!! Welcome to my masterlist. I wanted to have everything in one place so it’s easier for you to find my works. Also thank you so much for reading, it really means a lot to me ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
If you enjoy anything, please leave a comment or some feedback, I’d love to hear your thoughts.
SYNOPSIS : You’ve been working night shifts at the Blue Hour Motel for over a month now. The job is easy; paperwork, keys, silence on repeat.
You’ve gotten used to the boredom, because nothing ever really happens here… until a boy walks in soaked from the rain, trying to slip past the front desk like he doesn’t belong in the system at all. no check-in, no ID, just a crumpled 15 dollars and a smug “this enough?” ( it’s not.) But something about his pretty face and doe eyes makes you give in anyway.
Three nights + One simple rule: stay in your room. ...Unfortunately for you, he doesn’t seem very good at following rules.
warnings: workplace stress, suggestive themes, alcohol mention, cursing, rule breaking, jk being annoyingly attractive.(that's all i have for now)
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A/N: it's just gonna be a short little rom-com. nothing serious. I have half of it rotting in my notes and figured i might as well finish it. if anyone's interested (unlikely), i'll drop the prologue soon. i can also make a taglist if anyone wants to be on it ♡
You never planned on taking in a hybrid. Especially not one like him.
You offer him food. A place to stay. Rules.
He offers you obedience. Tension. Trouble.
Because hybrids like him don't know how to exist without earning their place and you're about to learn that kindness, to someone like Jungkook, can feel just as dangerous as cruelty.
A/N: if you're here for emotional damage, slow-burn tension and a little bit of chaos-then yeah. let's go... this fic is messy in all the ways: hurt, comfort, trust issues, anc a hybrid who doesn't really know how to be safe even when he finally is.
Your voice is barely a whisper, quickly swallowed by the night air.
You glance over at Jungkook, your eyes tracing the awkward angle of his spine, as he carries the unconscious hybrid on his back, his torso bent severely forward to keep the limp body from sliding off. His hands are hooked securely under the boy's knees, his knuckles white from the strain, while Tae's arms swing loosely at the sides of his shoulders. With every heavy, limping step Jungkook takes, Tae’s head lolls weakly against the side of his neck, swinging limply with the motion.
It looks entirely agonizing for both of them. Watching the unnatural sway of Tae's head makes a knot of dread tighten in your stomach. You just desperately hope the hybrid will survive long enough for you to figure out what to do.
"It's okay," Jungkook mutters. His voice is rough, and entirely focused.
He keeps his eyes glued to the cracked pavement beneath his bare feet, carefully calculating every single step to ensure he doesn't trip on the uneven concrete.
"Are you sure? I can at least hold his arms, or... try to ease the weight off your shoulders a bit—"
"No."
Jungkook cuts you off instantly. He stops for a fraction of a second, his ears twitching forward as he snaps his head up to glare at you through his damp, dark bangs. The dark blood from his bitten cheek long dried into a grim line.
"You're hurt," he states flatly.
You let out a dry, incredulous breath. "So are you. I'm not the one who just fought in an underground arena and got injected with a dangerous drug."
Jungkook doesn't argue. He just fires a dark look at you; a stubborn stare that warns you he isn't going to back down on this. You swallow the rest of your words, shutting your mouth as you realize it's useless to fight him when he gets like this.
It’s infuriating, really. He is covered in a horrifying array of fresh wounds; The raw puncture mark on his neck is still swollen, bruises bloom across his ribs, scrapes line his shoulders, and his knuckles are bleeding from slamming his fist into the asphalt. yet the only thing he is truly focused on is you.
Every time you stumble in those ridiculous heels, his long black ears twitch violently, his eyes immediately dropping to track the red scrapes on your exposed knees and the dark grit embedded in your cut fist from the shattered glass of the emergency fire button.
The relentless wind sweeps through the narrow corridor of buildings from time to time, entirely uncaring of the fact that all three of you are half-naked. You shiver violently in the tiny silver dress, but the cold is even more brutal for the two hybrids. Bare-chested and wearing nothing but their torn fight shorts, their translucent skin is already covered in severe goosebumps.
Gradually, the layout of the city begins to change. You are finally entering a more familiar, open part of the town, though you still cling desperately to the deepest shadows, weaving behind closed storefronts and dark alleys to avoid stray pedestrians.
You take a shuddering breath, trying to offer a tiny shred of comfort. "At least we are almost there."
Jungkook adjusts Tae’s weight with a strained grunt, his breath leaving him in a quiet huff. He looks over at you as he forces his exhausted muscles to keep moving. "Where are we going?"
"To the hospital."
The words have barely left your lips before Jungkook freezes completely in his tracks.The sudden halt causes Tae’s limp head to jostle against his shoulder, but Jungkook doesn't seem to notice.
You stop a few paces ahead, the clumsy clack of your clear heels suddenly halting, and you wheel around to look back at him.
He is staring at you with wide eyes, completely paralyzed by a wave of pure panic. He looks so terribly small beneath the limp weight of the dog hybrid on his back. His frame tensing as his long black ears pin flat against his skull, casting a deep shadow over his pale face.
You knew he would react like that. To hybrids, a hospital isn't a place of healing. It’s a terrifying extension of the system that owns them; a place where they don't care about your injuries, they just patch you up enough to look presentable for customers before throwing you straight back into a cage.
"No," Jungkook rasps, as his knuckles turn white under Tae’s thighs. "No hospital."
"Kook" you say softly, taking a cautious step toward him. "Listen to me—"
"No," he snaps again, harsher this time. He immediately takes a defensive step back, pulling away from you.
The limp body of his childhood friend shifts precariously on his back, but Jungkook’s fixated, panicked gaze never leaves your eyes, practically begging you to change your mind. "They have scanners. They'll know I'm unregistered. They'll call the facility... They'll take me away from you."
"They won't," you assure him. "No one is going to see you, I promise. I used to volunteere at the hospital. I know the layout. I know which back corridors don't have security cameras, and I know where the midnight supply closets are. We aren't checking into the front desk."
Jungkook doesn't answer. He just stands there in the freezing wind, his expression making it painfully clear he isn't convinced.
"Look at him, Kook." you press, nodding your head toward Tae. "We can't patch him up on the street. He's losing too much blood from his head. He needs a real antiseptic, he needs stitches, and he needs fluids. The hospital is the only place close enough that has what he needs to stay alive. If we don't go right now, he isn't going to make it."
Jungkook looks down at the pavement, his jaw clenching as he bites his lip. He is warring with his instincts, the trauma of his past screaming at him to run into the dark.
"I don't like it," he mumbles. He looks down at your feet, his long ears drooping forward to shadow his face in total defeat. "It's dangerous."
"I know it is," you admit. "But I will protect you. Both of you. Don't you trust me?"
Jungkook stares at you through his thick lashes. Of course he trust you. He trusts you with his entire soul. But he isn't naive anymore. He knows how the world treats things like him. He looks at your bruised, trembling form in that ruined, ridiculous dress, and a profound ache settles in his chest;
He knows that no matter how hard you try, no matter how fiercely you want to guard him, you are still just human. You aren't invincible. You can want to be strong enough to fight the whole world for him, but things don't always go your way. Just like the police raid at the apartment, or the terrifying moment he was dragged into the underworld arena. Sometimes, the cruel system is just too big, and everything goes wrong despite your best efforts.
Yet, as he watches you stand there shivering, desperately trying to be their anchor, he suppresses the terrifying urge to argue. He sees the fierce, protective determination in your eyes, and he doesn't want to make you feel like you aren't enough.
So, he swallows his terror. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing painfully against the raw, bruised puncture wound left by the needle on his neck. He stays quiet for a second, the silence between you stretched to its absolute limit. A sharp, freezing gust of wind sweeps down the narrow street, blowing his dark, messy fringe across his forehead, exposing the deep vulnerability in his wide eyes.
Finally, the rigid resistance drains from his slumped shoulders, and he gives you a tiny nod of his head.
"Okay," he whispers.
"Okay," you say back, breathing out a sigh of relief.
Turning back toward the direction you were heading, you cast a cautious glance over your shoulder. "Let's go, then?"
Jungkook takes a moment, before he finally forces his feet to move forward, falling into step right behind you. For the rest of the walk, he stays exactly two paces behind you, keeping his head low.
You hate this. You hate that absolutely everything has to feel like a high-stakes gamble lately, that simply surviving from one hour to the next requires risking your life or your freedom. But this isn't just about a broken lease or an illegal hybrid anymore. This is a matter of a boy's life. Beyond Tae, every single one of you desperately needs patching up; you can feel the sticky trail of blood drying down your knees, and Jungkook’s chest is practically vibrating with the physical aftermath of the arena's chemical cocktail.
You wouldn't be pushing him toward his worst nightmare if you didn't thoroughly know your way around this place. You had spent months navigating these specific hallways, learning the blind spots of the staff and the rhythms of the building. If anyone could slip through the cracks of a cold medical facility, it was you.
But as anyone with an ounce of reality knows, life is a mess, and yours is definitely not a movie.
When the massive, glowing concrete structure of the hospital finally comes into view through the fog, you expect it to be a haven of quiet, sterile peace.
It is the middle of the night. From your time volunteering here, you knew the night shifts were traditionally dead. At most, you expected to see an ambulance rolling in with an elderly patient who suffered a cardiac episode in their sleep, or maybe a drunk, violent husband brought in by the cops who thought the late hours were the perfect time to beat up his wife.
What you didn’t account for was the butterfly effect. You hadn't realized that pulling the fire alarm at the NVN Club would completely shatter the peace of this hospital shift, turning the emergency ward into a chaotic zoo.
Reaching the perimeter of the facility, you quickly slide behind the large, low-slung brick sign embedded in the grass that displays the hospital’s name in glowing acrylic letters.
"Duck down," you hiss, pressing your back against the cold brick.
Your eyes peek just above the top edge of the sign to scout the area. Jungkook tries to steal a glance too, but you immediately reach back and push his head down. He lets out a low, frustrated huff against your palm, but he complies, crouching low into the grass while trying to balance the dead weight of Tae on his shoulders.
From your vantage point behind the sign, you watch a frantic stream of people pour in and out through the sliding glass doors. They're all drenched by the artificial rain. Some limping or clutching blood-soaked napkins to their faces after being trampled in the crush at the narrow exit. Others sit on the concrete curbs, hyperventilating as severe panic attacks take hold.
Good for you, idiots, you think bitterly. Let them panic over their little cuts, bruises, and battered egos. Now they're crying over a crowd crush after willingly watching hybrids tear each other apart for their own sick amusement.
You pull your gaze away from the lights of the ER entrance and look down at Jungkook. He is staring at the concrete, his long black ears twitching anxiously at the distant sound of crying and shouting, his pulse visibly thumping against his neck.
"It's okay," you whisper. "We're going through the back door anyway.
You take one last, lingering look at the chaotic main entrance before pulling back. Turning to Jungkook, you pat his bare, shivering shoulder twice to get his attention.
"Follow me."
Dropping low, you lead the way out from behind the brick sign, staying flush against the shadows of the building’s concrete facade. You weave past the heavy industrial trash compactors and rows of rolling bins lined up near the loading dock. This was your territory during your volunteer months; the staff always dumped the most grueling, repetitive tasks on the volunteers, meaning you had spent countless late nights hauling heavy bags of medical waste down to these exact dumpsters.
Tucked into a recessed alcove behind a massive metal recycling bin is a heavy, gray steel door labeled Facilities & Laundry Management. You grip the cold handle, give it a firm, practiced upward jolt, and pull. With a low click, the door gives way.
You slip inside first, holding the heavy door open with your back to make room for Jungkook.
The heavy door thuds shut behind you, instantly cutting off the distant, frantic wails of the emergency sirens. The air in the basement corridor is thick with the industrial, sterile scent of bleach and hot steam from the laundry vents. The lighting down here is sparse; just long, flickering tubes casting a pale hue over the exposed overhead pipes and concrete walls.
"Stay close," you murmur under your breath, your voice echoing slightly in the quiet subterranean hallway.
Jungkook follows tightly on your heels, his feet making almost no sound against the floor. You turn left at the first junction, navigating the labyrinthine basement layout by memory. Then you pass the heavy double doors of the main laundry room before leading Jungkook up three flights of concrete stairs. You let him go first, keeping your eyes trained behind him as you secure the rear.
At the top of the stairs, you slip into another hallway; one that is completely unlit. At the very end of the corridor sits a pair of big white double doors. Blockades of old, unused hospital beds on wheels are lined up against the wall before the entrance, gathering dust.
"Put him down there," you whisper, gesturing to one of the empty gurneys.
Together, you carefully lift the hybrid off Jungkook’s aching shoulders, putting him down on the thin mattress. The moment your fingers press firmly against the side of Tae's neck to check his condition, you feel Jungkook tense beside you.
He glares at your hand, something territorial flashing across his exhausted face as he shoots you a sharp look. Your fingers linger against Taehyung's neck a second too long for the bunny's liking. A low, warning growl rumbles deep in his chest, loud enough to make you snatch your hand away. At least Tae's pulse is still there—weak and fluttering erratically beneath your fingertips, but unmistakably alive.
Ignoring the subtle tension, you step toward the white double doors. There are small, rectangular glass windows set into the wood just a bit above your head. You have to stand on your tiptoes to peer through the glass into the hospital ward hallway beyond.
"It seems pretty clear," you say softly, turning back to Jungkook. "Stay here with him. I'm going to go explore the area, and make sure it's safe."
"Don't go." Jungkook cuts in immediately, his hand shooting out to catch the edge of your wrist. He pulls you back half an inch, his doe eyes dark and heavy.
"Kook, you'll be safe here for a few minutes," you say, trying to soothe him. "No one comes down this wing."
He pulls his arm back slightly, his lower lip shifting into a faint, stubborn pout. "That’s not it."
"Then what?"
"Don't go out like that,"
You blink, confused "Like what?"
In answer, he gestures with his chin down at your body. His dark eyes trace the line of the tiny silver dress and the ridiculous heels that make your form look incredibly revealing. You look entirely out of place, a walking target for the wrong kind of attention.
A small realization hits you. "Oh." You look down at your outfit, then back at his tense face. "Kook... there's probably no one there anyway."
Jungkook’s eyes narrow, his ears pinning back in a classic bratty display of disapproval. He steps closer, crowding your space. "But what if there will be a man?"
You let out a quiet, breathless huff. "There won't be."
He stares at you for a long, heavy moment, his gaze fiercely intense. Finally, his fingers loosen around your wrist, slipping away as he leans back with an unhappy grunt.
"Be quick," he mumbles, lowering his head as he reluctantly lets you go, though his eyes remain fixed on the door.
You give him a quick nod before awkwardly slipping through the white double doors. As it clicks shut behind you, you find yourself silently praying that no one will actually be out here—and especially, for the sake of your sanity and Jungkook's possessive streak, not a man.
The hospital ward corridor stretches out before you. It’s an older section of the building, housing two dark surgery rooms that are clearly out of commission for the night.The walls are lined with rows of connected plastic waiting chairs, flanked by faded educational posters about heart health and hygiene. Just an ordinary hospital.
Moving as fast as your ridiculous heels will allow, you press your face against the small glass panes of each door you pass, peering into the dark, silent rooms to ensure they're empty.
Distracted by checking a dark room to your left, your heel suddenly catches on a freshly waxed patch of linoleum.Your feet fly out from under you. You dangerously skew sideways, almost dropping into a full, agonizing split right there in the middle of the hallway.
Shit.
With a frantic, ungraceful lurch, you slam your palm against the cold drywall, barely recovering your balance before eating the floor. You quickly look left and right, wild-eyed, ensuring absolutely no one witnessed the near-catastrophe. Satisfied you're alone, you hastily tug the hem of the tiny silver dress back down over your thighs.
Breathing heavily, you straighten up and keep moving. A few meters down, your eyes spot a door that isn't fully closed.
Holding your breath, you sneak toward it. You press your hands against the heavy wood, quietly pushing it open just a few inches further. You slip your head through the gap, your eyes widening in relief as you look into a completely empty, unlit supply storage room.
"Y/n?"
The sudden voice slices through the quiet hallway.
You jump out of your skin, doing a frantic pirouette on your heels to whirl around, your heart leaping straight into your throat.
Standing right in the doorway of the staff restroom across the hall is Jimin.
Oh, this is bad, you think, your pulse skyrocketing. This is so, so bad.
Jimin freezes, his hand still resting on the restroom door handle. His gaze instantly drops to your outfit. For a long minute, his brows furrow in deep confusion as his eyes track the glittering, micro-mini silver dress, the high heels, then the stark red scrapes lining your exposed knees, and your thoroughly cut, grit-stained knuckles.
"Jimin?" you gasp, trying to keep your voice down. "What are you doing here?"
He blinks, pulling his eyes back up to your face, his expression a mix of exhaustion and total bewilderment.
"One of the VIP bar customers," he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a heavy sigh. "Guy got completely wasted, fainted dead away, and face-planted right onto another table. Massive scene. They made me ride in the ambulance with him. Markus had to cover my shift at the club, and he is angry as hell about it."
"Oh...Wow," you stammer,
"Tell me about it," Jimin huffs, adjusting his collar. "I'm supposed to be waiting by registration, but I had to pee so bad I ran up here. Downstairs was totally packed. Almost pissed myself."
Jimin steps fully out of the restroom, his expression quickly shifting to deep concern as his eyes scan your disheveled appearance again. "But what about you?" He steps close. "Did your mom get worse? Is that why you're here?"
You blink, completely thrown off balance. "My mom?"
"Yeah. Markus said you mentioned something about her. That's why you've been absent from work lately, right?"
You stare at him for a beat before the memory suddenly clicks.
Right.
Back at the prison, when panic had completely taken over, you'd blurted out the first excuse that came to mind, telling Markus there'd been a family emergency. Something about your mom being sick. You'd almost forgotten the lie yourself.
"Oh! Right!" you stammer, your hands flying up in a panicked wave. "Yes! I mean, no—everything is okay with her! Well, I mean... she is sick, but umm..."
Your words freeze instantly in your throat.
Over Jimin’s shoulder, right at the very end of the corridor, your eyes lock onto the rectangular window of the white double doors where a pair of long black ears and doe eyes are visible. Pressed right against the glass is Jungkook’s face. Even through the glass, you can see the absolute distress twisting his pale features when he sees you with a man. Not only a man—Jimin, whom he already had been wary of.
Panic seizing your chest, you desperately try to gesture to him to hide. You cut your eyes toward the wall, giving a subtle, frantic nod of your head to tell him to pull back, but the movements are far from discreet.
Jimin immediately notices your wild gesturing, and turns his head around to look in the exact direction you're staring. Through the glass, Jungkook doesn't even attempt to duck away. He just stands there, staring grimly at the two of you.
"Yo." Jimin poits a blunt finger toward the door. "The bunny here too?"
You scratch the back of your hair, letting out a strained, incredibly awkward laugh. "He... yeah. He is."
Before Jimin can even open his mouth to demand an explanation, the heavy echo of footsteps and muffled voices suddenly resounds from the nearby service stairs.
Someone is coming up.
Your instincts kick into overdrive. You plunge forward, jogging the short distance to Jimin and violently shoving your hands against his chest.
"Move!" you hiss.
"What the—" Jimin stumbles backward into the small restroom, completely bewildered as you push him right through the door, slipping inside behind him and pulling the door shut until it's just a crack, hiding yourself while he stares at you in total confusion.
You hold your breath, pressing your ear flat against the door. The sound of shoes echoes in the hallway outside, clicking closer and closer until your heart is practically beating in your throat. But thankfully, the footsteps don't pause at the restroom. Instead, they continue past the door and head straight up the next flight of stairs, fading out entirely.
"What is going on?" Jimin finally demands, his voice a harsh whisper as he crosses his arms, looking at you like you’ve officially lost your mind.
You let out a long, shaky sigh, dropping your forehead against the door for a brief moment before turning to face him. "You are my favorite co-worker, you know that right?"
"Highly suspicious phrasing. But duh, I know. Now spill."
"You wanna help me?" you ask, your eyes pleading.
He softens just a fraction, his protective streak winning out over his confusion. "I'm all ears. What did you get yourself into?"
You don't waste a second. As quickly and quietly as possible, you spill out what happened tonight; the underground NVN fight, the brutal arena escape, and the fact that Tae is currently bleeding out on a gurney just down the hall.
Jimin listens in absolute, jaw-dropped silence, his eyes growing wider and wider with every sentence that leaves your mouth. By the time you finish, he just stares at you, completely stunned.
"Damn," he finally breathes out, rubbing a hand over his face. "And I thought me almost pissing myself over here was bad."
"We need to get them to the surgery Prep Room before someone else walks down that hall," you urge, pulling the restroom door open.
Jimin gives you a firm nod, finally overriding his shock. You carefully push the restroom door open, stepping back out into the corridor to fetch Jungkook and Tae.
When your eyes instantly dart to the end of the hallway, your heart drops into your stomach.
Jungkook's face is no longer in the glass window.
You move fast, your heels clicking as you sprint down the corridor toward the white double doors. You push through them, your pulse hammering ribs until a wave of sheer relief washes over you.
Jungkook hasn't run away. He’s right there, sitting miserably on the steps directly next to the hospital bed where Tae is lying. The moment he hears the doors swing open, he looks up, his doe eyes instantly narrowing when he sees Jimin stepping through right behind you. A heavy, sullen pout deforms his lower lip, and his entire posture screams that he is thoroughly unhappy about the situation, his inner brat dangerously close to the surface.
You match his glare, giving him a firm 'this is not the time to sulk' stare. You gesture toward your co-worker. "Jimin is going to help us, Kook. We have to move."
Jimin raises a hand, offering a tiny, slightly awkward wave. "Hey, man."
Jungkook lets out a quiet, unhappy rumble deep in his throat, but he slowly stands up, his submissive nature toward you overriding his jealousy as he steps closer to the gurney.
"Alright, look," Jimin whispers, taking charge as he peers back through the window. "You two push the bed. I’ll walk ahead and keep watch. When I give you the sign, you move. Fast."
"Got it," you mutter.
You and Jungkook both grip the cold metal rails of the heavy hospital bed. Jimin slips through the double doors first, moving like a shadow. A few tense seconds pass before his face reappears in the glass, frantically gesturing with his arm for you to come out.
"Go, go," you hiss to Jungkook.
You both push the bed into the hall, picking up speed to cross the distance to the open Prep Room. But just as you try to swing the bed around the corner, one of the front wheels violently locks up, spinning sideways. The heavy gurney veers sharply off course, crashing straight into a row of plastic waiting chairs with a loud, hollow ClaNG.
"Oh God." you gasp, your heart leaping into your throat. Frustrated and panicked, you lift your high heel and viciously kick the stuck wheel until it snaps back into place.
Up ahead, Jimin whips around at the noise. He stares at your chaotic Tokyo drift maneuver, bringing both hands up to clutch his head in absolute disbelief as he throws you a massive, judgmental side-eye.
You furiously pull the bed back on track, glaring back at him as you aggressively whisper. "It’s not my fault!”
Jungkook doesn't say a word, but his grip on the metal railing tightens, his ears twitching anxiously at the noise as the three of you sprint the last few meters toward the designated door.
Suddenly Jimin halts in the center of the hall, lifting a hand to freeze the operation. He tilts his head, listening intently for the echo of any approaching footsteps from the main stairwell. A tense second passes before he snaps out of it, and with a frantic wave of his arm, he hastes you forward, grabbing the foot of the gurney to help push.
Together, the three of you put your weight into it, sprinting the last few meters. You swing the gurney through the entrance of the Surgery Prep Room like a damn limousine navigating a tight alleyway, the frame clearing the door with inches to spare.
"Lock it, lock it," you breathe out, your chest heaving.
Jimin slams the heavy door shut and twists the thumb-turn, while you guide the squeaking gurney right next to a secondary, empty patient bed draped in white sheets.
The room is dead quiet, smelling sharply of the usual hospital odor. Jimin immediately reaches out to flip the main wall switch, looding the space with a blinding light.
"No, turn it off!" you hiss. "We have to be cautious so no one notices we're in here. No big lights. Turn it off and switch that small desk lamp on instead."
Jimin quickly slaps the main switch back down, plunging you into darkness again before shuffling over to a small metal workstation in the corner and clicking on a low-wattage, adjustable goose-neck lamp, that provides just enough visibility without bleeding through the door's window.
Your eyes instantly scan the area. Rows of stainless steel counters are covered in a thin layer of dust, flanked by empty IV poles, discarded plastic basins, and basic first-aid kits mounted to the walls.
While you click the wheel-locks of the bed into place, you glance up at Jungkook. He is standing there awkwardly, looking entirely out of place, his hands still resting stiffly on the metal railing of the gurney as if he doesn't know what to do with himself now that the running is over.
Wanting to pull him out of his shell and keep him grounded, you try to encourage him to help. "Hey, come here. Help me prep the line."
You move quickly, tearing open a fresh package of IV tubing and a bag of normal saline. "Hold this bag up for me while I spike it," you instruct gently, guiding his hands to the plastic loop.
You easily could have handled the setup alone, but you just want an excuse to interact with Jungkook, to keep him tethered to the moment instead of spiraling into his own head.
Jungkook complies without a word, his movements precise but stiff. Once you've connected the IV tubing to the saline bag, you reach back into the unlocked supply cabinet and grab an IV starter kit and a catheter. Then you gently guide his hands, showing him how to support Tae's arm to give you the best access while you search for a vein.
The atmosphere between the two of you is awkward. When you try talking to Jungkook—asking him to hold the tape or hand you another swab—he barely responds. He only shrugs or mutters short, clipped one-word answers, avoiding your gaze, still clearly bottling up his sullen attitude from earlier.
Over by the entryway, Jimin stands with his face practically pressed against the small glass window in the door, keeping watch on the empty hallway.
"Man," Jimin whispers loudly over his shoulder, wrinkling his nose. "It smells like absolute ass in here."
You slide the catheter into the vein, secure the cannula with tape, then connect the IV tubing. With a quick adjustment of the roller clamp, the saline begins flowing, dripping steadily through the line.
"Yeah, well, it's all alcohol and antiseptic smell. Get used to it." You mumble, turning your attention to the nasty gash on Tae's temple, you crack open a bottle of antiseptic and a packet of sterile gauze, carefully cleaning the wound before attempting to stitch it up.
Jungkook steps in closer, his hands automatically pressing a fresh pad of gauze to the side of Tae's head to absorb the excess fluid as you work.
Looking up at his tense, shadowed face, you try again. "Are you feeling good?"
"Fine," he mumbles, his voice entirely flat.
"Any side symptoms from the stimulant?"
He merely shrugs his broad shoulders, his eyes fixed stubbornly on the bloody gauze, refusing to meet your gaze.
A tense silence passes over the room as you work. You are just finishing up clearing the worst of the grit from Tae's wounds when a sudden, whimper cuts through the quiet. Taehyung’s eyelids violently start fluttering.
You gasp softly, dropping the gauze into the tray. "He's waking up."
"He is?!" Jimin whips around from his post. Completely forgetting about his lookout duty, he hurries to the side of the bed, leaving behind a greasy forehead print on the door's glass window.
Tae's eyes snap open, pupils rolling back before finally focusing. But the moment consciousness hits him, panic does too. He is visibly dizzy, his breathing instantly turning shallow and frantic. The room is spinning, his head is pounding like a bass drum, and he is utterly terrified and confused. As his vision clears, he sees three distinct faces peering down at him in the dim light.
With a breathless, animalistic whine, Taehyung violently flinches backward on the bed. He scrambles away from you, his arm flailing so hard he nearly rips the fresh IV line right out of his vein.
"No, no, no! Wait, stay!" you lunge forward to gently pin his shoulders to prevent him from dislodging the needle. "Don't move, you're going to pull the tube out! You're safe, I promise. You're safe."
Tae breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his wild, dilated eyes dart around the small perimeter, finally locking back onto the three faces staring back at him. He blinks through the haze, his gaze shifting from your panicked face, to Jimin's bewildered expression, and finally settling right on Jungkook.
The moment their eyes meet, the frantic thrashing stops completely, but neither of them says a word.
You look back and forth between them, the atmosphere thick with an uncomfortable, suffocating weight. Jungkook stands completely frozen, looking uncharacteristically abashed, a flicker of raw guilt crossing his features as he stares down at the battered hybrid. Taehyung slowly relaxes his rigid posture against the mattress, his heavy breathing shallow, but the tension between them is palpable. After the brutal, heartbreaking reality of being forced to tear each other apart in that cage for human amusement, facing each other in the quiet aftermath is clearly overwhelming.
Jimin clears his throat and cracks an awkward, nervous smile. "Lovely. Welcome back to the world of the living, buddy. Group hugs later."
You shoot Jimin a thoroughly resigned look, silently begging him with your eyes to stop talking.
Turning back to the gurney, you soften your voice, leaning closer to the dazed hybrid. "Tae, I'm Y/n," you say gently, offering a small, reassuring smile. "You're in a safe part of the hospital. You took a really bad hit to the head during the escape and you and you've lost a lot of blood, but we've got an IV in you and we're going to help patch you up, okay? Just try to breathe."
Taehyung’s dilated eyes gaze back at you, still glazed with pain and disorientation. He is sitting upright on the edge of the mattress now, his entire frame shivering violently from the shock and the sudden drop in blood pressure.
"I'm going to disinfect your wounds now, okay?" you murmur, preparing a fresh bottle of antiseptic.
Behind you, Jimin lets out a heavy sigh and slumps into one of the plastic waiting chairs he'd dragged near the door. "God, I am absolutely exhausted," he grumbles, closing his eyes and resting his head against the chair's backrest. "Wake me up if the guards come."
Ignoring his dramatic complaining, you look around the metal tray for more supplies, but you realize you've run through the last of the sterile packs.
"We need more gauze," you mutter.
You turn to the adjacent, empty patient bed and yank the thin, white cotton blanket off it, gently draping it over Tae's trembling shoulders to keep him warm.
"Kook, can you check in those drawers behind you? See if there are any extra gauze packages left."
While Jungkook moves to rifle through the drawers, you step directly in front of Taehyung to perform a basic neurological assessment.
"Tae, can you tell me what day it is? Do you know where you are?"
He opens his mouth, but only a faint, raspy hum comes out.
"It's okay. Don't force it. Just follow my finger with your eyes," you instruct, holding up your index finger and moving it slowly from left to right.
His gaze tracks it sluggishly, his pupils unevenly reacting to the light. As you lean closer to examine his head, your eyes drop to hishybrid ears. One of them remains upright, but the other is hanging completely limp and floppy.
"Let me see this," you whisper, your fingers gently reaching up to assess the injury. The moment your skin brushes the base of his ear, Taehyung winces violently, a low, pained whine catching in his throat. "It's probably broken," you note softly, your heart aching for him. "The cartilage is badly bruised and—"
"There's no gauze," Jungkook’s voice cuts in.
You blink, turning your head slightly. "Are you sure? Did you check the bottom drawers good?"
Jungkook doesn't answer, his entire body freezing the moment he notices your hand resting against the uninjured side of the older hybrid's neck, steadying him. But the second he realizes you’ve caught him staring, he quickly snaps his head back toward the drawer, aggressively slamming it shut before yanking another open, hiding his face behind the frantic search.
You let out a silent, internal sigh. You had almost forgotten how intensely difficult and territorial he could be when he was feeling vulnerable and defensive.
"Only this," Jungkook then mutters, turning around and stiffly thrusting a small, clean white hand towel toward you.
"Okay, that will have to do. Thank you." you say, taking it.
You pour a generous amount of clear antiseptic solution onto the cloth. "Tae, can you shift slightly for me? Turn your back toward the lamp."
Taehyung complies slowly, the blanket slipping down his shoulders. As the dim light hits his back, where the skin is mapped with angry, purplish-red welts and jagged lacerations; heavily bruised marks from the heavy chains and whips the guards had used to brutally rush him into the fighting cage. You gently begin to dab the antiseptic towel against the angry lines, wincing yourself when Taehyung’s muscles bunch in pain.
You are entirely focused on cleaning the deep scratches when Jungkook’s rough voice breaks the silence from right behind your shoulder.
"Y/n."
Hm?" you murmur, not breaking your rhythm as you dab the cloth against the raw skin of Tae’s back.
"I have wounds too," he states bluntly.
You stop and look at him, the damp cloth hovering just an inch above Taehyung's shoulder. A sharp pang of guilt hits as you take in the rigid, defensive set of his shoulders. You had completely prioritized Tae because he was the one who had been unconscious and bleeding out on the gurney earlier, but seeing the quiet, desperate longing in Jungkook’s wide doe eyes makes you feel genuinely awful. The last thing you ever wanted was for him to feel neglected or pushed aside.
"I know you do, Kook," you say softly, keeping your voice level. "I'm about to treat yours right after Tae’s. I’m almost finished here, okay?"
"They hurt bad," he insists. "Can't wait."
Beside you, Taehyung’s eyes flicker from your face over to the bunny. A immediate wave of guilt washes over Tae’s exhausted features. His gaze drops to the mattress as if he’s suddenly ashamed for taking up your time and care.
You know Jungkook isn't feeling good. Between the underground arena fight, the frantic sprint through the hospital tunnels, and the brutal physical strain, his body has to be aching. But as you look up and scan his frame, he doesn't exactly look like he's about to collapse from excruciating pain.
You look at him suspiciously, your eyes narrowing just a fraction as you decide to test his little act.
"Really?" you press, leaning back from Tae slightly. "It hurts that bad?
"Yes."
"How bad is it exactly? Scale of one to ten."
"Ten," he answers instantly, without a single shred of hesitation.
"A ten?" You raise an eyebrow, stepping toward him. "So it's so bad that you can't even stand still right now?"
Jungkook catches the trap immediately. He goes slightly taken aback, his long black ears twitching as he realizes he's currently standing perfectly upright, his posture rigid and stable. He shifts his weight quickly, trying to salvage his argument, his lower lip jutting out in a bratty pout.
"I can't," he mumbles, his voice dropping into a low, grumpy rumble as he fixes his fierce, possessive gaze right on you. "I will faint... If you won't help."
You let out a defeated sigh, holding back the urge to roll your eyes at his dramatically transparent jealousy display. He just wants your hands off Tae and on him, plain and simple.
"Jimin?" you call out. "Could you take the towel and finish treating Tae? I'm going to check the adjacent rooms for some more sterile gauze."
Jimin groans, pushing himself up from the plastic chair with an exhausted sigh. "Yeah, yeah. Hand it over. Nurse Park is on duty."
You hand the towel over to Jimin, who slides into your spot by the gurney to help a quiet, bewildered Tae.
Turning back toward the door, you smooth down the hem of your short outfit and cast a glance at the brooding hybrid.
"Come on, Jungkook," you say quietly. "Just don't faint on the way."
You don't have to tell him twice. The moment the words leave your mouth, Jungkook straightens up, the dramatic threat of passing out magically vanishing from his posture.
You turn the manual deadbolt, clicking the lock open. Before slipping through the gap, you lean back toward Jimin. "If anything happens," you whisper sharply, keeping your voice low enough not to carry into the corridor. "Scream."
Jimin lets out snort. "Don't worry, Y/N. I'm a coward. I absolutely will. Go."
You unlock the door. You crack the door open just an inch, peering out into the corridor. The long hallway is completely deserted, bathed only in the pale glow of the lights. Satisfied that the coast is clear, you slip out from the Prep room.The moment you are out, you grab Jungkook’s forearm, guiding him through the hall.
"Let’s check the next few doors," you murmur.
The first room you try is locked, the handle refusing to budge. You move down a few paces, pushing against a heavy gray door that surprisingly gives way with a soft creak. It’s a dedicated supply closet; cramped and lined with metal shelves stretching all the way to the ceiling. The small space is only lit by the ambient glow filtering in from the lights outside and the pale moonlight streaming through the narrow window.
Stepping inside, you instantly get to work, your eyes scanning the dark shelves until you spot exactly what you were looking for. "Jackpot," you whisper, reaching for a sealed plastic tub filled with sterile gauze pads, medical tape, and thick bandages.
Behind you, Jungkook stands awkwardly in the narrow space between the wire shelves. His shoulders are hunched, his hands shoved into the pockets of the fight shorts he's wearing.
"Sit," You gesture with your chin toward the low concrete windowsill that cuts through the back wall of the room.
He doesn't argue. With a quiet shuffle of his shoes, he moves over and drops his weight onto the sill, his legs bent at the knees as he watches you with a tired gaze. Silence falls over the room, broken only by the rustle of plastic as you gather the supplies. Every time you turn around, his dark doe eyes are fixed right on you, tracking the movement of your hands, the curve of your waist in the tight silver dress, the anxious tension in your jaw.
You gather a handful of antiseptic wipes, and walk over to set them down on the concrete next to his thigh. You stand right between his parted knees, looking down at his messy hair and the stubborn set of his mouth.
"Are you ready to talk?" you ask quietly, breaking the silence.
"About what?"
"About whatever is bouncing around in that head of yours," you say gently, your voice softening as you reach out to touch his chin.
He instantly tries to pull his head back, his eyes darting to the side. "Nothing is in my head."
But you still maintain your grip on his chin, your fingers refusing to let him fully slip away from you. With a gentle but firm pressure, you guide his face back toward yours, compelling his elusive doe eyes to meet your gaze
"So why are you acting so off?"
When he doesn't answer, you let out a quiet sigh .You gently tilt his head to the side, exposing the ugly, bruised puncture mark on his neck where the guard had violently injected the stimulant. You open a small bottle of antiseptic fluid, pouring it onto a fresh piece of gauze.
"Kook, I know it's completely overwhelming. All of this. The fight, the escape, suddenly being trapped in a hospital... I know it's a lot to process. But you want to help Tae, don't you?"
" I do."
"Then what is it?" You persist, pressing the damp gauze against the puncture wound.
The moment the cool liquid hits the raw skin, a shiver ripples straight through Jungkook’s entire body.
"Nothing." He mutters with his head tilted to the side, his jaw clenched against the sting.
"It's clearly not nothing," you confront him, keeping your touch incredibly light and tender so he doesn't feel pushed into a corner. You dab at the bruise, looking closely at his profile in the pale moonlight. "You make me worried when you act like this. Faking your pain just to drag me away, when you said you were perfectly fine earlier. I only prioritized Tae first because he was literally bleeding out. You think I don't see what you're doing? Jealousy doesn't suit you."
You pause, waiting until he finally looks up. When his gaze meets yours, his expressive doe eyes are swimming with a raw, heavy mix of exhaustion and fierce possessiveness.
"But you are my human," he grumbles, sulking openly now as he shifts on the concrete windowsill. "You could have made Jimin treat him from the start. Why did you have to touch him so much?"
You snort, a quiet laugh escaping your chest. "Jimin? Kook, if I left Jimin alone with medical supplies other than a gauze, he'd probably end up accidentally hooking himself up to the IV instead. He has no idea what he's doing."
"So what," Jungkook fires back instantly, refusing to let go of his stubborn grudge. His hand leaves his knee, sliding down to rest heavily against your thigh, his fingers gripping your bare skin. "I don't want to share you."
A rush of affection warms your chest. Deciding to tease him a little to break through the thick wall of tension, you reach up and gently pinch his soft cheek. "Oh, really? My bunny wants me all to himself?"
Jungkook looks absolutely adorable with his cheek pinched, his facade instantly crumbling into something soft and helpless.
"Taehyung was getting all your attention," he murmurs quietly, voice loosing it's sharp edge. His eyes dropping to your lips before flicking back to your gaze.
"But Tae won't get this," you whisper softly.
You lower yourself slightly, leaning forward over the windowsill until your breath hitches against his. You press a soft, lingering peck right on the cheek where your fingers had just pinched him. Jungkook lets out a soft, breathy huff against your neck, his grip on your thigh tightening.
"And he won't get this," you move inward to plant a kiss right on the tip of his nose.
Then you shift, your lips ghost right over his, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, teasing the edge of his mouth. "And..."
You feel Jungkook completely hold his breath. His long black ears perk straight up in anticipation, his body freezing beneath your touch as you slowly close the remaining distance.
The kiss is incredibly soft at first; slow, tender, almost hesitant. A tiny breeze slips through the broken window, brushing gently across your cheeks and mingling with the warmth of his breath. It ruffles a few loose strands of your hair, making the quiet moment feel even more fragile, as though the world outside has faded away.
But the gentleness doesn't last long. The kiss quickly deepens into something fierce and desperate, sending a wild flock of butterflies crashing through your stomach. Jungkook tilts his chin up, his hand on your leg tightening as he pulls you closer, refusing to let the contact end. He leans back, his bare back pressing flat against the cold window glass, completely unbothered by the chill as long as he has you.
You find yourself standing completely trapped between his parted thighs, leaning your entire weight into his chest as the pale moonlight washes over you both.
The kiss tastes like everything he's been bottling up all night: How desperately he's missed you, how utterly terrified he is of losing you, and how deeply, helplessly he's falling. He has no idea where this dangerous, uncertain path will lead, but he knows one thing for certain: he's walking it with love.
When you gently part your lips to catch your breath, Jungkook lets out a low, pleading rumble, refusing to let you go. He presses closer, his grip on your thigh tightening as if he wants to pull you right into his skin. But as much as your heart screams to stay, reality forces its way back in. You reluctantly pull your head back a fraction of an inch.
"We have to go back," you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling slightly.
Jungkook lets out a soft, defeated huff, his forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder. He stays there for a long moment.
As he rests against you, your eyes drift down his exposed shoulders. Your finger trace a series of faint, raised white lines cutting across his skin. You’ve seen these faded scars so many times before, but looking at them now, right after witnessing the horror of the arena, a sickening realization hits you. They look exactly like the fresh, angry lacerations currently bleeding across Tae's back.
"Jungkook... " Your breath catches, and your finger freeze right below his nape "Was tonight the first time fought in a ring?"
Jungkook’s body goes completely rigid under your touch. He slowly pulls his head back from your shoulder, biting the inside of his cheek so hard his jaw muscle leaps.
"No,"
You look at him, your heart aching with a sudden dread. "No?"
He stares down at his own hands, his knuckles still raw and split. "One of my old owners," he says, his voice dropping into a flat, numb register. "He made a lot of money off me. He made me attend the fights."
A profound silence fills the small supply room. You stand there, completely frozen between his thighs, staring at the broken boy in front of you. You already knew some scattered, painful details of his past, but you always find yourself wondering what else this poor bunny had to see and experience at such a young age.
This would always be your Roman Empire. The haunting, constant thought of his past, knowing you will probably never know his full story. There is just so much darkness he keeps entirely to himself, so many horrific memories locked away behind his stubborn, bratty walls. And as you look at the slight tremor in his hands, you realize that maybe it is better that way. Maybe knowing the full, unedited depth of what humans had done to him would completely break your heart beyond any repair.
You swallow down the lump in your throat, forcing a gentle smile onto your face as you gather the sterile gauze packets from the windowsill. "Let's get back to the others," you say softly, stepping back to give him room to hop down.
But before you can take a full step away, Jungkook’s hand shoots out, his fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist.
"Y/N?" he asks, his voice suddenly sounding incredibly small. He looks up at you through his messy dark bangs, his ears twitching back hesitantly.
You halt, turning back to him completely. "Yeah?"
He blinks, his grip on your wrist tightening just a fraction before his gaze drops awkwardly to the floor. "Nevermind."
"No, don't do that," you urge, stepping right back into the space between his knees and placing a hand over his. "Ask me."
Jungkook swallows hard. He looks up at you in the moonlight, his wide doe eyes shining with a raw, desperate question.
"Will you... will you still adopt me?"
You freeze. The question catches you completely off guard, and you don’t know why the answer suddenly feels so hard to pull from your throat.
You had been completely ready to sign the papers at the shelter today, desperate to save him and have him back in your arms. But standing here in the moonlight, looking at the raw vulnerability in his eyes, the concept of ownership hits you like a sickening wave. The thought of legally owning a living, breathing being–someone who feels so deeply, who possesses a soul so vibrant–feels so wrong. It twists painfully in your gut.
But you have to remind yourself that he isn't just a regular human, nor is he a pet. He is a hybrid. He is a beautiful, complex mix of fierce instinct and fragile devotion. A broken soul who has chosen to trust you completely, whose entire future depends on your protection.
You soften completely, the hesitation melting out of your chest. You wrap your fingers around his raw, trembling knuckles and squeeze his hand firmly.
"Of course I will," you whisper, your voice steady and fiercely certain.
"Really?" he asks, his voice barely audible. A sudden, brilliant spark of hope ignites in his wide doe eyes.
"Yes, really." You let out a tiny, breathless laugh, trying to break the heavy gravity of the moment. "You're stuck with me now, Kook."
The corners of his lips give a tiny twitch upward. It is the first real hint of a smile you've seen on him since the chaos began. The suffocating wall of jealousy and fear he had built up around himself finally crumbles, leaving him grounded, relaxed, and entirely yours.
"Come on," you urge gently. You tug on his hand, pulling him forward so he finally steps down from the wide concrete windowsill. "Let's go. We've kept Jimin and Tae waiting long enough."
You gather the medical supplies closely against your chest, the plastic packaging crinkling in the quiet space. Slipping out of the dark supply closet, you step back into the corridor. The return trip down the hallway passes without any danger. Reaching the Surgery Prep Room, you raise your knuckles and knock softly against the wood to signal it’s you.
You don't have to wait long. A distinct click echoes as the deadbolt is thrown back. The door swings open just a crack, and you are immediately met with Jimin’s face. His eyes dart past you to ensure the hall is empty, and he quickly gestures with his finger for you two to be quiet. You and Jungkook enter the room seamlessly, the door shutting behind you with a dull thud before Jimin throws the lock back into place.
Your eyes instantly travel to the gurney. Taehyung is lying still, the stiff hospital blanket pulled all the way up to his chin. His chest rises and falls in a slow pattern, his expression finally peaceful despite the ugly, dark bruising stretching across his temple.
Jimin lets out a quiet breath, leaning his back against the door. "He completely knocked out," he whispers, nodding toward the bed. "About two minutes after you guys left. The exhaustion just dragged him under."
"That's good," you murmur, setting the pile of supplies down on the stainless steel counter next to the IV pole. "He needs the sleep."
"Did you actually find what we needed, or did you just go on a romantic stroll through the hospital wing?" he teases in a low whisper, though his eyes are wide with curiosity.
You shoot him a glare and hold up the packages. "Sterile gauze, medical tape, and extra antiseptic. We’re fully stocked."
"Nice," Jimin says, a genuine sigh of relief escaping him. "Nurse Park approves."
But before you can even open the first box of gauze to check on Jungkook's arm, a loud phone ring cuts through the room.
"Shit, shit, shit—" Jimin Hisses, scrambling frantically. He digs his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and finally yanks his phone out. The screen illuminates his face in a harsh, bright blue light. He stares at the caller ID. "Fuck, it's Marcus."
He slides his thumb across the screen and presses the phone tightly to his ear. "Marcus? Hey. Yeah, man, I'm still at the hospital. What's up?" Jimin pauses, listening to the voice crackling on the other end of the line. As the seconds tick by, the casual demeanor fades from Jimin's face, replaced by a weird, strained expression. His eyes slowly lock onto you, tracking the ruined, glittering silver dress you’re wearing.
"Yeah... yeah, I know where she lives," Jimin says slowly, his voice tight as he keeps his gaze fixed entirely on your face. He nods along to whatever Marcus is saying, his brow furrowing deeper. "Mhm. Yeah, I'll let her know the second I see her or get a hold of her. Safe night."
Jimin clicks the phone off and lowers his hand, the screen fading to black.
"What?" you ask, your voice a frantic whisper as you take a step toward him.
"He said some woman just came and dropped off your bag."
"My bag?"
A cold dread pools in your stomach as the reality of his words sinks in. Your bag. Your phone is in that bag. Your ID is in that bag. But most importantly, your entire life is currently sitting in that bag—specifically, the payment card loaded with Hoseok's money that he had handed you to buy Jungkook’s freedom. You need to get it back. You need to check if that money is still safe, because if it's gone, you have absolutely no way out
Another A/N: Sup guys. I just wanted to say that I do not know a damn thing about any of the hospital stuff like doing IVs or whatever, so I had to rely on Google. Please do not use anything in this chapter as a medical guide. ( Personally, I can't even glue a bandage on my pinky toe properly)
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It's a destructive cycle you and Jungkook know all too well. Your love has always been toxic: an endless, exhausting cycle of pushing each other away just to pull each other back in, desperately holding onto a history too heavy to carry but too precious to let go of.
You've promised yourself, over and over again, that the next goodbye would be the last.
Until he shows up at your door, asking you to let him in just one more time.
And you do. ───────────────────────────────── ─────────────────────────────────
|| A/N: Welcome! This story was heavily inspired by the song "Cross My Heart." (BY ARTEMAS) i've had it on loop the entire time i was writing, and somehow it turned into this... anyways, hope you enjoy ♡ O S
word count: 4.5k N H
my masterlist E O
perm tag list T
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There is a specific kind of quiet that only exists after midnight, and it isn't peaceful. It’s deafening. A silence that makes your ears ring as they strain in the dark, desperately trying to catch onto the smallest sound, anything to prove you aren't the last person left alive.
You hate nights like this.
You hate them with a bitter, bone-deep exhaustion that leaves your throat dry and your eyes burning.
It’s one of those nights where the world is dead asleep, but you are suspended in a frustrating, empty limbo. You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing them pressed together so hard they ache, desperately hoping that if you just hold still enough, sleep will finally drag you under.
But it never does.
You toss to your left, but the pillow is immediately too warm. You toss to your right, but the sheets feel tangled and restrictive. You count sheep. You try to focus on your breathing. But your mind is too active, too loud. It keeps spinning, replaying things you want to forget, while the heavy silence of the apartment only amplifies the noise inside your head.
The brain is a cruel machine when it’s deprived of sleep, and tonight, it is determined to feed you a steady loop of the ghosts you’ve spent weeks trying to bury. Every memory, every harsh word, every lingering look you tried to forget comes back to crowd the bed. Specifically, him.
The phantom weight of Jungkook’s hand on your waist. The echo of his laugh when things were actually good, before the rot set in. The memories of your hands tangled in his dark hair, and the much fresher, sharper memory of the last time you screamed at each other until your throats were raw.
You had told him to leave.
You had watched him walk down the hallway, shoulders slumped, and you had locked the door, promising yourself that you were done. No more. The cycle had to stop before there was nothing left of both of you.
But the universe doesn’t care about your promises.
The clock on your nightstand flickers to 2:14 AM. The white LED numbers glow in the dark, a silent testament to your failure to rest.
You stare at the display, tracking the slow, agonizing change of each minute as if watching the time slide by could somehow force your brain to shut down. 2:15. 2:16. But before the numbers can shift again, the silence of the apartment is suddenly broken.
A series of uneven knocks thuds against your front door.
You instantly freeze, holding your breath so hard your chest aches. The sound is familiar—too familiar. You know the pattern. It’s a sloppy, heavy sequence of knocks that you’ve heard a hundred times before.
It’s the sound of someone who can barely stand, someone who has run out of places to go, someone who knows exactly which door will still open for him, no matter how late it gets.
You lie completely still in the dark, your heart hammering against your ribs, hoping that if you don't move, if you don't breathe, the person on the other side will think you aren't home and just go away.
But the knocking comes again, and again, and again.
With a defeated sight, you shift. You slide from the bed, the cold air hitting your bare skin, and grab a silk robe from the chair, draping it loosely over your shoulders. You pad barefoot across the cold floor, each step a freezing shock that should be waking your common sense up, but doesn't.
You tell yourself you've got this. You are going to walk to that door, look through the peephole, tell him to leave, and go right back to bed. You are going to be strong this time.
But you are a weak, pathetic thing when it comes to him.
Even before you reach the lock, your intentions are already a complete failure. The gravity of him is already pulling you in, warping your resolve before you've even seen his face.
As you step into the hallway and flick on the dim LEDs, the golden light casts long, distorted shadows on the walls. You stop right in front the door. You don't open it. Instead, you lean your forehead against the cool surface, closing your eyes
"Go home, Jungkook,"
There is a brief pause on the other side. Then, you hear the rustling sound of his jacket sliding against the outside of the door, followed by a dull, soft thud. He has leaned his forehead against the other side, right where yours is resting, separated only by a few inches of wood.
"I don't want to go home," he mutters. His voice is slurred, and terribly rough around the edges. "Open the door, please. "
"I can't," you say, pressing your forehead even harder against the door, feeling the coldness of the surface seep into your skin. "We've talked about this."
"Y/N..."
"No. We literally agreed. No more of this. No more late-night calls, no more showing up here when you're wasted. We said it was over."
" I know."
"Then why are you here?"
"Cause I don't care," he mutters, his voice cracking, aggressive but pathetic all at once. He bangs his fist lightly against the wood, a stubborn, demanding beat right next to your head. "Baby, I don't care what we said. I’m drunk, and I’m right here. His voice catches."Shit, I tried not to come. I really fucking tried."
"You can't just ignore what we agreed on whenever you feel like it," you breathe against the wood, your hand trembling as you rest it near the deadbolt. "You're being selfish."
"So let me be selfish," he shoots back, his tone turning sharper, pushing past his own sadness into something more demanding. "I'm not asking for much, Y/N. You're going to leave me out here in the hall? Really? After everything we had? You're going to act like you're too good to let me in?"
And there it is. The hook. The subtle, toxic twist of the knife that he knows exactly how to use. He doesn't even realize he's doing it—or maybe he does, and he's just too desperate to care. He is pulling at the threads of your sympathy, making his pain your responsibility, using your shared history as a weapon to force your hand.
The tragedy of it is that you both love each other. You really, truly believe that. It’s not a lie, and it’s not just physical. The love is there. It's deep, agonizing, and real. But it is a sick love. It’s a toxic, suffocating disease of a relationship because you do not work together. You never have, and you never will.
You want a quiet, consistent life with a partner who shows up on a Tuesday afternoon; he wants the thrill of the chase, his exploding career, the loud, chaotic nights, and the freedom to only love you when he has the time for it. You are moving in completely opposite directions, yet neither of you can bear the thought of letting go. So instead, you keep dragging each other back into the dirt.
"Stop it. You always do this" you whisper, the exhaustion finally pulling at your throat, making it ache. "You show up, you break my rules, and mess everything up. Just like you did last time."
"I know I fucked up," he grovels, his palms sliding down the door with a desperate, scraping sound. "I'm sorry. I promise I'll do better. I'll change, baby, I swear. Just let me in so can fix it.""
"Fix what, Jungkook?"
A pause.
"Fix us."
"There is no us anymore."
"Don't say that." His response is immediate. Too immediate. Like the thought alone is something he physically can't handle. "Don't fucking say that, Y/N."
"Why?" Your voice comes out quieter than you expect. "Because it's true?"
"No."
"You promise me everytime. Every single time, you stand there and tell me you're going to change. That this time will be different. That you'll choose me. Do you know how exhausting it is waiting for someone who keeps making you feel like you're optional?"
"Babe—"
"No, let me finish." Your voice shakes now, but you don't stop.
"You feed me all this bullshit, making me believe you're finally ready to stay, that we can actually manage this. And I believe you. I really do. But then you disappear again... You get caught up in your life, your work, your parties, whatever the hell else is more important in that moment, and then suddenly days go by. Sometimes weeks."
You close your eyes in bitter frustration, desperately trying to find the words that will finally get through his alcohol-fogged skull, to make him realize the damage he leaves in his wake.
"And just when I finally start to think it's over, just when I think I might actually survive you–you're at it again," you breathe, the hopelessness of the cycle washing over you. "You show up here drunk, expecting me to just wipe the slate clean."
"I don't expect you to just forget it," he mutters, the irritation flaring in his tone again, "But Jesus, Yn... So what if I had a few drinks and lost track of time? Big fucking deal. It’s not like I murdered someone."
"That's not the point."
"I know what the point is." His voice rises, defensive. "I know I messed up. I know you're mad. But I'm standing here, aren't I? I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got."
He trails off, a heavy, frustrated sigh escaping him as his knuckles thump once more against the solid wood. You hear him turn slightly, his back scraping against the door with a dull friction, his head dropping back against the panel with a soft thud.
"Fuck's sake..." he mumbles to himself, his voice dropping to a slurred whisper. "Why does it always have to be a battlefield with us? I just... I just wanted to see you."
You shift your head too, sliding your forehead along the wood until your temple is pressed against the cold door. Leaning tiredly, you look down at your bare feet.
Your thoughts blur together; You remember every promise, every apology, every time you've ended up right here again.
A quiet sigh escapes you.
"What am I supposed to do with you, Kook?"
"Let me in," he pleads, his voice dropping to that soft, desperate register that always manages to strip away your defenses. "I'll make more time for you. I swear to God I will. I’ll make them reschedule the promotions, I’ll clear my weekends. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just give me one last chance. "
He says it with so much conviction, but you know it's a lie. He knows it, too. He will sober up, the sun will rise, his phone will start ringing, and he will slip right back into the fast lane, leaving you in the dust again. He is offering you a counterfeit promise just to get past the lock, and you are starving enough to almost take it.
But God, you want to dream. Just for tonight, you want to pretend that this is real, that his words aren't just empty air, and that he might actually stay this time. You want to believe in the fantasy he is spinning, even if it burns you tomorrow.
"Whatever it takes?" you ask quietly, your voice barely louder than a breath.
"Anything," he says instantly, voice urgent. "Name it, Y/N. Anything."
"Why?" you ask. A small part of you already knows the answer, but you need to hear him say it. "Why would you do all of that?"
"Because I love you."
"Do you?"
There is a sudden, sharp intake of breath on the other side, and then the weight of his head disappears from the wood. You hear him step back, his boots scuffing the floor as irritation flares through his drunken haze.
Jungkook instantly recognizes your tone; that quiet, challenging tilt to your voice, the familiar trap you always set when you want to pull his insecurities to the surface. He can hear the calculated doubt in your question, the way you are intentionally pushing him to the edge just to watch him struggle for your validation.
"Are you really fucking doing this again, Y/N?" he snaps, his voice rising. "Are we seriously doing this right now? Every single time I try to get close, you find a way to question how I feel. You twist it around, you make me stand out here like a dog, and then you act like I don’t care about you just so you can feel like the victim."
"I'm not acting, Jungkook. You made me the victim the moment you decided I was only worth your time when you had nothing better to do."
"That's bullshit!" he barks. "I just told you I love you. I just told you I'd change. What the fuck else you want me to do?"
"I wanted you to mean it before you were standing outside my door scared of losing me."
"You think I don't mean it?"
"I think you mean it right now."
His breath catches. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that right now, you're afraid. You're drunk. You're desperate. You want me to open this door because you can't stand the idea of me actually letting you go."
"So what? That makes it fake?
"No. It makes it temporary."
For a moment, neither of you says anything.
You hear a quiet click from the other side of the door. The light in the stairwell flickers off, leaving Jungkook standing in the darkness outside your apartment.
"So?" he says after a moment, his voice sharp, frustration creeping back in. "That's it? You're just going to stand there and punish me for every mistake I've ever made?"
"I'm not punishing you."
"Oh, Really?" His laugh is bitter. "Because it feels like you need me to suffer. Like you need me standing out here begging until you finally believe I care."
He is not entirely wrong. But can he really blame you?
The truth is—You need this. You need to push him to the absolute edge, to make him beg, to hear him desperately lay his love until his voice is raw, deliberately holding the door closed to keep him suspended on the precipice of losing you. It is a broken coping pattern; after all the countless nights he neglected you, leaving you to choke on your own loneliness while he chased his loud, chaotic life, you want him to feel exactly how you felt. You want him stripped of his pride, proving his devotion just so you can feel a twisted sense of control. You want him to bleed for you the way you bled for him.
But Jungkook’s patience is a thin, frayed wire, and your stubbornness is finally cutting right through it.
The quiet of the hallway splinters as he slaps a heavy hand flat against the wood. The sudden, sharp crack of palm meeting door echoes loudly down the corridor. "Just open the fucking door, Y/N!"
You instinctively step back, a cold spike of panic hitting your chest, terrified the sudden noise will wake the neighbors.
"Look, I know I don't deserve you," he continues, his voice dropping slightly but vibrating with a resentful energy. "I know I’m a mess and I’m difficult, but that's just who the fuck I am. I’m built for the noise, and you knew that when you took me in. But don't act like you're completely innocent here, standing there judging me when you're the one holding all the power."
He lets out a ragged breath, his forehead thudding back against the panel.
"What do you want, huh? You want me to kneel for you? You want me on my knees in this hallway? Fucking fine, I'll do it. Just open the door."
The raw desperation in his voice cracks something inside you. Slowly, with trembling fingers, you reach out and unlock the deadbolt. The click of the metal feels monumental in the quiet apartment. You pull the door open, but only a fraction, leaving a slight gap between you.
The amber light from your entryway spills across him, casting him in a warm, low glow against the dim hallway. He looks utterly wrecked. His dark hair is a messy halo sticking up in every direction, and his eyes are blown, glassy with the weight of whatever he’s been drinking. His beige jacket hangs rumpled and half-buttoned over a dark shirt, slipping slightly off one shoulder. The moment his gaze lands on you, his jaw tightens. He bites down on his lower lip, trapping the metal of his lip ring between his teeth as if trying to hold back a wave of pure frustration and hunger.
For a second, he just stands there, tilting his head slightly as his eyes search yours with a raw, undeniable longing that makes your chest ache.
"Can I come in?" he mumbles finally.
You let out a soft, breathy snort at the sudden, ridiculous politeness of it. After all the bitter accusations, he’s standing on your threshold asking for permission like a reprimanded child.
But you don't say a word. You simply take a slow step backward into the shadows of your apartment, leaving the path clear.
Jungkook doesn't hesitate. He takes the silent invitation, stepping over the threshold and pushing the door shut behind him. The heavy click of the latch echoing in the room feels incredibly final. You stand in absolute silence, watching him reach back to turn the deadbolt, locking both of you inside.
When he turns back to face you, the air starts to feel suffocating. His heavy gaze drops from your eyes, trailing slowly down the length of your body, lingering on the soft, loose fabric of your robe before dragging itself back up to your face.
"You make me insane," he mutters, the words laced with an exhausted frustration.
Before you can even draw a breath, he steps deep into your space. One heavy hand lands on your shoulder, forcing you backward until your spine bumps against the wall-mounted coat rack. A row of hanging jackets cushions the impact, swallowing the force beneath layers of fabric as they sway around you.
Your eyes never leave his, refusing to look away even as he crowds you against the wall. He presses his body flush against yours, stealing every inch of space between you. Then dips his head until his forehead rests against yours. There is nothing separating them anymore.
"I do?" you whisper, your breath fanning across his lips.
He lets out a low, frustrated sound. "You know you fucking do,"
He hovers there, his lips so agonizingly close to yours that you can taste the faint burn of alcohol on his breath. The tension between you is thick, almost violent. The dizzying desire to finally feel his mouth on yours makes your head spin, sending a desperate, familiar ache singing right beneath your skin. It happens every single time—this humiliating rush of heat that instantly washes away all the carefully built-up resentment, leaving you completely exposed.
It’s a sick, repetitive game, but the truth is, you could push him away all you want, you could scream and lock him out, but the moment he is back in your space, a miserable, pathetic part of you is just happy he returned.
You are ready to give in the very moment his lips touch yours.
But Jungkook isn't going to make this easy. He is testing you. He keeps his lips just millimeters from yours, refusing to close the final gap himself. He’s waiting, daring you to be the one to break first, to be the one to weaken and show your hand. It’s cruel. It's incredibly, agonizingly cruel.
But tonight, you don't care. You have nothing left to lose except him, and the emptiness of the apartment is a far worse enemy than his arrogance.
So, you yield.
You tilt your chin up, bridging the gap, and press your lips to his.
The moment your mouths touch, the restraint snaps. Jungkook groans into the kiss, leaning into you with a force that arches your back against the wall. His arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, while your hands instinctively find the collar of his half-buttoned jacket, clutching the heavy fabric to keep your footing.
He breathes into you, his mouth hungry and relentless, your lips fitting together with terrifying perfection. The cool metal of his lip ring catches against your bottom lip, familiar enough that you already know it'll leave behind another faint imprint by morning.
Jungkook knows exactly how to appease your anger, and you know exactly how to draw the human out of his shell. You both know each other too well; Every trigger, every soft spot, every broken piece.
Watching from the outside, someone might actually think the two of you were perfect for each other. They would see the seamless way your bodies align, the effortless gravity that pulls you back into his orbit no matter how far he drifts.
But the truth is far uglier. You aren't perfect for each other. You are a slow-burning disaster. Yet, somehow, no matter how toxic you two are together, you are infinitely worse apart. Separation is a hollow, torturous withdrawal that neither of us has the strength to survive.
The kiss deepens, turning fierce and bruising. Jungkook’s tongue slides past your lips, claiming your mouth with a dizzying heat that makes your knees buckle. His fingers dig into the soft silk of your robe, pulling you so close that you can feel the erratic thud of his heartbeat directly against yours. The scent of dark liquor and despair pours off him, filling your senses until you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t remember why you wanted him gone in the first place.
Slowly, agonizingly, he pulls back just a fraction. His lips brush against yours as he pants. A dark smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his hazy, bedroom eyes dripping with smug satisfaction.
"See?" he rasps, the vibration of his voice sending a shiver straight down your spine. "All that big talk behind the door... and you still let me in."
You swallow hard, as you try to claw back even a shred of your dignity. "I can still throw you out." you mutter, though the threat has no teeth, especially not when your fingers are still tightly tangled in his collar. "The door isn't far."
He lets out a low, amused hum, completely unbothered. Instead of answering, he lets his head drop, his breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck. He presses a slow kiss right below your jawline, the cool metal of his lip ring scraping deliciously against your warm skin, as he drags his lips down the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.
"Pretty little liar," he murmurs against your pulse point. "You’re not throwing me anywhere."
Your legs go weak under the the searing heat of his lips, your knees practically collapsing. To keep from sliding down the wall, you let your hands slip from his jacket, burying your fingers deep into his soft, messy dark hair to hold him close.
"You are insufferable," you gasp out, tilting your head back to give him better access, even as you curse yourself for doing it.
"Yeah," His grip on your waist tightening, pulling you so close that there is no air left between your bodies. "But I'm yours."
Im yours Im yours Im yours
The words are a vow, a beautiful, echoing illusion. Before you can protest, he nips at the sensitive sweet spot where your neck meets your shoulder. He sucks softly, marking it, claiming you as if he has every right to do so, as if he isn't going to disappear the moment morning light spills across the floorboards.
A sharp, electric shiver cascades down your spine, your body betraying you completely as you arch into his touch. You push your head up, trying to breathe, trying to grasp onto some semblance of reality as his mouth slide over your skin again, sending a violent rush of goosebumps across your arms.
But in your dazed, frantic movement, your shoulder jolts against the coat rack mounted on the wall just above you. With a soft rustle, one of your heavy winter coats slips from its hook, draping right over your head and shoulders.
Through the darkness, you hear Jungkook let out a breathless chuckle, the vibration settling warmly against your skin. He straightens up, his hands slipping from your waist to trail slowly up your arms. His fingers catch the hem of the coat, pulling it off your head in one slow motion before letting it pool onto the floor.
"There you are," he murmurs, his lips twitching with amusement as he looks down at your flushed face.
But the teasing warmth in his expression quickly fades, replaced by something more serious. His dark, hazy eyes lock onto yours, burning with a sudden intensity.
"Your turn," he whispers.
Your breath catches in your throat. "For what?"
"Tell me you're mine."
You freeze. A heavy pause hangs in the air. Your eyes shake as you look up into his, searching the depths of his gaze.
It is torturous. He has your heart in a vice, and you suffer for it every single day. Bleeding out in the quiet of this apartment while he runs wild in the light. But despite the anger, despite the loneliness, the truth is written in your bones. You belong to him. In moments like this, when he has stripped away all his defenses and laid his desperation bare, he has every single piece of you.
"All yours," you breathe.
The words have barely left your mouth when the atmosphere shifts. Jungkook's gaze darkens, his eyes dropping to your lips before slowly tracing the column of your throat, only to find yours again. His expression is intensely focused, heavy with a silent, simmering hunger.
Slowly, without ever breaking eye contact, he lowers himself. His hands slide down your hips, then your thighs, his touch burning through the thin silk of your robe until he is kneeling in front of you, his knees pressed against the cold hardwood floor.
He looks up at you from below, his messy hair falling over his forehead, his jaw tense as he clutches the hem of your silk robe. It is exactly what he threatened to do—what you secretly, obsessively craved. He is kneeling to beg for your forgiveness, greedy for your love, desperate to consume whatever crumbs of you he can get. Even if this twisted love destroys you both by morning.
i finally had time to read ch20 of ftdbi and let me tell u how i was on the EDGEEE of my seat omfg i almost pissed myself when y/n pulled the fire alarm 😭😭 i lvoe ur writing AND this new jk fic u put out was fire
She had to pull that fire alarm cause JK too hot (and was on da verge of dying but that's just a mere detail)
It's a destructive cycle you and Jungkook know all too well. Your love has always been toxic: an endless, exhausting cycle of pushing each other away just to pull each other back in, desperately holding onto a history too heavy to carry but too precious to let go of.
You've promised yourself, over and over again, that the next goodbye would be the last.
Until he shows up at your door, asking you to let him in just one more time.
And you do. ───────────────────────────────── ─────────────────────────────────
|| A/N: Welcome! This story was heavily inspired by the song "Cross My Heart." (BY ARTEMAS) i've had it on loop the entire time i was writing, and somehow it turned into this... anyways, hope you enjoy ♡ O S
word count: 4.5k N H
my masterlist E O
perm tag list T
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There is a specific kind of quiet that only exists after midnight, and it isn't peaceful. It’s deafening. A silence that makes your ears ring as they strain in the dark, desperately trying to catch onto the smallest sound, anything to prove you aren't the last person left alive.
You hate nights like this.
You hate them with a bitter, bone-deep exhaustion that leaves your throat dry and your eyes burning.
It’s one of those nights where the world is dead asleep, but you are suspended in a frustrating, empty limbo. You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing them pressed together so hard they ache, desperately hoping that if you just hold still enough, sleep will finally drag you under.
But it never does.
You toss to your left, but the pillow is immediately too warm. You toss to your right, but the sheets feel tangled and restrictive. You count sheep. You try to focus on your breathing. But your mind is too active, too loud. It keeps spinning, replaying things you want to forget, while the heavy silence of the apartment only amplifies the noise inside your head.
The brain is a cruel machine when it’s deprived of sleep, and tonight, it is determined to feed you a steady loop of the ghosts you’ve spent weeks trying to bury. Every memory, every harsh word, every lingering look you tried to forget comes back to crowd the bed. Specifically, him.
The phantom weight of Jungkook’s hand on your waist. The echo of his laugh when things were actually good, before the rot set in. The memories of your hands tangled in his dark hair, and the much fresher, sharper memory of the last time you screamed at each other until your throats were raw.
You had told him to leave.
You had watched him walk down the hallway, shoulders slumped, and you had locked the door, promising yourself that you were done. No more. The cycle had to stop before there was nothing left of both of you.
But the universe doesn’t care about your promises.
The clock on your nightstand flickers to 2:14 AM. The white LED numbers glow in the dark, a silent testament to your failure to rest.
You stare at the display, tracking the slow, agonizing change of each minute as if watching the time slide by could somehow force your brain to shut down. 2:15. 2:16. But before the numbers can shift again, the silence of the apartment is suddenly broken.
A series of uneven knocks thuds against your front door.
You instantly freeze, holding your breath so hard your chest aches. The sound is familiar—too familiar. You know the pattern. It’s a sloppy, heavy sequence of knocks that you’ve heard a hundred times before.
It’s the sound of someone who can barely stand, someone who has run out of places to go, someone who knows exactly which door will still open for him, no matter how late it gets.
You lie completely still in the dark, your heart hammering against your ribs, hoping that if you don't move, if you don't breathe, the person on the other side will think you aren't home and just go away.
But the knocking comes again, and again, and again.
With a defeated sight, you shift. You slide from the bed, the cold air hitting your bare skin, and grab a silk robe from the chair, draping it loosely over your shoulders. You pad barefoot across the cold floor, each step a freezing shock that should be waking your common sense up, but doesn't.
You tell yourself you've got this. You are going to walk to that door, look through the peephole, tell him to leave, and go right back to bed. You are going to be strong this time.
But you are a weak, pathetic thing when it comes to him.
Even before you reach the lock, your intentions are already a complete failure. The gravity of him is already pulling you in, warping your resolve before you've even seen his face.
As you step into the hallway and flick on the dim LEDs, the golden light casts long, distorted shadows on the walls. You stop right in front the door. You don't open it. Instead, you lean your forehead against the cool surface, closing your eyes
"Go home, Jungkook,"
There is a brief pause on the other side. Then, you hear the rustling sound of his jacket sliding against the outside of the door, followed by a dull, soft thud. He has leaned his forehead against the other side, right where yours is resting, separated only by a few inches of wood.
"I don't want to go home," he mutters. His voice is slurred, and terribly rough around the edges. "Open the door, please. "
"I can't," you say, pressing your forehead even harder against the door, feeling the coldness of the surface seep into your skin. "We've talked about this."
"Y/N..."
"No. We literally agreed. No more of this. No more late-night calls, no more showing up here when you're wasted. We said it was over."
" I know."
"Then why are you here?"
"Cause I don't care," he mutters, his voice cracking, aggressive but pathetic all at once. He bangs his fist lightly against the wood, a stubborn, demanding beat right next to your head. "Baby, I don't care what we said. I’m drunk, and I’m right here. His voice catches."Shit, I tried not to come. I really fucking tried."
"You can't just ignore what we agreed on whenever you feel like it," you breathe against the wood, your hand trembling as you rest it near the deadbolt. "You're being selfish."
"So let me be selfish," he shoots back, his tone turning sharper, pushing past his own sadness into something more demanding. "I'm not asking for much, Y/N. You're going to leave me out here in the hall? Really? After everything we had? You're going to act like you're too good to let me in?"
And there it is. The hook. The subtle, toxic twist of the knife that he knows exactly how to use. He doesn't even realize he's doing it—or maybe he does, and he's just too desperate to care. He is pulling at the threads of your sympathy, making his pain your responsibility, using your shared history as a weapon to force your hand.
The tragedy of it is that you both love each other. You really, truly believe that. It’s not a lie, and it’s not just physical. The love is there. It's deep, agonizing, and real. But it is a sick love. It’s a toxic, suffocating disease of a relationship because you do not work together. You never have, and you never will.
You want a quiet, consistent life with a partner who shows up on a Tuesday afternoon; he wants the thrill of the chase, his exploding career, the loud, chaotic nights, and the freedom to only love you when he has the time for it. You are moving in completely opposite directions, yet neither of you can bear the thought of letting go. So instead, you keep dragging each other back into the dirt.
"Stop it. You always do this" you whisper, the exhaustion finally pulling at your throat, making it ache. "You show up, you break my rules, and mess everything up. Just like you did last time."
"I know I fucked up," he grovels, his palms sliding down the door with a desperate, scraping sound. "I'm sorry. I promise I'll do better. I'll change, baby, I swear. Just let me in so can fix it.""
"Fix what, Jungkook?"
A pause.
"Fix us."
"There is no us anymore."
"Don't say that." His response is immediate. Too immediate. Like the thought alone is something he physically can't handle. "Don't fucking say that, Y/N."
"Why?" Your voice comes out quieter than you expect. "Because it's true?"
"No."
"You promise me everytime. Every single time, you stand there and tell me you're going to change. That this time will be different. That you'll choose me. Do you know how exhausting it is waiting for someone who keeps making you feel like you're optional?"
"Babe—"
"No, let me finish." Your voice shakes now, but you don't stop.
"You feed me all this bullshit, making me believe you're finally ready to stay, that we can actually manage this. And I believe you. I really do. But then you disappear again... You get caught up in your life, your work, your parties, whatever the hell else is more important in that moment, and then suddenly days go by. Sometimes weeks."
You close your eyes in bitter frustration, desperately trying to find the words that will finally get through his alcohol-fogged skull, to make him realize the damage he leaves in his wake.
"And just when I finally start to think it's over, just when I think I might actually survive you–you're at it again," you breathe, the hopelessness of the cycle washing over you. "You show up here drunk, expecting me to just wipe the slate clean."
"I don't expect you to just forget it," he mutters, the irritation flaring in his tone again, "But Jesus, Yn... So what if I had a few drinks and lost track of time? Big fucking deal. It’s not like I murdered someone."
"That's not the point."
"I know what the point is." His voice rises, defensive. "I know I messed up. I know you're mad. But I'm standing here, aren't I? I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got."
He trails off, a heavy, frustrated sigh escaping him as his knuckles thump once more against the solid wood. You hear him turn slightly, his back scraping against the door with a dull friction, his head dropping back against the panel with a soft thud.
"Fuck's sake..." he mumbles to himself, his voice dropping to a slurred whisper. "Why does it always have to be a battlefield with us? I just... I just wanted to see you."
You shift your head too, sliding your forehead along the wood until your temple is pressed against the cold door. Leaning tiredly, you look down at your bare feet.
Your thoughts blur together; You remember every promise, every apology, every time you've ended up right here again.
A quiet sigh escapes you.
"What am I supposed to do with you, Kook?"
"Let me in," he pleads, his voice dropping to that soft, desperate register that always manages to strip away your defenses. "I'll make more time for you. I swear to God I will. I’ll make them reschedule the promotions, I’ll clear my weekends. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just give me one last chance. "
He says it with so much conviction, but you know it's a lie. He knows it, too. He will sober up, the sun will rise, his phone will start ringing, and he will slip right back into the fast lane, leaving you in the dust again. He is offering you a counterfeit promise just to get past the lock, and you are starving enough to almost take it.
But God, you want to dream. Just for tonight, you want to pretend that this is real, that his words aren't just empty air, and that he might actually stay this time. You want to believe in the fantasy he is spinning, even if it burns you tomorrow.
"Whatever it takes?" you ask quietly, your voice barely louder than a breath.
"Anything," he says instantly, voice urgent. "Name it, Y/N. Anything."
"Why?" you ask. A small part of you already knows the answer, but you need to hear him say it. "Why would you do all of that?"
"Because I love you."
"Do you?"
There is a sudden, sharp intake of breath on the other side, and then the weight of his head disappears from the wood. You hear him step back, his boots scuffing the floor as irritation flares through his drunken haze.
Jungkook instantly recognizes your tone; that quiet, challenging tilt to your voice, the familiar trap you always set when you want to pull his insecurities to the surface. He can hear the calculated doubt in your question, the way you are intentionally pushing him to the edge just to watch him struggle for your validation.
"Are you really fucking doing this again, Y/N?" he snaps, his voice rising. "Are we seriously doing this right now? Every single time I try to get close, you find a way to question how I feel. You twist it around, you make me stand out here like a dog, and then you act like I don’t care about you just so you can feel like the victim."
"I'm not acting, Jungkook. You made me the victim the moment you decided I was only worth your time when you had nothing better to do."
"That's bullshit!" he barks. "I just told you I love you. I just told you I'd change. What the fuck else you want me to do?"
"I wanted you to mean it before you were standing outside my door scared of losing me."
"You think I don't mean it?"
"I think you mean it right now."
His breath catches. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that right now, you're afraid. You're drunk. You're desperate. You want me to open this door because you can't stand the idea of me actually letting you go."
"So what? That makes it fake?
"No. It makes it temporary."
For a moment, neither of you says anything.
You hear a quiet click from the other side of the door. The light in the stairwell flickers off, leaving Jungkook standing in the darkness outside your apartment.
"So?" he says after a moment, his voice sharp, frustration creeping back in. "That's it? You're just going to stand there and punish me for every mistake I've ever made?"
"I'm not punishing you."
"Oh, Really?" His laugh is bitter. "Because it feels like you need me to suffer. Like you need me standing out here begging until you finally believe I care."
He is not entirely wrong. But can he really blame you?
The truth is—You need this. You need to push him to the absolute edge, to make him beg, to hear him desperately lay his love until his voice is raw, deliberately holding the door closed to keep him suspended on the precipice of losing you. It is a broken coping pattern; after all the countless nights he neglected you, leaving you to choke on your own loneliness while he chased his loud, chaotic life, you want him to feel exactly how you felt. You want him stripped of his pride, proving his devotion just so you can feel a twisted sense of control. You want him to bleed for you the way you bled for him.
But Jungkook’s patience is a thin, frayed wire, and your stubbornness is finally cutting right through it.
The quiet of the hallway splinters as he slaps a heavy hand flat against the wood. The sudden, sharp crack of palm meeting door echoes loudly down the corridor. "Just open the fucking door, Y/N!"
You instinctively step back, a cold spike of panic hitting your chest, terrified the sudden noise will wake the neighbors.
"Look, I know I don't deserve you," he continues, his voice dropping slightly but vibrating with a resentful energy. "I know I’m a mess and I’m difficult, but that's just who the fuck I am. I’m built for the noise, and you knew that when you took me in. But don't act like you're completely innocent here, standing there judging me when you're the one holding all the power."
He lets out a ragged breath, his forehead thudding back against the panel.
"What do you want, huh? You want me to kneel for you? You want me on my knees in this hallway? Fucking fine, I'll do it. Just open the door."
The raw desperation in his voice cracks something inside you. Slowly, with trembling fingers, you reach out and unlock the deadbolt. The click of the metal feels monumental in the quiet apartment. You pull the door open, but only a fraction, leaving a slight gap between you.
The amber light from your entryway spills across him, casting him in a warm, low glow against the dim hallway. He looks utterly wrecked. His dark hair is a messy halo sticking up in every direction, and his eyes are blown, glassy with the weight of whatever he’s been drinking. His beige jacket hangs rumpled and half-buttoned over a dark shirt, slipping slightly off one shoulder. The moment his gaze lands on you, his jaw tightens. He bites down on his lower lip, trapping the metal of his lip ring between his teeth as if trying to hold back a wave of pure frustration and hunger.
For a second, he just stands there, tilting his head slightly as his eyes search yours with a raw, undeniable longing that makes your chest ache.
"Can I come in?" he mumbles finally.
You let out a soft, breathy snort at the sudden, ridiculous politeness of it. After all the bitter accusations, he’s standing on your threshold asking for permission like a reprimanded child.
But you don't say a word. You simply take a slow step backward into the shadows of your apartment, leaving the path clear.
Jungkook doesn't hesitate. He takes the silent invitation, stepping over the threshold and pushing the door shut behind him. The heavy click of the latch echoing in the room feels incredibly final. You stand in absolute silence, watching him reach back to turn the deadbolt, locking both of you inside.
When he turns back to face you, the air starts to feel suffocating. His heavy gaze drops from your eyes, trailing slowly down the length of your body, lingering on the soft, loose fabric of your robe before dragging itself back up to your face.
"You make me insane," he mutters, the words laced with an exhausted frustration.
Before you can even draw a breath, he steps deep into your space. One heavy hand lands on your shoulder, forcing you backward until your spine bumps against the wall-mounted coat rack. A row of hanging jackets cushions the impact, swallowing the force beneath layers of fabric as they sway around you.
Your eyes never leave his, refusing to look away even as he crowds you against the wall. He presses his body flush against yours, stealing every inch of space between you. Then dips his head until his forehead rests against yours. There is nothing separating them anymore.
"I do?" you whisper, your breath fanning across his lips.
He lets out a low, frustrated sound. "You know you fucking do,"
He hovers there, his lips so agonizingly close to yours that you can taste the faint burn of alcohol on his breath. The tension between you is thick, almost violent. The dizzying desire to finally feel his mouth on yours makes your head spin, sending a desperate, familiar ache singing right beneath your skin. It happens every single time—this humiliating rush of heat that instantly washes away all the carefully built-up resentment, leaving you completely exposed.
It’s a sick, repetitive game, but the truth is, you could push him away all you want, you could scream and lock him out, but the moment he is back in your space, a miserable, pathetic part of you is just happy he returned.
You are ready to give in the very moment his lips touch yours.
But Jungkook isn't going to make this easy. He is testing you. He keeps his lips just millimeters from yours, refusing to close the final gap himself. He’s waiting, daring you to be the one to break first, to be the one to weaken and show your hand. It’s cruel. It's incredibly, agonizingly cruel.
But tonight, you don't care. You have nothing left to lose except him, and the emptiness of the apartment is a far worse enemy than his arrogance.
So, you yield.
You tilt your chin up, bridging the gap, and press your lips to his.
The moment your mouths touch, the restraint snaps. Jungkook groans into the kiss, leaning into you with a force that arches your back against the wall. His arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, while your hands instinctively find the collar of his half-buttoned jacket, clutching the heavy fabric to keep your footing.
He breathes into you, his mouth hungry and relentless, your lips fitting together with terrifying perfection. The cool metal of his lip ring catches against your bottom lip, familiar enough that you already know it'll leave behind another faint imprint by morning.
Jungkook knows exactly how to appease your anger, and you know exactly how to draw the human out of his shell. You both know each other too well; Every trigger, every soft spot, every broken piece.
Watching from the outside, someone might actually think the two of you were perfect for each other. They would see the seamless way your bodies align, the effortless gravity that pulls you back into his orbit no matter how far he drifts.
But the truth is far uglier. You aren't perfect for each other. You are a slow-burning disaster. Yet, somehow, no matter how toxic you two are together, you are infinitely worse apart. Separation is a hollow, torturous withdrawal that neither of us has the strength to survive.
The kiss deepens, turning fierce and bruising. Jungkook’s tongue slides past your lips, claiming your mouth with a dizzying heat that makes your knees buckle. His fingers dig into the soft silk of your robe, pulling you so close that you can feel the erratic thud of his heartbeat directly against yours. The scent of dark liquor and despair pours off him, filling your senses until you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t remember why you wanted him gone in the first place.
Slowly, agonizingly, he pulls back just a fraction. His lips brush against yours as he pants. A dark smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his hazy, bedroom eyes dripping with smug satisfaction.
"See?" he rasps, the vibration of his voice sending a shiver straight down your spine. "All that big talk behind the door... and you still let me in."
You swallow hard, as you try to claw back even a shred of your dignity. "I can still throw you out." you mutter, though the threat has no teeth, especially not when your fingers are still tightly tangled in his collar. "The door isn't far."
He lets out a low, amused hum, completely unbothered. Instead of answering, he lets his head drop, his breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck. He presses a slow kiss right below your jawline, the cool metal of his lip ring scraping deliciously against your warm skin, as he drags his lips down the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.
"Pretty little liar," he murmurs against your pulse point. "You’re not throwing me anywhere."
Your legs go weak under the the searing heat of his lips, your knees practically collapsing. To keep from sliding down the wall, you let your hands slip from his jacket, burying your fingers deep into his soft, messy dark hair to hold him close.
"You are insufferable," you gasp out, tilting your head back to give him better access, even as you curse yourself for doing it.
"Yeah," His grip on your waist tightening, pulling you so close that there is no air left between your bodies. "But I'm yours."
Im yours Im yours Im yours
The words are a vow, a beautiful, echoing illusion. Before you can protest, he nips at the sensitive sweet spot where your neck meets your shoulder. He sucks softly, marking it, claiming you as if he has every right to do so, as if he isn't going to disappear the moment morning light spills across the floorboards.
A sharp, electric shiver cascades down your spine, your body betraying you completely as you arch into his touch. You push your head up, trying to breathe, trying to grasp onto some semblance of reality as his mouth slide over your skin again, sending a violent rush of goosebumps across your arms.
But in your dazed, frantic movement, your shoulder jolts against the coat rack mounted on the wall just above you. With a soft rustle, one of your heavy winter coats slips from its hook, draping right over your head and shoulders.
Through the darkness, you hear Jungkook let out a breathless chuckle, the vibration settling warmly against your skin. He straightens up, his hands slipping from your waist to trail slowly up your arms. His fingers catch the hem of the coat, pulling it off your head in one slow motion before letting it pool onto the floor.
"There you are," he murmurs, his lips twitching with amusement as he looks down at your flushed face.
But the teasing warmth in his expression quickly fades, replaced by something more serious. His dark, hazy eyes lock onto yours, burning with a sudden intensity.
"Your turn," he whispers.
Your breath catches in your throat. "For what?"
"Tell me you're mine."
You freeze. A heavy pause hangs in the air. Your eyes shake as you look up into his, searching the depths of his gaze.
It is torturous. He has your heart in a vice, and you suffer for it every single day. Bleeding out in the quiet of this apartment while he runs wild in the light. But despite the anger, despite the loneliness, the truth is written in your bones. You belong to him. In moments like this, when he has stripped away all his defenses and laid his desperation bare, he has every single piece of you.
"All yours," you breathe.
The words have barely left your mouth when the atmosphere shifts. Jungkook's gaze darkens, his eyes dropping to your lips before slowly tracing the column of your throat, only to find yours again. His expression is intensely focused, heavy with a silent, simmering hunger.
Slowly, without ever breaking eye contact, he lowers himself. His hands slide down your hips, then your thighs, his touch burning through the thin silk of your robe until he is kneeling in front of you, his knees pressed against the cold hardwood floor.
He looks up at you from below, his messy hair falling over his forehead, his jaw tense as he clutches the hem of your silk robe. It is exactly what he threatened to do—what you secretly, obsessively craved. He is kneeling to beg for your forgiveness, greedy for your love, desperate to consume whatever crumbs of you he can get. Even if this twisted love destroys you both by morning.
Author what inspired you to write ftdbi? It's absolutely surreal how your genius brain curated this plot. I have never been this hooked to a story before.
And the character development and dynamics?! Oof...chef's kiss! So perfect yet imperfectly real!
Thank you for bringing me back from my reading slump <333
uff i don't really know, honestly...😅 i’ve always found the hybrid AU concept so interesting, and then one day this random idea just popped into my head and i decided to just run with it xx
i'm glad it got you out of your reading slump <3 and thank you so so so so soooo much for the love 💓💓
omg im suffering for nothing but also i wanna suffer cause WDYM now they are trying to save tae like girl 😭😭😭 omg im gonna run out of tears to shed for this story you girl have a power over me and i couldn't be more happy THANK YOU FOR THIS STORY mwua 🫶🏻
aww you are so cute!! :(( remember to drink some water with all this crying girl!! Hydration is da key 💦 TYSM for reading and for all the love, i appreciate it more than you know!! 💓💓💓
HIIIII !!! i’ve got a few asks about a perm list so i finally decided to sit down and make it happen ×× 🐮🐮🐮
N O T E: Just heads up, Im mostly staying with Jungkook fanfics for now (he is my bias ok? leave me alone ) but im not saying i wont ever write for the other members in the future either—anywayyy, being on my perm. list means you’ll be tagged whenever i post a new writing-related content .
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wanna be tagged?
Just leave a comment under this post (or literally any of my other posts), send me an ask, a dm, or... mail me a handwritten letter if you wanna be romantic bout it. I'll happily add u <3
¡ also if you ever change your mind, lose interest, decide my writing is actually kinda ass... just let me know (no hard feelings at all ) — i'll remove u from the tag list and i'll think of you as my biggest hater for the rest of my life (lol im joking i will survive it *or not*)
what to expect:
i honestly have so many random ideas in my head all the time, and i usually just go with the flow and write whatever vibe i have in the moment. i don't like to limit myself to only one genre and i really love to experiment with my prose, pacing, and overall writing style so u guys can pretty much expect anything.
im planning to drop mostly:
🐮 O N E SHO TS: a mix of shorter ones and longer ones too (cause i have like zero self-control lol my bad)
🐮 M I NI SER IE S: shorter multi-part stories so we don't get stuck forever.
ALL TH E GE N RES: romance, angst, fluff, smut?, thrillers, rom-coms, toxic dynamics, unhinged plots, and maybe even some song fics.
lil warning:
my upload schedule is completely non-existent lol. sometimes i'll drop stuff super quick back-to-back, and other times i'll completely disappear for a bit. just bear with me please 💀
if u guys are up for the ride and interested in whatever is about to come next, get on the list below xxox
It definitely do make senseeeeee to extent it longerrrr please it's soooo good it's been a while to get a hybrid story this good don't want it to end it soon pleasee!!!!
Ok if you say soooooo. (Im still not fully convinceeed)
I love how feral things is so devastating as a story and complex, but ur just so nonchalant whenever you respond to asks. Or that last authors note where u were like “lol how’d we feel abt that, oh btw im going on vacation see ya” after jk was literally just sold like i cant 🤣😭
lol i guess that's cause I put my blood sweat and tears into making the story devastating, but once the writing is done and the chapter is posted my job is over and i can be dumb again xx you guys suffer over the plot but thats not any of my business anymore, i'm free 💓💓💓
You never planned on taking in a hybrid. Especially not one like him.
You offer him food. A place to stay. Rules.
He offers you obedience. Tension. Trouble.
Because hybrids like him don't know how to exist without earning their place and you're about to learn that kindness, to someone like Jungkook, can feel just as dangerous as cruelty.
A/N: if you're here for emotional damage, slow-burn tension and a little bit of chaos-then yeah. let's go... this fic is messy in all the ways: hurt, comfort, trust issues, anc a hybrid who doesn't really know how to be safe even when he finally is.
When you find out the person you care about most in the entire world has been taken away, probably lost forever, you really only have three choices:
Option one: Be wise. Stay logical. Take a deep, deep breath, and calmly try to figure out where they dragged him.
Option two: Throw a really bad fuss about it. Scream until your lungs split, cry until you choke, and nearly vomit your empty stomach right onto the floor.
Option three: Go end your life on the nearest bridge.
Of course, you completely skipped option one, went straight to option two inside that sickening lobby, and now, finally, you're standing here on the very edge of the concrete railing, looking at the drop.
Because just twenty minutes ago, you were slamming your palms against the counter of the cruel facility, your vision swimming in streaks under the harsh lights. You had run the entire way to get there, your legs shaking so violently they felt like water because the damn bus never came. You had pushed your body past its absolute limit, desperate to beat the clock.
And for what? Only for those absolute dicks at the front desk to look at you like you were stupid.
"I'm sorry. There is nothing we can do, Miss," the first lady said, her manicured fingers tapping idly on her keyboard.
You were trying so hard to just catch your breath, your chest heaving violently, but the air felt like pure glass in your throat. All that agonizing running, only to be met with the cold announcement that Jungkook had already been sold.
"Please," you gasped, leaning so heavily on the counter that your knuckles turned translucent. "Please... I have the money. Look, I can pay extra. Just get him back. Or give me the address of the new owner! I'll go there, I'll trade him back, please, please..."
The front desk lady shot you a glare that didn't hold a single ounce of real sympathy. The tight bun on top of her head stood so sharp and pointy it looked like a radio antenna desperately trying to catch a signal that would magically remove you from her face. Still, she forced her voice into that sickeningly professional tone:
"As I said, Miss, that is simply not possible."
"But why?!" You screamed, tears finally blurring your sight. "I told you I would buy him! I announced it!"
Movement near the back hallway caught your eye. You spotted Ryan stepping out from the restroom corridor. He recognized you instantly, his entire posture freezing up as his face shifted into a deeply awkward look.
"You!" You yelled, pointing a trembling hand at the shelter guy as he reluctantly walked over toward the desk, clearing his throat. "I told you! You knew I was coming back with the money!"
"Hey... Calm down, please," Ryan muttered, raising his hands defensively and nervously looking around the lobby. "It wasn't my call, okay? An early private auction was opened for the VIPs. It was a direct order from above. Like I told you earlier, we don't hold reservations here, so Asset 701—"
"Don't call him that..." you breathed, your voice cracking.
Ryan didn't comment on the interruption. He just let out a heavy sigh, continuing in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. "He was placed on the auction block because of the massive interest. The buyers wanted him today."
"I don't care. Get him back!" you sobbed, the anger ripping out of you. "Do something to get him back!"
Ryan winced, shifting his weight uncomfortably under your furious gaze until he let too much slip. "Look, even if I could, the rabbit didn't behave anyway. He didn't even get sold."
You froze. The frantic, painful hammering in your chest stopped dead.
"What?" You stared at him. " What do you mean he didn't get sold? She just said the auction was sold out!"
"Well... the bidding hit the mark," Ryan admitted, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "But there was a massive incident on the stage. He went completely feral. Threatened a high-profile buyer. He’s a total menace, a major safety liability."
"Where is he then?!" You demanded, lunging slightly forward over the counter. "If nobody bought him, where is he?!"
"I don't know," Ryan said quickly, shaking his head. "They just took him."
"Who took him?!"
"I don't know!"
"How do you not know?! You work here!" The tears were spilling over your cheeks in streams now, the brutal exhaustion of the past week completely crashing down on your shoulders. You looked at him pleadingly, your eyes begging, completely stripped of any pride. "Please, Ryan. Just tell me."
Ryan looked down at your trembling form, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of genuine pity crossed his face. He let out a heavy, defeated sigh and glanced at the two front desk ladies next to him. One of them didn't even bother to hide her annoyance, rolling her eyes and shifting her weight as if your heartbreak was nothing more than a minor workplace inconvenience.
Ryan looked back at you, his shoulders dropping. "I'm sorry. I really am." he said, his voice changing to a low murmur. "But that animal was dangerous. The state he was in today? He would have killed you if you took him home. He's completely unhinged."He stepped back, delivering the final, crushing blow. "They took him to the back facilities. He's probably going to get put down. "
"No... no, no..." The words spun around your head, making the edges of your vision go completely black.
"Miss, it really is for the best—" the front desk lady started, her voice sounding like it was underwater.
But you couldn't breathe in that room anymore. A sudden, violent wave of nausea slammed into your guts, and you slouched over, your knees buckling as you nearly fainted right there on the polished floor. Your stomach churned so hard you thought you were going to vomit.
Ryan moved around the counter, his face twisting with worry. "Is everything alright?" He asked, as if that wasn't the dumbest, most agonizing question anyone could possibly ask in that exact moment.
As he reached out to steady you, a blind surge of rage fractured through your panic. You aggressively threw your elbow back, catching him hard in the chest to shove him away. Without another word, you spun on your heels and bolted. You burst through the glass doors, running blindly until your weak legs brought you right to the edge of this bridge.
The wind here is freezing, biting directly into the sweat drying on your forehead. You stare down into the abyss. The stone ledge beneath your worn sneakers is sharp and uneven, the water far below looks dangerously shallow, and you can easily just lean forward and end it right now. Just step off and let the quiet take you. If Jungkook is gone... what is left to fight for?
A hollow weight settles behind your ribs as you stare at the dark horizon. It’s funny, isn't it? You had spent your entire adult life building walls, mastering the art of being the lonely type, the kind of person who survived by relying on nobody and needing nothing. Yet, somehow, that stupid, stubborn bunny had burrowed his way so deeply under your skin that your chest felt entirely empty without his presence pressing into your side. You had gotten so used to the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the soft twitch of his ears, and the desperate way he anchored himself to you.
Is this what love is? This breathless terror that left you trembling over a freezing river? You miss the simplicity of a life before him, the raw innocence of a time when your heart didn't feel like a ticking bomb, constantly induced by fear.
Because loving Jungkook doesn't feel like a gentle comfort; it feels like drowning. It’s like being dragged beneath a freezing tide where you are constantly gasping for air, never allowed to fully breathe because you are always waiting for the next strike.
But you know with absolute certainty that Jungkook is not the one to blame for this suffocation. He is completely innocent in all of this. His love isn't the thing holding you under; It’s the world. It’s this filthy, transactional system that treats him like property, making it a crime for the two of you to just exist in the same space. He never asked to be hunted, and he never asked to be caged. All he ever did was love you with everything his bruised soul had left.
And just when you had finally opened your eyes to your own feelings, accepting the depth of what you felt for him, a merciless wave crashed down and ripped him right out of your grasp before you could even hold him tight. Without him, the very air in your lungs feels like a complete waste. If he isn't breathing it with you, you don't want it either.
Your spiraling thoughts are suddenly shattered by a obnoxious burst of laughter echoing down the pedestrian walkway.
Stepping back slightly from the ledge to avoid drawing any attention, you look around the sprawling city grid, finally noticing the heavy passage of time. The sky has completely bruised and darkened into a deep grey. Beneath the flickering streetlights, the arteries of the city are beginning to swell with manic activity. People are flooding out of the office buildings from long work shifts, car horns are blaring into the gridlock traffic, and groups of teenagers are loitering on the corners. Among them are crowds of people wearing expensive fabrics and sharp, confident outfits meant for a wild night out, clearly heading to some local bar or, if they are fancy enough, to the exclusive NVN club to get lost and drink the night away.
Then, you freeze. Your fingers lock around the cold railing of the bridge so hard the metal bites painfully into your palms.
The NVN club.
Your mind violently fractures, flashing backward to the heavy bass of Hobi's birthday, to the suffocating heat of that night in the club, and the terrifying time when you accidentally discovered what truly hid beneath its glamorous surface. You remember the sickening metallic scent of blood, the terrifying roars of the crowd, and the hidden fighting ring where broken hybrids were forced to tear each other to pieces for the amusement of the wealthy.
You remember the words of the guy who had been sitting next to you, his voice sounding like a distorted blur in your memory:
"From what I heard, the hybrids here are the ones snatched up because they’re life-threatening. Danger to society, right? Might as well use 'em for entertainment before they get put down."
The realization hits hard, sending a violent spike of adrenaline through your exhausted veins. They didn't take Jungkook to a veterinary clinic to be peacefully euthanized. The shelter wouldn't waste a high-value asset like a purebred rabbit just to bury him in a backyard. They are a transactional machine; they wouldn't just throw away half a million dollars of potential profit. If he was too aggressive for the elite buyers, if his unhinged rebellion had labeled him a dangerous menace to society, they wouldn't kill him for free. They would sell his violence. They would capitalize on his fangs.
You need to get to the NVN club. Right now.
The next thing you know, you are already moving. Your legs find a sudden surge of strength as you wrench your hands away from the cold railing and throw yourself back onto the pavement. You are leaving the bridge behind, the freezing wind whipping through your hair, biting into your cheeks as a wild spark of hope ignites right in the center of your chest.
It is a twisted, sickening kind of hope. Under any other circumstance, you would never, ever wish for Jungkook to be thrown into a hellhole like that subterranean club–a place where creatures are treated like disposable toys for bloodsport. The very thought of him in a cage like the one you saw that night makes your stomach twist into knots. But right now? You are down on your knees, mentally praying for it.
You manifest with everything your shattered soul has left that he is inside that fighting ring. Because if he is there, it means he isn't dead yet. It means you aren't too late. If he is there, he is still breathing, his heart is still beating, and there is still a chance for you to find him, to tear him out of their hands, and to keep your promise.
Not far from the foot of the bridge, the harsh city lights of the main strip give way to a dim, sketchy alleyway where a line of unregistered taxis always idles against the curb.
Normally, you wouldn't catch yourself dead in one of these specific, off-grid taxi lines. They always look incredibly creepy, the drivers leaning against the steering wheels with predatory stares that trace anyone walking past alone after dark.
There is an old, rusted payphone ringing persistently against the brick wall nearby, its shrill tone echoing off the pavement, adding to the suffocating grit of the street.
Under any other circumstance, your survival instinct would tell you to keep walking, but tonight you throw open the back door of the first cab you reach and slide onto the worn leather seat, the faint scent of stale smoke hitting your nose.
"NVN club." you pant out, slamming your bank card against the plastic partition before the driver can even open his mouth to complain. "Drive. Now."
The driver blinks at you through the rearview mirror, tracking the desperation in your eyes, before slamming his foot onto the gas. The car screeches away from the curb, throwing you back against the seat.
As the taxi weaves aggressively through the streets, a sharp vibration buzzes against your thigh. You pull out your phone, the screen illuminating your face with a barrage of worried text messages from Hoseok
Hobi: Y/N?? Did you get him?
Hobi: Please text me when you can, I'm getting worried.
Hobi: Are you guys safe?
You can't leave him hanging. The last thing you want is for Hoseok to think you just swindled his personal life savings and hopped on a flight to a tropical island to live your best life. You quickly tap out a rushed reply, your fingers trembling over the cracked glass.
You: Hobi, I'm so sorry. I am alive. I still have the money safely with me, but the plan went completely sideways. I didn't get Jungkook from the shelter. They moved him out, but I have a solid lead on where they took him. I am checking it right now. I will explain everything later, I promise.
You shove your phone back into your bag, puffing your cheeks out with air as a sudden wave of nausea rolls through your stomach. The sheer amount of adrenaline coursing through your veins, makes your vision spin uncomfortably as the car moves forward.
But as the neon-drenched skyscrapers of the entertainment district finally loom into view, the taxi slows to a brutal, agonizing crawl. Two blocks away from the NVN club, the traffic grinds to a complete halt. Horns blare in a deafening chorus as lines of luxury sports cars and blacked-out SUVs jam the multi-lane street, completely gridlocked.
Your knee bounces erratically. Five minutes. Ten minutes. You are losing time.
So your hand flies to the handle, and you violently wrench the car door open. The driver glances back, eyes wide in the rearview mirror, his mouth already opening to shout after you. But before he can utter a single word, you throw a rushed, breathless "Thank you!" over your shoulder and hurl yourself out, slamming the heavy door behind you as your feet hit the exhaust-fumed street.
You sprint through the narrow gaps between the idling cars. Annoyed faces stare out at you through the tinted glass windows, their eyes tracking your frantic, disheveled form as you dodge side mirrors and leap over the painted lines of the asphalt, driven by nothing but the terrifying imagery of what they might be doing to Jungkook right now.
As you round the final corner, you are met with another massive wall of traffic, but this one is made entirely of people.
The sidewalk leading up to the NVN club is a sprawling sea of human flesh. The ropes keeping the queue in place are straining under the sheer volume of the crowd. The atmosphere is thick with the suffocating scents of expensive cologne, and the distinct hum of anticipation.
Massive bouncers in tailored black suits stand guard by the heavy double doors, their faces completely expressionless as they ruthlessly check IDs and turn people away.
In the middle of the line, a loud, aggressive shoving match breaks out between two heavily intoxicated men, a girl in a sequined dress screaming in the middle of them while a nearby guard steps in, his hand already reaching for his baton.
You stand at the edge of the concrete, your heart hammering against your ribs as you try to calculate how the hell you are going to get inside. The line stretches so far down the asphalt that it disappears around the dark corner of the block where you can’t even see the end of it. If you wait for your turn, you will be standing out here until tomorrow morning. By the time you get past those doors, it may be too late.
Swallowing down the lump of panic in your throat, you keep your head low. You try to blend into the chaos, shifting your weight and slipping past the loud groups of people, moving forward inch by inch along the side of the brick wall. You just need to get close enough to the front to slip past the velvet rope when the guards are distracted by the fight.
You manage to bypass a dozen people, your chest tight with hope. You duck your shoulder, about to slide right under the heavy velvet rope, but in the middle of the process, someone deliberately steps directly in front of you. Before you can back away, a hand clamps firmly around your arm.
Your head snaps up. A ginger girl stands blocking your path, her long nails digging sharply into the fabric of your jacket sleeve. She smacks her gum loudly, her heavily smudged smoky eyes looking like someone had just blown a handful of ash directly into her face. She scans you up and down, taking in your messy appearance.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?" she asks loud enough to instantly draw the attention of the surrounding group.
You force a tight, incredibly nervous smile, as you gently attempt to wrench your arm out of her tight grip.
"I'm sorry, I just... I'm meeting someone at the front. I really need to get through."
"Oh, really?" A mocking laugh escapes her lips as she releases your arm, only to cross her own over her chest. "You're meeting someone? Let me guess, your imaginary VIP boyfriend? Look at you."
She pointedly gestures down at your decidedly not-so-clubbing outfit, her eyes practically drilling holes into your worn jacket and scuffed shoes.
You squeeze your lips together, the humiliation burning hot in your throat because, sadly, you do look quite like something resembling a piece of trash, or a desperate homeless human (which, given your lack of a real bed or shower, you technically are.) You can't even argue with her. The only saving grace is that at least your makeup skills are better than whatever ash-disaster she has going on.
"Let me make it clear for you: Get your ass to the back of the line."
You stare at her for a tense moment, and she glares right back at you, her jaw working aggressively on her gum.
Just then, the crowd shifts and the line starts moving again.
"Come on, get the fuck moving, people!" someone farther back in the queue shouts impatiently.
So you step back to get out of the line. Not because you are a coward, and definitely not because you can't talk for yourself, but because your eyes dart past your shoulder and catch one of the massive bodyguards giving you a sharp, warning look. You can't afford getting banned from the club because of a stupid sidewalk fight just yet.
Swallowing your rage, you just mumble a venomous "Bitch" under your breath as you catch the girl's ugly victory smirk.
You turn away, your hands instantly flying to your hair, brushing through the tangled strands in a nervous tic. Your eyes scan the massive exterior of the NVN club, looking for any possible sign of an alternate entry point.
They must have an emergency entrance. A back door. A delivery hatch. Anything.
Breaking into a rushed jog, you begin to circle the perimeter of the building. The venue is colossal, occupying nearly half a city block, and the trek takes a frustrating amount of time. Somewhere along the side, you pass the very end of the queue—the miserable souls who will definitely still be waiting out here by sunrise—but you don't even think about taking a place there. You keep moving.
The back of the club is a stark contrast to the front. The glossy pink neon disappear, replaced by a distinct lack of luxury. Finally, you come face-to-face with an enormous iron gate blocking off the rear loading dock. The bars are thick, topped with sharp, menacing metal spikes. Climbing over it would probably leave you hanging like a skewered kebab. But honestly? That's fine. You're a snack anyway.
You shove your shoe into a gap in the metal bars and hoist yourself up. You are halfway up the gate, your muscles straining, when a loud, sharp rip echoes in the air. You clench your teeth, as a jagged metal edge tears right through your sleeve. Great. Your jacket is ruined, right along with your will to live.
But just as you manage to yank the fabric free from the spike, a loud mechanical buzz cuts through the alley. The iron structure beneath you trembles violently, automatically starting to slide open to the side, with you still clinging to it like a feral raccoon. The worst part is that your foot gets completely stuck between the moving bars.
"Shit, shit, shit!" you panic, as the gate carries you sideways.
Suddenly, a massive tour bus swings into the street, a heavy bass beat vibrating from its frame. The headlights flash on, completely blinding you when you look back. Trapped, blind, and terrified of getting crushed, you give one final heave. You manage to wrench your foot free and jump off just in time, landing hard on the concrete—only to realize your shoe is still trapped, riding away from you with the gate.
The bus doors hiss open and a wave of noise spills out; loud music, laughter, and the sharp clatter of high heels on metal steps. A group of women in short, glittering dresses and dramatic wigs begins pouring out, shrieking and singing something in Russian at the top of their lungs.
You stand there frozen, one leg slightly raised like a confused flamingo, as one of the women pauses dramatically on the bottom step of the bus. She lifts a half-empty bottle of champagne into the air like a trophy.
“Woohoo! Gates open, legs open!” she yells, her voice thick with an accent.
Before she can take another step, a woman with a layered blonde wig shoves her from behind. “Get off, Marika, my tampon is halfway out!”
Marika whips around so fast her massive breasts jiggle violently under her tight dress. “Push me again and that tampon will end up deep up your fake nose, you cow!”
The two of them start shoving each other on the narrow stairs, their voices rising in a rapid-fire mix of English and Russian while the other women spill around them, laughing and shouting encouragement.
You take few steps forward, trying to blend into the chaos, when your eyes catch on a familiar face near the back of the group. Svetlana. As you stare through the glaring headlights, you spot a few other familiar faces right behind her, and a heavy dread settles deep in your gut as you realize exactly who they are.
These are the "Caucasian Ladies." The untouchable VIP regulars from the bar you work at. The same rich, entitled bitches who had sneaked Jungkook into the lounge once before, treating him like their personal toy.
A woman next to you, whose dramatic, spider-leg eyelash extensions are literally peeling off and hanging halfway down her cheek, stops mid-laugh. She looks down at your feet, then up at your face, her heavily lined lips curling into a suspicious pout.
"And who is this one?" she asks. "Look at her. Did the bus hit her on way here?"
The comment draws a few eyes, and your breath hitches as Svetlana herself slowly turns her head. She stands with the cigarette tilted casually between her fingers, a cloud of thin gray smoke escaping her red lips. She looks you up and down, a sharp flash of recognition goes across her face. Her heels click sharply against the pavement as she approaches you, the rest of the women parting to let her through.
"Well, well, well," Svetlana purrs, stepping forward until the expensive silk of her coat brushes against your torn sleeve. She takes a long, slow drag of her cigarette, her eyes glittering with dark satisfaction. "Isn't that my favorite bartender?"
Before you can even formulate a response, the blonde wigged woman next to her gasps loudly, as she points a manicured finger directly at your chest. "The bitch that took our bunny!"
You instinctively roll your eyes, the audacity of these women overriding your panic for a split second. You open your mouth, ready to give her a piece of your mind, but the words cut off instantly.
A massive, stone-faced bodyguard appears in the open gates, his heavy boots thudding against the concrete.
"Ladies, inside. Main backstage entrance is cleared. Move it," he barks, gesturing toward the interior of the club.
The crowd of women immediately starts shifting, babbling in Russian as they head toward the open doors. Svetlana gives you one last amused look and begins pushing past you to join them.
Desperation snaps through your veins. Forget your pride. Forget the fact that you hate her. You reach out and grab Svetlana firmly by her elbow, stopping her in her tracks. The woman freezes. She looks down at your hand, her eyebrows snapping together in a dangerous glare.
"I need your help," you say, your voice tight, and completely deadpan despite the hammering in your chest.
Svetlana lets out a sharp, mocking laugh, her eyes dancing. "Is that so? What could you possibly want?"
"I just need to get inside the club." you press, your eyes locking onto hers. "Please. Just get me past the guards."
Svetlana hums, tilting her head as she evaluates your ragged appearance, from your torn sleeve down to your single gray sock. A slow, incredibly wicked grin spreads across her red lips. She steps closer, blowing a stream of smoke right over your head.
"Then beg me. On your knees, little bartender."
You freeze. You look at her, your jaw clenched so hard it aches, but you can see the bodyguard getting closer out of the corner of your eye. You don't have a choice. Swallowing every last drop of your pride, you exhale a shaky breath and actually start lowering your weight to drop to the concrete.
But before your knee can even touch the ground, Svetlana bursts into a loud, melodic laugh. She throws her cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath the sharp point of her designer heel.
"Oh, dignity of a wet paper towel," she scoffs, shaking her head as her heavy silver earrings glint under the lights. "I make one little joke, and you throw yourself on floor? Get up, Darling. You look ridiculous." She waves a dismissive hand. "Where I come from, we say only dogs beg on four legs. Have at least little respect for yourself."
You instantly straighten up, a hot flush of anger heating your cheeks as you glare at her. She just smirks, entirely amused by her own twisted humor.
"Do you know how to dance on a pole?" she asks out of nowhere.
"What?" you blurt out, your brain short-circuiting. "No, I—"
"Too bad. You will learn fast," she cuts you off smoothly.
Before you can argue, the bodyguard notices the delay. His brow furrows deeply as his eyes lock dead on your disheveled form. "Hey! You there. You're not on the list," he demands, his heavy boots thudding against the asphalt as he rushes over to intercept you both just as you start heading toward the open gate.
Svetlana doesn't even blink. With practiced grace, she effortlessly slides her arm through yours, pulling you flush against her side. She looks the massive guard dead in the eye with untouchable authority.
"She is with us," She states smoothly. "She is our special guest. The star of tonight's show."
The guard hesitates, looking you up and down one last time with deep suspicion, but nobody safely questions Svetlana. He quickly backs off, raising a hand to gesture for you both to move through quickly.
As you and Svetlana pass through the heavy threshold, the mechanical hum of the iron gate kicks up behind you, starting to slide shut. Just before the heavy back doors click into place, you hear the guard's muffled voice echo in the alley:
"What the fuck... What idiot left a shoe stuck in the gears !?"
Then, the door slams shut, cutting off the outside world.
Svetlana leads you down a labyrinth of long, industrial corridors, everything moving at a dizzying rush. You end up in a sprawling backstage dressing room that looks like a neon bomb exploded in it. Wardrobe stylists, makeup artists, and half-naked dancers are running in every direction.
Before you can even think about slipping away, a frantic woman with a headset spots you, and next thing you know you are immediately thrown into a chaotic assembly line of preparation.
You try to protest, to tell them you're just trying to find someone, but your voice is completely drowned out by the backstage madness.
Within minutes, your ragged clothes are aggressively stripped off, replaced by a ridiculously small, dangerously tight dress that barely qualifies as fabric, and your feet are shoved into impossibly high, platform heels. Someone shoves a short, neon-blue wig with blunt bangs onto your head, pinning it down mercilessly.
"Sit!" a makeup artist commands, shoving you into a chair.
A barrage of brushes, blinding glitter pallets, and heavy lip gloss slams into your face, masking your exhausted eyebags under a dramatic, shimmering eyeshadow.
"Okay, honey, you're up! Don't keep the high rollers waiting!" a stage manager yells, completely ignoring your wide, panicked eyes.
Before you can scream a refusal, the velvet backstage curtains are ripped open, and a violent shove sends you stumbling forward. Your wobbly platform heels hit the slick surface of the main stage, and you instantly put your arms out to keep from face-planting.
Your eyes strain against the blinding glare of spotlights that slice through a thick, sweet-smelling haze of stage smoke. The deafening thud of a heavy bassline vibrates right through the soles of your shoes, rattling your ribs.
As your vision adjusts, the scale of the club opens up around you. You're on an elevated runway that snakes through a packed, dim VIP lounge. On two smaller side stages, other dancers are already performing, their bodies twisting effortlessly around gleaming steel poles in practiced movements.
The crowd below is a sea of tailored suits, expensive watches, and predatory grins. Drunken cheers echo through the air as a rain of crisp dollar bills flutters down from the upper booths, sticking to the sweat-slicked skin of the performers.
Panicking, you realize every eye in your section has just locked onto you—the new girl in the blue wig.
A collective roar of drunken approval goes up from a nearby table of businessmen. Your heart hammers against your ribs. You can't just stand here like a mannequin. Forcing your trembling legs to move, you shakily navigate the few steps toward the central pole. You grip the cold metal, your knuckles turning white. Taking a deep breath, you try your absolute best to fake it. You arch your back, throwing your head back to let the blue bangs fall over your eyes, and slowly drag yourself in one awkward, agonizingly tense circle around the steel bar.
You try to make it look like a sultry catwalk as you move away from the pole, but the lethal height of the clear heels makes you look more like a newborn deer on ice.
Screw this, you think, the urgency of finding Jungkook crashing back into your mind. I don't have time for this.
Instead of continuing the show, you completely abandon the stage presence. You practically bolt toward the small flight of stairs leading off the runway into the main crowd. The moment the VIPs realize you aren't putting on a show, the cheers instantly sour. A loud, unified wave of "Boo!" and disappointed groans erupts from the tables.
"Hey! Where are you going?!" someone shouts, a crumbled bill bouncing off your shoulder. "What a rip-off!"
You don't care. You don't give a single damn about their money. Ignoring the insults throwing themselves at your back, you trip down the final step and hit the main floor, stumbling blindly through the crowd as you run for your life toward the neon-lit exit doors.
But the club is a sprawling, labyrinthine nightmare. Instead of the exit, you burst through a heavy set of double doors and find yourself trapped in a long, unfamiliar VIP corridor lined with private velvet-curtained booths. Your ankles twist dangerously inside the platforms, shooting sharp needles of pain up your calves with every step. You feel completely ridiculous, but you keep pushing anyway. Left. Right. Another turn.
You finally push through the main dance floor first, where hundreds of bodies move beneath flashing lights, hands raised in the air as the bass shakes the entire room. Then the bathrooms. Then, at the end of a dim side corridor, you see it. The door. The one you remember. FIRE EXIT.
You throw your entire body weight against the push-bar. The doors fly open, and you plunge down a steep, dark concrete stairwell. The deeper you go, the louder the muffled thudding music of the main club fades, replaced by something far more terrifying: a raw, primal roar of human bloodlust. The deafening vivat noises of a ravenous audience bounce off the damp walls.
You sprint down the last flight of stairs, your wobbly heels clacking loudly, and burst directly into the massive, dark underground arena. But the moment your eyes adjust to the dim room, your heart drops into your stomach.
It’s too late.
The frantic roar of the crowd is already peaking, shifting from suspenseful shouting into a chaotic cheer of victory and disappointment. You stand frozen by the entrance, your hand gripping the cold metal doorframe just to keep your buckled knees from giving out entirely.
In the center of the room, illuminated by a single, harsh white spotlight, is the fighting ring. Steam or smoke or stage haze hangs in the air, making everything look slightly unreal.
The match is over.
Your vision blurs, dizziness washing over you in a violent wave as you stare at the shapes inside the ring. One figure is sprawled motionless across the blood-stained canvas, face down, limbs heavy and unresponsive. Sitting directly on top of his back, pinning him down with brutal finality, is the victor; a massive, heavily scarred tiger hybrid, his striped ears pinned back as he draws in ragged breaths.
An announcer's voice booms over the crackling PA system, echoing off the walls: "Fight done! Winner by total submission... Asset 912!"
No... no, please, no, your mind screams. The room spins violently. Black spots dance at the edges of your vision as a sickening certainty takes hold. That's him. The broken, unmoving body on the floor is Jungkook. The world tilts, and a sob chokes in your throat.
The arena staff swarm the cage to secure the victor. The winning hybrid suddenly snaps, baring razor-sharp fangs at the guards. A brilliant flash of blue electricity arcs from a prod, slamming into his shoulder. The hybrid convulses, his muscles freezing instantly as he collapses into a twitching heap, completely paralyzed by the shock.
As the handlers drag the aggressive victor away, the other man flips the defeated hybrid over onto his back to check for a pulse. You lean forward, your breath completely hitching in your throat, staring through the haze. The bright spotlight catches the details of the fallen hybrid's face.
It isn't Jungkook.
You let out a ragged, gasping breath, your chest heaving violently. It’s a completely different hybrid; a panther hybrid, his tail twitching weakly against the canvas as the medics load him onto a stretcher.
The force of the emotional whiplash hits you like a physical blow. Your legs lose all their strength, completely liquefying under the weight of your relief and lingering terror. Before you can faint, you blindly stumble backward toward the spectator tribunes, practically collapsing onto the lowest row of benches. You sit down hard, burying your face in your trembling, glittering hands, trying to stop the room from spinning.
"Whoa there, sweetheart," a slurred voice chuckles from the row above you. A man reeking of cheap whiskey leans over, his eyes traveling slowly down your impossibly short silver dress. He lets out a low, appreciative whistle. "Nice ass. Are you the prize for the next round?"
You don't even have the energy to glare at him. You just bury your face deeper into your hands, mumbling a tired "fuck off" under your breath.
But as the words leave your mouth, the realization suddenly pierces through your brain. You straighten up instantly, your posture stiffening as you whip your head around to face the man. "Wait. Next round?"
Right on cue, a sharp, electronic four-second tone beeps over the PA system, signaling the start of the next match. The crowd's low chatter instantly swells back into a hungry, anticipatory rumble. Down below, the heavy iron security gate on one side of the pit groans open. Your breath catches in your throat. You dig your fingernails so hard into your seat.
From the right gate, the staff drags out a skinny, panicked Dog hybrid. He wears a heavy iron collar chained tightly to a short leash. He looks completely disoriented, his wide eyes darting around the arena maniacally as he tosses his head from side to side, whimpering. You feel a sickening pang of pity for him; he clearly doesn't know what's going on. When he hesitates, the guard behind him brutally lashes him across the shoulder blades with a heavy leather whip, forcing him to walk faster.
Then, the left gate opens.
Your heart stops dead in your chest. Compared to the trembling dog hybrid, this one walks out with a eerie stillness. There is no struggling. No resistance. His hands are cuffed tightly behind his back, his head sloped low toward his chest so that a curtain of dark, messy hair shadows his face. Long, soft black bunny ears flop forward over his shoulders, completely motionless.
It's Jungkook.
He is bare-chested, wearing a pair of loose, dark fabric shorts low on his hips. The harsh arena spotlights catch every single contour of his body, and it's devastating. His skin is a map of violence; faded white lines, angry red welts, and fresh, dark bruises cutting across his skin ribs.
You expect him to be trembling, to see the same wild terror in his eyes that the dog hybrid has. But as he stops at the entrance of the ring, he remains terrifyingly calm. There is no panic in the way he carries himself. Instead, his posture is heavy with a quiet, hollow resignation, as if he has already accepted that this cage is the only place he was ever meant to die.
The guards aggressively push both hybrids toward the center of the ring, opening the heavy chain-link cage doors. They rough-handle the dog hybrid inside, quickly unlocking his collar before scrambling out. The moment the boy realizes he's free, he panics and bolts back toward the exit, but it's too late. The heavy cage door slams shut right in his face.
Through the mesh, you watch Jungkook. Finally possessing free wrists, he doesn't rush, nor does he look at the screaming crowd. He stands perfectly still for a moment, slowly rubbing his reddened wrists to restore the circulation. Then, with a deliberate motion, he lifts his head. His dark, hollow eyes pierce through his messy bangs, locking dead onto his frantic opponent.
The dog hybrid, realizing his escape is completely blocked, slowly turns around. His breath hitches in a visible shudder, light brown hair falling haphazardly into his eyes as he takes a proper look at the standing bunny.
For a fraction of a second, the puppy goes completely still. You can see his eyes widen even further, a feat you didn’t think was anatomically possible given how terrified he already was.
Jungkook doesn’t react at the look. He doesn’t even blink. You shift uncomfortably on your hard bench, as the trembling dog hybrid takes a hesitant step toward the center. His hands are shaking so violently they look like a blur. He opens his mouth, his lips moving as he tries to say something to Jungkook–perhaps begging for mercy, perhaps pleading for a quick end. But his voice is completely swallowed by the bloodthirsty arena.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!” The crowd erupts into impatient roar, demanding the violence they paid to see.
You are violently startled when Jungkook moves without a warning. In the blink of an eye, he closes the distance, his hand shooting out to catch the boy ruthlessly by the back of his neck, and slams the poor puppy's face directly into the metal cage. The dog hybrid stumbles back, clutching his bleeding nose. Realizing there is no mercy to be found, survival instinct finally overrides his terror. With a desperate, choked cry, he lunges forward, swinging wildly, completely forced into fighting back.
For a long moment, you just sit there. Frozen into place, staring at the raw, unadulterated violence unfolding right before your eyes.
You have seen Jungkook fight before. You knew he carried a dangerous strength beneath his soft exterior. But back then, he had fought like a shield, driven by a desperate need to protect you. This is entirely different. From the outside, he looks utterly ruthless, a machine of pure, unhinged determination. He tracks his opponent with a predatory focus, shifting his weight effortlessly as he dodges the dog's sloppy swings. He steps in, delivering shar blows that make the crowd cheer in wicked delight. It looks like slow, calculated torture. It looks like the "dangerous menace" the shelter workers warned you about. The feral animal that belongs in a cage.
But if you look straight into his tired, dark eyes, you can see the agonizing truth. It’s not different at all. Jungkook doesn't want to do this. He hates every single second of it. You catch the minute details that the bloodthirsty crowd is too blind to notice. You see the way he subtly controls the trajectory of his fists, intentionally angling his knuckles so his heaviest punches land on the meat of the boy's shoulders or the thickest parts of his ribs; moves designed to exhaust and drain the puppy's energy rather than fracture his skull or deal lethal wounds. You see the brief, agonizing twitch of Jungkook’s jaw every time the dog hybrid cries out in pain.
He isn't fighting because he's a menace. He's fighting because he's a broken boy carrying more pressure than anyone should have to bear. He knows the rules of this filthy machine: If he loses, it's over. If he wins, he gets to live another day.
And staying alive is the only thread of hope he has left to cling to. He's doing this because he remembers the quiet rhythm of your breathing. He's doing this because he remembers the soft, gentle way you held him when the world was too cruel. He's enduring this absolute hell because, somewhere beneath the bruises and the broken pieces of his soul, he's still desperately fighting his way back to you.
You snap back to reality when the brown-haired boy lands heavily on his back with a dull thud. His head lolls back in pain, his chest heaving as abreathless groan escapes his bloodied lips. Jungkook approaches him, his chest rising and falling in steady intervals.
You need to end this. You didn't run across the city, and humiliate yourself in a neon wig just to sit here and watch Jungkook be systematically destroyed from the inside out. You came to get him out, and you will not let him inflict another ounce of this torment on another living creature or himself.
The stadium seats vibrate as the crowd reaches a fever pitch, screaming, jeering, and throwing empty cups toward the mesh. They want blood. They chant for Jungkook to finish the dog hybrid off once and for all.
You look around the roaring tribunes, and a profound hatred curdles in your stomach. You see hundreds of humans surrounding the pit, yet there isn't a single ounce of humanity left in this room. You hate every single person here with a burning passion, and you wish the entire roof would collapse and smash straight onto their stupid faces.
Driven by a sudden surge of adrenaline, you bolt from your seat and hurtle down the concrete steps toward the cage. The absurdly high platform heels twist dangerously on the uneven steps, but you don't care.
"Hey! Blue wig! Get the hell back to the stage area!" a massive, muscle-bound guard barks, his heavy boots instantly pivoting as he spots you trespassing into the secure perimeter.
"Jungkook!" you scream at the top of your lungs, your voice instantly swallowed by the deafening uproar of the audience.
He doesn't hear you. Down in the ring, Jungkook is already dropping to his knees directly over the exhausted boy.
Your foot suddenly catches on a thick tangle of heavy black cables snaking across the floor. You stumble violently, the lethal heels giving out beneath you as you pitch forward, barely catching your balance. Through the cage, you see Jungkook raise his arm, his blood-stained fist frozen high in the air, his dark eyes locked on the boy beneath him as he prepares the final blow to end the match.
Panic completely hijacks your throat. "Jungkook, no! Stop!" you shriek, your voice cracking into a desperate sob.
Before you can take another step, the massive bodyguard slams into you from behind, his giant arms wrapping around your waist and aggressively lifting your feet right off the ground.
"Let go of me! Put me down, you asshole!" you scream, thrashing violently against his grip. You kick your legs wildly, the dangerously short silver dress riding all the way up your hips, leaving your underwear completely exposed to the flashing lights as you fight to break free, but you don't give a single damn about your modesty. "Put me down!
The sheer, piercing desperation of your voice somehow cuts through the roar of the crowd.
Jungkook’s head suddenly snaps toward the source of the commotion. His bunny ears twitch violently, and he looks up, his dilated eyes lock directly onto yours. Time completely stops. The entire underworld arena seems to evaporate as you make eye contact.
But the distraction is fatal.
The hybrid beneath him is still fighting for his life. Seeing Jungkook completely lose focus, the brown-haired boy finds a final, desperate burst of survival instinct. He sits up abruptly and lunges forward, throwing his entire weight into a brutal tackle that catches Jungkook completely off guard, burying his shoulder right into Jungkook's bruised ribs.
"No!" you scream, your heart leaping into your throat as you watch Jungkook crash sideways into the ground.
But you don't get to see anything else. The bodyguard ruthlessly wrenches your body around, dragging you backward through the heavy exit doors and throwing you out of the arena, cutting off the sight of the ring as the metal doors slam shut, leaving you screaming into the dark corridor.
You throw your entire body weight against steel, the impact rattling through the bones of your shoulders, but the door doesn't budge. Through the small, wire-reinforced glass window, you can see the shadow of the massive guard leaning his weight directly against the frame from the other side, barricading you out.
You spin around frantically, your eyes sweeping the dark corridor. It’s a dead end. Exposed pipes hiss with steam overhead, and the distant bass of the upper dance floor pulses rhythmically, completely indifferent to the nightmare unfolding beneath it.
Then, you see it.
Gleaming like a drop of fresh blood at the far end of the hallway, illuminated by a single flickering bulb: the small, red plastic emergency casing of the fire alarm.
You don't calculate the consequences. You scramble toward it. Reaching the box, you don't even look for a hammer; you curl your hand into a tight fist and slam it directly into the thin glass pane. The glass shatters, jagged shards biting into your knuckles, but you barely feel the sting. You plunge your bleeding index finger onto the heavy white button, jamming it deep into the wall.
For a terrifying beat of three seconds, there is absolute silence.
Then, the world breaks.
A deafening, high-pitched electronic siren cuts through the air, accompanied by the harsh strobe of red emergency lights pulsing from the ceiling. The sudden shift in atmosphere is instantaneous. Within moments, the heavy iron doors you were just pounding on are violently thrown open from the inside. The massive bodyguard stumbles out backward, his eyes wide with panic as the alarm blares above his head. Terrified spectators pour into the hallway, desperate to escape what they believe is a catastrophic fire. They shove past you in a rush toward the club's exit, their panicked voices swallowed by the shriek of the alarm.
Suddenly, a loud hiss echoes from the ceiling. A split second later, the overhead emergency sprinklers trigger, unleashing a torrential, icy downpour of water. The freezing water hits you instantly, completely drenching the short dress and plastering the blue synthetic bangs flat against your forehead. The heavy glitter on your face begins to wash down your cheeks in shimmering, messy tears.
Fighting against the current of the escaping crowd, you duck your shoulder and forcefully shove your way back through the open double doors, plunging right into the main fighting hall. The automated fire system hasn't just unlocked the emergency exits; it has completely short-circuited the electronic security grid of the arena. Down in the pit, the heavy chain-link cage doors are swinging wide open. And it’s not just the main ring; the holding cages along the dark perimeter walls have clicked open, too.
The other dangerous, high-value hybrids that were locked up in the dark, waiting in line for tonight's bloody entertainment, realize they are free.
A wolf hybrid throws his head back, letting out a wild laugh that cuts through the blaring sirens before vaulting over the security railing. Beside him, a sleek black panther hybrid blurs past a screaming guard, his claws extended as he fights his way toward the exits. The arena staff–completely overwhelmed and soaked to the bone–desperately swing their electrified riot prods, but it’s no use. The blue electricity arcs uselessly through the heavy downpour of water, short-circuiting in their hands and sending them stumbling back in fear as the creatures they treated like disposable property finally take their revenge.
The air is thick with the scent of ozone, wet concrete, and pure, chaotic freedom.
Your eyes dart frantically through the lights and the thick curtain of fake rain. You wipe the water from your eyes, your heart hammering against your ribs as you scan the entire room, desperate to spot one single, specific pair of black bunny ears.
Then, through a sudden flash of a red strobe, you spot him.
Jungkook is wrestling with a hulking security guard near the edge of the cage. The guard catches him off balance on the slick floor, tackling him onto the wet concrete. Jungkook thrashes violently beneath him, twisting with everything he has to break free.
The man drives one heavy knee into Jungkook's chest, pinning him down, while his trembling hand fumbles through the pocket of his tactical vest. When he finally pulls it free, the crimson emergency lights catch the gleam of a long metallic syringe filled with amber-colored fluid.
God, no. The thought screams through your mind, paralyzing you for a fraction of a second. Jungkook sees the needle, his jaw clenching as he bares his teeth, his ears pinning flat against his wet hair as he tries to throw the man off. But his movements are sluggish.
Your eyes scan the floor around you. Amidst the discarded trash, your high-heel kicks against a half-empty whiskey bottle left behind by a fleeing spectator. You dive for it, your fingers gripping the sticky glass neck just as the guard forces Jungkook’s head down against the wet floor, baring the side of his neck.
The guard drives the needle home. Jungkook lets out a muffled cry as the metal pricks deep into his skin. But before the man can fully depress the plunger, you are there. Bringing the heavy glass bottle down with every ounce of strength you possess, you smack the guard squarely across the jaw. The guard groans, dropping the syringe as he falls sideways, clutching his face and whining in agony on the floor.
Jungkook immediately throws the man's weight off him, scrambling backward against a concrete pillar. His trembling hand flies up to his neck, fingers pressing hard against the puncture wound where the needle had pricked him.
"Jungkook! Are you okay? Can you hear me?" You drop the broken bottle, dropping to your knees beside him, your hands hovering in the air, terrified to touch him.
He doesn't respond. He can't.
A low, guttural groan tears from the back of Jungkook's throat. A sound so raw and animalistic it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.The drug (whatever fraction of it managed to enter his bloodstream) is working with terrifying speed.
The symptoms manifest violently before your eyes. The artificial rain cascading from the ceiling washes the old, dried blood from his face, revealing a complexion that has gone deathly pale under the pulsing red lights. His jaw is clenched so tightly the muscles in his cheeks violently twitch, and his hands curl into fists so severe that his knuckles turn stark white, his claws digging deep into his own palms.
On the floor, the injured guard rolls over. His eyes go wide with absolute horror as he looks at the syringe lying on the floor, then at the physical state of the bunny hybrid.
"Shit... oh, shit," the guard wheezes, his voice cracking with error, as he looks up at you. "Run... you need to run..."
"What?" you demand, your voice shaking as you look between the man and Jungkook. "What did you give him?!"
"I grabbed... I grabbed the wrong one," the guard stammers, his boots slipping on the wet floor as he desperately tries to stand up to save his own skin. "That wasn't the sedative. That’s the combat catalyst... the stimulant. We use it to make them violent... to make them kill."
Your blood runs entirely cold.
Slowely, you turn your head back to Jungkook. His head tilts up, his wet, dark hair parting to reveal eyes that look completely unhuman. His pupils are so massively dilated they have entirely swallowed his irises, leaving two endless, pitch-black voids. There is no recognition in them. No warmth. No Jungkook. Right now, his drug-rattled brain only registers a shape in his immediate vicinity. A target.
You try to act calm, to keep your breathing steady, but the primal fear seizing your muscles makes your instincts take over.
Cautiously, painfully slowly, you begin to stand up from the wet concrete. Jungkook’s blown-out eyes stalk your every move. His head tilts slightly, like a beast tracking it’s prey. You are absolutely terrified to break eye contact, instinctively knowing that looking away might be the final invitation for him to strike.
As you reach your full height, Jungkook begins to stand up too. He doesn't rise like a human; he uncoils, his movements dangerously fluid, his muscles trembling with a volatile energy.
Your survival instinct screams at you. You take a slow, agonizing step backward, your shoes splashing quietly in a puddle. Jungkook immediately matches your movement, taking a deliberate step forward. He closes the distance you just tried to create, his gaze locked entirely on you. You are the closest living thing to him, and the chemical cocktail in his veins is demanding blood, demanding violence, and right now, all of his hyper-fixated attention is locked entirely on you.
You take another slow step back, your hands raised slightly in a placating gesture. "Kook…" You breath out, voice trembling as you try to reach whatever is left of him. "Jungkook, please, it's me..."
Jungkook’s black bunny ears twitch. "Run," he pants.
This time you don’t have to be told twice. You sprint. You sprint for your life–your stupid, messy, tragic little life that you actually hate, but right now, your body is screaming at you to preserve it. The problem is, you are a tragic runner. It certainly doesn't help that your feet are still shoved into a pair of ridiculous high heels. Each stride is a clumsy gamble against gravity as your heels clack frantically against the slick concrete floor.
Desperate to shorten the distance to the outside world, you make a blind, panicked choice. You throw your weight against the nearest door. It is a bad, fucking choice. The second you cross the threshold, the oppressive darkness tells you everything you need to know: you have never been in this part of the corridor system before. This could easily end tragically for you.
Before the heavy door swings shut behind you, you steal one quick look back.
Jungkook is still remaining in his exact spot. He hasn't chased you yet. Instead, he’s dropped to one knee, his nails digging so brutally deep into the concrete floor that his knuckles are turning purple. He is fighting himself. He is actively resisting a drug designed to turn him into a mindless killing machine, all just to give you a head start. The willpower of his resistance makes a pang of deep admiration cut through your terror.
But you can't stop. You turn and barrel down the suffocating corridor.
You push forward, making two sharp, panicked turns into the labyrinth of the building's underbelly. The silence doesn't last. A minute later, a loud, echoing bang reverberates through the concrete. The door has been thrown open.
Then come the footsteps.
Panic blinds you. As you tear around another corner, your eyes land on a heavy metal cleaning trolley stocked with chemical bottles, brooms, and industrial buckets. You throw your weight against it. The trolley crashes down onto the ground, spraying soapy water and plastic bottles across the floor. It's a pathetic attempt to stop a creature that can leap security railings, but it's all you have.
Ahead, a green, glowing sign cuts through the shadows: EMERGENCY EXIT.
You almost scream as the cold night air hits your sweating skin. Far off on the other side of the club, the distant, wailing sirens of approaching firetrucks and police cruisers cut through the night.
Safety is over there. Help is over there.
But you don't turn toward the lights. You immediately wheel around and dive into the deep, lonely shadows of the narrow alleyways behind the venue. Because you know one thing for certain: no matter how close you are to dying tonight, you can't let a single soul see the feral, drugged bunny hybrid that is currently tearing through the darkness right behind you.
You don’t get to run for long. As soon as you plunge into the nearest alley, a hand crashes into your back, launching you into a stack of metal crates propped against the brick wall. They collapse with a metallic clatter, sending you launching headfirst toward the ground. You hit the asphalt hard, your hands shooting out just in time to catch yourself. Pain explodes through your wrists as your palms skid across the rough ground, while the unforgiving concrete scrapes the skin clean off your bare knees.
You let out a panicked shriek, your heart leaping into your throat as you scramble to crawl away. Your nails dig desperately into the cracks in the stone, scraping against the rough ground as you try to drag yourself forward.
Then long fingers suddenly wrap around your bare ankle.
Before you can even react, Jungkook gives one sharp, effortless yank. You slide helplessly across the stone, your body dragged flat on your stomach until the sliver of open space above disappears, leaving you completely trapped beneath him.
He pins your lower half to the asphalt with the trembling weight of his thighs. He isn't massive or hulking like the arena guards; his frame is lean, almost dangerously skinny from his time locked away in the shelter facility, but the drug pulsing through his veins has turned his muscles into absolute iron.
You try to push up onto your scraped elbows, but Jungkook instantly drives his palms down against your shoulders, ruthlessly pressing you back down into the concrete. He leans his entire upper body over yours, trapping you in the narrow space between his arms.
His breathing is a frantic, ragged mess, hot breaths ghosting across your neck. Violent shivers wrack his body as the icy water from the arena evaporates from his pale skin.
"Kook... Stop," you choke out, your eyes watering from the stinging pain in your knees and the sheer terror locking up your joints.
You manage to tilt your head sideways to look up at him, and your breath hitches. His pupils are still completely blown out, black pools staring down at you, but the feral glaze of the stimulant is warring with something else. His jaw is clenched so tightly that a thin trickle of dark blood is beginning to ooze from the corner of his lips, where he has bitten the inside of his own cheek to keep from snapping. The veins in his neck are pulsing erratically against the raw puncture wound from the needle. He is still fighting it. The drug is screaming at him to tear you apart, but his soul is desperately trying to claw its way back to the surface through the chemical haze.
Slowly, his fingers leave your shoulders, sliding up to cup the sides of your neck. His hand shaking so violently against your skin that you can feel his rapid, terrifying pulse. For a horrifying second, you think he’s going to choke you.
But he doesn't.
Instead, his dilated eyes snap shut, his long lashes fluttering weakly as a dark, twisted war rages behind his eyelids. He lets out a broken, miserable groan of pure agony. His forehead drops heavily against the back of your shoulder, his wet hair burying into your neck. The velvety bunny ears flop forward, draping over you, softly tickling the side of your jaw and moving the damp strands of your bright blue wig.
He fight the urge to tear you apart, to destroy the closest living target, to feed the primal monster the arena created. His grip on your throat tightens just enough for you to feel the lethal weight of his raw strength, a terrifying reminder that he could break you in a split second.
"Y/N..." he rasps out, the sound tearing from his throat like a suppressed sob. "Y/N... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Run... please, why didn't you run faster?"
He presses his face harder into the crook of your neck, his chapped, bloody lips brushing against your skin as he inhales your scent like a dying man grasping for oxygen. He is entirely submissive to his love for you, even while his body is a weapon primed for violence.
"I don't want to hurt you," he whimpers against your skin. "Don't let them take me back. Please... just hold me down.
"Okay... okay, I will," you stammer, your voice cracking with emotion as you try to push your weight upward. "Just let me get up, Kook. Let me turn around."
The moment you try to move out from under him, Jungkook lets out a warning groan. He brings his fist down, slamming it violently into the concrete ground right next to your head.
"Don't," he gasps out, his muscles locking up in a rigid spasm as the drug surges again. "Don't move. If you move... I can't... I can't control it
You freeze instantly beneath him. Your eyes dart to the side, locking onto his fist. The skin over his knuckles is split and raw, oozing fresh blood where he had ruthlessly pulverized it against the stone. A cold dread washes over you; not for your own safety, but for his. You cannot let him do this to himself. You refuse to let him break his own body.
For a few agonizing seconds, the only sound in the narrow alleyway is the heavy rhythm of his panting. But then, you feel it; the subtle shift in his weight. His chest heaves in a shallow pattern, and the rigidity in his thighs begins to waver, slackening just a fraction as the physical toll of fighting the stimulant leaves him momentarily weakened.
Taking advantage of the sudden dip in his strength, you gather every single ounce of force left in your body. You wedge your elbows beneath you and forcefully push him off your back.
Jungkook lets out a disoriented whimper as his balance shatters. He tumbles sideways off your lower half, landing heavily on his hip before pushing himself back up into a sitting position. His arms instinctively fall behind his back, his hands pressing flat against the concrete to keep his upper body upright, his dark ears drooping low, head swaying slightly as the world spins around him.
You scramble frantically to your feet, your plastic heels slipping dangerously on the asphalt before your knees finally steady. Your breath catches in your throat as you look down at him. Jungkook's head snaps up. He looks like a cornered animal, his wide doe eyes tracking your every movement as his muscles coil tight, a desperate instinct urging him to spring up after you.
"No," you blur out. You instantly wave your scraped hands in front of you, gesturing sharply for him to stay down. "Don't move, Jungkook. Stay right there."
To your absolute relief, he freezes. He sinks slightly back onto his hands, his chest heaving as he watches you with wide, vulnerable eyes.
The dangerous tension draining from his shoulders at the command tells you everything you need to know: the drug is losing its grip on his nervous system. The dose had been too small to keep him in that state much longer.
"Okay... Okay, good," you whisper, your voice shaking as you try to calm your own hammering heart.
The flickering glow of the distant streetlight cuts through alley, catching the single, heavy drop of sweat that tracks slowly down from Jungkook’s temple, carving a clean line through the grime on his pale cheek. He sits perfectly frozen, but his shaking irises are wildly active. They wander all over your body, tracking the fresh, angry red scratches on your palms, the grit embedded in your skin, and the raw, bleeding scrapes on your bare knees where the concrete had bitten into you.
A crushing wave of guilt floods his features, twisting his pretty face into a mask of pure agony. His bottom lip trembles, making him look heartbreakingly innocent despite the blood staining his mouth. You can practically see the toxic realization settling into his brain; the devastating thought that he did this to you, that his weaponized body turned on the only person who came to save him.
You desperately don't want him to fall down that rabbit hole. You can't let him drown in that crippling shame all over again.
Gulping down the last of your panic, you drop to your knees directly in front of him on the gritty ground.
You reach out, your hands trembling as you gently push his wet, tangled black hair back, clearing the strands out of his eyes so you can see him fully. His forehead is burning hot against your fingertips, but his pupils are finally beginning to shrink, returning to a normal size.
As soon as he registers the soft, familiar touch of your hands, the last of his resistance crumbles. Jungkook shifts forward with a low, needy whine, completely abandoning his defensive posture as he practically falls into your space.
You catch him, finally wrapping your arms tightly around his bare back and pulling him flush against your chest. You gently guide his face into the warm crook of your neck, burying him there, shielding him from the cruel lights of the outside world. You hold him with everything you have, a protective ache tearing through you as you feel every single one of his ribs pressing against your body; a painful reminder of how much he has starved, how much he has suffered while you were apart.
You are finally getting him back, but he feels like a shattered piece of glass, fragile and barely held together by nothing but the desperate strength of your embrace.
"Just breathe," you whisper as you press your palm flat against his spine. "Just breathe, Kook. Fight it. You're okay. I've got you."
For a long slice of time, you stay exactly like that in the dim alley. Jungkook’s fingers lock into the fabric at your back, his blunt nails digging deeply into your flesh through the thin, silver material. The pressure is painful, but you welcome the ache; it is the only thing proving he is actually here, alive, and in your arms. He holds onto you, his entire muscular upper body rigid, as if he is genuinely convinced that the moment his grip slackens, the chemicals in his blood will tug him straight back into the dark.
You rock him softly, running your hands over the rigid line of his spine, soothing the violent tremors racking his thin frame until his breathing gradually slows from messy, panicked gasps into soft, exhausted sighs.
The blaring sirens of the emergency vehicles sound further away now, echoing across the streers as a completely irrelevant background noise to the fragile sanctuary you've built in the dark alley.
After a long, heavy silence, the brutal grip on your body subtly shifts. Jungkook’s head moves slightly against your shoulder, his chapped lips brushing against your wet skin as he finally speaks, his voice a tiny, raw friction in the quiet.
"Y/N."
"Hmm?" you swallow hard, your throat feeling completely dry as your voice comes out in a raspy whisper.
Jungkook slowly straightens up from your embrace, his weight lifting off you. Your hands reluctantly slide down from his back, falling to your sides as he sits back on his heels. He looks at you curiously, the feral intensity entirely drained from his features, leaving him looking soft and deeply exhausted.
You furrow your brows unknowingly, tracking the way he slightly tilts his head to the side, his long ears shifting with the movement.
"What?" you ask softly.
He blinks his large, glossy doe eyes, staring at you intently. "Why do you look like this?"
You lean back slightly, your eyes automatically dropping down to look at yourself, realizing he is talking about your absolutely ridiculous, slutty appearance. A soft, amused sound escapes you despite everything. Of all the things he could be focused on after everything that happened—a cage fight, and a drug-induced struggle for survival—this is what his hyper-focused, recovering brain is concerned about.
"Oh... this," you murmur, a tired smile tugging at your lips as you look back up at him. "This is... a long story."
You watch him bite his bottom lip, his long ears drooping as he continues to scan the neon-blue bangs plastered to your forehead.
You nudge his knee gently. "What? You don't like it?"
"No," he pouts, his voice dropping into a flat, blunt murmur.
Before you can say anything else, his hands come up, and his fingers grip the edges of the blue wig. With one swift tug, he pulls the wet synthetic hair completely off your head, tossing it aside into the dirt.
Your natural hair instantly tumbles down over your shoulders, damp but familiar. Jungkook stares at you, a soft docility settling over his face as his ears give a small, content twitch at the sight of the real you. Yet, true to his stubborn nature, he still lets out a tiny, bratty huff, turning his nose up slightly at the discarded wig.
"Don't wear that again," he grumbles, his voice small, a possessive little demand that sounds so entirely him it makes your throat tight. "It's ugly."
"Okay," you nod, cracking a fragile smile as you reach out to brush a stray, wet lock of black hair from his eye. "I won't."
You look down at the two of you—your scraped knees and ruined, glitter dress, his bare, scarred chest and bloody fists.
"Kook, we have to find a place to clean up," you say, pushing yourself up onto your aching feet.
Jungkook follows your lead, pushing himself up from the asphalt. His long legs are a little unsteady, but he manages to hold his weight.
"Are we not... going home?" he asks, the word home leaving his cracked lips with a heartbreaking, fragile naivety.
You freeze in your tracks. Your heart completely drops into your stomach. You realize, with a sickening pang of guilt, that Jungkook has no idea. He doesn't know about the landlords raid on your apartment, the eviction, the fact that you have absolutely nothing left to your name.
"There is no home anymore, Kook."
Jungkook's entire face falls. His large eyes widen in panic, his ears pinning sharply back against his wet hair as if the roof has just caved in on him all over again.
Seeing the sheer terror distorting his features, you immediately step into his space, grabbing his cold, wounded hand.
"But I will find us something," you say quickly, forcing an assuring, confident tone into your voice. "I'll sort it out, okay? I promised you I wouldn't leave you, and I meant it. We are going to be fine. I'll find us a place. Just trust me."
You tug his hand firmly, turning toward the mouth of the alleyway. "Come on."
He doesn't resist. He takes a deep, shaky breath and starts moving right behind you. The two of you step out into the dimly lit peripheral streets, both of you limping heavily. Together, you probably look like two battered war survivors dragging themselves back across the border of a destroyed country.
As you walk, your mind begins to spiral into a chaotic loop. Where do we go first? You can't take a drugged, bleeding, bare-chested hybrid into a public hotel. Should you sneak into the bar and risk getting caught by Markus? Or should you go to Hobi?
You instinctively navigate through the shadows, sticking strictly to the side streets and industrial alleyways. You completely avoid any main roads where a human could possibly see you.
Behind you, the soft, rhythmic scuff of Jungkook’s shoes suddenly slows.
"Is it because of me?"
You don't look back. You can't bear to see the look on his face right now. You keep your eyes locked straight ahead on the dark concrete, your grip tightening around his fingers.
"No," you lie smoothly, forcing a casual, tired shrug into your shoulders. "Of course not. I just... I missed my rent payments while everything was going crazy. The landlord was an asshole anyway. It has nothing to do with you."
Behind you, the bunny hybrid doesn't say a word. He doesn't call you out on the lie, but his long ears droop heavily forward, shadowing his face. His hybrid instincts can easily pick up on the sudden spike in your heart rate and the tight friction of your grip, sensing the utter lack of sincerity in your voice. But he doesn't press you. He simply walks on in silence, his head sloped low toward his bare chest, letting you drag him blindly into whatever unknow comes next.
The labyrinth of backstreets grows progressively darker as you guide him deeper into the city's commercial district.
Suddenly, as you turn a sharp corner into a narrow dumpster alleyway, you stop dead in your tracks. Your arm extends instinctively, your hand pressing flat against Jungkook’s bare chest to halt him.
"Wait," you breathe.
Just a few yards ahead, illuminated by the flickering neon sign of a distant convenience store, a pair of bare, bruised legs is sticking out from behind a massive blue recycling bin.
Jungkook’s ears instantly snap upright, his posture locking into a rigid, defensive guard as you both approach quietly.
Leaning heavily against a stack of torn trash bags is an unconscious hybrid. His torso is slumped forward, and his head is lolled lifelessly to the side, resting against the brick wall.
"Kook... it's the dog hybrid from the fight," you notice, your eyes widening in horror.
He looks fatal. The boy looks completely, devastatingly dead. His skin has taken on a sickening, ghostly grey tone under the dirt and sweat. Thick, dark blood has crusted around his nose and mouth, but the worst of it is the deep, jagged laceration slicing across the side of his head, sluggishly leaking crimson down his neck. The heavy iron collar is gone, but the skin beneath it is a raw, purple ring of blisters.
"Tae..." Jungkook raps.
"Tae?" You look up at him, your brow furrowing in deep confusion. "Wasn't that the name of your childhood friend? The one from... your old shelter? Your happy memory?"
Jungkook doesn't speak. He just gives a small, slow nod, his long black ears pinning tightly.
A sickening wave of sorrow washes over you as you realize the sheer cruelty of the nightmare you just witnessed in the arena. They had recognized each other. When the gates had opened and they were thrown into that blood-soaked cage, they hadn't just been facing an opponent—they had been forced to face a person from a past where they were still innocent. Jungkook had been forced to systematically dismantle and break his only childhood friend, turning off his own humanity just to survive a match he never wanted to fight. They never had a real choice.
Without a word, you cautiously step over a pile of debris, trying to move gently so you won't startle the dog hybrid if he suddenly regains consciousness. You lean down over his frame, pressing your trembling index and middle fingers firmly against the cold skin of his neck, you search for a pulse.
You look back over your shoulder, your eyes reflecting a deep, mirroring panic as you meet Jungkook's waiting gaze.
"His pulse is barely there," you whisper frantically. "Kook we have to help him. Or he will die."
ANOTHER A/N: omg finally FINALLY i finished this chapter. im so happy it's done i could perform a happy twerk right now lol. it was so hard to get back to writing after my vacation break (ya know i got lazy and shit) 😅
But im curious how you guys feel about this chapter. a bit happened i guess. i got asks before if kook will ever get in touch with his childhood friend (Tae), so i thought i would write their little cutesy reunion <3
also if any of you wonders ' hmm how the heck that stupid wig survived almost the whole chapter on y/n's head after all that running and practically rolling on the ground? ' well i dont know either. lets just pretend gravity is different there ok? i facepalmed myself so hard rereading this shit but i really dont have the time to do any more corrections cause im going on a nap right now and thats kinda urgent.
Tag list: @lolfccfvvvvbbbb @achbbys000 @reicoolboy @junglekookz @ttipa @strawberryberrygirl @kyljjk @viillamilla @junkookloverinfinity @hellomate1234 @lindsayjoy444 @canarystwin, @svnk1ssd @sleepyeclipes @doublebunv @lunaryoongie @mochiminiee @aestheticalime @namroo @lostinjk @celliez @twilightsparklingwater @uhmsothisiscrazy @joonmonjagi @mrpranjalmr @isamisaaoo @channit @bjoriis @zzzoooma @stardust-n-raindrops @oopscoop @existingbtw @mooniepersona @givemethatkookie @mikrokosmosellen @soratomyaza @reesesbutterwithwoozi (if you wanna be tagged, just let me know 💌 and if you wanna be untagged also let me know ;))
