, drenched in the blood of your parents, clutching the CCTV footage your father had obsessively recorded of your house’s every room. You never understood his need for those cameras, but that night, you were as grateful as you were traumatised.
Taehyung had opened the door after you rang their door bell repeatedly like a madman, his freshly dyed hair framing a face shocked to the core as he took in your pale, frightened expression and the dried blood covering you. Without a moment’s hesitation, he yanked you inside behind him by the front of your shirt, quickly glancing around to see if any neighbours were watching, and immediately shut the door behind you as if trying to shut out the nightmare you had brought with you.
“Oh my God, ___! What the fuck happened to you?” he asked, his hands hovering above your shoulders, his eyes searching your body for injuries.
Fresh tears left your eyes then, carving paths through the blood on your cheeks. You didn’t recognise your voice, feeling utterly alienated by its rawness as you stuttered out, “Auntie…Uncle…”
“MUM! DAD!” Taehyung belted without a second guess, he had always understood you, even when words failed.
He dragged you into the living room where his parents froze at the sight of you, the shock in their eyes mirroring the horror in your own fragile heart.
“What happened? ___, where are your parents?” your aunt inquired, her voice trembling before she even knew what happened. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, couldn’t force the words past the lump clogging your throat. How could you tell her what had happened not only to her sister but your whole family?
Instead, you forced your hand up, clutching the CCTV footage with all your strength, terrified it might disappear. It took every ounce of your willpower to pry open your cold fingers and offer the device to them.
On high alert, your uncle and aunt stepped closer. Your aunt, unable to tear her eyes from your dilated vibrating pupils, remained frozen by your side. With concern etched across his face, your uncle gently took the device from your trembling hand, retrieved his laptop, and plugged the footage in at the coffee table, all the while your aunt stayed close, her gaze never leaving you.
“Honey, should we get you cleaned up?” your aunt bid you softly, attempting but stopping just after she moved to caress your hair as she always did, sensing you were too fragile to be touched.
You shook your head, only pointing to the laptop for her to just watch. She turned just in time to see the front door of your house being kicked in on the screen, in another frame, your father shoving you into a closet in a desperate attempt to protect you.
Slowly, you all gathered around the laptop as if hypnotised by it’s screen, the room falling silent as the footage played, each of you transfixed by the horror before your eyes. The door to your parents’ bedroom burst open on the screen, and as Dojin with his bodyguards began their brutal assault, your uncle’s grave voice broke through the spell, “Taehyung, take ___ upstairs and clean her up.”
“But, Dad…”
“Now!” he boomed, and with difficulty to get his eyes off the screen, Taehyung led you away from the gruesome repeat of a nightmare.
In the bathroom, he cleaned you with a soft cloth, washing the blood from your hair over the sink as best as he could, all while moving quickly. After, he brought you a fresh set of his clothes to change into, meanwhile you sat motionless on the closed toilet seat, staring ahead like a broken and lost doll.
When you finally emerged, clean and dressed, the house was eerily quiet, save for the sound of your aunt’s anguished sobs echoing from downstairs. Her cries tore at your heart, ripping open the fresh wound that was your new reality.
You had become an orphan in the blink of an eye. Dojin had taken your parents from you, the people who had meant everything to you, without a moment’s warning or a care in the world.
You sat down at the top of the stairs, where Taehyung held you as you silently wept, his gaze fixed on the distant flickering of the laptop screen. From where you sat, the details were blurred, but you could still make out the terrible truth captured by the CCTV cameras.
Soon after they finished watching the recording, you all drove to your house. You couldn’t quite grasp why; they had seen the footage to the end and knew there was no one left to save. You remember sitting in the backseat with Taehyung, watching the houses you passed, each one brimming with life and laughter, happy families enjoying their evening together. All the while, your world had come to a standstill, shattered into pieces like fragile glass, leaving everything around you feeling devastatingly meaningless.
Throughout the drive, your uncle tried calling the police. The first time he reached an officer, the line abruptly disconnected as soon as he mentioned your parents’ names.
“He just hung up.” Your uncle frowned, glaring angrily at the display on the centre console.
“Maybe the signal was lost. Try again,” your aunt reasoned quietly, trying to hold on to hope, though her voice had already faded into a broken whisper. But as the subsequent calls went unanswered or were immediately declined, it became painfully clear that the mayor’s influence reached far and wide, and with it, any hope of retribution was snuffed out.
When you arrived, your house was already burning down in hot raging flames, the crackling drowning out your inner screams. The police present dismissed you once more, leaving you more powerless and desperate than you ever felt.
Weeks passed as you lived with your relatives. Taehyung gave up his bed for you, sleeping on an inflatable mattress nearby. You recall fragments of the funeral, the strain of attending school while keeping your grades intact, and the mask you wore for the public as you fought against the official statement that your parents had perished in a fire caused by a forgotten stove. But after weeks of crying, mourning, and desperately seeking justice—whether through the authorities or the media—all your efforts proved futile.
One night, unable to bear the helplessness any longer, you lay awake until the weight of your anger and agony drove you to action. You dressed in silence and ventured into the city, determined to find someone who could help. The despair and fury within you pushed you toward desperate measures, and you knew then that justice would have to be taken into your own hands to rid the city of its devil.
It took seven nights before you stumbled upon an underground fighting club, where Kim Seokjin, the owner and Godfather, took an immediate interest in you. To your surprise, he listened to your story and agreed with your perspective, though he refused to let you fight alongside what he disdainfully called “those Neanderthals.” Instead, he trained you in private. It was during your first session, when you were obviously hurt for the first time in your life, that you discovered a rare condition you had inherited—one that left you unable to feel pain.
NTRK1, a mutation in your genes that prevents the development of certain nerve cells. You learned that your mother shared this mutation, explaining her stoicism on that fateful night, and that your father had been a carrier of the same mutation.
It was truly absurd how this condition swiftly elevated your skills, almost as if it were in agreement with your darker side and wanting to pull you to your full potential. You learned with remarkable speed and efficiency, especially how to assess the severity of your injuries without the sensation of pain as a guide.
Nearly two years later, Taehyung uncovered your secret as he caught you throwing up blood in the toilette after you arrived home early in the morning from training when the sun hasn’t even risen just yet. The confrontation was intense, but he eventually accepted your decision after days of radio silence and evil side-eyes, and supported you as best as he could, even if it meant simply covering for you in front of his parents or hiding your bruises with makeup where you couldn’t reach them.
When you started medical school, you were relieved that Seokjin allowed you to leave with an arsenal of weapons of your choice, though you knew all too well that his acceptance came with a debt attached.
The vibration of Taehyung's laughter pulls you out of your thoughts, bringing you back to the present, where the sounds of the world around you slowly come back into focus. The gentle rustle of leaves, the distant tolling of church bells, and the low hum of conversations among other students fill your consciousness once more. You open your eyes, blinking against the dappled sunlight that filters through the trees above, and glance down at Taehyung.
His laughter is infectious, his face half-hidden behind one hand as if trying to contain his mirth, but failing miserably. His other hand clutches his stomach, his entire body shaking with the force of his laughter. His eyes are squeezed shut, and the corners crinkle with joy, the lashes fluttering as his laughter bubbles over like a tsunami hitting the shore. His lips, stretched wide in a broad grin, reveal the perfect rows of his white teeth, something you both inherited from your mothers, and the sound that escapes him is rich and full-bodied, resonating deep in his chest, a melody that never seems to tire. It’s the kind of laughter that makes you want to join in, regardless of whether you know the joke.
You tear your gaze away from him and look up, taking in the scene around you. Your friends are gathered in a loose circle on the grass, all high-achieving students like yourself, brought together by your shared aspirations and ambitions. ‘Birds of a feather flock together,’ they say, and on the surface, it might appear true. But only Taehyung knows what truly lies beneath your carefully constructed exterior, the only legacy of your happy childhood.
Like you, Taehyung was a remarkable student in high school, his ambition clear as he set his sights on a career in the medical field as well. In those early semesters of med school, his passion for perfection became his guiding force, leading him to specialise in plastic surgery—a choice that suits him as seamlessly as a lid fits its pot. Taehyung embodies beauty, his eye for aesthetics almost uncanny, each detail observed with an artist's precision. His finesse in sculpting is flawless, and the way he’s able to seamless stitch skin up—a skill he’s honed on you over the years, using you as his more or less willing test subject after all the injuries you endured—stands as a testament to his natural talent and the field he’s chosen, one where art and science blend in perfect harmony.
Yoongi is sprawled out lazily on the grass to the left of you both, one arm bent behind his head as he taps away on his phone with the other. His expression is indifferent, almost bored, as if the conversation around him holds no interest. But you know better. Yoongi is always listening, always aware. His sharp, calculating mind misses nothing, a quality that makes him perfect for the path he’s chosen—neurosurgery. He carries himself with a quiet confidence, a subtle superiority that others might find off-putting, but which you have come to admire. His brilliance is undeniable, his genius almost intimidating, and in many ways, you’ve taken a leaf out of his book, learning to project the same calm authority when needed.
Next to him sits Hoseok, or Hope as everyone of the friend group calls him. He’s also engrossed in Yoongi’s phone, his face full of concentration as if the device was his or holds the secrets to the universe. Hope is destined to be a heart surgeon, a choice that fits him as well perfectly. He once told you that he wanted to mend broken hearts, to give hope and love to those who needed it most. It’s a noble goal, and one that suits his gentle, empathetic nature. Yet, at this moment, he’s as distant as Yoongi, the two of them forming a quiet duo on the edge of the group, absorbed in their own worlds.
Jennie sits directly across from you, her eyes fixed on you with an expectant expression. She’s a vision of meticulous care, her skin glowing under layers of sunscreen, her large sun hat casting a protective shadow over her beautiful, doll-like face. Jennie is training to be a dermatologist, and it shows. Her otherworldly radiance aligns perfectly with her chosen field, as does her keen eye for aesthetics and detail. She’s the kind of person who never steps into the sun without a shield, and you can spot others like her scattered across the field, equally guarded against the elements. It’s amusing, really, how easily you can identify someone’s future specialty with just a glance.
And then there’s Jeon Jungkook, the quietest of the group but perhaps the most intriguing. He’s sitting not far from Jennie and on your right, his dark hair parted neatly in the middle, the short strands catching the sunlight and shining with a healthy sheen. His eyes, large and expressive, are fixed on you with an intensity that never fails to catch you off guard. He rarely speaks, yet there’s a quiet strength in his presence, a steadfastness that draws you in.
Like you, he’s pursuing a career in trauma paediatric surgery, a demanding path that you’ve shared since the beginning of your studies. Though you don’t talk much, there’s an unspoken understanding between you as the only two students specialising in this extremely rare field, a bond forged through countless hours in the same classes, the same labs, and the same late-night study sessions. His gaze remains locked on yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The eye contact is so intense it leaves you a little breathless, a little unsettled, his dark eyes holding yours with a quiet question you can’t quite decipher as he cocks his head to the side. He’s toying with his teeth, his lower lip caught between them as if he’s waiting for something—for you to say something, to answer a question you didn’t hear.
“Huh?” you ask, glancing around the group, feeling a little disoriented. Jennie’s raised eyebrow brings you fully back to the moment.
“I asked if you and Tae are dating or what? You live together, and now this,” Jennie says, gesturing to where Taehyung is still snuggled against your thigh, his laughter finally subsiding into quiet giggles as your fingers still absentmindedly play with his hair.
You snort, amused by the absurdity of the question. Before you can answer, Taehyung starts laughing again, the sound bubbling up like a toy doll—the kind that never seems to run out of laughter, perhaps something like a Laughing Elmo, the comparison would definitely fit perfectly. The ridiculousness of it all hits you, and you can’t help but join in, your laughter mixing with his in a joyful belting that rings through the air.
When the laughter finally dies down, you wipe the tears from your eyes, still grinning as you look back at Jennie and Jungkook. Jennie’s expression is a mix of irritation and curiosity, a reaction that doesn’t surprise you. She’s never hidden her infatuation with Taehyung, a sentiment she’s held since your freshman year. But what does surprise you is the similar look on Jungkook’s face—something close to annoyance that gives you pause. You clear your throat awkwardly, trying to stifle the last remnants of giggles that threaten to escape.
“We’re cousins, Jen,” you say, the words slipping out between breaths as you attempt to regain your composure.
The surprise on Jennie’s face is immediate, her mouth dropping open slightly, while Jungkook’s expression softens into one of mild disbelief. Yoongi, who’s been silent all this time, glances your way with a knowing smirk, his eyes glittering with amusement. Hoseok, Taehyung, and you can’t help but start laughing again, the absurdity of the situation too much to keep in.
“Oh…” is all Jennie manages to say, a flush of pink rising to her cheeks in embarrassment. “I didn’t know.”
You shrug, still smiling as you reply, “No one really does. It doesn’t matter much, does it?”
Jungkook’s eyes meet yours once more, a subtle smile playing on his lips, his eyes shining with something that looks like relief. You don’t quite understand why the relief is so evident in his gaze, but it has a calming effect on you as well. You send him a small smile in return, a silent exchange that’s broken only when Yoongi groans and begins to rise from the grass, his movements slow and lethargic, like an old man who has trouble moving with age.
“We’ve got class, kids. Get up,” Yoongi announces, his voice dry as he stretches, his joints cracking loudly in the otherwise quiet air.
Reluctantly, you all begin to gather your belongings. Jennie links her arm through yours as you stand, a gesture that’s as familiar as it is comforting. Taehyung trails behind her, still chuckling softly to himself, while Jungkook falls into step beside him, slightly to your side. It’s something you’ve noticed before—Jungkook always seems to gravitate toward you when the group is together, as if drawn by some invisible force. You’ve dismissed it as a byproduct of your shared major, nothing more than a coincidence of proximity. But there’s a part of you that can’t help but wonder if there’s something more to it, something unspoken that lingers in the spaces between you.
Yoongi and Hoseok lead the way, Hope talking animatedly as always, his hands gesturing in the air as he makes a point. Everyone instinctively makes space for Yoongi as he walks, his presence commanding a quiet respect that few others can match. The group moves as one, a well-practised rhythm that speaks of years spent together, each of you falling into your familiar roles as you head toward the autopsy lab.
The path is well-trodden, the grass worn down by the passage of countless students over the years. The midday sun sits high in the sky, casting sharp shadows across the campus, the air thick with the full warmth of the day. Despite her sunscreen and wide-brimmed hat, Jennie still shields her face with her free hand. You walk in silence for the most part, the only sounds the rustle of leaves overhead and the distant chatter of other groups making their way to their respective classes as well.
As you approach the lab, the building standing proud in its massive built, its stone facade weathered by time, ivy creeping up the walls in a silent conquest. The heavy wooden doors stand open, the cool air inside beckoning after the warmth of your lunch break as you step inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic and old books hitting you immediately, a smell that’s become synonymous with your studies.
The group disperses slightly as you each head to your lockers, retrieving the necessary equipment for the class. Jennie is still linked to your arm, her earlier embarrassment forgotten as she chatters away. Taehyung is beside her, humming to himself as he pulls on his lab coat, his hair a dishevelled mess from where you’ve been playing with it.
Jungkook, as always, lingers close by, his presence natural, almost indispensable. His movements are precise, each action deliberate as he retrieves his lab coat and other small materials, methodically preparing for the class ahead. There’s an ease to the way he handles everything, a confidence that doesn’t leave you room to breathe steady. Even in these seemingly mundane moments, he exhibits a meticulousness that reflects his commitment to mastering the complexities of the field, and it’s this very dedication, this quiet intensity, that first drew you to him.
You’ve always admired his unwavering determination that reflects your own, the way he approaches each task with such care, precision and intelligence. It’s no wonder that over time, those feelings of admiration began to multiply like tumour cells, developing into a quiet crush that you’ve never quite managed to shake. His character, his relentless pursuit of excellence, and that calm, assured demeanour—these are the things that have captivated you, leaving you secretly drawn to him in ways you’ve yet to fully understand. Even now, as his gaze occasionally drifts in your direction, though he says nothing, there’s a desire for him you can’t ignore, a magnetic pull that keeps your attention fixed on him, even as you all prepare for the class ahead.
You exchange a few words with Yoongi and Hoseok, the latter of whom is still engrossed in whatever conversation he’s been having with Yoongi, though it’s clear Yoongi’s mind is already in the lab, his focus sharpening as the thrill to dissect draws near. The energy in the room shifts as everyone dons their lab coats, seriousness descending as you prepare for the new semester.
You step into the autopsy lab with your friends and two other students whose names escaped you long ago, the cold, sterile air immediately wrapping around you like an welcome embrace you longed for all summer break as your steps squeak on the tiled and freshly cleaned floor. The harsh fluorescent lights bathe the room in its pale glow, illuminating the gleaming steel of the dissection tools and tables that stand waiting, four in total, each an empty stage for the work that will soon begin. Mr. Choi stands by one of the tables, looking as though he could be mistaken for a cadaver himself, his skin drawn and pallid, eyes sunken into deep sockets. His expression is as lifeless as the bodies soon to be laid out before you.
"Good morning, everyone," he greets, his voice a flat monotone that does little to lift the sombre atmosphere as you and the others line up instinctively, muscle memory guiding you to your usual places from previous semesters. Without a word, he tosses a small tub of Vicks VapoRub toward Yoongi, who catches it with effortless accuracy, not even glancing up from his phone.
As Mr. Choi begins his customary review of the last semester, recapping the techniques and knowledge you’ve all supposedly mastered, the tub of ointment makes its way down the line. One by one, each student takes a small amount, dabbing it beneath their noses—or in Taehyung’s case, smearing it more liberally into his nostrils—to block out the inevitable stench of decay and death that permeates these walls. When it reaches you, you pass it straight to Jungkook, not bothering to use any yourself. Jungkook's tattooed hand hovers in place when he realises you’ve skipped it, his brow arching in that familiar, questioning way.
“You sure?” His voice is low, soft, the kind of voice that always makes your pulse quicken slightly. He holds the tub out to you, lingering a moment longer than necessary as he waits for your response.
You shake your head, declining the offer with a small, dismissive gesture. “’S fine, thanks,” you murmur. The smell of death has never bothered you—not since the night you were bathed in your parents' blood, not since Seokjin showed you what true decay smells like and what the sound of an infinite number of flies sound like. In some twisted way, the scent is almost comforting now, a reminder of your secret purpose.
Jungkook’s eyes search yours briefly, but he doesn’t press further. “Okay,” he says, his voice just above a whisper as he takes a small amount of the ointment and rubs it along his perfect Cupid’s bow, the menthol sheen catching the light momentarily before he caps the tub and passes it along to Ben.
“This semester, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Choi resumes, his voice taking on an uncharacteristic note of enthusiasm—or perhaps it’s just your imagination, “we’re going to spice things up a little. You’ll be working in pairs—well, I’ll be assigning the pairs—and together, you’ll dissect two of our friends here over the course of the semester. Each pair will be responsible for writing a detailed report on both dissections, and these reports will determine your final grade for the class.”
The room erupts into a low murmur of excitement, with a few claps and cheers punctuating the otherwise grim mood. You join in half-heartedly, your mind already racing ahead, wondering who you’ll be paired with. Ideally, you’d be matched with Taehyung, Yoongi, or Jungkook—people whose work ethics and routines align with yours, whose presence wouldn’t be a distraction. But as the names are called, you can feel your anticipation teetering on the edge of anxiety.
Mr. Choi pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his lab coat, squinting at the list of names. “First pair: Ben and John.”
One of the unfamiliar students immediately speaks up, correcting in a flat tone, “My name’s Juan, sir.”
There’s a smattering of laughter around the room, and you feel Taehyung lean in toward you, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “Same same but different.”
Jungkook chuckles quietly beside you, and you have to elbow both of them, suppressing your own giggles like the hypocrite you are. The room settles down as Mr. Choi offers a terse apology, the faintest hint of embarrassment colouring his otherwise lifeless expression.
“Next pair,” Mr. Choi continues, “I would call this one mind and heart.” He chuckles at his own joke, though the room remains silent. “Yoongi and Hoseok.”
The two men exchange a high five, their smiles wide as they pull each other into a brief hug, their deep friendship between them clear in their mutual excitement. You can’t help but smile at the sight—there’s something infectious about their excitement, something that makes the dark work ahead seem like a walk on rainbows.
Mr. Choi scans his list again. “Next pair, our future beauty doctors: Jennie and Taehyung.”
Your eyes shift to Taehyung and Jennie as they turn to each other, their faces lighting up with matching smiles that seem to glow with a warmth that could almost outshine the harsh overhead lights. It’s a look that makes you realise something you hadn’t noticed before—an attraction Taehyung seems to have for Jennie that you’ve been oblivious to until now. You silently root for them, hoping this shared project might be the catalyst for something more.
And then it hits you, like a slow dawn creeping over the horizon. The only ones left are you and Jungkook. The realisation wipes the smile from your face, leaving you with an odd mix of anxiety and anticipation twisting in your gut.
“And last, but certainly not least,” Mr. Choi announces, “our future superheroes who will someday save all the children: ___ and Jungkook.”
Your heart skips a beat as you turn to face Jungkook, who’s already looking at you with a grin so wide it crinkles the corners of his eyes. His ears, you notice, have turned a vibrant shade of red, a sure sign that he’s just as affected by the pairing as you are. That gleam of triumph in his eyes, the kind that says he’s more than pleased with this outcome, makes your own smile waver. You force yourself to reciprocate, though you’re acutely aware of how hard it’s going to be to stay focused on your work with him so close, day after day. Something you previously ignored in its fullest. There’s something between you, something unspoken but oh so real, an longing that you can’t afford to let bloom. Not when you know that no sane person would ever truly love a killer, someone who hides a part of themselves so dark and twisted that full honesty is an impossibility.
Mr. Choi continues, oblivious to the turmoil beneath your composed exterior. “You’re free to use the lab whenever you need to. The first autopsy and report must be completed and handed in within six weeks.” He strides over to the cadaver cooler and, with a theatrical flourish, pulls open two of the stainless steel doors. The sound of the vacuum seal breaking echoes through the room, and two bodies slide out on their own, propelled by the sudden rush of air.
Glancing around at the faces of his students—some pale with nerves, others flushed with excitement—a ghost of a smile playing on Mr. Choi’s lips as he quips, “May the odds be ever in your favour.”
prologue • masterlist • 02
a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! 👀
a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open
Like what you read? Check out my other work here!
taglist: @darkeneddiary, @dumbheadblog, @jksusawife, @jayhoneybeecomb, @bts-blogs
All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024
Secrets & Whispers: A Glimpse into The Black Orchid Project
The moment you’ve been waiting for is here! Here’s a little sneak peek into The Black Orchid Project—a story that’s equal parts thrilling, mysterious, and heartfelt. Get ready for dark secrets, intriguing chemistry, and a plot that keeps you guessing.
Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader (Y/N)
Genre: Dark Romance, Mystery, ThrillerAuthor’s Note:
Summary:
Jungkook is the enigmatic CEO of a major conglomerate with a haunting secret—he can hear everyone’s thoughts. But when Y/N becomes his new personal secretary, she’s the only person whose thoughts remain silent to him. Intrigued and unsettled, Jungkook is drawn to the mystery she presents, not realizing that their connection will unravel secrets neither of them are prepared to face.
A/N: Thank you all for the incredible support Your love for The Black Orchid Project has been amazing, and I’m so excited to share this journey with you. If you want to be added to the tag list for upcoming chapters or updates, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I can’t wait to dive into this world with all of you!
But just as she was about to slip past him, a firm hand clamped down on her arm. Jungkook’s grip was like iron as he yanked her back with a force that left her stumbling slightly. Shock flashed across her face, but she quickly masked it, her heart hammering in her chest.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jungkook’s voice was low, dangerous, laced with an edge that sent a chill down her spine.
Confusion flickered in her eyes. Didn’t he just tell everyone to leave? Her brows furrowed slightly as she stared up at him, trying to figure out what she’d done wrong. Her silence, the uncertainty etched across her features, only fanned the flames of his frustration. He hated that he couldn’t tell what was going on inside her head—hated that for the first time, he was left in the dark. The one thing he’d always loathed about his ability was now the one thing he desperately wished he had.
His jaw tightened as he closed the distance between them. The air between them crackled with tension as he backed her up against the glass wall, trapping her between the cold, unforgiving surface and his looming figure. His eyes bore into hers with a mix of irritation and curiosity. Leaning in closer, his lips curled into a smirk—a dangerous one that sent a shiver down her spine.
Her breath hitched as she met his intense gaze, the proximity making her all too aware of the heat radiating off him. She felt cornered, like prey caught in the sights of a predator. Despite the fear creeping up her spine, a spark of defiance flared within her. She straightened slightly, refusing to cower even as her pulse raced.Jungkook’s smirk deepened, but there was nothing warm about it. “You really have no idea what you’ve done, do you?” he muttered, his voice a silky drawl laced with mockery. He studied her, searching her expression for something—anything—that might give him a clue as to what she was thinking. But all he got was that same infuriating blankness that drove him mad.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the air conditioning and the rapid thudding of her heart.
Nooo why r they fighting ugh let them pls shake hands and be friends again ☹️
CRIMSON SHADOWS chapter: 10
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Mystery, Thriller, Romance
Word count: 2.7k
Warning: This passage contains graphic descriptions of violence, and intense emotional distress. It includes scenes of physical assault, a character experiencing severe trauma, and the depiction of deep emotional pain and guilt. Reader discretion is advised.
a/n: The characters and situations depicted in this chapter are fictional and are intended for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The portrayal of emotions and interpersonal dynamics is a creative interpretation and should not be taken as a reflection of real-life relationships or events.
All Rights Reserved ©
@dumbheadblog 2024
MASTER LIST
The next day dawned slowly, the soft light of morning creeping through the hospital window. Jimin stirred awake on the hospital couch, the stiffness in his neck making every movement uncomfortable. He grimaced as he sat up, his bones protesting with every shift. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he glanced at the clock on the wall. It read 4:00 AM.
He stretched and moved quietly toward the bed where Y/N lay. He paused for a moment, his heart tightening at the sight of her pale face, framed by tangled hair. Gently, he patted Junkook’s head, who was nestled against the hospital bed. Junkook stirred but didn’t wake. With a sigh, Jimin slipped out of the room, his footsteps barely a whisper on the linoleum floor.
By 7:00 AM, Jimin was back. He had showered, changed into clean clothes, and bought some food for Junkook. His previous discomfort was now replaced by a deep fatigue. His eyes were hollow from lack of sleep, and he was still feeling queasy from the terrible food he had endured the night before. As he entered, he saw Junkook still slumped over, his head resting on the edge of the bed. His arms were draped protectively over Y/N, one hand entwined with hers, the other wrapped around her waist.
Jimin’s gaze softened as he watched the scene. He shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. Junkook’s protective posture spoke volumes of his distress and hope, even as Y/N lay motionless. The gentle rise and fall of her chest was the only sign of life.
Just then, the door creaked open, and the doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of Junkook’s position. He approached Jimin, his face lined with concern. “Mr. Park, you need to wake him. This isn’t good for her.”
Jimin nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. He reached out, his hand resting gently on Junkook’s shoulder. “Jungkook,” he said softly, his tone tender as if speaking to a child. “Wake up.”
Junkook’s eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding his gaze as he took in his surroundings. When realization hit, his eyes filled with sadness. He turned to Jimin, a silent question in his eyes. Jimin shook his head, his expression heavy with unspoken sorrow.
With careful hands, Jimin helped Jungkook sit up. The effort it took to break his friend’s hold on Y/N seemed almost physical. Junkook looked up at the doctor, who was now examining Y/N with a practiced yet gentle touch. His face was a mask of concern.
Jungkook’s voice trembled as he asked, “Why hasn’t she woken up yet?”
The doctor met his gaze with a reassuring, albeit somber, look. “Her injuries are significant, and recovery takes time. But I assure you, she will wake up today.”
Jungkook nodded slowly, his face etched with both hope and fear. He stepped aside, giving the doctor room to work. As the doctor began his examination, Junkook’s eyes never left Y/N’s face, his anguish palpable. The doctor’s careful movements and soft words were a small comfort, but they did little to ease the tight knot of worry in Junkook’s chest.
Jimin watched from a distance, his heart aching for his friend and the woman his friend loved. The hospital room, filled with the steady beeping of machines and the occasional murmur of medical staff, seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.
The doctor was still examining Y/N when Jimin noticed the dark circles under Jungkook’s eyes and how his jaw was clenched in silent frustration. Jimin knew he hadn’t eaten a thing since last night. Quietly, Jimin reached for Jungkook’s hand and tugged gently. “Come on, let’s step out for a bit.”
At first, Jungkook resisted, shaking his head with a stubbornness that reflected the storm brewing inside him. The doctor shot him a pointed look, one that said Jungkook’s anxious hovering wasn’t helping. Defeated, Jungkook let out a shaky breath and allowed Jimin to lead him out of the room, though his eyes remained glued to Y/N’s still form until the door closed behind them.
Jimin glanced down and noticed the dried blood on Jungkook’s shirt, the dark stains marring the fabric like lingering memories of the chaos from the night before. He guessed the blood got there when Jungkook clung to him, desperate and broken. The thought clenched Jimin’s heart, but he pushed it aside and steered them toward the hospital cafeteria.
As they arrived, Jimin placed a container of homemade food on the table. Jungkook blinked in surprise, finally noticing the bag Jimin had been carrying all along. “You brought this from home?” Jungkook asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” Jimin replied simply. “You need to eat, and I wasn’t letting you touch that trash from last night again.”
Jungkook’s stomach churned, not from hunger but from the gnawing worry gnawing at him. He pushed the food away, shaking his head. “I can’t eat right now.”
But Jimin’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t care if you’re not hungry. You need energy, and I’m not letting you fall apart on me. Not now.”
There was a quiet forcefulness in Jimin’s voice that left no room for argument. Jungkook, too exhausted to resist, reluctantly picked up the chopsticks and forced himself to eat. Each bite felt tasteless, mechanical, but Jimin’s gaze was fixed on him, making sure he didn’t stop until the container was empty.
After they finished, they headed back to the room, but the doctor was still inside. Jungkook tensed, his fists clenching at his sides. He wanted to be in there, close to her, watching every move, every detail, just in case. But Jimin noticed how Junkook’s restlessness always seemed to irritate the doctor—how his constant pacing, endless questions, and near-paranoid behavior made it harder for them to do their job.
Jimin placed a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “Let’s get some air while they finish up.”
“I’m not leaving her.” Jungkook’s voice was low, almost a growl. His eyes flicked toward the door as if he could will it to open and show him that everything was fine.
Jimin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Jungkook, I get it. But I need to talk to you about something important. It’s extremely important.”
Jungkook’s head snapped toward Jimin, curiosity briefly breaking through his anxiety. “What is it?”
But even as he said that, Jungkook’s gaze lingered on the door, unwilling to move. “I’m worried,” he admitted quietly. “If Alex could get to her once, he could try again.”
Jimin’s expression softened, but he stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Look around, Jungkook.”
Jungkook frowned, confused by the sudden shift. He glanced around the hallway, his eyes scanning the people lingering nearby. “What am I supposed to see?” he muttered.
“Focus,” Jimin urged. “You’ve been so wrapped up in your head, you’ve stopped paying attention. You’re not acting like the sharp detective I know. Now really look.”
Jungkook’s jaw tightened at the hint of criticism, but he took a deep breath and let his instincts kick in. Slowly, he observed the people around them—really observed them. Something felt off. The way some of them stood too rigid, too alert, their eyes constantly darting around. A man near the water cooler was drinking glass after glass, his ears clearly tuned in to the conversations happening nearby rather than the taste of the water. Another person pretended to be engrossed in their phone, but their attention was laser-focused on the movements in the hallway.
Jungkook’s eyes narrowed as he turned back to Jimin. “Who are they?” His voice was edged with suspicion, the detective in him finally waking up.
Jimin smirked, a hint of pride dancing in his eyes. “Police officers. I called in a favor, told them what happened, and asked for extra security. Getting them here wasn’t easy, but you know I have my ways.”
Jungkook’s eyes flicked back to the faces around them, connecting the dots. His chest eased slightly, but the tension didn’t fully leave his body. “You could’ve told me sooner,” he grumbled, but there was relief in his tone.
Jimin chuckled softly, placing a hand on Jungkook’s back. “And ruin the surprise? Now come on. We need to talk, and it’s better we do it alone.”
This time, Jungkook didn’t argue. His gaze lingered on the officers as they walked away, some of whom nodded subtly in acknowledgment. He allowed Jimin to lead him outside, but his mind was already racing, piecing together everything, preparing for whatever came next.
Jimin grabbed Jungkook by the arm, practically dragging him out of the hospital despite Jungkook’s obvious reluctance. Jungkook’s steps were heavy, his gaze repeatedly darting back toward the entrance, anxiety tightening his chest. His mind stayed with Y/N, his heart racing with worry. What if she woke up and he wasn’t there? What if she had a panic attack and he couldn’t calm her down? He knew better than anyone how delicate her emotions were, how she let them swallow her whole—just like when they were kids.
Outside, Jimin glanced around and found a bench far to the left. Without asking, he pulled Jungkook along with him, almost like he was dragging a stubborn child. Jungkook clenched his jaw, irritation bubbling beneath the surface, but he stayed silent, trying to swallow the frustration. When they finally reached the bench, Jimin sat down heavily, letting out a tired breath as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He motioned for Jungkook to sit beside him.
“Sit,” Jimin said, his voice laced with exhaustion.
Jungkook plopped down beside him, a scowl firmly etched onto his face. “What the hell, Jimin? Why’d you drag me out here? Y/N could wake up any minute! She’ll be scared, and she needs me!”
Jimin ran a hand through his hair, fingers tugging at the strands in frustration. “Actually, Jungkook—” He stopped, swallowing hard as if the words were stuck in his throat. His eyes flickered with hesitation, unable to meet Jungkook’s.
The silence stretched, and Jungkook’s patience snapped. “What is it, Jimin? Alex is still out there, probably waiting for another chance to hurt her. If you don’t have anything to say, I’m going back inside.”
Just as Jungkook moved to get up, Jimin grabbed his arm again, voice shaking as he blurted out, “Alex is in custody. My officers arrested him earlier.”
Jungkook froze. His eyes widened in shock before a flurry of emotions crossed his face—relief, anger, satisfaction. He almost smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s great, isn’t it? But then why did you call for extra security? If he’s in custody, she’s safe now.”
Jimin’s expression darkened, his voice trembling with the weight of what he was about to say. “She’s not safe, Jungkook. Not really. Yes, we got him. Yes, he’s locked up. But he’s going to be out soon. Maybe today.”
The words hit Jungkook like a punch to the gut. He blinked, trying to process them, but confusion and disbelief quickly gave way to rage. “What do you mean he’s getting out today? Alex did this to Y/N! And I’m sure he’s behind Maya’s death too. How can you just let him walk?”
Jimin buried his face in his hands, fingers digging into his skin as if he could somehow claw away the exhaustion. When he looked up, his eyes were red-rimmed, filled with frustration and something that looked a lot like helplessness. “He has a lawyer, and he has an alibi. Even if it’s bullshit, it’s enough for now.”
Jungkook’s fists clenched, his knuckles turning white. “An alibi? You know it’s fake. If you know it’s fake, then do your job and investigate it! What the hell are you doing wasting time here?”
Jimin’s patience finally snapped. He shot up from the bench, towering over Jungkook as his voice cracked with anger. “You need to stop yelling at me! I’m doing everything I can. I’m the one managing all of this, and instead of appreciating that, you’re throwing a tantrum like a kid! You should be grateful, Jungkook!”
Jungkook surged to his feet, chest heaving with rage, eyes blazing as he spat back, “Grateful? Grateful for what? That you’re letting the bastard who hurt Y/N walk free? You think I’m supposed to be happy while that psycho is out there planning his next move?”
Their tempers flared as their voices overlapped.
“You’re just a lapdog hiding behind your badge while real scum slips through your fingers!” Jungkook sneered, his voice dripping with venom.
“And you’re just a coward, Jungkook. Always running from what scares you most. You’d rather let anger consume you than face the truth. You’re terrified of caring too much, so you pretend you don’t care at all." Jimin snapped back, eyes narrowing in anger.
“At least I’m doing something! Not sitting around making excuses like you!” Jungkook’s voice rose, his fists trembling.
“Doing something? Like what? Sulking like a lovesick fool because you couldn’t protect her?” Jimin shot back, his words meant to hurt, and they did.
Jungkook’s face contorted with anger, but Jimin wasn’t done. He took a step closer, jabbing a finger into Jungkook’s chest. “Shut up, Jimin! You’re acting like you’ve got all the answers when you’re just as clueless as I am!”
Jimin’s voice broke as he shouted back, “You’re a hothead, Jungkook! Always thinking with your fists instead of your brain! You think violence is going to fix everything?”
The tension snapped, and in a fit of rage, Jungkook swung at Jimin, landing a solid punch to his shoulder. Jimin staggered, but he didn’t back down. He shoved Jungkook back with just as much force, his eyes blazing with fury. For a split second, it seemed like they’d go at it again, but Jimin stopped himself, taking a shaky step back, fists trembling as he struggled to regain control.
“I’m done,” Jimin muttered, voice laced with bitterness as he turned away, walking off with heavy, determined steps. But after a few strides, he halted and spun back around, his expression twisted in anguish. “You know what? It’s not my fault, nor is it my problem, but here I am, stuck cleaning up your mess. The real problem here isn’t anyone else—it’s you, Jungkook. You.”
Jungkook’s eyes widened, the words cutting through him like a blade, but he was too stunned to respond.
Jimin continued, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re guilty. You know it, deep down. First, you refused to help her when she asked. Then even when you agreed you still ignored her. You ingnored her, even when she told you someone was after her. The whole point of her staying with you was to keep and make her feel safe, and you still failed her. And we both know why—you’re too damn scared to face your own feelings. You love her, but you won’t admit it, even to yourself.”
Tears shone in Jimin’s eyes as he shook his head, as if disappointed not just in Jungkook, but in himself for having to say it. “And for your information, Alex’s lawyer is claiming he has DID. He’s going to be out soon because we don’t have enough evidence. So yeah, keep yelling at me if that makes you feel better. But what about you, huh? What have you done? Have you found anything? Anything at all?”
Jimin stormed forward, shoving Jungkook down onto the bench. His fist hovered in the air, shaking with the urge to strike, but at the last second, he faltered, chest heaving with barely contained emotion. With a choked breath, he pulled away, his shoulders slumping as if all the fight had drained out of him. Without another word, he turned and walked away, not looking back this time.
Jungkook sat there, trembling, tears brimming in his eyes as the shame and guilt washed over him. He wanted to call Jimin back, to apologize, to tell him that he was right—that he was scared, guilty, and ashamed. But the words got stuck in his throat, strangled by pride and regret. He was too broken, too ashamed to reach out, so he stayed there, alone with his regrets as the silence pressed in, suffocating him.
Tag List: @khadeeeeej @runariya @jksusawife
a/n: Let me know what you think in any way you like—comments, messages, carrier pigeons, whatever! What's your favorite part of this chapter? I'd love to hear! If you want to be tagged for future chapters, just holler. Also, character asks and drabble requests are open, so hit me up with your wildest ideas.
a/n: This story is written in third person POV. If you'd like to see a version in second person POV, feel free to let me know, and I'd be happy to write it for you.
Can't wait to share more with you all soon!
My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 1
pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn fic rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: panic, trauma, blood, physical violence such as punch!ng, de@th of both parents + witnessing it + footage, Dojin has influence over law enforcement and whatnot, mentions of underground fight club and mafia, mentions of wounds, jealous Jungkook, autopsy lap, mentions of bodies, please lmk if I forgot something word count: ~ 5.1K
a/n: okay Angels, here's the first chapter *yeeey*! It's just a little warm-up to the story. Hope you enjoy ☺️ a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕
prologue • masterlist • 02
The warmth of the September sun wraps around you like a tender embrace as you sit on the wide field of grass of the campus park with your closest friends. The day is nothing short of perfect, yet their conversation drifts past you, lost in the gentle chorus of birdsong from the tall and old trees above. You close your eyes and breathe deeply, letting the sun’s rays and the dappled shadows of leaves play across your flushed skin. Somewhere in the distance, church bells toll at lunch hour, their echo both a call to mess and a cue of time’s steady march. It’s a peaceful moment, one that you savour with quiet reverence, knowing all too well that such moments are fleeting.
Taehyung rests his heavy head in your lap, his hair soft beneath your fingers as you play with his curls all while he relaxes before your next class. You remember the days when you begged him not to ruin his hair with dye, and back then, he didn’t listen. But now, he leaves it natural, save for the perm that enhances the curls you adore so much. It’s a small victory, even though this victory didn’t arise from you, but won through his newfound obsession with colour analysis, face shapes and whatnot which you’re thankful for nonetheless.
But as your fingers weave through his hair, your mind drifts back, step by reluctant step, to a night you’d rather forget—a night with the sight of Taehyung’s hair dyed an electric blue. You remember standing at the door of his family’s home, drenched in the blood of your parents, clutching the CCTV footage your father had obsessively recorded of your house’s every room. You never understood his need for those cameras, but that night, you were as grateful as you were traumatised.
Taehyung had opened the door after you rang their door bell repeatedly like a madman, his freshly dyed hair framing a face shocked to the core as he took in your pale, frightened expression and the dried blood covering you. Without a moment’s hesitation, he yanked you inside behind him by the front of your shirt, quickly glancing around to see if any neighbours were watching, and immediately shut the door behind you as if trying to shut out the nightmare you had brought with you.
“Oh my God, ___! What the fuck happened to you?” he asked, his hands hovering above your shoulders, his eyes searching your body for injuries.
Fresh tears left your eyes then, carving paths through the blood on your cheeks. You didn’t recognise your voice, feeling utterly alienated by its rawness as you stuttered out, “Auntie…Uncle…”
“MUM! DAD!” Taehyung belted without a second guess, he had always understood you, even when words failed.
He dragged you into the living room where his parents froze at the sight of you, the shock in their eyes mirroring the horror in your own fragile heart.
“What happened? ___, where are your parents?” your aunt inquired, her voice trembling before she even knew what happened. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, couldn’t force the words past the lump clogging your throat. How could you tell her what had happened not only to her sister but your whole family?
Instead, you forced your hand up, clutching the CCTV footage with all your strength, terrified it might disappear. It took every ounce of your willpower to pry open your cold fingers and offer the device to them.
On high alert, your uncle and aunt stepped closer. Your aunt, unable to tear her eyes from your dilated vibrating pupils, remained frozen by your side. With concern etched across his face, your uncle gently took the device from your trembling hand, retrieved his laptop, and plugged the footage in at the coffee table, all the while your aunt stayed close, her gaze never leaving you.
“Honey, should we get you cleaned up?” your aunt bid you softly, attempting but stopping just after she moved to caress your hair as she always did, sensing you were too fragile to be touched.
You shook your head, only pointing to the laptop for her to just watch. She turned just in time to see the front door of your house being kicked in on the screen, in another frame, your father shoving you into a closet in a desperate attempt to protect you.
Slowly, you all gathered around the laptop as if hypnotised by it’s screen, the room falling silent as the footage played, each of you transfixed by the horror before your eyes. The door to your parents’ bedroom burst open on the screen, and as Dojin with his bodyguards began their brutal assault, your uncle’s grave voice broke through the spell, “Taehyung, take ___ upstairs and clean her up.”
“But, Dad…”
“Now!” he boomed, and with difficulty to get his eyes off the screen, Taehyung led you away from the gruesome repeat of a nightmare.
In the bathroom, he cleaned you with a soft cloth, washing the blood from your hair over the sink as best as he could, all while moving quickly. After, he brought you a fresh set of his clothes to change into, meanwhile you sat motionless on the closed toilet seat, staring ahead like a broken and lost doll.
When you finally emerged, clean and dressed, the house was eerily quiet, save for the sound of your aunt’s anguished sobs echoing from downstairs. Her cries tore at your heart, ripping open the fresh wound that was your new reality.
You had become an orphan in the blink of an eye. Dojin had taken your parents from you, the people who had meant everything to you, without a moment’s warning or a care in the world.
You sat down at the top of the stairs, where Taehyung held you as you silently wept, his gaze fixed on the distant flickering of the laptop screen. From where you sat, the details were blurred, but you could still make out the terrible truth captured by the CCTV cameras.
Soon after they finished watching the recording, you all drove to your house. You couldn’t quite grasp why; they had seen the footage to the end and knew there was no one left to save. You remember sitting in the backseat with Taehyung, watching the houses you passed, each one brimming with life and laughter, happy families enjoying their evening together. All the while, your world had come to a standstill, shattered into pieces like fragile glass, leaving everything around you feeling devastatingly meaningless.
Throughout the drive, your uncle tried calling the police. The first time he reached an officer, the line abruptly disconnected as soon as he mentioned your parents’ names.
“He just hung up.” Your uncle frowned, glaring angrily at the display on the centre console.
“Maybe the signal was lost. Try again,” your aunt reasoned quietly, trying to hold on to hope, though her voice had already faded into a broken whisper. But as the subsequent calls went unanswered or were immediately declined, it became painfully clear that the mayor’s influence reached far and wide, and with it, any hope of retribution was snuffed out.
When you arrived, your house was already burning down in hot raging flames, the crackling drowning out your inner screams. The police present dismissed you once more, leaving you more powerless and desperate than you ever felt.
Weeks passed as you lived with your relatives. Taehyung gave up his bed for you, sleeping on an inflatable mattress nearby. You recall fragments of the funeral, the strain of attending school while keeping your grades intact, and the mask you wore for the public as you fought against the official statement that your parents had perished in a fire caused by a forgotten stove. But after weeks of crying, mourning, and desperately seeking justice—whether through the authorities or the media—all your efforts proved futile.
One night, unable to bear the helplessness any longer, you lay awake until the weight of your anger and agony drove you to action. You dressed in silence and ventured into the city, determined to find someone who could help. The despair and fury within you pushed you toward desperate measures, and you knew then that justice would have to be taken into your own hands to rid the city of its devil.
It took seven nights before you stumbled upon an underground fighting club, where Kim Seokjin, the owner and Godfather, took an immediate interest in you. To your surprise, he listened to your story and agreed with your perspective, though he refused to let you fight alongside what he disdainfully called “those Neanderthals.” Instead, he trained you in private. It was during your first session, when you were obviously hurt for the first time in your life, that you discovered a rare condition you had inherited—one that left you unable to feel pain.
NTRK1, a mutation in your genes that prevents the development of certain nerve cells. You learned that your mother shared this mutation, explaining her stoicism on that fateful night, and that your father had been a carrier of the same mutation.
It was truly absurd how this condition swiftly elevated your skills, almost as if it were in agreement with your darker side and wanting to pull you to your full potential. You learned with remarkable speed and efficiency, especially how to assess the severity of your injuries without the sensation of pain as a guide.
Nearly two years later, Taehyung uncovered your secret as he caught you throwing up blood in the toilette after you arrived home early in the morning from training when the sun hasn’t even risen just yet. The confrontation was intense, but he eventually accepted your decision after days of radio silence and evil side-eyes, and supported you as best as he could, even if it meant simply covering for you in front of his parents or hiding your bruises with makeup where you couldn’t reach them.
When you started medical school, you were relieved that Seokjin allowed you to leave with an arsenal of weapons of your choice, though you knew all too well that his acceptance came with a debt attached.
The vibration of Taehyung's laughter pulls you out of your thoughts, bringing you back to the present, where the sounds of the world around you slowly come back into focus. The gentle rustle of leaves, the distant tolling of church bells, and the low hum of conversations among other students fill your consciousness once more. You open your eyes, blinking against the dappled sunlight that filters through the trees above, and glance down at Taehyung.
His laughter is infectious, his face half-hidden behind one hand as if trying to contain his mirth, but failing miserably. His other hand clutches his stomach, his entire body shaking with the force of his laughter. His eyes are squeezed shut, and the corners crinkle with joy, the lashes fluttering as his laughter bubbles over like a tsunami hitting the shore. His lips, stretched wide in a broad grin, reveal the perfect rows of his white teeth, something you both inherited from your mothers, and the sound that escapes him is rich and full-bodied, resonating deep in his chest, a melody that never seems to tire. It’s the kind of laughter that makes you want to join in, regardless of whether you know the joke.
You tear your gaze away from him and look up, taking in the scene around you. Your friends are gathered in a loose circle on the grass, all high-achieving students like yourself, brought together by your shared aspirations and ambitions. ‘Birds of a feather flock together,’ they say, and on the surface, it might appear true. But only Taehyung knows what truly lies beneath your carefully constructed exterior, the only legacy of your happy childhood.
Like you, Taehyung was a remarkable student in high school, his ambition clear as he set his sights on a career in the medical field as well. In those early semesters of med school, his passion for perfection became his guiding force, leading him to specialise in plastic surgery—a choice that suits him as seamlessly as a lid fits its pot. Taehyung embodies beauty, his eye for aesthetics almost uncanny, each detail observed with an artist's precision. His finesse in sculpting is flawless, and the way he’s able to seamless stitch skin up—a skill he’s honed on you over the years, using you as his more or less willing test subject after all the injuries you endured—stands as a testament to his natural talent and the field he’s chosen, one where art and science blend in perfect harmony.
Yoongi is sprawled out lazily on the grass to the left of you both, one arm bent behind his head as he taps away on his phone with the other. His expression is indifferent, almost bored, as if the conversation around him holds no interest. But you know better. Yoongi is always listening, always aware. His sharp, calculating mind misses nothing, a quality that makes him perfect for the path he’s chosen—neurosurgery. He carries himself with a quiet confidence, a subtle superiority that others might find off-putting, but which you have come to admire. His brilliance is undeniable, his genius almost intimidating, and in many ways, you’ve taken a leaf out of his book, learning to project the same calm authority when needed.
Next to him sits Hoseok, or Hope as everyone of the friend group calls him. He’s also engrossed in Yoongi’s phone, his face full of concentration as if the device was his or holds the secrets to the universe. Hope is destined to be a heart surgeon, a choice that fits him as well perfectly. He once told you that he wanted to mend broken hearts, to give hope and love to those who needed it most. It’s a noble goal, and one that suits his gentle, empathetic nature. Yet, at this moment, he’s as distant as Yoongi, the two of them forming a quiet duo on the edge of the group, absorbed in their own worlds.
Jennie sits directly across from you, her eyes fixed on you with an expectant expression. She’s a vision of meticulous care, her skin glowing under layers of sunscreen, her large sun hat casting a protective shadow over her beautiful, doll-like face. Jennie is training to be a dermatologist, and it shows. Her otherworldly radiance aligns perfectly with her chosen field, as does her keen eye for aesthetics and detail. She’s the kind of person who never steps into the sun without a shield, and you can spot others like her scattered across the field, equally guarded against the elements. It’s amusing, really, how easily you can identify someone’s future specialty with just a glance.
And then there’s Jeon Jungkook, the quietest of the group but perhaps the most intriguing. He’s sitting not far from Jennie and on your right, his dark hair parted neatly in the middle, the short strands catching the sunlight and shining with a healthy sheen. His eyes, large and expressive, are fixed on you with an intensity that never fails to catch you off guard. He rarely speaks, yet there’s a quiet strength in his presence, a steadfastness that draws you in.
Like you, he’s pursuing a career in trauma paediatric surgery, a demanding path that you’ve shared since the beginning of your studies. Though you don’t talk much, there’s an unspoken understanding between you as the only two students specialising in this extremely rare field, a bond forged through countless hours in the same classes, the same labs, and the same late-night study sessions. His gaze remains locked on yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The eye contact is so intense it leaves you a little breathless, a little unsettled, his dark eyes holding yours with a quiet question you can’t quite decipher as he cocks his head to the side. He’s toying with his teeth, his lower lip caught between them as if he’s waiting for something—for you to say something, to answer a question you didn’t hear.
“Huh?” you ask, glancing around the group, feeling a little disoriented. Jennie’s raised eyebrow brings you fully back to the moment.
“I asked if you and Tae are dating or what? You live together, and now this,” Jennie says, gesturing to where Taehyung is still snuggled against your thigh, his laughter finally subsiding into quiet giggles as your fingers still absentmindedly play with his hair.
You snort, amused by the absurdity of the question. Before you can answer, Taehyung starts laughing again, the sound bubbling up like a toy doll—the kind that never seems to run out of laughter, perhaps something like a Laughing Elmo, the comparison would definitely fit perfectly. The ridiculousness of it all hits you, and you can’t help but join in, your laughter mixing with his in a joyful belting that rings through the air.
When the laughter finally dies down, you wipe the tears from your eyes, still grinning as you look back at Jennie and Jungkook. Jennie’s expression is a mix of irritation and curiosity, a reaction that doesn’t surprise you. She’s never hidden her infatuation with Taehyung, a sentiment she’s held since your freshman year. But what does surprise you is the similar look on Jungkook’s face—something close to annoyance that gives you pause. You clear your throat awkwardly, trying to stifle the last remnants of giggles that threaten to escape.
“We’re cousins, Jen,” you say, the words slipping out between breaths as you attempt to regain your composure.
The surprise on Jennie’s face is immediate, her mouth dropping open slightly, while Jungkook’s expression softens into one of mild disbelief. Yoongi, who’s been silent all this time, glances your way with a knowing smirk, his eyes glittering with amusement. Hoseok, Taehyung, and you can’t help but start laughing again, the absurdity of the situation too much to keep in.
“Oh…” is all Jennie manages to say, a flush of pink rising to her cheeks in embarrassment. “I didn’t know.”
You shrug, still smiling as you reply, “No one really does. It doesn’t matter much, does it?”
Jungkook’s eyes meet yours once more, a subtle smile playing on his lips, his eyes shining with something that looks like relief. You don’t quite understand why the relief is so evident in his gaze, but it has a calming effect on you as well. You send him a small smile in return, a silent exchange that’s broken only when Yoongi groans and begins to rise from the grass, his movements slow and lethargic, like an old man who has trouble moving with age.
“We’ve got class, kids. Get up,” Yoongi announces, his voice dry as he stretches, his joints cracking loudly in the otherwise quiet air.
Reluctantly, you all begin to gather your belongings. Jennie links her arm through yours as you stand, a gesture that’s as familiar as it is comforting. Taehyung trails behind her, still chuckling softly to himself, while Jungkook falls into step beside him, slightly to your side. It’s something you’ve noticed before—Jungkook always seems to gravitate toward you when the group is together, as if drawn by some invisible force. You’ve dismissed it as a byproduct of your shared major, nothing more than a coincidence of proximity. But there’s a part of you that can’t help but wonder if there’s something more to it, something unspoken that lingers in the spaces between you.
Yoongi and Hoseok lead the way, Hope talking animatedly as always, his hands gesturing in the air as he makes a point. Everyone instinctively makes space for Yoongi as he walks, his presence commanding a quiet respect that few others can match. The group moves as one, a well-practised rhythm that speaks of years spent together, each of you falling into your familiar roles as you head toward the autopsy lab.
The path is well-trodden, the grass worn down by the passage of countless students over the years. The midday sun sits high in the sky, casting sharp shadows across the campus, the air thick with the full warmth of the day. Despite her sunscreen and wide-brimmed hat, Jennie still shields her face with her free hand. You walk in silence for the most part, the only sounds the rustle of leaves overhead and the distant chatter of other groups making their way to their respective classes as well.
As you approach the lab, the building standing proud in its massive built, its stone facade weathered by time, ivy creeping up the walls in a silent conquest. The heavy wooden doors stand open, the cool air inside beckoning after the warmth of your lunch break as you step inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic and old books hitting you immediately, a smell that’s become synonymous with your studies.
The group disperses slightly as you each head to your lockers, retrieving the necessary equipment for the class. Jennie is still linked to your arm, her earlier embarrassment forgotten as she chatters away. Taehyung is beside her, humming to himself as he pulls on his lab coat, his hair a dishevelled mess from where you’ve been playing with it.
Jungkook, as always, lingers close by, his presence natural, almost indispensable. His movements are precise, each action deliberate as he retrieves his lab coat and other small materials, methodically preparing for the class ahead. There’s an ease to the way he handles everything, a confidence that doesn’t leave you room to breathe steady. Even in these seemingly mundane moments, he exhibits a meticulousness that reflects his commitment to mastering the complexities of the field, and it’s this very dedication, this quiet intensity, that first drew you to him.
You’ve always admired his unwavering determination that reflects your own, the way he approaches each task with such care, precision and intelligence. It’s no wonder that over time, those feelings of admiration began to multiply like tumour cells, developing into a quiet crush that you’ve never quite managed to shake. His character, his relentless pursuit of excellence, and that calm, assured demeanour—these are the things that have captivated you, leaving you secretly drawn to him in ways you’ve yet to fully understand. Even now, as his gaze occasionally drifts in your direction, though he says nothing, there’s a desire for him you can’t ignore, a magnetic pull that keeps your attention fixed on him, even as you all prepare for the class ahead.
You exchange a few words with Yoongi and Hoseok, the latter of whom is still engrossed in whatever conversation he’s been having with Yoongi, though it’s clear Yoongi’s mind is already in the lab, his focus sharpening as the thrill to dissect draws near. The energy in the room shifts as everyone dons their lab coats, seriousness descending as you prepare for the new semester.
You step into the autopsy lab with your friends and two other students whose names escaped you long ago, the cold, sterile air immediately wrapping around you like an welcome embrace you longed for all summer break as your steps squeak on the tiled and freshly cleaned floor. The harsh fluorescent lights bathe the room in its pale glow, illuminating the gleaming steel of the dissection tools and tables that stand waiting, four in total, each an empty stage for the work that will soon begin. Mr. Choi stands by one of the tables, looking as though he could be mistaken for a cadaver himself, his skin drawn and pallid, eyes sunken into deep sockets. His expression is as lifeless as the bodies soon to be laid out before you.
"Good morning, everyone," he greets, his voice a flat monotone that does little to lift the sombre atmosphere as you and the others line up instinctively, muscle memory guiding you to your usual places from previous semesters. Without a word, he tosses a small tub of Vicks VapoRub toward Yoongi, who catches it with effortless accuracy, not even glancing up from his phone.
As Mr. Choi begins his customary review of the last semester, recapping the techniques and knowledge you’ve all supposedly mastered, the tub of ointment makes its way down the line. One by one, each student takes a small amount, dabbing it beneath their noses—or in Taehyung’s case, smearing it more liberally into his nostrils—to block out the inevitable stench of decay and death that permeates these walls. When it reaches you, you pass it straight to Jungkook, not bothering to use any yourself. Jungkook's tattooed hand hovers in place when he realises you’ve skipped it, his brow arching in that familiar, questioning way.
“You sure?” His voice is low, soft, the kind of voice that always makes your pulse quicken slightly. He holds the tub out to you, lingering a moment longer than necessary as he waits for your response.
You shake your head, declining the offer with a small, dismissive gesture. “’S fine, thanks,” you murmur. The smell of death has never bothered you—not since the night you were bathed in your parents' blood, not since Seokjin showed you what true decay smells like and what the sound of an infinite number of flies sound like. In some twisted way, the scent is almost comforting now, a reminder of your secret purpose.
Jungkook’s eyes search yours briefly, but he doesn’t press further. “Okay,” he says, his voice just above a whisper as he takes a small amount of the ointment and rubs it along his perfect Cupid’s bow, the menthol sheen catching the light momentarily before he caps the tub and passes it along to Ben.
“This semester, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Choi resumes, his voice taking on an uncharacteristic note of enthusiasm—or perhaps it’s just your imagination, “we’re going to spice things up a little. You’ll be working in pairs—well, I’ll be assigning the pairs—and together, you’ll dissect two of our friends here over the course of the semester. Each pair will be responsible for writing a detailed report on both dissections, and these reports will determine your final grade for the class.”
The room erupts into a low murmur of excitement, with a few claps and cheers punctuating the otherwise grim mood. You join in half-heartedly, your mind already racing ahead, wondering who you’ll be paired with. Ideally, you’d be matched with Taehyung, Yoongi, or Jungkook—people whose work ethics and routines align with yours, whose presence wouldn’t be a distraction. But as the names are called, you can feel your anticipation teetering on the edge of anxiety.
Mr. Choi pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his lab coat, squinting at the list of names. “First pair: Ben and John.”
One of the unfamiliar students immediately speaks up, correcting in a flat tone, “My name’s Juan, sir.”
There’s a smattering of laughter around the room, and you feel Taehyung lean in toward you, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “Same same but different.”
Jungkook chuckles quietly beside you, and you have to elbow both of them, suppressing your own giggles like the hypocrite you are. The room settles down as Mr. Choi offers a terse apology, the faintest hint of embarrassment colouring his otherwise lifeless expression.
“Next pair,” Mr. Choi continues, “I would call this one mind and heart.” He chuckles at his own joke, though the room remains silent. “Yoongi and Hoseok.”
The two men exchange a high five, their smiles wide as they pull each other into a brief hug, their deep friendship between them clear in their mutual excitement. You can’t help but smile at the sight—there’s something infectious about their excitement, something that makes the dark work ahead seem like a walk on rainbows.
Mr. Choi scans his list again. “Next pair, our future beauty doctors: Jennie and Taehyung.”
Your eyes shift to Taehyung and Jennie as they turn to each other, their faces lighting up with matching smiles that seem to glow with a warmth that could almost outshine the harsh overhead lights. It’s a look that makes you realise something you hadn’t noticed before—an attraction Taehyung seems to have for Jennie that you’ve been oblivious to until now. You silently root for them, hoping this shared project might be the catalyst for something more.
And then it hits you, like a slow dawn creeping over the horizon. The only ones left are you and Jungkook. The realisation wipes the smile from your face, leaving you with an odd mix of anxiety and anticipation twisting in your gut.
“And last, but certainly not least,” Mr. Choi announces, “our future superheroes who will someday save all the children: ___ and Jungkook.”
Your heart skips a beat as you turn to face Jungkook, who’s already looking at you with a grin so wide it crinkles the corners of his eyes. His ears, you notice, have turned a vibrant shade of red, a sure sign that he’s just as affected by the pairing as you are. That gleam of triumph in his eyes, the kind that says he’s more than pleased with this outcome, makes your own smile waver. You force yourself to reciprocate, though you’re acutely aware of how hard it’s going to be to stay focused on your work with him so close, day after day. Something you previously ignored in its fullest. There’s something between you, something unspoken but oh so real, an longing that you can’t afford to let bloom. Not when you know that no sane person would ever truly love a killer, someone who hides a part of themselves so dark and twisted that full honesty is an impossibility.
Mr. Choi continues, oblivious to the turmoil beneath your composed exterior. “You’re free to use the lab whenever you need to. The first autopsy and report must be completed and handed in within six weeks.” He strides over to the cadaver cooler and, with a theatrical flourish, pulls open two of the stainless steel doors. The sound of the vacuum seal breaking echoes through the room, and two bodies slide out on their own, propelled by the sudden rush of air.
Glancing around at the faces of his students—some pale with nerves, others flushed with excitement—a ghost of a smile playing on Mr. Choi’s lips as he quips, “May the odds be ever in your favour.”
prologue • masterlist • 02
a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! 👀
a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open
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All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024
Jimin deserves a standing ovation for being there in time 👏 gosh, my heart hurts after this chapter…hopefully she wakes up just fine
CRIMSON SHADOWS chapter: 9
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Mystery, Thriller, Romance
Warning: This passage contains graphic descriptions of violence, injury, and intense emotional distress. It includes scenes of physical assault, a character experiencing severe trauma, and the depiction of deep emotional pain and guilt. Reader discretion is advised.
Word count: 3.6k
a/n: The characters and situations depicted in this chapter are fictional and are intended for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The portrayal of emotions and interpersonal dynamics is a creative interpretation and should not be taken as a reflection of real-life relationships or events.
All Rights Reserved ©
@dumbheadblog 2024
Master list
Jimin stood frozen in disbelief as Jungkook sped away, leaving him stranded in the parking lot. His shock quickly morphed into frustration as he shouted after the retreating car, but Jungkook didn’t even glance back. The memory of Jungkook’s smug grin fueled Jimin’s growing anger, his teeth grinding together as the taillights disappeared into the distance. He glared at the empty spot where the car had been, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. But then, an idea sparked in his mind—Y/N was still in Jungkook’s apartment. A slow, mischievous smile crept across Jimin’s face. If Jungkook wanted to leave him behind, fine. He’d just head back upstairs, keep Y/N company, and maybe ruffle Jungkook’s feathers while he was at it.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and strode back into the building, his footsteps echoing through the quiet lobby. The elevator ride was tense; the familiar ding as it reached the floor was barely audible over the pounding in his ears. But as soon as the doors slid open, the silence was shattered by a scream—high-pitched, terrified. It sliced through him like a blade, freezing him in place for a split second before instinct took over.
He bolted down the hallway, his pulse quickening with each step. The door to Jungkook’s apartment was ajar, swinging slightly as if it had been left in a hurry. Jimin’s breath caught in his throat when he saw Y/N. She was stumbling, her face as pale as death, blood streaking down her forehead. Her white dress was marred with dark red stains. She turned, wild-eyed, toward the door, but before she could flee, a hand shot out and yanked her back inside.
Jimin’s heart lurched. His feet moved on their own, closing the distance to the apartment in a blur. He slammed his hand against the door, stopping it from closing, and forced his way inside. The sight that greeted him was like a nightmare come to life. Y/N lay crumpled on the floor, her head at an unnatural angle, her arm twisted grotesquely. Blood was pooling around her, soaking into the carpet.
And standing over her, his eyes cold and unfeeling, was Alex.
A white-hot rage surged through Jimin. His vision narrowed, and with a roar, he launched himself at Alex. They collided with brutal force, crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Jimin’s fists flew, driven by pure, primal fury. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, only react. Each punch was fueled by the image of Y/N’s broken body lying helplessly on the floor.
Alex fought back with equal desperation, thrashing under Jimin’s weight. In a desperate move, he reached for a vase on the nearby table and swung it with all his might. The vase connected with Jimin’s head with a sickening thud, sending a shockwave of pain through his skull. His vision blurred, spots dancing before his eyes. For a moment, he faltered, his grip on Alex loosening.
Alex didn’t waste the opportunity. He shoved Jimin off him and scrambled to his feet, bolting for the door. Jimin, dazed and bleeding, tried to get up, his body protesting with every movement. He was about to chase after Alex, but then he saw her—Y/N, still lying there, so still, so fragile.
“Fuck!” Jimin cursed, the word tearing from his throat as he hesitated, torn between rage and fear. The decision was agonizing, but Y/N’s safety outweighed everything. He rushed to her side, his hands trembling as he carefully lifted her into his arms. She was limp, her head lolling against his chest, and the warmth of her blood soaked through his shirt, sending a shiver down his spine.
“Stay with me,” he whispered desperately, his voice cracking as he sprinted for the door, her lifeless form cradled against him. The world outside the apartment was a blur of lights and shadows as he raced to his car, barely registering the frantic honking as he sped through the streets.
At the hospital, Jimin practically kicked the doors open, shouting for help. The staff rushed to him, and he reluctantly handed Y/N over to the waiting doctors. As they whisked her away, Jimin collapsed into a chair in the waiting room, blood and tears mingling on his face.
His hands shook as he stared at the crimson stains on them. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind the crushing weight of fear and guilt. When a doctor approached him, speaking in hushed, urgent tones, Jimin could barely focus. His world had narrowed down to one thing—Y/N lying on that cold, sterile bed, and the silent, desperate hope that she would survive.
Jimin paced the sterile hospital hallway, his thoughts a tangled mess of worry and fear. He had already called Jungkook, and even though he tried to keep his voice steady, his heart hammered in his chest, imagining how Jungkook would react. Jimin knew Jungkook cared for Y/N—more than he ever admitted. It was in the way Jungkook’s eyes darkened with jealousy whenever Jimin got too close to her, the way he hovered protectively without even realizing it. Jungkook could be cold, distant even, but love had a way of seeping through those cracks, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
Jimin ran a hand through his hair, anxiety gnawing at his insides. The thought of Jungkook losing his mind when he found out about Y/N’s condition terrified him. He hadn’t told Jungkook everything on the call, just enough to get him here without sending him into a blind panic. But now, waiting for Jungkook to arrive, Jimin was filled with dread. He couldn’t predict how Jungkook would react, and that scared him more than anything.
A nurse approached, her voice soft and concerned as she asked about his injuries. Jimin hadn’t even noticed the blood still dripping from the gash on his forehead. He couldn’t bring himself to sit still long enough to get treated, but the nurse’s gentle insistence—and the fact that she was undeniably attractive—made him give in. He cursed under his breath, silently berating his own mind for wandering at a time like this.
“Get it together, Jimin,” he muttered as the nurse patched him up, her touch gentle but efficient. His mind kept drifting back to Jungkook and Y/N, worry gnawing at him like a relentless beast.
By the time the nurse was done, his phone battery had died. Panic surged through him again, and he bolted for the hospital entrance. When he reached the reception desk, he spotted Jungkook immediately, his frantic eyes scanning the room. Jimin’s heart clenched as he called out to him.
Jungkook spun around, his face flooding with relief as he saw Jimin. For a brief moment, he thought Jimin was the one hurt, and the tension in his shoulders visibly eased. But the relief was short-lived. When Jimin’s expression remained grim, Jungkook’s eyes widened in realization.
“Jimin, what happened? Where’s Y/N?” Jungkook’s voice trembled, his face paling as the truth began to sink in.
Jimin’s lips parted to answer, but for a moment, words failed him. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him. He could see the hope flickering in Jungkook’s eyes, the desperate need for everything to be okay. But there was no sugar-coating this.
“Y/N…she got hurt,” Jimin finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The color drained from Jungkook’s face, and his legs seemed to give out beneath him. Jimin rushed forward, catching him before he collapsed completely. He guided Jungkook to a nearby seat, his hands trembling as he helped him sit down.
“How is she now?” Jungkook’s voice was small, almost childlike, as if he was afraid of the answer.
Jimin shook his head, the knot in his stomach tightening. “I don’t know. The doctors…they’re still monitoring her. They haven’t said anything yet. They’re not letting anyone in.”
Jungkook’s eyes were wide, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. He gripped Jimin’s arm, his knuckles white with the force of his grip. “What happened, Jimin? Tell me.”
Jimin swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “It was Alex. He…” The words got stuck in his throat, unable to fully explain the horror he had witnessed.
Rage flashed in Jungkook’s eyes, raw and unrestrained. His whole body tensed as if he was about to explode, his fists clenching so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. “I’ll kill him,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous.
“Jungkook, no.” Jimin grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to stay seated. “You can’t do that. It won’t help Y/N.”
But Jungkook was beyond reasoning. His chest heaved, his breaths erratic, and then, as if the weight of everything came crashing down on him all at once, he broke. The anger gave way to something far more devastating—fear. His body shook, and before Jimin could react, Jungkook’s face crumpled, tears spilling down his cheeks.
“I can’t lose her, Jimin,” Jungkook sobbed, his voice shattered. “I lost her once, and I didn’t even get her back yet. I can’t lose her, not again. I’ll die if something happens to her. I can’t…I can’t live without her.”
Jungkook’s sobs wracked his body, his face buried in his hands. Jimin felt his own tears welling up, his throat tight with emotion. He wasn’t really crying for Y/N—he barely knew her. But seeing Jungkook, his best friend, in such anguish was unbearable. Jimin wrapped his arms around Jungkook, pulling him into a tight embrace, feeling Jungkook’s tears soak through his shirt.
“It’s not your fault,” Jimin whispered, his voice breaking. “We’re going to get through this, okay? She’s strong. She’s going to be okay.”
Jungkook clung to him, his sobs coming in broken gasps. “It is my fault. She told me, Jimin. She told me from the start that someone was after her, even at the police station, but I didn’t listen. I ignored her. How could I get mad at her for pushing me away when she needed me the most? How could I disregard her like that?”
The pain in Jungkook’s voice cut through Jimin like a knife. He didn’t know their full history, didn’t need to. All he knew was that Jungkook was breaking, and he had to hold him together.
“You couldn’t have known,” Jimin murmured, his own tears slipping down his cheeks as he stroked Jungkook’s back. “You’re here now. You’re here for her, and that’s what matters.”
Jungkook shook his head, his sobs growing quieter but no less heart-wrenching. “I have let my past control my present. Now, what if it’s too late? What if I’m too late?”
Jimin had no answer, no magic words to make this pain disappear. All he could do was hold his friend as they both cried for the girl who meant everything to Jungkook, silently praying that she would be okay, that Jungkook wouldn’t lose the person who had always been at the center of his heart.
Jimin cradled Jungkook’s trembling figure, holding him as tightly as he could, murmuring reassurances that Y/N would be okay. But the words barely seemed to reach Jungkook; his only response was a torrent of tears, as if he couldn't quite grasp anything beyond the crushing fear inside him. They stayed like this for hours, with Jimin’s arms wrapped around Jungkook, their world reduced to the sound of muffled sobs and the sterile hospital air.
Suddenly, a nurse came rushing toward them. "Excuse me, Jimin?" she called out softly, recognizing him from earlier when he had brought Y/N in, frantic and barely holding it together. Seeing Jungkook’s tear-streaked face, she hesitated but continued, “She’s stable now.”
At those words, Jungkook sprang to his feet, nearly knocking Jimin over in his urgency. His wide, red-rimmed eyes bore into the nurse, searching desperately for some confirmation, some relief. “She’s… she’s really okay?” he choked out, his voice raw from crying.
The nurse offered a small, sympathetic smile. “Yes, she’s fine. We’re moving her to another ward now. I wanted to let you know because…” Her eyes flicked to Jimin, recalling how stressed he had been when he brought Y/N in. For a moment, Jimin thought again about how pretty she was, but he quickly shook the thought away.
Jimin breathed out a heavy sigh, “Thank you,” he managed, his voice steadying for Jungkook’s sake.
Jungkook stepped forward, still clutching onto the last threads of his anxiety. “Can we see her?” he asked, his voice small but urgent.
The nurse’s smile faltered slightly. “I’m sorry, she’s still unconscious. You’ll have to wait a few more hours, but she’s out of danger now.”
Jungkook’s shoulders sagged with a mix of relief and frustration. “How many hours?” he pressed, his voice trembling.
Jimin glanced at him, noting how desperate Jungkook was, how every second seemed to stretch into eternity for him. This bastard can’t even wait a few hours, Jimin thought, but he understood. He knew how much Jungkook needed to see Y/N, to reassure himself that she was really okay.
The nurse apologized again, “I’m not sure, but it won’t be long.” She could see the tears still streaming down Jungkook’s face, though they had slowed. She then led them to Y/N’s new room, pointing out where she would be and advising them to wait for the doctor’s instructions. “You can’t go in until he gives the all-clear,” she explained.
They stood outside the room, peering in as doctors worked, attaching machines to Y/N’s fragile form. Jungkook’s breath hitched, his gaze fixed on her small, lifeless hand visible through the open door. He broke down again, his lips wobbling as he turned to Jimin, seeking comfort. Without a word, Jimin wrapped his arms around him, holding him close as Jungkook’s tears soaked into his shirt.
Jimin knew the doctors would let them in soon, once they were done with all the checks and machines. But seeing Y/N like that, even from a distance, made his own stomach twist with unease.
Trying to distract Jungkook, he asked softly, “Are you hungry?”
Jungkook barely looked at him, his eyes never leaving the door. He shook his head. “No. I’ll stay here. They’ll let us in soon. I need to be with her.”
Jimin frowned. He knew that once Jungkook sat beside Y/N, he wouldn’t get up—not even to eat—and no one knew when she’d wake up. It could be hours.
“Come on, let’s get something to eat,” Jimin tried to coax him, his tone gentle but firm. Jungkook snapped his head toward Jimin, eyes narrowing.
“I’m not leaving her!” Jungkook shouted, the anger and frustration boiling over. “You think I can just walk away and eat while she’s in there like that?!”
Jimin’s patience thinned. He grabbed Jungkook by the arm and yanked him toward the canteen. “Stop acting like a child!” Jimin growled. “I’ve been through hell today too, you know! You think this is easy for me? But making yourself sick isn’t helping anyone!”
Jungkook resisted, his free hand clenched into a fist at his side, but he let Jimin drag him to the canteen. When they arrived, Jimin forced him into a corner seat and glared at him. “Don’t you dare move,” he ordered, before storming off to order food, trying to push aside the irritation simmering inside him. He knew now wasn’t the time for this, but Jungkook was making everything harder, and it stung to think his efforts weren’t appreciated.
Jungkook sat there, his knee bouncing anxiously, hands trembling in his lap. His mind was a chaotic mess, but one thought cut through the haze with painful clarity: he still loved Y/N, more than anything. Despite all the distance he had tried to put between them, despite every attempt to deny his feelings, nothing had changed. He couldn’t live without her. All those days of pretending not to care, of pushing her away, seemed ridiculous now. He loved her, and no amount of denial could change that, especially not after this.
Jimin returned with a tray of food, his eyes sharp with determination as he set it down in front of Jungkook. Jungkook barely glanced at it, his focus still fixed on the door they had just come through, as if willing it to open and let him back to Y/N.
“Eat,” Jimin ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Jungkook shook his head, lips pressed into a stubborn line. “I’m not hungry,” he muttered, pushing the tray away.
Jimin’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not asking, Jungkook. You need to eat.”
When Jungkook didn’t move, Jimin grabbed the fork and held it out in front of him, almost daring him to refuse. “If you don’t eat, you’ll collapse, and then what? You think that’s going to help Y/N? You think she’d want to see you like this?”
Jungkook’s hands balled into fists, but he didn’t reply. Seeing no other option, Jimin scooped up a bite of food and practically shoved it into Jungkook’s mouth. Jungkook flinched but didn’t resist as Jimin fed him, one bite at a time, his expression softening into something close to tenderness.
“Come on, eat,” Jimin murmured, more gently this time. “You’re no good to her if you’re starving yourself.”
Jungkook finally gave in, opening his mouth to accept the food, the defiance in his eyes dimming. Despite his exhaustion and the weight of his own worries, Jimin couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth for Jungkook. This was his brother in all but blood, and even though Jungkook didn’t always show it, Jimin knew how much he relied on him.
Once Jungkook had eaten enough to satisfy Jimin, they made their way back to Y/N’s room. Jimin kept a firm grip on Jungkook’s arm the entire time, guiding him through the hallways with an unspoken protectiveness that stemmed from the deep bond between them. He was worried about Jungkook—worried that he was teetering on the edge and wouldn’t make it through the night without breaking down completely.
When they reached Y/N’s room, the doctor met them at the door, his expression serious but not without sympathy. “You can go in, but she might not wake up until tomorrow morning,” he explained, his voice low and gentle. “She had a serious head injury. It’s going to take time for her to heal.”
Jungkook’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening with the weight of the doctor’s words. Jimin squeezed his arm, a silent reminder that he wasn’t alone in this, even though the fear and guilt were eating away at him.
As they entered the room, Jungkook halted in his tracks, his eyes locked on Y/N’s still figure. She looked so fragile lying there, surrounded by the sterile white of the hospital room and the beeping of machines that monitored her every breath. It was like all the strength had drained out of him, leaving him to stagger forward like a broken man, each step heavier than the last.
Jimin was already at Y/N’s bedside, his worried gaze shifting between her and Jungkook. He could see the turmoil in Jungkook’s eyes—the guilt, the regret, the overwhelming love that he could barely contain.
Jungkook finally reached her side, standing on the left with Jimin beside him. There was a chair next to the bed, and Jimin gently pushed Jungkook down into it, his hands lingering on his shoulders for a moment, offering silent support.
For what felt like hours, Jungkook stared at Y/N, his eyes burning with unshed tears. Jimin watched him closely, noticing the storm of emotions swirling in Jungkook’s eyes. But above all, he saw the guilt—the crushing weight of it that seemed to consume him, coupled with the deep, aching love he felt for her.
Jungkook’s hand shook as he reached out, his fingers brushing against Y/N’s cold, lifeless hand. He picked it up carefully, cradling it between his own before bringing it to his lips. He kissed her hand softly, his lips trembling against her skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Please, Y/N… Please, I love you… Please…” His words dissolved into sobs, the hiccups making it hard for him to speak.
Jungkook laid his head on the bed beside her hand, closing his eyes as the tears streamed down his face. His shoulders shook with each sob, his breath hitching as he clung to her, as if his love alone could bring her back.
Jimin stood by him, his heart aching for both of them. He reached out and gently caressed Jungkook’s hair, running his fingers through the dark strands in a comforting gesture. He stayed like that for a while, just being there for Jungkook, knowing that words wouldn’t be enough to ease the pain.
After some time, when Jungkook’s sobs had quieted into soft sniffles, Jimin slowly pulled away and made his way to the couch in the corner of the room. He sank down into it, exhaustion washing over him. It was already night, and the events of the day had drained him completely.
As he rested his head against the back of the couch, Jimin let out a long, weary sigh. Tomorrow… Tomorrow had to be better. He hoped, for all their sakes, that it would be.
Tag List: @khadeeeeej @runariya @jksusawife
a/n: Let me know what you think in any way you like—comments, messages, carrier pigeons, whatever! What's your favorite part of this chapter? I'd love to hear! If you want to be tagged for future chapters, just holler. Also, character asks and drabble requests are open, so hit me up with your wildest ideas.
a/n: This story is written in third person POV. If you'd like to see a version in second person POV, feel free to let me know, and I'd be happy to write it for you.
Can't wait to share more with you all soon!