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runariya · 3 months ago

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My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 3

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn fic rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: attempted murd€r, foul language, detachment, inner conflicts bordering on schizophrenia, fluff, slow burn, please lmk if I forgot something word count: ~ 5.1K

a/n: okay, so here's the deal...I've successfully and irreversibly deleted 2k words of this chapter while editing *yey* And I'm not capable of writing it again, so this chapter's a little shorter than intended. Hope you're enjoying it despite its short length...here goes nothing...🥲

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

prologue • 01 • 02 • masterlist • 04

The night around you feels charged as you move along the shadowed path, the whispers of Suyeomggang River just below the ridge line of trees. The moon hangs heavy and swollen in the sky, a pale sentinel casting a sickly cold light over the riverbank, water lapping against the railings with an almost lazy indifference, a black mirror that reflects the stars in shattered fragments. You can feel the cool breeze off the river, taste its dampness in the air, hear its calling darkness from its depth.

You’ve been preparing for this for years, it’s like tonight everything falls into place, as if everything is perfect, the night wrapping around you like an invisible cloak, the silence so deep it feels like a part of you, an extension of your being grasping in every direction. The training, the planning, the sleepless nights spent perfecting every detail—all of it has led you to this exact moment. You slip through the darkness underneath the canopy of overhanging trees, the leaves whispering above you as if they know what’s about to happen and are trying to keep the secret within themselves. Every step precise, measured, the ground beneath your feet making not a single sound as you follow the trail of Kim Sangwook, the first name on your kill list.

It had to be him. You chose him with the precision of a surgeon’s blade, the first man who laid his filthy, despicable hands on your mother. His crime, as well as Park Dojin’s and Kim Chulsoo’s, wasn’t just physical; it was spiritual, an affront to the very blood that runs through your veins, poisoning it to its DNA.

For months, you’ve watched Sangwook, studied his habits, learning the cadence of his days not to avoid him, but to calculate his weaknesses. He’s arrogant, unafraid, too comfortable in his routines to second guess himself and his safety. You know exactly where he’ll be most vulnerable, and it’s here—this river trail, this desolate stretch of night where no one comes after the sun has set, where only the distant sound of the city and nature bears witness to what will transpire.

You have been patient. You are always patient. And tonight will be no different.

You’re dressed in black, a second skin tailored to your body, slim-fitting and functional, with hidden pockets for your shurikens and whip coiled at your side. You considered a face mask but knew better—too easy to lose in a fight. Instead, you’ve sewn yourself a sleek, fitted mask that covers only your cheeks and brow, leaving your mouth and nose exposed to breathe freely, knowing better than to weaken yourself.

Ahead of you, Sangwook walks, oblivious. He’s whistling—a tuneless, off-key noise that grates against your nerves, but you force yourself to block it out. His pace is lazy, his stride confident. He doesn’t look behind him, doesn’t even suspect that he’s being watched. You follow him like a shadow, each of his steps mirrored by yours but cloaked in silence. The trail curves ahead, leading to a darker stretch where the trees thicken and the river slips out of view. You know this spot—it’s where he’ll be most isolated, most vulnerable.

The darkness inside you twists and writhes, a beast of malice that groans and growls, aching for the taste of blood, its hunger a throbbing force that drowns out any shred of gentleness that lives inside you, pushing it so far down that it might as well have never been there at all. There is nothing left within you now but cruelty, sharp and ruthless, devouring the softer parts of your soul, leaving behind only the savage desire to destroy, to break, to consume without mercy.

You crouch slightly, bending your knees as you brace yourself to pounce. Every muscle in your body is taut, ready to explode into motion with your command. You’re so close now, your fingers twitching with the anticipation of wrapping your whip around his throat, of pulling him into the shadows where he belongs and never will escape from. The moment stretches out before you, the world narrowing to just you and him, to this moment, to this beautiful, beautiful moment.

But then—hands, strong and cold, seize you from behind, and your breath stutters. Your instincts scream danger, but you’re too late. Your body is wrenched backwards, your planned attack on Sangwook slipping through your fingers like air, as he continues his walk, unaware, disappearing into the black abyss of the night, saved by sheer dumb luck.

A grunt of frustration escapes your lips, but you push the sound away as you focus on the here and now. The arms around you are like steel bars, locking your movements, restricting you, but not for long. You twist your body violently, your elbow driving backwards into your captor's ribs with full force. The impact reverberates through your bones, but the man barely falters, tightening his grip even further. Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts as you struggle, thrashing against the strength that holds you, your heart racing by pure survival instinct.

With a quick shift of your weight, you slam the heel of your combat boot down hard against his instep, and finally, you feel him flinch. It’s just enough. His grip loosens, and you slip free, stumbling forward but catching yourself before you fall to the ground. You whip around, panting silently, every muscle ready for the next strike.

Before you stands a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in black from head to toe, a black face mask covering the lower half of his face, his eyes squinting at you with angry intensity beneath the brim of a equally black cap. His chest heaves slightly from your brief struggle, but you can tell by his stance that he’s no amateur, even though his face mask tells a different story.

“Who the fuck are you?” you snap, your voice cutting through the night, sharp and impatient after your plan so gracefully failed.

The man scoffs, clearly unimpressed by your question. "I’m Pulse," he replies, his voice low and gravelly, laced with arrogance. "And with whom do I have the pleasure?"

The name rings a bell, and your mind clicks—Pulse. You’ve heard of him before, the so-called ‘hero’ who stalks the streets of Busan, swooping in like some self-righteous crusader to save the day. A ridiculous figure, some holier-than-thou idiot who thinks he can make a difference in a world that’s long past saving. You can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes your lips, suppressing a role of your eyes. He’s nothing more than a man playing dress-up, chasing glory under the guise of justice.

“Stasis,” you say through a mocking smile full of teeth, your tone dripping with derision. The name you gave yourself and the one you call him are a joke, a reflection of the absurdity of this whole pointless situation and himself. “Nice to meet you, Dulls.”

His eyes narrow further above his mask, gaze burning into you with his wounded ego. He clearly wasn’t expecting to run into someone like you tonight, and so he takes a step closer, his voice steady but laced with warning you can’t seem to take serious at the slightest. "This isn't how you make the world better. You shouldn’t be hurting people."

You can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes your lips, can’t help but to keep mocking him. "You don’t say."

Silence falls between you as your words reach him, as if he’s weighing his next words carefully, shifting through his thoughts, unsure of what to say next. Meanwhile, the beast inside you bares its teeth, gnashing against the cage of your control, howling for blood, demanding that you kill him right here and now. But you force it down, force yourself to remember that there’s a time and place for slaughter, that not every impulse of it deserves to be fed, not every throat needs to be torn open—only those who’ve earned it.

Pulse’s anger seems to dissolve into the night, slipping away like smoke, as if he’s sensed the monster stirring within you, as if he’s frying to soothe it with patience and understanding.

"I won’t hurt you."

Despite better judgement, you straighten at that, as Pulse’s voice carries a promise that you know better than to believe. It drips with false reassurance, and you’ve long since learned that such words are nothing but bait. You don’t trust him, won’t allow yourself to be lulled into a sense of security that clearly isn’t there. Instead, you begin to circle him to gain back the control he tried ripping out of your hands, testing the resolve behind his words, scanning him for weaknesses, pushing at the edges of his composure.

He stands rooted to the ground, immovable, like a tree whose roots have burrowed deep beneath the earth while the silent dance of power shifting back and forth continues. His cap shadows over his eyes, but you can still feel the burn of his gaze, still feel him asserting you. He watches you with an intensity that you don’t need to see to know; it lingers on your skin, prickling violently in the danger that he is to you.

„What are you doing?“ he finally says, his voice as soft as the night wind.

There it is. That kindness. That unbearable warmth that radiates off him like heat from a furnace, the same warmth that makes you want to recoil. His question is laced with the assumption that you can be saved. He speaks to you as though you're redeemable, as if you're nothing more than a misunderstood soul. As if the rivers of blood on your hands could be washed away by words alone.

„What does it look like I’m doing?“ you let the question hang in the air, more for your own amusement than any real attempt at conversation.

As you keep circling him, you take in every detail. He’s fit, his posture straight and sure, radiating confidence without arrogance. He seems young—perhaps the same age as you, or a little older, but it’s hard to pin down. His body speaks of strength, of long-honed discipline, but what bothers you is the life in his eyes, the youthfulness that disgusts you. There’s something unbearably naive in the way they looked at you before he hid them behind his cap, something untouched by the darkness you’ve come to know so well. Innocence like that has no place in your world. It’s a weakness, a flaw, and yet… he wears it as if it’s armour, shielding him from the filth around him.

You search for cracks in that armour, scrutinising his stance, looking for even the slightest imbalance—a weight leaning to one side, a twitch of muscle, any tell that would betray a vulnerability. But there’s nothing. His body remains steady, a fortress devoid of weakness. He doesn’t flinch as you move, doesn’t tense, not even when you brush close enough to feel the heat radiating off his back’s skin. His breathing is even, his pulse—steady.

Your eyes land on the faint rise and fall of his carotid artery, barely visible beneath the skin of his neck. It beats in a slow, calm rhythm, betraying no sign of fear or anticipation. It unsettles you. Every instinct you have is honed to control, to find the weak points in others, to bend them to your will with a word or a glance. But with him, nothing breaks. Nothing shifts. He stands as though the world could crumble around him and he’d remain unscathed.

„You don’t have to do this. You can stop, Stasis. There’s still time to change.“

Your frustration grows, curling like cigarette smoke in your chest. You’ve played this game before, unraveling the minds of those who thought they could stand against you. It’s a dance you know well—watching them falter, unravel, as the fear begins to claw at their insides, instincts kicking in. But with him… it’s as if you’re circling a stone, lifeless and unaffected by the tempest you try to stir.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t break.

You tilt your head slightly, studying him as he turns his eyes to follow your figure for the first time. And you see, that he’s truly like this—believing in the good in people, believing that change is as simple as a choice, as though it’s something that can be made over tea, some crackers and kind words. You almost admire his naivety. Almost.

"Change?" you repeat, a thin smile curling at the corner of your lips. "You speak of change as though it’s some inevitable truth. Some law of nature." You stop a few feet before him, being wiser than to drain your energy by pacing around him. "But nature is indifferent, Dulls. Things end. People die. No amount of hope can alter that."

He looks at you with those eyes again—those damnable eyes filled with that persistent, maddening compassion. It's almost enough to make you laugh out loud again.

„That’s not true.“

You tilt your head, a smirk tugging at your lips. "You know that it’s only your god complex speaking out of you, right?"

"God complex?" he echoes, brows furrowed, disappearing behind his cap.

You ignore his question entirely, the words meaningless to you now after everything’s unraveled so spectacularly, your plans detonating in your face like fireworks that left nothing but failure in their wake. Without a second glance, you turn on your heel, your patience worn dangerously thin, dismissing him as you throw over your shoulder, “Don’t waste your time, buddy.”

But he doesn’t let it go. “I know you’re not like this. I know there’s good in you, Stasis. You don’t have to be this person.”

You pause, something in his voice forcing you to stop, and with a soft, humourless laugh, you turn your head just enough to catch him in your peripheral, a shadow of a smile playing at your lips. “You still don’t get it, do you?” you murmur, the words laced with barely concealed disdain, with the cold, hard truth. “Some people are beyond saving.”

For a moment, he looks like he might argue. Like he might push harder, fight against the walls you’ve built around yourself. But then he stops. The tension in his shoulders eases, and he sighs, long and deep, as if the weight of the world presses down on him.

Without another word, you step back into the shadows, your figure melting into the darkness where it belongs. The moonlight barely touches you now, your body nothing more than a fleeting spectre in the night. You hear Pulse behind you, his footsteps hesitant, as if he’s debating whether or not to follow.

But he won’t.

You know he won’t.

Sitting at the small dining table in your shared dorm with Taehyung, the morning feels sluggish, lethargic in its stillness of early hours, sun barely peeking over the horizon just yet. Both of you and Taehyung eat breakfast—just some half-hearted cereal from the bottom of the box which expiration date you rather not learn, the crunch of each spoonful drowning out the low noise of a morning show called ‚Good Morning Busan‘ playing in the background. Taehyung, barely awake, eyes half-lidded and tired, mindlessly munches his way through his bowl while you absently stir your spoon through yours, your mind still circling the failure of the night before like you did to Pulse.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung grumbles through a mouthful of cereal, voice still thick with sleep, his curiosity nudging through the haze. “You came back pretty quick last night. Weren’t you successful?”

“No,” you reply with a dramatic sigh, your tone flat, biting back the frustration that’s been bubbling under your skin like boiling water since your plan failed miserably. “Got interrupted.”

He pauses mid-chew, eyes opening just a little more as he frowns. “By whom?”

“Pulse.” The name alone is enough to make your eyelid twitch with irritation. “That wannabe hero.”

A sleepy chuckle escapes him, the sound half-amused, half-groggy. “Wannabe hero?” Taehyung repeats, raising an eyebrow. “You sound pissed.”

“Of course I am,” you snap, the frustration rising to the surface again, until it spills over. “I’ve been planning this for months, Tae, and he just… ruins everything. Doesn’t he have anything better to do than patrol around to feed his ego?”

Taehyung snorts at that, choosing not to poke at the simmering frustration in your voice, knowing it’s better to let you vent than to fuel the fire. He knows you well enough by now to understand that there’s no point in trying to reason with you when you're like this, so he just lets you stew, quietly eating the rest of his cereal.

The silence deepens once more after your short outburst, as you finish eating as well. With an irritated huff, you stand and shove your bowls into the dishwasher before grabbing your bag and shoes, preparing to head to class. Taehyung follows, equally silent, slipping on his shoes as you grab the remote to turn off the TV. But just as your finger hovers over the power button, something on the screen catches your attention, halting your finger mid-press.

It’s him. It’s Pulse. His face, or rather his eyes, open and earnest, fill the screen as he speaks to a reporter, full of the kind of naive kindness that makes your skin crawl. “It’s not about honour,” he says, voice calm and oh so friendly. “It’s just doing what I can to help the mayor and police and keep the city safe. Protect its people.”

His words grate against something inside you, that calm righteousness sparking your anger all over again. You want to scream, to throw the remote straight into the TV and smash his sanctimonious face, but all you can do is stand there, teeth grating violently against each other, and turn the TV off with an aggressive jab of the button, yeeting the remote right after somewhere onto the depths of the couch. Without a word, you push through the door, Taehyung trailing lazily behind you with his loafers worn like slippers, as you both step out into the cold morning air. The chill brushes against your face in an instant, cooling your burning blood, and helping to dull the force of your fury.

After a few moments of quiet, Taehyung breaks the silence with a low chuckle, fully awake now from the brisk air. “I take it back,” he smirks. “Didn’t realise Pulse was so chummy with the devil.”

“I told you,” you mutter darkly, still fuming faintly, “he’s just another egotistical nitwit who doesn’t even understand what he’s protecting. Doesn’t understand that he’s part of the problem.”

Taehyung hums in agreement, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “So, what are you gonna do about him?”

You sigh, the weight of the question sinking into you. For a moment, you think about just ignoring him, writing him off as a nuisance who managed to catch you off guard this once but won’t be an issue again. “I don’t know,” you say with a scoff, the frustration still clinging to your voice. “Maybe I’ll just ignore him. He caught me by luck, anyway. It’s not like I’ll see him again… either way, I need to focus on taking down Sangwook and the others.”

Taehyung only hums at that, but you can’t seem to slow down just yet.

You scoff again, shaking your head in disbelief. “Pulse.*What kind of a name is that? He should call himself Blip. Stupid moron.”

Taehyung bursts out laughing, the sound echoing through the empty street, probably waking everyone in the neighbourhood, and the absurdity of it all finally cracks a smile on your face, too. “You know, I called him ‘Dulls’ last night. Didn’t go over well.”

Your laughter rises to match his, tears collecting at the edges of your eyes as you share the only moment of triumph, your tension slowly easing away with every breath.

Just then, Jungkook jogs up to join you, his soft hair bouncing with each step, and he grins at the two of you as though he’s been part of the joke all along. His presence is like a fresh breeze cutting through the remnants of your irritation, lightening your mood even more.

“What’s up?” he asks, his voice bright and curious. “What’s so funny?”

“She’s bashing Pulse,” Taehyung responds, barely holding back his laughter.

Jungkook’s smile falters, his brow furrowing as his gaze shifts into mild disapproval. “Why?”

You shrug, your mood already too high from the shared humour. “I don’t like do-gooders who have no idea what they’re doing,” you explain simply, dismissively, hoping to steer the conversation away from the topic before it stirs more irritation.

But you catch the slight tick in Jungkook’s jaw out of the corner of your eye, that tiny tightening that tells you he doesn’t see things the way you do. He’s too kind, too gentle, to understand the cynicism you’ve earned through scars on your mind and body. He probably sees Pulse as some noble protector, someone fighting for justice, unaware of how useless that brand of idealism is in the face of real, disguised evil. Sensing the shift in his mood, you deftly change the subject, not wanting to get into an argument so early in the day. “So, do you think med ethics will be any less torturous this semester?”

Taehyung sighs dramatically, rubbing his face with a groan. “I’m just trying to get through it. If I can pass and collect my attendance points, that’ll be enough.”

Jungkook chuckles softly. „True,“ though there’s still a trace of unease in his eyes, his smile not quite reaching them. You all fall into a quiet rhythm as you walk, the campus and some students coming into view as the conversation shifts to lighter things. And when you finally reach the lecture hall, you immediately spot Yoongi and Hoseok seated in an empty row, deep in conversation. They acknowledge your arrival with a brief glance, uninterested in breaking their rhythm as the three of you head towards them. Taehyung leads the way, his eyes scanning the tables before stopping just short of sitting down, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Wait, where’s the coffee? Whose turn was it?”

Hoseok glances up, barely holding back a grin. “Jennie’s, but I think she’s late again.”

Just as you’re about to step into the row as well, hurried footsteps echo from behind. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see Jennie dashing around the professor, a tray of coffee in hand, nearly tripping over herself in her haste. Before you can fully process it, she’s yanking Jungkook back by his shirt, latter letting out a short yelp while she squeezes past the narrow gap between him and the tables, bulldozing her way through without much care. She brushes by you too, nearly crushing your thighs against the hard edges of the chairs, mumbling a half-hearted “sorry” that you know she doesn’t mean, before plopping herself down beside Taehyung with a satisfied grin.

You exchange a bewildered look with Jungkook, his expression mirroring your own disbelief, while Taehyung, completely unfazed, is already deep in hushed conversation with Jennie, grinning like he’d been waiting for her all along. Yoongi and Hoseok lean over Taehyung to grab their coffees, neither of them paying any mind to personal space.

“Alright, if everyone could please sit down, we’ll begin,” the professor calls through the room, and you quickly slip into the seat beside Jennie, Jungkook sitting down right next to you still fixing his shirt’s collar. Both of you pull out your laptops in near-perfect synchronisation, and after handing Jungkook a coffee, you quietly sip your own as the lecture begins.

It doesn’t take long into the lecture, when Jungkook nudges you softly with his elbow, a small, warm pressure that disrupts the stillness in your thoughts and concentration. You nudge him back, acknowledging his presence, though your gaze remains forward, fixed on the professor, though you're not really seeing him now.

Jungkook leans in slightly, his voice so low it barely reaches your ears. “You know, I’ve been thinking about yesterday… and I just wanted to let you know, it’s okay if you don’t want to date me or anything. Don’t feel pressured or anything like that…” His voice trails off into uncertainty.

For a moment, you're stunned, not having expected this. Your thoughts reel back to yesterday, to that quiet moment shared over coffee. It was one of the few times you’d felt at ease, like you belonged somewhere, even for a little while. Jungkook had made you feel… seen. Appreciated, even. There was something about the way you looked at each other, listened to each other, that made you feel like you weren’t just playing a part in someone else’s story, but actually living in your own.

You realise then, that you long for such a connection. Long for a connection with him. You’ve denied it for so long, convinced yourself you didn’t need it, didn’t deserve it. How could you, after everything you’ve done and everything that you plan to do? Building something with Jungkook on a foundation of lies feels reckless, not fair even. How could you let him get closer, knowing he doesn't know the real you? No, not the real you, but a part of you. A part, that feels like poisoned soil where he tries to plant a garden.

Yet, there's another voice inside you, quieter but insistent: Why should your dark side dictate your life, your future? Why shouldn’t you let yourself have this light, this chance to be happy? You aren’t made of shadow entirely, you never were, and something in you yearns for Jungkook like a flower aches for sunlight. What if—just even for a while—it doesn’t have to matter?

“I would love to go on a date with you,” you whisper softly, your voice barely louder than his, wanting to take the chance for once. You feel warmth blooming in your chest and cheeks, a rush of blood that you haven’t felt in so long, and you fight to keep a smile from overtaking your lips.

And despite the mutation that shields you from physical pain, the storm of emotions coursing through you is undeniable proof of you still being alive—an inescapable, aching force reminding you that you are not the hollow shell you sometimes wish to be, but simply a feeling human. Every emotion—fear, joy, longing—rattles through your bones like a sized twelve earthquake, shaking you down to the foundation. You realise, that with your agreement, the gates to the warmth has been pulled open completely, flooding your veins without mercy, though the warmth is something different, something brighter. It spreads slowly, like the glow of the sun rising after a long, brutal night.

Love and hope, fragile and intoxicating, winds its way into the dark crevices of your being, a sensation you’ve craved for so long that its presence is almost overwhelming. It’s everything you lost, everything that was ripped from you when your childhood was robbed from you, leaving only jagged fragments of yourself behind. And now, against all odds, it’s here again—this feeling of belonging, of connection—and it fills the void that has festered within you for years. It is what you’ve longed for since the day your innocence was stolen, and though it terrifies you, it also makes you feel more alive than you have in years.

A disbelieving, but happy puff of air escapes Jungkook’s lips. “You mean that?” His words carry a hopeful surprise, as if he hadn’t truly expected you to say yes.

For a brief moment, evil, dark doubt creeps back in, whispering that you should push him away, that your darkness will only hurt him in the end. But then, another thought pushes through the shadows: maybe this is your chance to follow the light, to give yourself permission to feel something real, something good. And for once, you let that thought win. “Yes,” you murmur softly, surrendering to the happiness with a silent sigh.

Without a word, Jungkook’s hand finds yours where it rests on your thigh, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. The warmth of his touch settles you, like a calm wave washing over a restless shore. He draws your connected hands over to his thigh, letting them rest there, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring circles across the back of your hand. “We’ve got classes all day,” he murmurs, his voice light with excitement, “but do you want to go out tomorrow night?”

“That would be great,” you whisper, glancing at him briefly. The smile you’ve been fighting finally breaks free, curving your lips as a soft tenderness spreads through you.

Jungkook beams, his own smile bright and unguarded as he strokes your hand with his thumb. “Cool. Tomorrow it is,” he nods, his voice light with pure, innocent joy. “I’ll pick you up.”

And in that moment, you feel truly happy, in a way you haven’t allowed yourself to feel for years. It’s a strange feeling, both exhilarating and terrifying to its core, like standing on the edge of a cliff with your toes hanging over, unsure if the fall will break you or set you free. But it feels good. It feels right. It feels as though there might be a future for you after all—one not swallowed whole by despair and darkness.

Yet even as you savour the warmth spreading through and around you, a small whisper of uncertainty lingers. You don’t know if you’ll regret this, if letting Jungkook into your life will end up being the worst mistake you’ve ever made. But for now, for this fleeting moment in your short life, as your fingers remain intertwined with his, you let it wrap around you, and allow yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there’s still some light left worth saving in you after all.

prologue • 01 • 02 • masterlist • 04

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

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