Sneak Peek: My Beloved Villain Chapter 1

Sneak Peek: My Beloved Villain • Chapter 1

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: slightly jealous JK summary: You had thought it would be another evening like it always was. But years later, your only aim is revenge. Nothing can stop you until their blood is dripping from your hands.

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

prologue • masterlist • 01

“Huh?” you ask, glancing around the group, feeling a little disoriented but 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 letargic, 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.

prologue • masterlist • READ FULL CH. 1 HERE

a/n 2: I'm sooo thrilled to share this story with you! please lmk your thoughts and if you would like to be added to the taglist 💕

All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024

taglist: @darkeneddiary, @dumbheadblog, @jksusawife

BECAUSE I LOVE YOU

Luv u 2 J 💕

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!

📢 Aaaah poll results are in, and there’s going to be a season 2 of DtS! 🥹 (though it’ll take a while for the drop)

Taglist is still open, so just lmk if you would like to be added 💕

Drive to Survive (JJK) • Chapter 11 FINAL “Drive to Survive”

pairing: F1driver!Jungkook x female race engineer!reader genre: colleagues2L, formula1!AU, racing!AU, drama, kind of fantasy/cyborg!AU fic rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: fatal racing accident allusion of 2020 crash of Romain Grosjean (link to crash is at the bottom of the prev ch), angst, panic, fluff, domestication, fluff, allusion to smut, fluff, fluff, fluff, oh and fluff, lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 9.270

🎵 Labrinth - Formula 🎵

a/n: Okay, Angels (I’m calling you Angels from now on because you’re all so kind and loving towards each other and me 🥹 I’m so happy to have such wonderful readers! Truly blessed *squeal* 💕), the finale of ‘Drive to Survive’ is here and, man, that was a ride (hehe). It’s a story that’s dearest to my heart, and I’ll always look back on it with love and joy! Thanks for reading and supporting me with each chapter. I've only been able to write this because of every single reader and their interaction—whether it's a like, comment, or reblog—and for that, I'm truly, truly grateful. JK’s POV will be uploaded step by step when I need a break from my other writings. Also—at the end of the chapter is a poll (who would have thought), so please don’t forget to vote 😆 Thanks again for making this fic so special! Enjoy reading and please let me know your thoughts 💕

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to the sport of Formula 1 are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • 05 • 06 • 07 • 08 • 09 • 10 • series masterlist

You watch through blurry eyes as thick smoke billows up, enveloping Jungkook’s car in a suffocating black cloud. The fire ignites with a savage fury, its orange and red tongues licking greedily at the metal, consuming everything in its path. You think you scream his name, think you scream in denial, but your voice is lost to the wind, or maybe it’s your ears that have gone deaf, as if the horror of the scene has sucked the very sound from the world. Your diaphragm burns with each laboured breath, a sharp, cruel pain stabbing through your chest with every gasp as if your lungs are collapsing under the weight of the unbearable reality before you.

The sorrow that grips you is more than sorrow; it’s an all-consuming agony, a raw, relentless ache that starts in your chest and radiates outward, sinking into your bones, your blood, your soul. The image of his car, the flames swallowing it whole, is seared into your mind, a nightmarish vision that feels too real, too wrong. How can this be happening? How can the love of your life, the person who has become your everything, be trapped in that inferno?

Memories flood your mind in a desperate cascade while you clutch his necklace until your knuckles turn white, as if your brain is trying to preserve every moment, every precious second spent with him before it’s too late. 

You see the late nights, just the two of you, lingering in the dim glow of your office or simulator after the world had gone to sleep. He would laugh, that bright, infectious laugh that made your heart flutter, while you shared trivialities as the rest of the team drifted away, leaving the night to you both. You see the dinner in his car, the two of you huddled close, the scent of takeout mingling with the faint scent of his cologne. His eyes would sparkle in the dim light of his dashboard, and you’d feel more at home than anywhere else in the world, more at peace than you ever thought possible.

You see the evening at his penthouse, the city lights shimmering outside the windows, casting long shadows on the walls as you sat close to him. There was something magical in that night, a quiet, intimate connection that neither of you had dared to speak of before, but in those moments, it was understood, unspoken but felt in every look, every touch. The way he’d pull you close every time when he had driven you home, his warmth surrounding you like a blanket, made you feel safe, loved, cherished.

And then there was last night, the memory of it so vivid it’s like a fresh wound in your heart, bleeding you out. You remember how he held you, his arms strong and sure around you, as if he’d never let go. The way he looked at you, his eyes filled with a tenderness you’d never seen before, made you realise that yes, you truly and irrevocably had found your home in him. The world outside might have been chaotic, but in his arms, you were grounded, whole, complete. 

The fire continues to rage, and it’s been well over twenty seconds since it started devouring his car. You can’t breathe, can’t think; all you can do is stare helplessly at the screen, your vision blurred by tears that refuse to stop falling. Marshals and doctors swarm the scene, frantically trying to extinguish the flames, but it’s all in vain. The fire is too intense, too powerful, and you can feel the despair settling in your gut like a heavy stone. 

And then, out of nowhere, you hear Toto behind you, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade, “THERE’S MOVEMENT!” 

For a moment, you don’t believe it. Your mind is numb, dulled by shock and grief, but when you force yourself to focus on the screen, you see it. There, amidst the flames, something is moving. Your heart lurches in your chest, a wild, desperate hope flaring to life. Is it possible? Could he still be alive?

You watch, your breath caught in your throat, as the flames part just enough to reveal a figure emerging from the inferno. It’s him—Jungkook, battered and burned, but alive, miraculously alive. His hands push against the shattered remnants of his car, his body straining against the heat and the pain as he forces himself out of the wreckage. He fights with the flames, barely able to push himself over the demolished Armco until one Marshal and doctor help him finally out of the flames. Jungkook’s suit is charred, the material scorched and smoking, but he’s moving, he’s escaping the fire that should have consumed him.

Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might burst out of your chest. Every second feels like an eternity as you watch him stumble away from the burning car, his steps faltering but determined. More marshals rush immediately to him, spraying him with extinguishers, trying to douse the lingering flames clinging to his suit. You want to scream, to cry, to rush to him, but you’re frozen in place, overwhelmed by the mix of terror, relief, and disbelief.

Jungkook collapses to his knees as the marshals reach him, their hands steadying him, guiding him to safety. His head drops forward, exhaustion and pain evident in every line of his body, but he’s alive. He’s alive. You can hardly process it, the shock of it, the miracle of it. The man you love, the man who was moments away from death, has somehow escaped the jaws of hell.

Tears blur your vision again, and again they fall freely, unchecked. The grief that had threatened to drown you is replaced by a tidal wave of relief so intense it’s almost painful. Your body trembles, your knees threatening to buckle, as the enormity of what just happened hits you like a freight train. He’s alive. The words repeat in your mind, over and over, a desperate mantra you cling to in the aftermath of the terror.

The marshals and doctors move quickly, laying him on a stretcher, his body limp but still breathing. You can see his chest rising and falling, the rhythm shaky but there, and it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. They strap him in, securing him for transport, their movements efficient and practiced, but your eyes are locked on his face, helmet pushed off earlier, searching for any sign that he’s aware, that he knows he’s safe.

As they lift him, carrying him towards the waiting ambulance, you feel a hand on your shoulder. It’s Toto, his grip firm, sucking you back to the pit wall. “Go,” he says, his voice low. “Leave the grid. Go to him.”

You don’t need to be told twice. With a last look at the screen, where the fire still rages but feels distant, almost irrelevant now, you turn and run, your feet carrying you towards him, towards the man who just survived the unthinkable. The world blurs around you, everything else fading into the background as you focus on one thing, and one thing only: Jungkook is alive.

The hospital room is quiet, the sterile smell of antiseptic heavy in the air as you sit beside Jungkook. His partly burned hand is cool in yours, his grip surprisingly strong considering what he’s just been through. Your head rests on your intertwined hands, the coolness of his skin against your cheek contrasting the heat of the day’s events. You’re exhausted, drained in every sense of the word, but the steady rhythm of his breathing is a balm, the only thing keeping you grounded in this moment and not falling back into panic.

Jungkook’s father had driven you here, his calm presence a comfort amidst the chaos. He sits quietly now, watching his son with a mixture of pride and worry etched into the old lines of his face. Jungkook, still clutching your hand, speaks softly into the phone, his mother’s voice faint but comforting on the other end. 

“I’m not stopping, Mom,” Jungkook says, his voice raspy. “This is what I do. Today was… rough, but it doesn’t change anything.”

His mother’s voice, though you can’t make out the words, carries a tone of understanding, perhaps even acceptance. You can tell she’s worried, maybe defeated, her words heavy with concern, but she knows her son. She knows his passion, his drive, and she supports him, even if it terrifies her.

“I’m fine, really,” Jungkook reassures her, his eyes flickering to you for a moment, filled with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. “The doctors checked everything, just some bruises and burns. I’ll be back in the car before you know it.”

The race had been canceled after the crash, a decision that came swiftly and without question. Mingyu had stepped down from driving, too shaken by what had happened to continue his madness. But even as the world around him falters, Jungkook remains resolute, determined to keep going, to keep racing. You’re too drained to participate in the conversation, too overwhelmed to do more than listen to the rise and fall of his voice, to the steady beat of his heart under your fingertips. Silent tears stain the bedding, unnoticed by anyone but you.

Eventually, Jungkook’s father rises, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder before leaning down to kiss his son’s forehead. “I’ll leave you both for the night,” he says quietly, his voice thick with emotion you never heard in his before. “Get some rest, son. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Jungkook nods, offering his father a small smile, and then you’re alone with him, not daring to move one bit. 

Jungkook shifts slightly, his fingers brushing against your hair. “Hey, babe,” he murmurs, his voice a soft, soothing lullaby. “I’m alive. Everything’s fine.”

You lift your head just enough to meet his gaze, his eyes tired but full of life, full of love. “I love you,” you whisper brokenly, the words barely audible, but he hears them. He always hears you.

“I love you too, babe,” he replies, his hand moving to caress your hair with a tenderness that undoes you. “Forever and always.”

You lock eyes with him, and in that moment, everything else fades away. The chaos, the fear, the overwhelming terror of nearly losing him, all of it dissolves in the warmth of his gaze. You realise, with a clarity that almost takes your breath away, just how deep your love for him runs. It’s more than just affection, more than just the thrill of being with someone so vibrant and alive. It’s a connection that goes beyond words, beyond reason. You love him for his strength, for his passion, for the way he makes you feel seen and heard, for the way he holds you together when the world seems to be falling apart. You love him because, in a world that can be so cold and indifferent, he is your light, reminding you that there is still beauty, still goodness to be found. And you love him because, despite everything, despite the danger and the fear, he loves you back just as fiercely.

His hand moves to caress your cheek, his touch gentle and reassuring. You lean into it, closing your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of his skin seep into yours, grounding you in the reality that he is here, that he is alive. 

There’s a knock on the door, and Jungkook reluctantly calls out as good as his voice can, “Come in.”

The door swings open to reveal Taehyung, his wide grin a burst of energy in the otherwise calm room. 

“Yo, Kook!” he exclaims, his voice brimming with excitement as he strides over to the bed. You move away from Jungkook just as Taehyung jumps onto the bed, wrapping his arms around his friend in a bear hug. They both laugh, the sound filling the room, and it’s a sound that makes your heart ache in the best and worst ways. You thought you’d never hear this again, and the relief that washes over you is overwhelming. Silent tears slip down your cheeks again as you watch them, your emotions too raw to hold back.

Taehyung pulls out his phone, his grin widening as he holds it up for Jungkook to see. “Look, man. It looks so dope.”

Jungkook takes the phone, his eyes lighting up as he watches the footage. “Damn,” he mutters, a mix of awe and disbelief in his voice. “That’s insane.”

“I know, right?” Taehyung replies, his excitement palpable. “You were like the freaking Top G, Kook! Emerging from those flames like that? That was some straight-up movie shit.”

Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, fuck, that’s all over the media? Wait, let me watch it again. Man… I still can’t believe I got out of that.”

Taehyung leans in closer, his eyes wide with admiration. “Dude, you’re a legend. I’ve never seen anything like it. The way you just walked out of there, like the flames didn’t even faze you… That was epic.”

Jungkook grins, a hint of pride in his expression. “I was just trying to survive, man. But yeah, it’s pretty wild to see it from this angle. I’m just glad I made it out.”

“Made it out?” Taehyung repeats, scoffing. “You didn’t just make it out—you freaking owned it! The whole world is talking about you right now. You’re trending everywhere. The footage is going viral. Everyone’s saying you’re the real deal, the toughest driver on the grid.”

Jungkook laughs, a soft, almost disbelieving sound. “I don’t know about all that, but it’s definitely something I won’t forget.”

Taehyung smirks, leaning back on the bed as he taps away on his phone. “You should be proud, man. Not everyone could walk away from something like that. Hell, most people wouldn’t even survive it. But you did, and you made it look badass.”

Jungkook’s smile falters for a moment as he glances at you, noticing the quiet tears still slipping down your cheeks. “Babe, noooo, don’t cry,” he says softly, his tone and eyes filled with concern.

Taehyung immediately sits up and slides off the bed while his expression is shifting to one of apology. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

You shake your head, wiping at your tired eyes, but the tears keep coming. It’s not that Taehyung’s words have made it worse—if anything, they’ve just reminded you of how close you came to losing Jungkook, how close the world came to losing someone so irreplaceable. But even as you cry, you know these tears are also for the relief, for the sheer joy of knowing he’s still here, that you still have him.

Jungkook opens his arms to you, a silent invitation you can’t refuse. You get up from your chair, your legs shaky but steady enough, and crawl onto the bed beside him. He wraps you in his embrace, engulfs you in his scent, your head resting on his chest, right above his steady, reassuring heartbeat. The sound of it, the feel of it, is everything you need right now, and you let out a shuddering breath, your body finally beginning to relax.

Taehyung watches the two of you, his expression softening. “I’ll call tomorrow,” he says quietly, reaching out to dab Jungkook’s fist. “You guys need some time alone.”

He steps closer to you, his hand brushing once down your back in a comforting gesture. “He’s fine,” Taehyung says softly, his voice full of certainty. “He’ll never go down easily.”

With that, he leaves, the door clicking shut softly behind him, leaving you alone with Jungkook the second time this evening, your heart finally beginning to calm as you listen to the steady rhythm of his.

The room falls into a peaceful silence after Taehyung leaves, the dim lights casting soft shadows on the walls, hung with abstract paintings, as you and Jungkook hold each other close. You feel the weight of the day slowly beginning to lift, when there’s another knock at the door. You groan as Jungkook chuckles, the sound loud in your ear, while the second hesitant, almost reluctant knock causes your heart to sink slightly, interrupting the brief respite. Jungkook’s arms loosen around you as he gently nudges you to sit up, his gaze shifting to the door.

“Come in,” he again calls. 

The door creaks open, and Mingyu steps inside. He looks nothing like the confident driver who had been so eager to prove himself on the track. Instead, he’s pale, his usually bright eyes hollow and rimmed with dark circles. His steps are slow, hesitant, as if he’s unsure whether he should be here at all. Regret is etched into every muscle of his, his posture slumped with the weight of guilt. The shock of the day seems to have drained him of all energy too, leaving him a shadow of the person he was just hours ago.

Jungkook is the first to speak, his tone gentle, almost comforting. “Hey man, what’s up?”

Mingyu looks up, his gaze flickering between you and Jungkook before settling on the floor. You push yourself off the bed, standing to the side, your hands gripping each other tightly as you watch him. The tension in the room is thick with unspoken emotions from all sides. You’re wary, unsure of what Mingyu is here to say, but you can see the turmoil in his eyes, the way his shoulders tremble slightly as he takes a deep breath.

“I…” he starts, his voice shaky, barely more than a whisper. He clears his throat, trying again. “I’m so sorry, Jungkook. I’m so, so sorry.”

The words spill out of him, his eyes finally meeting Jungkook’s, desperate for understanding, for forgiveness. “I never wanted this to happen,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly. “I never wanted to cause your crash, to put you through this… I didn’t think—no, I didn’t care enough to think, and I hate myself for it.”

Jungkook’s expression remains calm, his eyes soft with empathy as he listens. “Mingyu,” he says quietly, “it’s okay. I’m fine. This is racing—things happen. You can’t blame yourself for things you didn’t do.”

But Mingyu shakes his head, his hands trembling as he grips the back of the chair beside him, needing something to hold onto. “No, Jungkook, it’s not okay. I let my ego get in the way, and it blinded me. I wanted to beat you—my idol, the driver I’ve looked up to for years. But I lost myself in that obsession, and I wasn’t careful. I wasn’t thinking about the consequences, and because of that, I nearly killed you.”

The raw pain in his voice makes your heart ache, but it’s his phrasing that’s like a dagger to your heart. Because it’s true. It nearly killed Jungkook. Mingyu turns to you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I can’t imagine what I’ve put you through,” he says, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you, for making you watch that… I wish I could take it all back. And everything else I’ve done to you. I’m so, so sorry, ___.”

You nod slowly, the scene feeling almost surreal, like you’re watching it unfold from a distance with someone else but you in the room. The day has been too much, your emotions frayed to the point where it’s hard to process anything clearly. Mingyu’s words echo in your mind, but they don’t quite reach you. You’re too drained, too overwhelmed to do anything but nod.

Jungkook notices the way you’re gripping your fingers, the strain in your posture, and his eyes darken slightly as he shifts his focus back to Mingyu. “Look, Mingyu,” he says, his tone still kind but carrying an edge of seriousness, “I understand what you’re feeling, and I forgive you. And it’s the second time I’m telling you this. But listen to me very, very carefully—if you ever do anything to hurt her again, you’ll wish you were trapped in those flames. Understand?”

Mingyu flinches at the coldness in Jungkook’s words, but he nods fervently, swallowing hard as if he knew how it feels to receive Jungkook’s wrath. “I understand. I promise, Jungkook. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I was an idiot, and I’ve realised that this isn’t the sport for me. I was driven by the wrong reasons, and I let that cloud my judgment. I’m stepping away from racing—I need to find myself again, away from this, away from the pressure and the need to prove something.”

Jungkook studies him for a moment, then nods slowly. “It takes a lot of courage to admit that,” he says. “I wish you the best, Mingyu. And thank you for coming to see me. It means a lot.”

Mingyu’s eyes well up again, but he blinks rapidly, forcing back the tears. He looks at you one last time, a sad, regretful smile on his lips. “You’re lucky to have someone like her,” he says softly, addressing Jungkook. “Take care of each other.”

With that, he turns and walks out of the room, his steps heavy, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you and Jungkook in the now quiet room. For a moment, neither of you speak, the tension slowly dissipating as the reality of what just happened sinks more or less in.

You finally meet Jungkook’s eyes, and an incredulous laugh bubbles up from your chest, surprising you both. “That was unreal,” you say, shaking your head as you try to make sense of everything.

Jungkook chuckles, the sound warm and comforting, easing the last of the tension from the room. “Yeah, it was,” he agrees, leaning back against the white pillows, a soft smile on his lips. “But I’m glad he came. I think he needed to say all that, for his own peace of mind as much as ours.”

You nod, still slightly stunned by the encounter. 

“Tomorrow,” Jungkook says after a moment, his voice gentle and soft, “we’ll fly home. I need to get out of here, and I think you do too.”

You look at him, feeling the weariness of the day catch up with you, but also a sense of relief that it’s almost over, that you’ll both be leaving this behind soon. “Yeah,” you murmur, your voice soft. “I think we both need that.”

Jungkook reaches out, taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm. “Babe? There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he says, his tone suddenly serious but with a hint of nervousness.

You tilt your head, curious. “What is it?”

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if looking for something. “I want you to move in with me,” he finally says, his voice quiet but filled with intent. “I can’t let you stay at hotels and also I don’t want to waste any more time. Today… it made me realise how precious life is, how quickly everything can change. I love you, and I want to spend every moment I can with you.”

His words take your breath away, your heart swelling with love and emotion. You squeeze his hand, feeling a smile spread across your face despite the exhaustion weighing you down. “I’d love that,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I want to be with you, Kook. Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”

He smiles, his eyes lighting up with a joy that makes your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he says, pulling you closer until you’re nestled against his side, his arm wrapping around you protectively even though he’s the patient. “Because I’m never letting you go.”

The warmth and scent of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart under your ear, soothes you in a way nothing else can. You feel the last of the tension finally melt away, replaced by a deep, bone-deep exhaustion. But it’s a good kind of tired, the kind that comes after surviving something unimaginable, after finding your way back to the person you love.

As you lie there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you feel your eyelids grow heavy, your body sinking into the comfort of the bed and the safety of Jungkook’s presence. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his fingers gently stroking your hair and back as you drift off to sleep, his voice the last thing you hear before sleep claims you.

“I love you,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “Forever and always.”

With those words, you finally let go, surrendering to the darkness, knowing that when you wake, he’ll be right there beside you, just as he always will be.

The late morning light filters through the large windows of Jungkook’s penthouse. The city hums below, but up here, in this space that feels both familiar and intimate, there’s a sense of quiet anticipation. You stand in the doorway, your heart beating a little faster as you take in the sight before you—this place that will now be home.

Jungkook is by your side, his presence a necessity for your heartbeat, as you both carry in the last of your luggage. It’s not much—just a few bags and a couple of boxes filled with your essentials that you picked up immediately after landing in England—but somehow, it feels like you’re bringing more than just your belongings into this space. You’re bringing a piece of yourself, of your life, into his world, and that thought makes you pause for a moment.

You remember the last time you were here, not so long ago, when the idea of living with Jungkook was just a distant fantasy you had tried to push away as far as possible. It was a night filled with laughter, the two of you sitting on his couch, sharing stories and dreams. You had looked around then, imagining what it might be like to wake up in this space, to make coffee in that sleek kitchen, to fall asleep in that massive bed with Jungkook by your side. And now, that fantasy is becoming a reality.

It’s a little surreal like everything that happened this weekend, this feeling of settling into his home—your home now too. There’s a flutter of nervousness in your chest, but it’s overshadowed by a deeper, more profound sense of rightness. This is where you’re meant to be, with him, in this place that holds so much of who he is.

Jungkook is already moving around, his energy infectious as he starts to make room for you. He leads you into the bedroom, his hand now warm against yours after a good nights sleep, as he gestures to the large, king-sized bed that dominates the space.

“So, which side do you want?” he asks, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There’s a softness in his eyes, a tenderness that makes your heart swell.

You glance at the bed, considering. “I’m usually a left-side sleeper,” you admit, your voice light with the excitement of this new beginning.

Jungkook grins, nodding as if it’s the most important decision in the world. “Perfect. I’ll take the right then.” He tosses a few pillows to the side, clearing your space, making it yours. The bed feels even more inviting now, the thought of sharing it every night with him filling you with a warmth that spreads from your chest to your fingertips.

He moves to the walk-in closet next, throwing open the doors with a dramatic flourish that makes you laugh in glee. The space is huge, with racks and shelves meticulously organised—clothes sorted by colour and style, shoes lined up in perfect rows. It’s a little intimidating, the way everything is so perfectly in place even after weeks when you last saw it, but Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. He starts pulling things off hangers, shifting them to one side.

“This half is yours,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to rearrange his life to make room for you. “We’ll get some more hangers if you need them, and there’s plenty of drawer space for whatever else. And if you need more space, I’ll just squish my clothes together so you have more.”

You watch him, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. It’s such a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes about who he is—about how much he cares for you, how much he’s willing to share his life with you.

“Thank you,” you say softly, stepping up beside him. “I know this is a big step, and I appreciate you making space for me.”

Jungkook pauses, turning to face you. There’s a softness in his eyes, a warmth that makes your breath catch. “It’s not just making space,” he replies, his voice gentle. “It’s about building something together. This place… it’s ours now, not just mine.”

The words hang between you, heavy with meaning, and you nod, feeling a lump in your throat. This is real, more real than anything you’ve ever experienced, and it fills you with a sense of belonging that you didn’t realise you were missing until now. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing, that compares to being loved by Jungkook.

As you settle into the bedroom, unpacking your things and finding places for them, there’s a quiet rhythm to the process. Jungkook helps, occasionally making small jokes about your choice of clothing and dresses or the way you organise your things, and it’s all so easy, so natural. It’s like you’ve been doing this for years, like you were always meant to find your way to this moment.

Right after you finish hanging the last of your dresses on the sleek racks, something small and crumpled catches your eye. It’s a piece of paper, half-hidden behind the foot of one of the racks. Curiosity piqued, you walk over and bend down to pick it up, the paper feeling slightly worn between your fingers.

“Kook, there’s a piece of paper…” you call out, your voice trailing off as you start to unfold it. 

Jungkook, who’s been busy reorganising his side of the closet after agreeing your system is better than his, suddenly turns around. His wide eyes are frantic, filled with a panic you’ve never seen in him before. He lunges toward you, his hand reaching out in a desperate attempt to snatch the paper from your grasp, but it’s too late. The paper is already open, and your eyes have skimmed over the first few words.

You dart away and begin to read aloud, the words pulling a giggle from deep within you, unstoppable as it bubbles to the surface. 

“Masterplan. Step one: Win ___ over. Why are there so many check marks crossed out?” You laugh through your heavy breathing. “Step two: Tell ___ you love her. Step three: Kiss ___. Step four: Marry ___ and make a lot of babies.” 

Your voice trails off, and your feet come to a halt as the weight of the words on the tiny post-it note begins to sink in. The giggles that had bubbled up just moments before fade into silence as you stare at the crumpled paper in your hand. The deeper meaning behind it, the care and dedication in every word Jungkook has written, strikes you with a force you hadn’t anticipated before.

It’s as though the world narrows to his handwriting, to this small scrap of paper that holds so much more than just words. You’re suddenly, overwhelmingly aware of the depth of his feelings for you—of the way he’s been carrying these emotions quietly, with a love so strong it fills every line on this note.

The realisation hits you all at once, leaving you stunned, breathless, and utterly speechless.

Jungkook finally stops chasing after you, frozen on the other side of the futon, his pout deepening and dark eyes pleading with you to stop. His expression is so earnest, so childlike in its vulnerability, that your heart melts on the spot.

“Oh, Kook,” you say, your voice softened by the overwhelming affection surging through you. “You’re the most adorable and lovable boyfriend of all time.”

His pout wavers as he hesitates, unsure whether to continue his protests or surrender to the situation. You stretch your arm out to him, offering the hand not holding the note, and he takes it without a moment’s hesitation. His steps are sluggish, his pout still in place, but the love in his eyes is unmistakable.

Gently, you guide him to sit on the futon, still clutching the crumpled note in your hand. He sits down, and you follow suit, sliding onto his lap. Jungkook’s arms wrap around your middle instinctively, pulling you close as his chin comes to rest on your shoulder while he inhales you deeply. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he exhales, and it makes you smile even wider as you hold the note in front of both of you, reading it again and again.  

“It’s dumb,” he mutters, his voice carrying a childlike grumble that only makes your smile grow.

“Noooo! I love it!” you insist, leaning back slightly to look at him. “When did you write this?”

He huffs, clearly reluctant to admit it. “After our first race weekend.”

“What?!” you exclaim, turning to face him more fully, your surprise evident in your voice. “Jungkook, that’s been ages ago!”

“I know,” he mumbles, the corners of his mouth tugging downward in a way that makes him look even younger, more vulnerable. “You don’t want to marry me and…” His voice trails off as you glance back down at the note, reading the words again.

“…make a lot of babies?” you finish for him, trying—and failing—to suppress the giggle that escapes your lips. “I didn’t say that even once, Kook! Do you not anymore?” 

“Yes, I do, but you’re mean,” he retorts, his pout deepening as he buries his face in your shoulder.

“I’m not mean,” you protest, still grinning from ear to ear, shrugging his face off you to look him into his eyes. “It just caught me by surprise.”

He reaches for the note again, his hand inching toward it as if he can’t bear to let you hold onto it any longer. “I’ll throw it away.”

“No!” you exclaim, clutching the paper to your chest and bending down protectively. The motion makes you both tip sideways, and before you know it, Jungkook’s fingers are dancing along your sides, tickling you in a way that sends peals of laughter spilling from your lips.

“Stop! Stop!” you gasp between laughs, squirming in his grasp. But he’s relentless, his own laughter mingling with yours as he continues his playful assault.

Finally, you manage to pull away, breathless and still giggling, the note clutched tightly in your hand. “Please let me keep it,” you plead, your voice softening as you give him your best puppy eyes, complete with a pout that mirrors his own from earlier.

He lets out a long, defeated sigh, his hands still resting on your waist. “Okay,” he relents, the word drawn out as if he’s conceding the greatest battle of his life.

You beam at him, leaning in to plant a tender kiss on his lips. He kisses you back, his pout finally dissolving into a smile as his arms tighten around you. The note, crumpled and worn, remains safe in your hand, a small but priceless piece of his love that you’ll take to your grave.

You look around, surveying the room and peeking through the door into the bedroom. It still feels like his space, but there are little touches of you now—your clothes hanging beside his, your books on the nightstand, your toiletries in the bathroom. It’s a blend of both your lives, and the thought of adding more, of truly making this a shared space, makes you smile.

But as you glance at the clock, you realise that it’s past lunchtime, and neither of you has eaten since the early morning while on the plane. Your stomach growls in protest, reminding you of the long day ahead. Jungkook’s laugh breaks the silence, and he rubs the back of your back lovingly.

“I just realised,” he says, “I don’t have much food here. I’ve been so busy with the races that I haven’t stocked up on groceries.”

You chuckle, shaking your head but not meaning it one bit. “That’s okay. Let me see what you do have, and I’ll make something.”

He follows you into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you start opening cabinets. True to his word, they’re almost empty—just a few packets of instant ramen, some canned goods, and a lonely bottle of soy sauce. It’s not much, but it’s enough.

“Ramen it is,” you declare with a grin, pulling out a couple of packets. “You can never go wrong with ramen.”

Jungkook laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you move around the kitchen. “I love it,” he says, his voice still a little bit raspy from the smoke. “I can’t wait to get used to this—having you here, cooking together, just… being together.”

You smile, feeling a flutter of happiness in your chest as you set a pot of water on the stove to boil. “Me too,” you admit, glancing over at him. It’s easy speaking the truth to him, not shying away from every emotion and thought coursing inside you. “I always imagined what it would be like to live with you, but this… this feels even better than I thought it would.”

Jungkook’s smile softens, and he steps closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you wait for the water to boil. His chin rests again on your shoulder as his tall build swallows you, his muscular arms and pecks pushing into your tiny body. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine as his nose brushes your ear. “This feels right.”

You lean back into him, closing your eyes for a moment, savouring the feeling of being held by him, being kissed by him, of being in this space together. It’s a quiet, intimate moment, the kind that you know will become more and more frequent as you build your life together.

The water starts to bubble, and you reluctantly pull away from him to add the ramen noodles to the pot. As they cook, Jungkook stays close, watching you with a small smile on his lips. He’s relaxed, content, and the sight of him like this, so at ease, makes your heart swell with love.

In a matter of minutes, the ramen is ready, and you both settle at the small dining table to eat. It’s simple, nothing fancy, but there’s something special about it—about sharing a meal in this new space, about the quiet joy of just being together.

Jungkook takes a bite, letting out a satisfied hum. “Perfect,” he says with a grin. “You really do know how to make the best of what you have.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s just ramen, Kook.” 

He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. “It’s not just the food,” he says, his eyes shining brighter than any spotlight you’ve ever seen. “It’s the fact that you’re here, that we’re doing this together. That’s what makes it special.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you squeeze his hand, feeling the truth in his words. This moment, as simple as it is, feels monumental in its own way. It’s the beginning of something new, something beautiful, and you can’t wait to see where it leads.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a comfortable haze as you both settle into the penthouse. There’s an ease to it, a natural rhythm that you fall into as you put things away, as you make small adjustments to the space to make it feel more like home. Jungkook insists on helping, and his playful commentary keeps you laughing as you work.

“Maybe we should get some more plants,” he suggests at one point, holding up a small succulent that you brought with you. “You know, add some more life to the place.”

You smile, nodding in agreement even though you don’t really care about more plants. “That sounds like a good idea. We could pick some up this weekend, make a day of it.”

He grins, clearly liking the idea.

As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the penthouse, you both start to wind down. There’s a sense of satisfaction in the air, a feeling of having accomplished something important, even if it was just unpacking and settling in. The space feels different now—more lived-in, more yours.

But there’s still work to be done, and as the evening approaches, you know that the time to relax is coming to an end. The next race is near, and preparations are in full swing, especially after Jungkook’s crash. There’s a lot to be done, and the team is counting on both of you to be ready.

Jungkook’s and your phones buzz at the same time with a notification, and he glances at his first, his expression shifting from relaxed to focused in an instant. “Looks like we need to head to the headquarters,” he says. “They’re working on the new car, and they want us to come in and check on the progress.”

You nod, understanding. “Of course. Let’s get ready.”

There’s a switch to sufficiency as you both prepare to leave, changing into more practical clothes, gathering what you need. Jungkook moves around you with ease, his mind already shifting into his working mode, and you follow suit, slipping into the familiar routine of supporting him.

As you’re about to leave, Jungkook pauses by the door, turning to look at you. There’s a softness in his eyes, a lingering warmth from the day spent together. “You ready?” he asks, his voice gentle but with a hint of excitement.

You nod, feeling a surge of happiness. “Always,” you reply, stepping up beside him. “Let’s do this.”

He smiles, a look of pride and love in his eyes as he bents down, pecking your lips once. He opens the door for you, and together, you step out into the evening. The day may be ending, but this is just the beginning for you both, and the thought fills you with gratitude. Gratitude that Jungkook’s still alive, gratitude for being with him, and gratitude that it’s not the end but start of something beautiful. 

As you walk side by side to his car, holding hands and heading toward the headquarters, you know that no matter what happens, you’ll face it together. This is your life now—shared, intertwined, and full of promise and blessing. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The two weeks leading up to the race weekend in Abu Dhabi seem to pass in a blur. Living with Jungkook has been nothing short of a revelation—seamless, effortless, as though you’ve both been waiting for this moment your entire lives. Every day is filled with small, comforting routines that make your bond stronger, more intimate. 

Mornings are spent in quiet companionship, Jungkook’s warm laughter filling the penthouse as he teases you over breakfast, insisting that his coffee-making skills are superior to yours. You banter back and forth, trying to outdo each other in brewing the perfect cup, only to end up with your hands wrapped around each other’s mugs, sharing the moment. 

Evenings are often spent curled up on the sofa, the soft glow of the city lights outside reflecting in Jungkook’s eyes like stars as he leans into you, talking about the day’s events, about strategy, about the way he felt in the car. You’ve found yourself cooking together more often than not—simple dishes, mostly. You laugh when you realise you’ve had ramen three times in one week because the cabinets are still sparsely stocked. But it doesn’t matter, because you’re alive and together, and that’s enough.

The new car was finished within the first week, a marvel of engineering that had everyone talking. The team worked tirelessly, and the result was nothing short of extraordinary. The test drives were phenomenal, with Jungkook pushing the car to its limits and returning each time with a smile that spoke volumes about his confidence and excitement. His recovery after the crash was nothing short of miraculous, as though the flames had only ignited his determination to be better, faster, stronger.

One memory, in particular, stands out—late one evening in the simulator room. The rest of the team had long since gone home, leaving just the two of you in the quiet, dimly lit space. You watched him as he worked through lap after lap, his focus absolute, his movements fluid and precise. He was in his element, completely at one with the car, even if it was just a simulation. The sight filled you with a deep sense of pride, knowing that he was ready—more than ready—to take on whatever challenge lay ahead.

At one point, he stepped out of the simulator, stretching his arms above his head as he looked over at you with that familiar, boyish grin. “How’d I do?” he asked, as though you hadn’t been watching him dominate every lap for hours. 

You smiled back, shaking your head slightly. “You’re unstoppable,” you replied, and the words hung in the air between you, filled with all the unspoken support and admiration you felt for him. It didn’t took him long to take you over the control panel, channeling his drive with an unstoppable stamina into you. 

Another moment that stays with you is from a late night in the office. The building was nearly empty, the only sound the occasional click of your keys or the soft rustle of papers. You sat at your desk, immersed in data analysis, when you felt his presence quietly enter your office, rounding the table to stand behind you without a word. Jungkook’s hands slid gently onto your shoulders, massaging the tension from them as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple.

“You should take a break,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. 

You sighed, leaning back into him, allowing yourself a moment of rest. “Just a bit more,” you said, your voice soft. “I want everything to be perfect for you.”

He chuckled, a low, soothing sound. “It already is,” he whispered, and the reassurance in his voice was enough to give into him, showing him how perfect you could be perfect for him and take him with every moan. 

By the time the Abu Dhabi race weekend arrives, everything feels like it’s falling into place. Jungkook qualifies for P1 on Saturday, a brilliant lap that cements his status as the driver to beat. You can see the determination in his eyes as he steps out of the car, his focus laser-sharp. There’s no room for error now—not when he’s so close to achieving everything he’s worked for.

Race day evening arrives, and the atmosphere is electric. The lights of the Yas Marina Circuit glisten against the darkening sky, and the anticipation in the air is on its highest level. You stand beside Jungkook, both of you moments away from the race starting, when the media swarm in, eager for their final pre-race interviews.

Jungkook is all professionalism as the questions start coming. “Jungkook, the crash in Spa was devastating for your fans. How did you cope with the aftermath, especially knowing how close it came to ending in tragedy?”

Jungkook’s eyes flicker with a brief shadow of the memory, but his voice is steady as he responds. “It was difficult, no doubt. There were moments where the fear and the what-ifs crept in, but I had a lot of support. My team, my family, and of course, my girlfriend—they were all there for me. The crash was a wake-up call, but it also reminded me why I love this sport so much. It’s dangerous, yes, but it’s also about pushing limits, about passion and dedication. I had to get back in the car, not just for myself, but for everyone who believes in me.”

Another reporter steps forward, microphone in hand. “And how did you and your girlfriend handle the emotional toll of that crash? It must have been terrifying for her as well.”

You share a quick glance with Jungkook, and he nods at you to answer. You clear your throat, trying to maintain your composure. “It was terrifying, yes,” you admit, knowing fully well that there are a merit of edits of your breakdown by the pit wall. “Watching him go through that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But Jungkook is resilient, and he’s got this inner strength that’s just… undeniable. We leaned on each other a lot. We talked, we cried, and we pushed through it together. Seeing him come out the other side stronger only reaffirmed what I’ve always known—that he was born to do this.”

There’s a brief pause before another journalist asks the question you were both expecting. “What about Mingyu? There was a lot of speculation after the crash that there was tension between the two of you. Has that been resolved?”

Jungkook’s expression softens, and you can see the thoughtfulness in his eyes as he considers his answer. “Mingyu and I… it was a tough situation. But we’ve talked, and I’ve come to realise that racing can bring out the best and the worst in us. We were both under a lot of pressure, and things got heated. But in the end, we’re both here because we love this sport. We’ve found common ground, and I’m happy to say we’re becoming friends. I think we’ve both grown a lot from this experience.”

As he speaks, your mind drifts to the way things unfolded. Despite everything that went down after the crash, you knew Jungkook couldn’t stand the idea of ending things on a sour note with Mingyu. It wasn’t in his nature to hold grudges, especially not when there was a chance to build something positive out of the wreckage. So, he reached out, tentatively at first, but with genuine intent. To your surprise—and perhaps to his—Mingyu responded in kind. They began talking, discovering that they had more in common than they’d initially thought. The competitiveness that had once driven a wedge between them started to forge a bond instead, and now, you’re glad to see them developing a friendship. It’s not something you mind at all; in fact, it’s a relief to see them both find some peace.

The interviews wrap up, and soon enough, the race begins. You take your place on the pit wall, the familiar buz around you calming you, as the race engineers communicate with the drivers, analysing every detail, every second. Your headset crackles to life, and you hear Jungkook’s steady breathing on the other end, a sound that’s like symphonies written by angels.

“Focus on the track,” you tell him, your voice calm and controlled. “You’ve got this, Kook. Just like we practised.”

“Copy that,” he replies, his voice filled with determination.

The lights go out, and the race is on. The roar of the engines fills the air, and the cars shoot forward with immense speed and precision. Jungkook maintains his lead off the line, expertly navigating the turns, his driving flawless. Lap after lap, he holds onto his position, never faltering, never allowing anyone to get close enough to challenge him.

You keep your eyes glued to the screens, monitoring his every move, your heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of the race, chasing the memories of Spa away. The team works like a well-oiled machine, executing pit stops with perfect timing, communicating seamlessly. Every now and then, you offer Jungkook words of encouragement, reminding him to stay focused, to trust in his abilities.

As the race progresses, the tension builds. You know how much is riding on this—how much he wants this victory, not just for himself, but for everyone who’s supported him, who’s believed in him. You watch as he pushes the car to its limits, navigating the circuit with a combination of raw talent and calculated precision.

And then, finally, the chequered flag waves. Jungkook crosses the finish line in first place, securing not just the race win, but the season’s championship. The pit wall erupts in cheers, the team celebrating the culmination of all their hard work, their dedication.

“Jungkook, you did it!” you shout into the headset, your voice breaking with emotion. “You’re the champion!”

“WE did it,” he replies, his voice filled with joy, gratitude, and pride. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you, babe.”

You think you hear tears in his voice, equal to the ones lining your lash line. The celebration lap is full of emotion, the team’s cheers echoing in your ears as they hoist Jungkook onto their shoulders after he stops in the pit , their smiles wide, their joy uncontained. You stand back, watching the scene unfold, your heart swelling with pride. This moment, this victory, is everything you’d hoped for and more.

As Jungkook’s feet touch the ground again, his eyes scan the crowd, searching. You know exactly who he’s looking for, and when his gaze finally locks onto yours, there’s a moment of pure connection that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s as if time slows, the noise around you fading into the background, leaving just the two of you in this shared, triumphant moment.

You start to make your way towards him, and the team members part to let you through, their smiles encouraging, understanding. You reach him, and for a brief second, everything else fades away—the lights, the crowd, the noise. It’s just you and him, standing in the aftermath of his greatest victory.

Jungkook is still in his race suit, sweat clinging to his skin, his hair tousled from the helmet. He looks at you with a mix of exhaustion and elation, his eyes shining with unshed tears. And then, without a word, he pulls you into his arms, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s full of everything—relief, joy, love, triumph.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, he whispers, “I love you. This… all of this… I’d nothing without you.”

You smile, tears slipping down your cheeks as you reply, “I love you too, Kook. Forever.”

And in that moment, as the world celebrates around you, you know that everything you’ve been through together—the struggles, the fears, the victories—has led to this. This moment, this love, is your home.

The team is still cheering, the lights of Yas Marina Circuit glowing around you, and as you stand there, wrapped in Jungkook’s arms, you can’t help but think of that one edit of his last season’s win you’d watched, wishing you could be part of that moment. Now, that wish has come true, in ways you’d never imagined.

01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • 05 • 06 • 07 • 08 • 09 • 10 • series masterlist

>> JK’s POV Ch. 1

a/n 3: please remember to again reblog the master list if you did so before (tumblr doesn't refresh previously reblogged posts when being edited with new links) and PLS LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS! 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

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

taglist: @jksusawife, @alessioayla, @darkeneddiary, @dumbheadblog

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@thebtswritersclub (since 08/2024)

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

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