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𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 I 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

—If I Can't Have You—

Pairing:

Jeon Jungkook × Female Reader (Y/N) Mentions of Y/N × Jaehyun (past relationship)

Genre:

Dark Romance

Psychological Thriller

Horror

Obsession

Word Count: ~2.5k

Summary:

After a long-haul flight, Y/N returns to the arms of her boyfriend Jaehyun, a charming and successful surgeon. Their love feels safe — ordinary, even — until a silent presence begins stalking from the shadows. A stranger who’s been watching for far too long. When one night turns into a bloodbath, Y/N wakes up somewhere unfamiliar, trapped by a man who believes she belongs to him. And he’ll make sure no one else ever touches her again.

Because if he can’t have her... No one can.

🚨 Warnings:

Extreme Violence / Murder

Blood & Gore (including dismemberment, body horror)

Non-consensual captivity

Obsessive behavior / Stalking

Psychological manipulation and terror

Sexual assault implication / threat (non-explicit but heavily implied)

Strong language / Disturbing imagery

Death of a major character (Jaehyun)

🔞 This story contains dark and triggering themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

The terminal doors slid open with a hiss, releasing a wave of late-night exhaustion into the soft glow of Seoul's city lights. Y/N stepped out first — suitcase in one hand, phone in the other, hair slightly tousled from the long-haul flight she'd just completed. The navy-blue flight attendant uniform hugged her figure neatly, the signature scarf loose around her neck. She blinked up at the sky — black velvet with a few stars daring to show themselves between the buildings.

Another day, another city, another safe landing.

But the moment her heels hit the concrete, her lips curled into something softer—something only one man in the world could pull from her.

Jaehyun.

He was leaning against his sleek black car, dressed down in a long camel coat and slacks, hands in his pockets, his surgeon badge still hanging half-hidden from the inside of his coat. His features were calm, refined, like he had just stepped out of a luxury magazine — all except for his eyes, which lit up like a boy seeing the girl of his dreams for the first time again.

She didn't run. She didn't have to. He was already walking toward her.

"You look tired," he said gently, voice low and warm like a fireplace. "Still pretty, though."

She dropped her suitcase and smiled, the kind of smile that came from knowing someone loved you completely.

"I hate night flights," she whispered, reaching for him.

He wrapped his arms around her, not caring about the people coming and going. His lips found hers without hesitation — soft at first, then deeper, more familiar. She leaned into it, her hands tangled into the front of his coat like she was trying to pull the stress of the day out through him.

And far away, hidden behind the tinted windows of a parked van — someone watched.

The camera clicked once. No flash. No sound. Just a mechanical blink as the lens zoomed in to catch the moment her lips parted.

Jaehyun's apartment smelled like cedar and fresh linen — clean, precise, minimal. Much like the man who owned it.

Y/N padded through the living room barefoot, his sweatshirt hanging loose around her thighs. Her hair was still damp from the shower, dripping a little on the hardwood floors, but she didn't care.

Jaehyun stood in the kitchen, chopping something. Pasta night.

"You always cook when I get home," she called out softly.

He glanced back with a half-smile. "Only when I miss you."

"You must be eating pasta every night, then."

He chuckled, eyes narrowing. "Don't flatter yourself."

She walked over and looped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her cheek against his back. His heartbeat was calm. Reassuring. The world felt small in moments like this — like nothing outside of this kitchen mattered.

But outside — someone else watched.

Through the apartment across the street. Third floor. Lights off. The curtain cracked.

He had memorised their routine. Every touch. Every laugh. Every time Jaehyun kissed her temple. Every time she smiled, like he deserved it.

It made his fingers curl tightly around the camera. The lens trembled, not from cold — from the slow, creeping burn of hatred and want.

The city lights streamed through the blinds in soft stripes, casting silver shadows across the bedroom walls. Y/N lay curled on Jaehyun's chest, his fingers running mindlessly through her hair. The comforter was kicked down to their waists, the air thick with warmth and the kind of silence that comes only after being loved and held for hours.

"You know," Jaehyun murmured, his voice slightly hoarse from sleep, "I've been thinking about us."

She shifted a little, lifting her chin to look up at him. "Yeah?"

He smiled gently. "I want us to move in together. For real this time. No more late-night goodbyes."

Y/N's eyes softened. "You serious?"

"As a heart attack," he said, then laughed lightly. "Okay—bad metaphor, considering my job."

She laughed too, then pressed a small kiss to his chest. "I'd like that… Jaehyun, I really would."

Outside the window, across the street, the cracked curtain was closed now. The man wasn't watching from there anymore.

He was closer.

He was already at the door.

The sudden ring of the doorbell made them both flinch.

Y/N frowned, propping herself up. "It's almost midnight. Who…?"

Jaehyun sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Probably delivery or a neighbour. I'll check."

"Want me to come—?"

"Nah," he said, pulling on his t-shirt. "Stay in bed. I'll be a second."

Y/N nodded and settled back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling. But something about the silence that followed made her chest feel tight. No greeting. No words. Not even footsteps returning.

Just silence.

Cold, swallowing silence.

She waited. Five seconds. Ten.

"Jaehyun?" she called out, sitting up. No answer.

She pulled the comforter around her, got up, and padded barefoot through the hallway, the wood cool against her skin.

"Babe?"

As she neared the living room, she saw it.

The blood.

A long, thick smear across the hardwood floor. Dark. Wet.

And a man.

A man dressed in black, dragging Jaehyun's body by one leg — limp, arms trailing uselessly behind, face bloodied and swollen. His shirt was torn, his chest unmoving.

Y/N's scream tore through the apartment like thunder — raw, unfiltered terror. She stumbled backwards, grabbing at the wall, her voice hoarse from the shriek.

The man turned.

She saw his eyes — not Jaehyun's. Not familiar.

A stranger's.

He lunged.

Her scream was choked off as a rough, gloved hand clamped over her mouth. She kicked, scratched, bit — anything to get free — but he was stronger, faster, and didn't hesitate.

From his coat, he pulled a syringe. The sharp glint of the needle was the last thing she saw before it jabbed into her neck.

Her vision blurred. Her legs folded beneath her.

The last sound she heard before falling into darkness… was laughter.

Low. Cruel.

Amused.

Her head felt like it had been split in two — heavy, throbbing, and barely attached to her shoulders. Y/N blinked once. Twice. The light above her was dim, swaying slightly. A single yellow bulb. Faint. Cold. Her hands refused to move — something bit into her wrists, and she realised they were tied to a headboard with thick leather straps.

She was in bed. Not her own. Not Jaehyun's.

This room was… wrong.

The air smelled metallic—sharp, like rust and wet pennies. The walls were dark concrete. There were no windows. The sheets beneath her were too soft, like they belonged to someone who enjoyed pretending this was home.

Her eyes scanned slowly.

A shadow moved in the corner of the room.

"You're awake," a voice said — smooth, young, low.

Y/N's throat burned as she whispered, "Who are you…?"

Footsteps.

The man emerged into the light slowly, like he'd been savouring this moment. His face was familiar — agonizingly so. She had seen him somewhere. Airport? Hotel? A passing face. Too ordinary to notice. Too deliberate to forget.

Jeon Jungkook.

A name she didn't know. A man who had been watching her far longer than she realised.

"You probably don't remember me," he said softly, pulling a chair close to the bed. "But I remember everything about you. The first time I saw you. The way your hair looked in that navy-blue uniform. The way you smiled at him like he was everything."

He reached up and ran a gloved finger down her cheek.

"You don't look at me like that," he said with a pout. "But you will."

Y/N jerked her head away, face twisting in horror. "Where is Jaehyun?"

His lips curved. "Oh, sweetheart. You should be asking what is left of him."

She struggled violently against the restraints, breath hitching in her throat. "Let me go! Let me go, please!"

"I brought you something," he said calmly, ignoring her screams.

He reached behind him — and then turned, carrying a silver tray.

She didn't understand what she was looking at. Not at first.

But then he set it on the nightstand beside her.

Two eyes.

Human.

Wet. Open. Lifeless.

"Do you know what these are?" Jungkook asked, tilting his head like he was offering her dessert.

She sobbed, shaking her head, bile rising in her throat.

"These," he whispered, "are the eyes that looked at you. Touched you with just a stare. Right now… they're nothing. Lifeless. Just meat."

Y/N screamed.

She thrashed, twisted, and tried to pull her hands free until her wrists bled.

He grabbed her face in his hand, forcing her to look at him. "Don't turn away. You need to see it. That man touched what belongs to me."

She choked, voice trembling. "W-Where's the rest…?"

He smiled. A slow, devilish thing.

"Oh, baby," he whispered. "I cut it off."

Her breath caught.

"I peeled his skin off and fed it to my pets. His fingers, too. Do you want to see?"

She shook her head violently. "N-No—please!"

He laughed, stood, and walked to the other side of the room. Behind a sliding door of steel, there was a small freezer. He opened it. She couldn't see what was inside, but the sound — wet sloshing, plastic bags, the quiet hum of refrigeration — made her stomach turn.

"Maybe later," he said casually. "You're not ready."

He turned back to her, eyes dark and wild now.

Then, without a word, he reached for the zipper of her dress shirt — the one she wore under the uniform jacket, now stained with tears and sweat.

She struggled, screamed again. Her arms were tied, legs trapped under his weight as he straddled her.

"Don't fight me," he whispered into her ear. "I've waited so long."

His hand unbuttoned her shirt, exposing her skin to the cold air of the room.

He smiled at her fear.

And began to undress her slowly.

She screamed again, struggling to escape his grasp, but he maintained his hold. Tears streamed down her face as he kissed her jaw, each touch bruising her skin and filling her with revulsion.

She attempted to turn her head away, but he prevented her, his kisses moving from her jaw to her neck and then to her collarbone, leaving a trail of bruises and marks that disgusted her.

He then sucked, kissed, and nibbled on her collarbone. His attentions then shifted from her collarbone to her chest, where he sucked on one breast while caressing the other, leaving marks on both her breasts and the valley between them.

He withdrew briefly before removing his own clothing. All the while, she pleaded with him to stop, begging and struggling. He then removed her pants and panties, caressing her inner thigh and vagina as she cried out, continuing to beg him to desist.

He forced his fingers into her vagina, causing her to scream, tears streaming down her face as she gasped for air and struggled against him as he moved his fingers harder and faster.

He then withdrew his fingers and instead positioned himself to penetrate her, forcing his length inside her, tearing her insides as she screamed and again begged him to stop.

He ignored her pleas, seemingly deaf to her cries. He was consumed by his own pleasure, oblivious to her tears, her desperate pleas, her attempts to escape the restraints, and her struggles beneath him.

He eventually ejaculated, breathing heavily. Meanwhile, she became blank and numb, beyond begging or struggling, too exhausted to resist any further, resigned to the completion of the act.

The air was too still. Not a single breeze, not even the distant hum of life beyond the four walls. Just silence.

Her body was cold against the mattress, but her skin burned where his touch had lingered. Her breath hitched and trembled, quiet sobs escaping her lips like broken promises.

Her eyes were wide open, staring at nothing. The ceiling offered no comfort. The room, no escape.

The shirt was gone. Her body was bare, her soul stripped even more. She didn’t know when she’d stopped crying out loud. Now it was just silent pain, leaking from her eyes, soaking into the pillow beneath her cheek.

A shadow shifted beside her. The bed dipped gently. She didn't flinch—she was too far gone. His fingers touched her cheek, feather-light. Gentle. Wrong.

"You smiled at that old man who helped you lift your suitcase in the terminal," Jungkook’s voice came, low, steady, like he was reminiscing about a dream. "At the woman who spilt coffee near your gate. At every goddamn stranger."

His thumb brushed a tear from her cheek as if it hurt him to see it.

"But not at me. Never me."

She blinked slowly, breath catching. Her lips trembled, but she said nothing.

Jungkook leaned closer, the scent of his skin surrounding her — warm, suffocating. His lips pressed to her temple, soft, lingering.

"I watched you," he whispered. "At hotels. Airports. That day at the lounge… You were with Jaehyun. Laughing. Looking so happy."

Her chest ached not just from the pain, but from the weight of his words. She wanted to scream, but even her voice had abandoned her.

"I kept wondering," he murmured, his hand resting on her hair. "Why him? What did he do that I didn’t? What did he have that I could never give you?"

He kissed her again, near the edge of her brow.

"I love you, Y/N," he said, like a confession. Like a vow.

Her fingers curled into the sheets. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t push him away.

"You're the first," he breathed. "And you'll be the last. I don’t care if I burn for you. I don’t care if this world ends tomorrow."

His hand slid to cup her face. She didn’t meet his eyes.

"If you told me to leave," his voice cracked, just a little. "If you begged me to go away… I’d cry. I swear I would. And if you ever left me, Y/N…"

A pause. A breath.

"I’d die."

Then he pressed his lips to her forehead — not a kiss of love, but of possession.

"I don’t need your love. I just need you. And if you fight me, I’ll break you so completely, you’ll never know who you are without me."

He whispered darkly yet passionately of wanting, loving and breaking her all at once.

She closed her eyes, not because she wanted to — but because it was the only escape left.

And the room remained silent. As if even time itself refused to witness what had just been done.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝