koooobi

[koooobi]

OT7 / MULTIPLE MEMBERS

VIOLENT DELIGHTS

pairing: ot7bts x reader

summary: Y/N volunteers in a mental hospital with the intention to help the patients and care for them. Everything seems to be normal, except for seven boys whom she was assigned to. She doesn't understand what mess she has gotten herself into, and when she does, it's too late to get out.

warnings: mental illnesses, gang violence, murder, weapons, gore, mental asylum, drugs, implied smut…

read on wattpad

FRIENDLY FIRE (m, f, a)

pairing: jungkookxreader, jiminxreader

summary: You and Jungkook had been friends for quite some time, and it seemed like everyone around you could sense the spark between you. They noticed the playful banter and affectionate gazes he directed your way. However, you were completely oblivious to it all, thinking that your relationship with Jungkook was purely platonic. Little did you know, things were about to get complicated. Enter Jimin, who developed a crush on you. This unexpected turn of events stirred up some jealousy in Jungkook. What will happen next?

DEVIL TOWN (m, f, a)

pairing: ot7bts x reader

summary: She eagerly stepped into her new home, filled with excitement and a sense of newfound independence. Unbeknownst to her, the house held a hidden secret, as seven ethereal beings lingered within its walls, trapped in a realm between the living and the dead. Their presence would soon intertwine with her life, revealing a haunting tale of mystery where she would be forced to free them, bringing them back to the land of the living.

warnings: paranormal activity, smut, ghosts, haunted house, the ghosts messing with y/n, somewhat mystery, angst, death, blood, crimes…

JUNGKOOK

RESIDUE (m, f, a)

summary: After witnessing a murder, you expect to be killed on the spot. Instead the killer demands for shelter in your home. The only way out of the clutches of death, is to let him stay. Fear and uncertainty ripped within your body, but you had to comply

warnings: death, implied smut, murder, gore…

INNOCENT UNTIL PROVEN GUILTY (m, f, a)

summary: Jeon Jeongguk. A name that had dominated headlines and splashed across the front pages of every major newspaper for weeks. Accused of being a serial murderer, he was the centre of a storm that gripped the entire nation. And now, you were standing in the eye of that storm—assigned as his criminal defense lawyer, with no choice but to defend him.

warnings: murder, death, law, court idk check the series masterlist ;-;

COLLATERAL DAMAGE

summary: A lot of time had passed since you last saw Jungkook. The last you saw of him he was just a young man drowning in the endless workload of medical school, battling sleepless nights and the crushing weight of expectations. But now? He’s different—colder, more distant, and, somehow, even more insufferable than before.

warnings: blood, surgery, hospitals

GAZE OF THE CURSED

COMING SOON! ONESHOT

[koooobi]

Devil Town | Masterlist

pairing: ot7bts x reader

genre: mystery, haunted, ghost!au, historic, supernatural (read warnings)

summary: She eagerly stepped into her new home, filled with excitement and a sense of newfound independence. Unbeknownst to her, the house held a hidden secret, as seven ethereal beings lingered within its walls, trapped in a realm between the living and the dead. Their presence would soon intertwine with her life, revealing a haunting tale of mystery where she would be forced to free them, bringing them back to the land of the living.

warnings: mentions of ghosts&demons, mentions of death, murder, blood, haunted house, horror, smut, fluff, angst, jump scares, bts haunt y/n… (warnings will be at the start of each chapter)

tag list: open

teaser | 01

[koooobi]

Please put keep reading (read more) seperator on your posts🙏. It really helps mobile user navigate your posts more easily

it should be on already? 😭😭😭 unless i’m doing it wrong, can u check again pls

[koooobi]

Hi there,

I’m reaching out with a quiet hope in my heart. These days are heavy, and my family is living through a reality filled with uncertainty—but I’m still here, doing my best to hold on and keep going.

If you have a moment, please check out my pinned post.

A simple share could help it reach someone who might be able to make a difference.

If you’re able to give, even the smallest kindness can bring light into the darkest places.

Your time, your voice, your compassion — it all matters more than you know.

With deep gratitude,

@nadinfamily

.

[koooobi]

Just read the first chapter. Godddd you write SO well!! 😭😭😭😭 it's 2am here and omg.. The goosebumps! 😭😭😭😭😭

Ahhh can't wait for more. Thank you so much for this masterpiece 💜😭😭

Also, thank you for the pics! Your writing helped me imagine even without those (cus you wrote so well🤧) but getting your perspective helps me imagine it in the way you intend the story to be😭😭😭😭

no thank YOU!!!! you’re too kind, i really appreciate it :D

i’m so glad you liked it and lmk if u have anymore questions

[koooobi]

INNOCENT UNTIL PROVEN GUILTY // MASTERLIST

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: lawyer, criminals, law, client to lover

summary: Jeon Jeongguk. A name that had dominated headlines and splashed across the front pages of every major newspaper for weeks. Accused of being a serial murderer, he was the centre of a storm that gripped the entire nation.

And now, you were standing in the eye of that storm—assigned as his criminal defense lawyer, with no choice but to defend him.

taglist: comment/dm to be added!

warnings: smut(?), fluff, angst, mentions of murder, tbd

CHAPTER INDEX

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three…

RELEASE DATE: TBD

(authors note: i keep thinking of new plots… and starting new stories instead of continuing with my current ones… BUT I HAVE A LOT OF TIME ON MY HANDS SO BE READYYYY!!!!)

[koooobi]

Hello! Love your writing. Devil town is great!

Mm can you plsss explain the house in detail or share pics similar to it? It helps me imagine everything that happens vividly🥹

thank you so much and of course!!!

here you go! also, the house is quite old and uncared for so just imagine it a bit messy and untidy at first but with the same structure (but reader eventually cleans it up and makes it look all like the above pictures ofc)

let me know if it’s still confusing… i couldn’t find much 😿

[koooobi]

JUST THIS ONCE | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff (?)

word count: 5.1k

warnings: you’re gonna get sick of the title loll, brief alcohol consumption, this is lowkey pwp (there will be more plot soon i promise) swearing, explicit sexual content, kissing, making out, fingering, oral (m. receiving), he’s very cocky but also pathetic, multiple orgasms, lots of banter and teasing as dirty talk, petnames (baby), jk calls oc a brat x2, multiple positions, insinuated aftercare, let me know if i missed anything!

notes: you guys built this fic!! this was supposed to be out on thursday but i realised i was being wayy to ambitious cuz i definitely needed more than two days to write this loll. but alas, it’s here :3 as always, likes, comments, reblogs, feedback and asks are very appreciated! enjoy reading angels <33

ps. THERE WILL BE A PART TWO!!

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

You fumble with your keys, swaying just slightly as you try to jab the right one into the lock. Behind you, Jungkook’s laughing under his breath, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on the back of your neck.

“Need help?” he asks, the amusement in his voice unmistakable.

“I’ve got it,” you say, jabbing the key with exaggerated precision. The door finally clicks open, and you push it in with a triumphant, “Ha!”

“You’re so competent,” he deadpans, clapping a mock applause as he follows you in. His shoulder bumps yours as he passes. “It’s honestly inspiring.”

You kick off your shoes, tossing your keys into the bowl by the door. “And you’re so annoying,” you mutter, but there’s no heat in it.

Jungkook drops onto your couch like it’s his own, sprawling out like he owns the place. Which, in some ways, he kind of does.

A hoodie of his is already slung over the back of a kitchen chair, from some night two weeks ago when he stayed too late and decided not to drive home. There’s an energy drink in your fridge with his name written on the lid in Sharpie. The blanket he’s tugging over his lap? That’s the one he gifted you for Christmas, mostly so he could use it whenever he came over.

It’s always been like this.

He tosses his denim jacket on the couch as you grab two bottles of water from the fridge, chucking one to him without warning. He catches it with the ease.

“You were definitely flirting with that bartender,” he says, unscrewing the cap and looking at you with that maddeningly smug smile.

You scoff. “He had a mullet and called me ‘miss.’ It wasn’t flirting— it was survival.”

“Sure,” he says, nodding like he totally believes you. “That’s why you laughed at everything he said, even when he asked if you liked your tequila neat.”

“It was neat!” you say, defensive and laughing at the same time. “And besides, you flirted with the girl in the fishnets for, like, an hour.”

He shrugs. “Guilty. She had good taste in music. And thighs.”

You groan and flop down beside him on the couch, letting your head fall back against the cushion. Your thigh brushes his, but you don’t move. Neither does he. The buzz from the party is still warm in your blood, and the apartment feels too quiet now — too intimate without the noise and lights and other bodies.

“You ever think we’re just... really bad at dating?” you ask, staring at the ceiling.

“Constantly,” Jungkook says, without hesitation.

You glance at him. “Like, maybe we peaked in college.”

He makes a face. “Don’t say that. I refuse to believe my best years happened while I was still eating instant ramen and failing comp sci.”

You laugh, and he turns his head toward you, watching you with that soft-eyed expression you know too well. There’s something about Jungkook when he’s like this — no bravado, no teasing smirk, just... present. His hair is a mess from the wind, and a dark tank top hugs his figure.

He’s too comfortable here. Too familiar.

“I genuinely think I’ve forgotten what a good kiss feels like,” you say, mostly to the ceiling, like it’s a throwaway thought.

Jungkook hums. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s not even bad, it’s just...” You trail off, searching for the word. “Empty. Mechanical. Like everyone’s going through the motions, but nobody’s actually there.”

He shifts slightly, angling his body more toward you. “So no decent kissers at all lately?”

You shake your head. “No decent anything, if I’m honest.”

He raises an eyebrow, curious.

You hesitate, but the alcohol in your system makes it easier to say what you probably wouldn’t sober. “I haven’t slept with anyone in like... almost a year.”

Jungkook blinks, not in judgment, just surprised. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” You rub at your temple with a laugh. “I didn’t plan it or anything. It just kind of... kept not happening. And then it became this weird streak, and now here we are.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“Well,” he says eventually, “maybe your standards are just too high.”

“Or maybe men are just mid,” you shoot back.

That gets a laugh out of him, loud and bright. He tips his head back, and you watch his throat move as he laughs. Too long. Too hard. When he calms down, he gives you a look — something mischievous that you've grown to know too well over the years.

"What?" you ask, narrowing your eyes at him with a smile.

He shrugs. “I mean... I could help."

“With my standards?”

“With the streak.”

You snort. “What, you offering?”

“Maybe.”

You tilt your head. “So what? You wanna bang it out?”

It’s meant to be funny. You’re grinning when you say it. But when you look at him — really look — he’s not laughing.

His gaze lingers on your mouth for a beat too long. Then his eyes flick up to yours.

“Just this once?” he asks, voice low. Careful. Like he’s giving you an out.

You don’t answer right away. The room goes still. The hum of the fridge feels too loud. His eyes are still on you, and it’s not a look you’ve ever seen from him before.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

You swallow. “Wouldn't it be weird?”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away.

“Only if we let it be.”

You sit there for a second, the weight of it all hitting a little too fast. Your brain’s still catching up to your mouth, to the way your body’s buzzing — not from the alcohol anymore, but from him. From the heat in his eyes, the way he said it — almost like a dare.

And then his expression shifts.

His eyes flick away, and his tongue runs over the silver ring on his bottom lip, like he’s pulling it back, reeling it in.

“Only if you want to, obviously,” he says, quieter this time. “We don’t have to.”

He starts to lean back like he's resetting the mood — like this moment can still be folded back into the safety of your usual teasing — but you stop him.

You move first.

You grab the front of his tank top — not hard, not dramatic, just enough — and you pull him in.

You kiss him.

It’s abrupt. Heat over hesitation. A split-second decision that tastes like tequila and impulse, like comfort and fuck it all wrapped up in the same breath.

At first, he doesn’t move, frozen in surprise. But then he kisses you back — really kisses you back — and suddenly you're not thinking anymore.

His hand slides to your thigh, just enough pressure to ground you, and you shift toward him instinctively, knees brushing his. His mouth moves against yours with a kind of focused laziness, like he’s savouring it. Like he’s trying to figure out exactly how you taste.

You pull back half a second, just to breathe, lips brushing his as you mutter, “Took you long enough.”

He laughs into your mouth, low and smug. “You kissed me.”

“Yeah, well. You looked like you were gonna bail.”

“I was being respectful,” he says, voice muffled against your jaw as he starts kissing along it. “But sure, let’s call it bailing.”

You gasp a little when he nips at your neck, just enough pressure to make you arch toward him. Your hands slide under his top, fingers skimming the warm skin of his back, and he shivers under your touch.

“Jesus,” you murmur. “How are you this built? You eat, like, gas station snacks and leftover noodles.”

“I work out,” he mutters between kisses, grinning as he drags his mouth back to yours. “Also, you’ve seen me shirtless.”

“Yeah, but not like this.”

“Like what?”

You tug him closer until your chest presses to his. “Like I get to touch.”

That shuts him up real quick.

He kisses you again, this time more urgently, and you feel the change in the air — less teasing, more want. Your legs shift to straddle his lap without thinking, your hands sliding up into his hair, tugging just a little.

He groans, deep and rough, biting down on your bottom lip before kissing it better. You rock your hips forward slightly and he bucks up into you with a hiss.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

You smirk against his mouth. “You offered, remember?”

“Yeah, and I’m rapidly realising that was a dangerous choice.”

You laugh, breathless, before kissing him again. He tastes like beer and something sweeter — probably the gum he always chews. You bite his lip and feel him groan into your mouth, hips jerking beneath you.

His fingers slip under your shirt, warm on your skin. Not rushed, just exploring — like he’s been curious for a while and is finally allowed to look.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, and his head drops back against the cushion with a low fuck that makes your stomach flip.

“You still sure about this?” you ask, teasing, as your hands drag down his chest, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

His eyes open — dark, focused, amused.

“You gonna stop me if I say no?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

“Then yeah,” he says, breath hitching as your fingers reach his abdomen. “I’m very sure.”

He catches your fingers before you can finish unbuttoning his jeans.

You raise a brow, breath still uneven. “Seriously?”

He nods, steady, calm in a way that only makes your pulse pound harder. “I said I was helping you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I thought that was like... a mutual helping situation.”

His mouth twitches. “You always gotta argue when I’m trying to do something nice?”

You open your mouth to throw something back — something biting, something stupid — but he leans in and kisses you before you can get the words out. One hand still wrapped around your wrist, the other cupping your jaw.

He pulls back just enough to speak.

“Let me take care of you.”

You stare at him for a beat, heart kicking hard in your chest.

“Fine,” you mutter, trying to sound unbothered. “But don't expect any thank yous or shit.”

“I’ll survive,” he says, already smirking as his fingers work at your jeans. “Though, for the record, I think you’re gonna want to.”

You snort — right before he pops the button of your jeans and drags the zipper down, knuckles brushing your skin. You shiver.

“God, you’re cocky.”

He glances up, eyes flicking to yours. “You saying I haven’t earned it?”

You don’t answer. Your breath stutters when his hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties, palm flush against you.

He stills.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice dropping. “You’re wet already?”

“Shut up.”

He smiles cockily.

You roll your eyes — try to, anyway — but your thighs are already parting, your body moving without conscious thought. His fingers slide into you, testing the waters, and your head tips back with a soft sigh.

He watches your face like he’s waiting for something. When your mouth parts, when your hips twitch toward his hand, that’s when he moves.

His thumb finds your bud and he's gentle at first. Circling, then rubbing just a little firmer. You bite your lip hard, trying not to give him the satisfaction of the noises building in your throat.

“Still not thanking you,” you say through clenched teeth.

“Oh, you will,” he says, low. “Eventually.”

You glare at him. He grins back, fingers dragging lower, slipping in without resistance. You suck in a breath, and he laughs softly under it.

“Okay?” he asks, suddenly serious again.

You nod, maybe too quickly. “Yeah. More than okay.”

He starts moving his fingers — slow at first, too slow. Like he’s enjoying making you wait. You squirm, trying to rock your hips into his hand, but he tightens his grip on your thigh.

“Nuh-uh,” he says, eyes gleaming. “You’re letting me do the work, remember?”

“I hate you.”

“You’re literally grinding on my hand right now.”

You reach out blindly and smack his chest. He doesn’t even flinch — just slips another finger in, and your breath catches so hard it punches the air from your lungs.

“There it is,” he murmurs.

His thumb picks up a rhythm again, and the pressure starts to build fast. He knows it, too. His free hand slides around your waist, steadying you as your body starts to shake. Your fist curls into the soft fabric of his top, needing something to hold onto.

“Still hate me?” he asks, voice rougher now, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

“Don’t flatter yourself— fuck—”

“Yeah?” His fingers curl just right, and your whole body tenses. “Right there?”

You nod, desperate, eyes squeezed shut. Your thighs are shaking. You’re so close you can’t even keep up the bit.

“Say it,” he says.

“Say what?”

“Tell me how good I make you feel.”

You groan. “Jesus, Jungkook—”

He slows down suddenly, barely moving his hand.

You whine. Actually whine.

“That’s not what I asked for.”

“God, you’re annoying,” you say, breathless.

He grins. “You're the one being the brat here.”

You drag your eyes open and glare at him, but it’s all heat now. All want. You lean in close, lips pressing against his.

"Fuck— fine. You feel so fucking good, Kook. Please, just don't stop."

He doesn’t.

He kisses you hard and fast, and his fingers start again, slick and firm and relentless. Your body clenches around him and this time, you don’t even try to hold the sounds back. His name leaves your mouth like muscle memory, and he groans into your kiss, like he’s the one coming undone.

When you break the kiss to suck in air, he presses his forehead to yours, voice rough in your ear.

“That’s it. Let go for me.”

You do.

Your body arches, thighs trembling as the orgasm washes over you sharp and fast. Your fingers dig into his back, into his top, into anything that keeps you tethered.

He doesn’t stop until you’re gasping, twitching, pushing his hand away because you’re too sensitive now.

He pulls back finally, breath warm against your skin, his fingers wet. He looks at you, gaze heavy, lips parted.

Then, without a word, he brings his fingers to your mouth.

“Open,” he says, low and steady.

You blink at him, your body still humming, brain half-melted. “What—?”

He brushes two slick fingers against your bottom lip, and your mouth parts on instinct.

“You said no thank yous,” he says, smirking. “So this’ll do.”

You glare at him, but your lips close around his fingers anyway. He watches every second — the way your mouth wraps around them, the way your tongue slides against the pads. His expression flickers from cocky to wrecked.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice rough now, the smugness cracking around the edges.

You suck once, slow and purposeful, eyes locked on his, and he jerks slightly under you — hips twitching like your mouth is on him instead. When you pull off with a soft pop, your lips are swollen and wet.

“You said mutual help,” you murmur, breath still catching on the end of every word. “It’s your turn.”

He blinks, like he’s short-circuiting.

You slide off his lap slowly, hands dragging down his chest, and his breath catches when you settle between his legs on your knees. You palm him over his jeans, and he hisses, already hard under your touch.

“Fuck,” he mutters, head tipping back.

“You okay there?” you ask, voice sweet, taunting. “Or do you need me to go slower?”

He looks down at you, pupils blown, jaw clenched. “Don’t be a brat.”

You unbutton his jeans, real slow, enjoying the way he twitches under your hands. “No promises.”

You drag the zipper down, tugging his jeans and boxers low enough to free him. He’s flushed and heavy, tip already glistening, and you swear you see his hips flex at just the sight of your mouth this close.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You look way too good down there.”

You wrap your hand around his cock, giving one slow stroke, and he groans like it surprises him.

You start slow. Just your hand. Thumb brushing over the sensitive ridge under the head, watching his thighs tense beneath your touch. His head drops back against the couch cushion, and you feel the way his hips subtly shift toward you, like his body’s trying to chase more without him even realising it.

You lean in and lick a slow stripe from base to tip, tongue flat, deliberate. His breath catches — then shudders out of him like you’ve knocked the air from his lungs.

“Shit,” he mutters again, voice strained.

You hum like you agree, and wrap your lips around the head, just barely. You suck, not hard — just enough to make him twitch. Your hand works in tandem, slow, steady strokes, and your mouth follows, inching lower until the tip presses against the back of your throat.

He moans, raw and wrecked. “Fuck, baby—”

The pet name is barely more than a gasp, almost like it slipped out without permission. Your stomach flips at the sound it.

His voice borders on the line of sounding pathetic, and it makes you want to press your thighs together.

You fall into rhythm — your lips sliding over him, tongue pressed firm underneath, hand twisting where your mouth leaves off. Every now and then, you let yourself get sloppy. Let the sound of it echo between you, let him hear what he’s doing to you.

He’s falling apart above you. You can tell by the way his hand flexes and releases in your hair, the way his thighs tremble every time you sink a little deeper. He’s breathing hard now, jaw slack, eyes barely open. Watching you. Like he still can’t believe this is real.

“God, your mouth—” His voice cuts off into a moan when you swallow around him, deep and slow. "You're gonna be the death of me."

You pull off just long enough to breathe, lips slick, chin wet. “You deserve it.”

He laughs, but it breaks halfway through. Your hand doesn’t stop moving.

“You like watching me fall apart, huh?”

You look up through your lashes, tongue flicking over the head. “More than a little.”

You go back down — deeper this time — and he chokes on a groan. His hips jerk up too sharply and he curses, hands fisting hard in your hair.

“Shit— I’m—” He’s panting now, thighs shaking. “I’m not gonna last if you keep— fuck, don’t—”

You suck harder, then moan around him just to hear the sound he makes. It’s almost a whimper.

“Baby, stop— wait— fuck— please—”

You pull off with a wet pop just before he tips over the edge, lips red and swollen, saliva clinging to your chin. He’s barely keeping it together. Chest heaving, flushed to the neck, cock twitching where it rests against his stomach.

“You were right there,” you say, feigning innocence, voice soft and ruined.

“Exactly," he says, sitting up. "I'm not done with you yet."

He drags the fabric of his top over his head, tossing it aside without a second thought. The moment it’s off, your breath catches.

Fuck.

He’s all golden skin and sharp lines, chest heaving, abs flexing with every breath. His tattoos curl over his shoulder and down his arm, black ink stark against flushed skin. His cock’s still hard, flushed dark, resting against his stomach, twitching when he sees the way you’re looking at him.

And you — still kneeling between his legs — can’t look away.

Then you rise, shaky but determined, and pull your top over your head, letting it fall. His eyes snap to your chest, lips parting like he’s just been punched in the gut. You're movements are purposefully slow as you pull down your jeans, then your panties.

“Jesus,” he mutters, eyes dragging down your body. “You’re a fucking dream.”

You crawl back into his lap, your bare skin meeting his, and the contact makes both of you gasp. You straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs, and he groans the moment your heat presses against his cock.

He fumbles for a condom, pulling it out from an inner pocket in the jacket he’d draped onto the couch earlier.

You watch as he tears it open and rolls it on, fingers practiced but tense. You reach between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance, and the second his tip slides against your soaked folds, his grip tightens on your hips.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice shaking.

You sink down slowly, inch by thick inch, and your nails bite into his shoulders as you stretch around him. He’s big — your pussy gripping him tight, wet and pulsing as he fills you up. Every nerve lights up, every breath gets harder to catch.

“Holy fuck—” His head drops to your chest, groaning against your skin. “You’re so tight. So fucking warm. Gonna make me lose it.”

You whimper as you bottom out, walls fluttering around him. You can feel every vein, every twitch. It’s almost too much. Almost.

But not enough.

You start to move — slow, dragging lifts of your hips, circling them on the way back down. He watches, hands clamped on your ass, guiding the grind of your body like he already knows how to make you fall apart again.

You ride him, pace picking up fast, desperate. Every time your hips drop, the base of his cock grinds against your clit, slick sounds filling the room with every slap of skin against skin. His cock hits deep, stretching you wide, and a moan passes your lips.

He groans are low and guttural, eyes locked to where your bodies meet. “Goddamn, baby. Watching you fuck yourself on my cock— shit— never gonna forget this.”

You’re panting now, thighs burning, rhythm faltering. You try to keep going, but your legs are shaking.

He notices.

Without a word, he shifts under you, plants his feet flat on the floor, and grabs your hips tight.

“Let me help you, yeah?”

You nod. “Please.”

He starts thrusting up into you.

You cry out, spine arching, hands flying to his shoulders to hold on as he fucks you from underneath, sharp and deep. His hips snap up into you, cock pressing into your sweet spot over and over again.

The new angle is obscene. Filthy.

“Fuck, Jungkook— holy shit—”

He smirks up at you, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. “That’s it. Take it, baby. Look at you— so cockdrunk already.”

Your pussy clenches around him, soaked and messy, and the sound of it is downright pornographic. His balls slap against your ass with every brutal thrust, and you can’t even think anymore. Just feel.

Your head falls back, hips rocking with his. “W-we’re still best friends, right, Kook?”

His rhythm stutters, hips slamming up too hard, too deep, and his jaw drops slightly like he’s not sure if he actually heard you right. His pupils are blown, face flushed, and he stares at you like you just kicked the last brain cell out of his skull.

“What the fuck,” he pants. “You can’t say that. Not when I’m— fuck— inside you.”

You whimper, walls clenching around him like your body’s reacting to how wrecked he sounds.

“That’s so fucked up,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Say it again and I might actually come on the spot.”

You huff out a weak laugh at that, hands tangling in his hair, and he groans, fucking you harder, deeper — like he needs to wipe the thought of friendship off your brain with every snap of his hips.

“Y-Yeah,” you gasp. “So close, fuck— don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. One hand slips between your bodies, fingers rubbing tight, fast circles over your clit while he pounds into you. You sob his name, hips stuttering, body locking up.

“Come on,” he grits out. “Wanna feel you squeeze me.”

That’s all it takes.

You break with a cry, body clamping down around him as your orgasm hits like a fucking freight train. Your pussy pulses around his cock, milking him, soaking him, your whole body shuddering with the force of it.

He slows just a little — just enough to let you ride it out — but he doesn’t pull out. He’s still hard inside you, jaw tight, eyes blown wide.

You collapse forward, panting into his neck, spent.

His hands slide down your spine, warm and possessive. “You good?”

You nod, still breathless. “Yeah. Jesus.”

"Good." He swiftly lifts you off him just enough to slip out, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. But he doesn’t give you time to think.

He shifts, guiding you onto your back, his body following yours down to the couch. His hands frame your face as he settles between your legs, and when he presses back into you — thick and hard.

His eyes roam over you like he’s never seen anything more obscene or more beautiful. Your lips are swollen, parted in a messy moan. There’s a faint smudge of mascara under one eye from when you’d cried out his name, and your skin’s glowing — sweaty, flushed, wrecked.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he says, voice gone rough. “All fucked out for me.”

You pull him down into a kiss before you can think. It’s open-mouthed, greedy, teeth clashing a little. His hips start to move again, slow at first — long, deep thrusts that make your breath catch every time he bottoms out.

You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back to pull him deeper. His chest brushes yours, sticky skin against sticky skin, and your nails rake down his back.

He gasps into your mouth. “Fuck—”

“More,” you breathe, nails dragging again, leaving angry red lines down the muscle of his back. “Please.”

His hips snap harder, pace picking up again. He braces one hand beside your head and the other slides up your thigh, gripping tight enough to bruise. Your body rocks with every thrust, his cock slamming into you, the slap of his hips against yours louder now.

“You feel that?” he grits out, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “How tight you are around me? Fuck— I’m so deep, baby, you’re taking me so fucking good.”

You moan loud at his words, head falling back against the cushions.

He kisses down your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breast — open-mouthed, wet kisses that make your skin burn. Then he’s back at your mouth, kissing you like it’s the only way he knows how to breathe.

He watches you with the kind of hunger that makes your stomach flip, watching how your brows pinch, how your mouth trembles, how you twitch around him with every stroke like you’re on the edge all over again.

And fuck, you are.

“Touch me,” you gasp, voice raw. “Kook, please—”

His fingers snake down your stomach, rubbing tight, perfect circles against your clit, synced with the rhythm of his thrusts. You cry out, thighs shaking around his waist, and he just watches — eyes dark and wild, like he can’t believe what he’s doing to you.

You clench hard around him, and he curses, slamming into you deeper, grinding at the end of each stroke.

“Gonna come again?” he pants. “Wanna come on my cock like that, baby? Let me feel you soak me?”

You’re nodding before he finishes, tears prickling in your eyes from how fucking intense it is. “Yes— yes, fuck, don’t stop—”

He kisses you as you fall apart — moaning into your mouth, swallowing every sound. You come again, whole body seizing around him. Your nails dig in, and he hisses at the pain, thrusting through it, fucking you right through the high.

When it ebbs, your body goes limp under him, chest heaving, lips swollen, slick dripping between your thighs.

Jungkook fucks into you again — slow, deep, like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you pulsing around him. His breath stutters, muscles drawn tight, every thrust rougher than the last.

“I’m not gonna last,” he pants, voice wrecked.

You bring your hands up to his hair, lightly tugging at his locks as you whisper, “Wanna feel you.”

He chokes on a moan, slamming into you one final time as he comes hard, cock twitching deep inside as he fills the condom.

His arms shake, muscles locked tight, and his face is buried in your neck as he rides it out, breath ragged, skin flushed and burning. You feel every pulse of it, every tremble in his frame, and all you can do is hold him there — legs wrapped tight around his waist, arms tangled around his shoulders, your nails still leaving stinging trails across his skin.

He presses kisses against your neck and jaw, eventually trailing up to your lips before pulling back to just look at you.

"I— you're perfect."

You smile, a familiar warmth enveloping your cheeks. "Yeah, yeah, you can stop with the flattery."

But he doesn’t smile back right away. He just watches you, quiet. Like he’s still catching up to the weight of what just happened. What’s still happening.

His hand drifts to your waist, thumb brushing lazily over your damp skin. “Let me run you a bath.”

You blink. “A bath?”

He nods, lips brushing your temple. “Yeah. You’re shaky. And I kinda wrecked you.”

You snort, catching the smugness in his voice. “What happened to, ‘Shit, baby, if you don’t stop I’m gonna come down your throat’?”

He groans, laughing. “Okay, first of all— rude. Second, I don’t sound like that.”

“Mm, you definitely do.”

He pinches your side lightly. “Keep talking, I’ll re-enact it right now.”

You shut up. But you’re smiling.

He stands a moment later, disappearing into the bathroom. You hear the water running, the soft clatter of bottles, his voice humming something low and familiar.

When he comes back, he tosses you a towel and holds out a hand, that same easy smile on his face. The one you’ve known forever. The one that makes everything feel… normal.

Even now.

You lace your fingers with his, let him pull you up.

Your legs are jelly. His hand doesn’t let go.

And as you follow him into the bathroom, skin still marked by his touch, lips still swollen from his kiss, a quiet thought flickers at the edge of your mind.

You guys were still best friends.

Right?

→ read part two here

taglist | click here to join: @thegreatdepressionme @golden-loona @kissyfacekoo @cookysstuff @whoa-jo @minghaosimp

[koooobi]

COLLATERAL DAMAGE // TEASER

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: academic rivalry, doctors, fanfic, college!au summary: A lot of time had passed since you last saw Jungkook. The last you saw of him he was just a young man drowning in the endless workload of medical school, battling sleepless nights and the crushing weight of expectations.

But now? He's different-colder, more distant, and, somehow, even more insufferable than before.

warnings: fluff, angst, smut, jealousy, surgery, arguing, jungkook is lowkey a bitch at the start, second hand embarrassment...

tag list: open

series masterlist | 01

The halls of the hospital were bustling with employees and patients as they all hurried to their designated areas, their unfamiliar faces blurring together in an indistinct rush. You found yourself frantically scanning the place, trying to make out who these people were. You wouldn’t be able to, of course, it’s your first time seeing them and their first time seeing you—practically impossible for you to be recognised in this moment.

Recently, you had just moved houses to a better neighbourhood and also landed yourself a better paying job. Your last workplace was almost like a nightmare, plagued by ridiculously low wages, disrespectful patients and corridors so bleak they seemed to suck the life out of you. This hospital was much more prestigious and renowned, a place where only the best of the best worked. You had a vague idea of who they were, but they viewed you as another new face to the crowd, if they even acknowledged your presence.

You adjusted your ID badge for the fifth time that morning, its plastic edges digging slightly into your collarbone as you walked briskly toward the nurses’ station. The scent of antiseptic and something vaguely floral filled the air—clean, but clinical, in a way that reminded you of how new you were to all of this. New building. New coworkers. New rules.

A nurse brushed past you with a clipboard in hand, barely sparing you a glance. A doctor was murmuring into a dictation device by the elevators. Someone dropped a cup of coffee, and the splash echoed faintly through the corridor.

You exhaled sharply.

This is it.

A fresh start. A clean slate.

Until your name was called.

“Dr. Y/N, report to Trauma 2.”

Your heart skipped a beat—not at the call itself, but the voice delivering it.

Firm. Low. Familiar.

You turned toward the sound, and time lurched like a faulty elevator. There he was, standing at the end of the hallway in scrubs, clipboard in hand, brows furrowed in thought. Jungkook.

He didn’t see you at first.

You didn’t even know if he would want to.

Gone were the soft curls that used to hang messily over his forehead. His hair was neatly trimmed now, swept back in a style that accentuated the sharp lines of his face. His frame had filled out—broad shoulders, steady hands, and that telltale intensity behind his dark eyes.

But the warmth was gone. Replaced by a clinical, impassive coolness that wasn’t there before.

When he finally looked up, his eyes landed on you like a spotlight, and for the briefest second, his expression faltered.

Recognition.

Then, as quickly as it came, it vanished—replaced by a polite, unreadable mask.

“Oh,” he said, voice devoid of inflection. “You’re the new resident?”

You forced a smile, the kind that didn’t reach your eyes.

“Looks like it.”

He nodded once, then glanced down at his clipboard, already moving past you. “Let’s go. We’ve got a case.”

[koooobi]

COLLATERAL DAMAGE // JJK

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: academic rivalry, doctors, fanfic, college!au

summary: A lot of time had passed since you last saw Jungkook. The last you saw of him he was just a young man drowning in the endless workload of medical school, battling sleepless nights and the crushing weight of expectations. But now? He’s different—colder, more distant, and, somehow, even more insufferable than before.

warnings: fluff, angst, smut, jealousy, surgery, arguing, jungkook is lowkey a bitch at the start, second hand embarrassment …

RELEASE DATE: July 14th 2025

teaser | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

[koooobi]

Devil Town | 01

pairing: ot7bts x reader

genre: mystery, haunted, ghost!au, historic, supernatural (read warnings)

summary: She eagerly stepped into her new home, filled with excitement and a sense of newfound independence. Unbeknownst to her, the house held a hidden secret, as seven ethereal beings lingered within its walls, trapped in a realm between the living and the dead. Their presence would soon intertwine with her life, revealing a haunting tale of mystery where she would be forced to free them, bringing them back to the land of the living.

warnings: mentions of ghosts&demons, mentions of death, murder, blood, haunted house, horror, smut, fluff, angst, jump scares, bts haunt y/n… (warnings will be at the start of each chapter)

authors note: this was meant to be a lot longer but i just needed to get something out... pls ignore how bad this is it’s just the start so it’s kind of like a filler? idk ? AND IM GETTING THERE SORRYYYYY 🥹🥹🥹 also don’t be a silent reader and lmk ur thoughts 💛

word count: 4.1k

tag list: ( open) @comicnerd557 @sanya823 @v4ksk4tz @uniquecutie-puffs @borahaetelevision @trouble-sistar @sathom013 @uniquetravelerone @cbtmeee @11thenightwemet11 @minimonimi8

series masterlist | teaser | 01

The moving truck groaned to a halt in front of the house, its engine rumbling as if reluctant to let go of the cargo inside. You stepped onto the cracked sidewalk, clutching your coat tightly as you looked up at the house that was now yours. It stood at the end of the quiet street, its weathered exterior bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun. The shutters sagged slightly, and ivy crept up one side, giving it a certain charm that had called to you the moment you saw it. It was a house with history - a place that felt alive.

The movers began hauling your furniture and boxes into the house, grunting under the weight of your belongings. You directed them inside, navigating the maze of boxes and half-assembled furniture.

It didn't take as long as you expected, and soon enough, all the boxes from the truck were now somewhat neatly placed inside your home, ready to be opened and emptied, a task you couldn't wait to begin.

The house was a huge catch, and you couldn't find the words to explain your gratitude to the universe for helping you come across it. It was perfect. Two stories with a basement and an attic. What more could you possibly ask for? The only downside was that it was a little old and uncared for, the grass at the front and even at the back was far past being overgrown, in desperate need of being cut and the inside of the house had an even more antique and rustic look to it. It would take a lot of work to bring it right to your standards.

A newfound surge of excitement and independence coursed through your bones as you basked in the glory of your home, skipping up the steps of the porch and looking out at the neighbourhood. Your eyes caught sight of your neighbours standing across the street.

A man and a woman stood on the curb, their faces unreadable as they watched you. The man whispered something to the woman, who frowned and shook her head. You waved, offering a polite smile, but they didn't wave back. Instead, they turned and walked away briskly, their murmured conversation carrying on the wind.

You didn't think anything of it, not everybody was friendly at the beginning. Shrugging, you made your way inside.

Your first few days in the house were a whirlwind of unpacking and organising. You carefully placed your favourite books on the shelves, hung up curtains that caught the light just right, and arranged cozy touches that turned each room into a small sanctuary. Boxes lay scattered, slowly dwindling in number as you added pieces of yourself to the space, arranging and rearranging until it felt less like an empty shell and more like a home.

By the time you were finished, you sighed in satisfaction, leaning against the worn wooden banister that framed the staircase. It was quiet--almost too quiet-but the kind of silence that felt peaceful, wrapping you in a sense of calm.

You didn't notice it at first, the faint sounds overhead, until you settled onto the couch with a cup of tea and heard a soft, rhythmic tapping drifting down from above, coming from the attic.

That first night, you dismissed the noise as nothing. "Old house, old noises," you reassured yourself, pulling a blanket tighter around your shoulders. But as the hours passed, the tapping continued. You could almost convince yourself it was just the wind, until you realised it had a pattern.

The second night, the noise returned, louder and more persistent. This time, curiosity overcame your unease.

Finally, with a deep breath, you set your cup aside and rose, casting a glance up the dim stairway. You grabbed a flashlight, though you weren't sure why; something about the attic's shadowy corners unsettled you in a way you couldn't quite explain. Still, you found yourself climbing the stairs, the air growing cooler with each step, a hint of something stale lingering in the air.

At the top, you hesitated before pushing open the attic door, half expecting dust and cobwebs, maybe a few forgotten boxes. But as your flashlight's beam swept across the room, you froze. Across from you, lined up along the far wall, was a row of portraits. Each one was framed in intricate, dark wood, perfectly preserved but muted in haunting gray tones.

Heart pounding, you stepped closer. Seven faces, frozen in time, gazed back at you—young men, each expression somber and strangely intense, as though they had secrets hidden just behind their eyes. The photographs were stunning in their detail, each capturing a distinct personality, a different mood. They wore vintage clothing that seemed pulled from another era, their gazes seeming to follow you, almost as if they were watching, waiting.

Chills prickled down your arms as you moved down the row, taking in the portraits one by one. A strange familiarity tugged at you, though you couldn't quite place it. You didn't know them, but something about them felt almost... known.

As you leaned in closer, the silence shattered. A whisper, barely audible, brushed past your ear. You spun around, flashlight trembling in your grip, but the attic was empty. The air seemed to thicken, the temperature plummeting as if an unseen presence lingered in the corners. Turning back to the portraits, your heart raced, the weight of their stares pressing down on you like a physical force.

And then, your eyes caught onto something else. Each portrait bore a small brass plate, each engraved with a single name, each name once again oddly familiar, but now feeling strange and haunting in this setting. Seokjin. Yoongi. Hoseok. Namjoon. Jimin. Taehyung. Jungkook.

Your breath caught as you stared into their eyes. For a split second, you thought you saw the faintest glimmer of movement—did they just blink? You stumbled back, heart pounding, questions swirling through your mind. Why were they here, preserved in this lonely attic? And what did it mean that you had found them? The whispers began again, soft as a breath, as if the walls themselves murmured secrets you weren't meant to hear.

Panicked, you turned and fled down the stairs, the lingering image of their eyes etched in your mind. Yet as you descended, the unnerving feeling wouldn't leave you. No matter how you tried to shake off the encounter, you couldn't help but feel you had disturbed something hidden, some mystery that lay just beyond reach, waiting for you to unravel it.

You could practically hear your heartbeat thumping against your chest, rapidly gaining speed and causing a rush of blood to run through your body. You held a hand to your heart in a futile attempt to calm it down, taking deep, laboured breaths and closing your eyes for a second.

Although you managed to calm your heart down, your mind continued to wonder, causing a throbbing ache to grow inside of it.

That night, sleep refused to come. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, tossing and turning as the weight of those portraits pressed onto your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, their faces hovered in the darkness.

At some point, exhaustion finally won, pulling you into uneasy dreams. Shadows slithered through your subconscious, whispers curling around your ears like tendrils of smoke. In the dream, you stood in the attic once more, but this time, the portraits were empty. The frames remained, perfectly aligned, but the faces; gone. You turned your head, and instead of them being frozen in time in the portraits, the seven of them stood with their unmoving eyes watching you, until a loud thud yanked you from your sleep.

You sat up, heart hammering against your ribs. The house was silent again, but the sound had been real. You knew it.

Swallowing your fear, you swung your legs over the bed and stepped into the dimly lit hallway. The floorboards creaked beneath your weight, the air colder than it should have been. You followed the unease settling in your bones, your feet carrying you forward before you could second-guess.

As you passed the staircase, something caught your eye. A shape—a figure—just at the edge of your vision.

You froze.

Someone was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Your breath hitched. The shadows clung to them, obscuring their features, but you could make out the silhouette of a man. He stood completely still, head tilted slightly, as if observing you.

Your fingers loosened around the barrister, your voice caught in your throat. A scream threatened to rip out of you, but something was stopping you from doing so. Hesitantly, your feet pulled you towards the light switch, flicking it on without turning away from the figure before you.

And just like that, it was gone.

The air around you felt heavier now, pressing in on your lungs. You knew fear. You had felt it before, in the attic, in the dream, in the weight of those stares. But this? This was something else.

Gathering whatever courage you had left, you descended the stairs slowly, each step measured and careful. The wooden boards groaned beneath you, but the house was still, too still. The silence felt unnatural, charged with something unseen.

Then, from the living room, the record player clicked on.

A soft static hummed through the air before a hauntingly slow melody crackled to life, its sound eerily distorted. The hairs on your arms stood on end. You didn't own a record player.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you turned toward the sound. The living room was empty, but the record player spun lazily, its needle gliding across the vinyl.

A voice spoke out.

Soft, low, and undeniably real.

"You're not supposed to be here."

It came from behind you.

Ice shot through your veins. You turned, pulse roaring, eyes darting across the dim space. There was nothing. No one. But the air was charged, as if something unseen had just been there.

The melody from the record player warbled, slowing, distorting into something unnatural before cutting out entirely.

The silence returned, deafening in its weight.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but deep down, you knew you were not alone in this house.

Millions of thoughts raced through your mind. Was this somehow connected to the paintings? It couldnt be, right? Your heartbeat pounded unnaturally fast, breath hitching as your entire body trembled. A violent sob tore from your throat before you could stop it.

Without thinking, you bolted up the stairs, desperate to reach the safety of your room. But just as you reached for the door, it slammed shut in your face.

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, throat tight with unshed tears. Your gaze darted frantically around the dim hallway before you lunged for the handle, yanking it open.

A ghost? A spirit? No. That thought had long been buried. This wasn't some supernatural force—this was real. Someone had broken in.

You threw the door shut behind you, heart hammering as you stumbled towards the bed and snatched up your phone. Your fingers, trembling and slick with sweat, tapped out the first numbers that came to mind.

911.

Seconds dragged unbearably long as the ringing tone buzzed in your ear. You sank onto the bed, one leg bouncing uncontrollably, hands clenched into fists. Until, finally, a voice called out from the other side.

"911, what's your emergency?" A woman's voice. Soft. Steady.

You sucked in a shaky breath. "I— There's s-someone in my house. I think they broke in. I—I'm pretty sure they're still here." The words spilled out, tripping over themselves.

"Okay, miss. Take a deep breath for me. What's your name and address?"

You answered quickly, throat tightening as you waited.

"Stay on the line with me. Can you tell me what makes you think someone broke in?"

Your fingers clenched tighter around the phone. The memory surged back, ice-cold and unmistakable.

"I saw a man," you whispered. "They spoke to me."

The line crackled for a moment, filling the silence in your room with static. Then, the dispatcher's voice returned—calm, controlled, as if she hadn't just heard the most terrifying thing you've ever said.

"They spoke to you?"

You swallowed hard. "Yes."

"Can you tell me what they said?"

Your mind raced back to that moment—the voice, the way it seemed to slither into your ears like a whisper only meant for you. You could still hear it, low and deliberate, replaying over and over.

You're not supposed to be here.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that would make it go away.

"They said I—I shouldn't be here.," you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

A beat of silence. Then, "Y/N, are you somewhere safe?"

Safe.

Your eyes flickered toward the door, the flimsy lock on the knob. A thin piece of wood separating you from whoever, or whatever, was out there.

"I don't know," you admitted.

The dispatcher's voice softened. "Help is on the way, okay? I need you to stay quiet and listen carefully."

A rustling sound echoed from outside your room. Footsteps. Slow. Measured.

Your blood turned ice cold.

"They're still here," you whispered into the phone.

Another pause—this one heavier, more urgent. Then, the dispatcher spoke again, voice low and firm.

"Lock the door. Now."

You lunged for the knob, twisting it until you heard the soft click of the lock sliding into place. You barely had time to step back before a thud sounded from behind it.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Something had just pressed against the door.

The phone shook in your hands. The dispatcher's voice was still in your ear, but you could barely hear her over the blood rushing in your head.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A slow, deliberate knocking.

Your stomach dropped.

The voice from the other side was familiar.

"Let me in."

It was the same one from earlier.

Your breath hitched.

Every fiber of your being screamed at you to move, to do something, but you were frozen in place, your body paralyzed by sheer terror.

"Let me in."

The words slithered through the door, slow and deliberate.

Your entire body went rigid. You knew that voice. That painstakingly low, guttural tone that had sent a chill down your spine the first time you heard it. The kind of voice that didn't just speak, it crawled under your skin, wrapping around your bones like something cold and suffocating.

It was him.

The man from earlier. The one you'd tried so hard to convince yourself wasn't real.

And now, he was standing just outside your door.

The phone nearly slipped from your grip. Your fingers clenched around it in a desperate attempt to hold on, but the tremors in your hands made it feel like you could drop it at any second. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, chest rising and falling too fast, too erratic.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words tangled themselves into knots at the back of your throat, choking you. Finally, you forced them out in a ragged whisper.

"T-There's—" Your voice faltered, barely audible over the pounding in your ears. You swallowed hard, forcing down the rising panic threatening to consume you. "There's someone outside my door."

The silence that followed was thick, almost unnatural.

"They're—" You sucked in a sharp breath, gripping the phone so tightly your knuckles turned white. "It's the same one from earlier."

The moment those words left your lips, the air in the room changed.

On the other end of the line, the dispatcher hesitated. It was barely a second, but you felt it. The carefully measured calm in her voice cracked, just slightly, but enough to tell you that she knew that something wasn't right.

"Y/N," she said, slow and deliberate. "Is there anyone else in the house with you?"

You shook your head instinctively before realising she couldn't see you. You swallowed again, throat dry and tight.

"No," you whispered.

Another pause. Another moment of silence.

Until the handle rattled.

Not violently. Not in an attempt to break in. It was slow. Controlled. Testing it.

Your breath hitched, a sharp, strangled sound catching in your throat. You staggered backward, nearly losing your balance as your legs collided with the edge of the bed.

And then it spoke.

"End the call."

The voice was different now, more soft. Too soft. It shouldn't have made your blood run cold, shouldn't have sent that horrible, skittering sensation crawling up your spine.

It sounded like a recording played back at the wrong speed, stretched and warped just enough to feel off. Just enough to make your body reject it, to tell you that whatever was on the other side of that door wasn't supposed to exist.

The dispatcher's voice was tighter now. Urgent. "Listen to me. Stay where you are. Do not open that door. Officers are on route. Can you find anything to barricade it?"

Your brain struggled to process her words, to latch onto them through the growing fog of terror. Your eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for anything to use as a barricade.

The desk. The dresser. The chair in the corner.

Could you move them in time? Would it even matter?

"You're not supposed to be here."

Your stomach twisted violently, nausea clawing its way up your throat.

The rattling of the door handle combined with the knocking managed to drown out the comforting voice on the other side of the phone. 

And then, silence.

The knocking stopped. The rattling ceased. The presence outside the door just... vanished.

The air in the room felt heavier now, thick and unmoving, pressing down on you from all sides. It was as if the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting.

The dispatcher's voice crackled through the phone, but it felt distant, muffled beneath the deafening ring in your ears.

"Miss? Are you still there?"

You couldn't answer. You couldn't move.

Because your gaze had drifted—just slightly.

The door was still closed. Still locked. But, behind you, the closet was open, creaking slightly as it continued to open until finally, it slammed against the wall.

The closet door slammed against the wall with a force that sent vibrations through the floor, and your breath caught in your throat. The silence that followed was suffocating, a thick, unnatural quiet that pressed against your ears like cotton.

Your body refused to move at first, the sheer weight of the moment rooting you in place. Your eyes locked onto the darkness beyond the threshold of the closet. It wasn't just darkcit was void, an abyss that swallowed the faint glow of your bedside lamp before it could reach inside.

Then, something shifted.

A presence.

At first, it was subtle—a slow, creeping awareness that prickled at the back of your neck. The unmistakable sensation of being watched. A deep, bone-chilling cold seeped into the room, frosting over your skin and sinking into your muscles.

"You're not supposed to be here." The voice from the beginning called out, slithering through the air like an icy tendril, curling around your ear in a breath that wasn't entirely human. It was layered, distorted almost, as if spoken by multiple voices at once, each one slightly out of sync with the other.

Your body reacted before your brain could. You stumbled backward, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as your heel caught the edge of the rug. Your legs buckled, sending you crashing onto the floor.

The phone slipped from your grasp and landed beside you, the dispatcher's voice buzzing through the speaker in broken static.

"Officers... on their way... stay with me—"

You barely heard her.

Because something moved in the closet.

A figure.

It was impossible to make out, but it was there, a mass of shifting darkness that loomed just beyond the threshold. Not quite human, not entirely formless. It seethed in the black, pulsing with something unnatural, something wrong.

And then it stepped forward.

Your breath turned to ice in your lungs.

The air itself seemed to warp around it, bending and distorting like a heat mirage, but cold. Unfathomably cold. The shadows clung to its frame, shifting and unraveling, like the edges of its form couldn't quite stay together.

Then, the hand shot out; long, spindly fingers, impossibly thin yet unnervingly strong, clamped around your wrist. A chill unlike anything you had ever felt surged through you, locking your muscles in place. It wasn't just cold, it was absence, a void where warmth had never existed.

The grip tightened.

A sharp, excruciating pain shot through your arm, like icy needles burrowing beneath your skin. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you let out a strangled scream, instinctively yanking back.

It held firm.

The thing in the closet didn't move, didn't lurch or stagger. It simply existed, an unrelenting force beyond the grasp of reason.

Slowly, deliberately, it began to pull.

Your heels dug into the floor, desperate to find purchase, to fight against the inhuman strength dragging you toward the black maw of the closet. Your free hand flailed wildly, knocking over a lamp, sending glass shards scattering across the hardwood.

A scream tore out your throat, thrashing against the tightening grip.

But just as suddenly as it had grabbed you, it released.

You fell back hard, the impact rattling through your bones as you gasped for air, clutching your wrist. The skin there was ice cold, a deep, aching numbness settling beneath the surface.

The room was still.

Too still.

The figure had retreated.

But the closet door remained open.

The dispatcher's voice crackled through the phone, sharp and urgent.

"Y/N, are you safe? Are you safe?"

You couldn't answer. You couldn't breathe.

Because just as the sirens outside wailed closer, flashing red and blue against your window—

The closet door clicked shut.

And in the heavy silence that followed, you swore you heard it again.

That voice. A breath against the shell of your ear. It was hard to make out what it said, but you could feel its lingering presence all over your body—like hands roaming over you.

Another scream ripped from your throat, raw and unrelenting, as sobs shook your entire body. Your mind struggled to grasp the impossibility of the nightmare unfolding around you, but reality felt fractured, distorted beyond comprehension.

Somewhere in the distance, the dispatcher's voice crackled through the phone, urgent and persistent, The shrill noise of the sirens blended with the dispatcher's frantic calls, layering over the ringing in your ears. A flicker of red and blue light pulsed against the windowpane, flashing in rhythmic bursts, casting eerie shadows across the room.

But you couldn't form words, you could barely even breathe properly. The weight of fear pressed down on your chest like a vice, suffocating, paralyzing.

Your fingers dug into the cold wooden floor, grasping for any sense of stability. With trembling arms, you pushed yourself up, legs wobbling beneath you. Every movement felt sluggish, as if you were moving through water, but you forced yourself to stand.

Help was finally here, but you didn't feel any safer than you did before. What could they possibly do now? There was something much more deeper, darker happening here that the police would not be able to solve.

Deep voices, commanding shouts joined the chaos outside, overlapping with the howling sirens.

Short, rapid breathes left your throat in an attempt to calm yourself down as you slowly took steps towards your door which was still surprisingly locked. Your quivering hands reached out, clasping onto the metallic handle and twisting the door open. A violent banging sounded from downstairs, causing you to flinch in fear, before realising it was just the police outside. They continued to shout, and you managed to make out the sound of your name frantically being called by someone.

Your feet dragged you down the stairs, as you wiped your face, removing any trace of the former tears that had fell from your swollen eyes. Before you could open the door, it was already being pushed open and officers rushed inside. 

Two officers stood in front of you, the other two had taken on the task of exploring your house, checking if there truly was a burglar -- an invader -- lurking inside.

You carefully explained the previous events that had occurred before their arrival, and they listened intently, nodding along to everything you said. Soon enough, the other two joined in with a concerned look etched on their faces.

"There's.." one of them began, all eyes on him. "There's nobody here. We checked every room." He clasped his hands behind his back, glancing towards his colleague. 

"There wasn't a trace of anybody.. But you did leave the front door unlocked." the other added.

"Oh, it must've slipped my mind..." you trailed off, mentally facepalming at your stupidity. You never left the door unlocked. Ever.

Noticing your sullen expression, the female officer spoke up, "Hey, don't worry. We'll do one last check, right?" she looked over at her peers, causing them to nod along, followed by a chorus of 'yes'.

You muttered out a quick thank you, hands clenching into balls in your lap as you watched them make their way back up the stairs, in search of someone you were no longer sure had ever been real.

[koooobi]

yandere! jeon jungkook x tae's gf! reader

warnings: yandere themes, college au, stalking, manipulation, cheating

yan! jungkook who when taehyung first introduced you to him, absolutely hated your guts and actually thought you were just using him as some of his previous girlfriends.

yan! jungkook who tries to dig up any dirt on you, just so he can show taehyung that he was actually right about you.

yan! jungkook who picks fights with you and never fails to show you how much he doesn't like you everytime he sees you, even in front of taehyung.

yan! jungkook who starts to stalk your social media all the time and actually finds out you are the most perfect human being.

yan! jungkook whose hate towards you quickly becomes love.

yan! jungkook who now picks up fights with taehyung all the time (not in front of you, ofc), telling him that he doesn't deserve you.

yan! jungkook who does a literal 180 and befriends you. you had some doubts, but jungkook apologized and delivered a very heart-warming speech about just being worried about his best friend.

yan! jungkook who starts to slowly sabotage your relationship with taehyung.

yan! jungkook who starts to plant seeds of doubts into your head about how loyal was tae to his girlfriends in the past

yan! jungkook who hacks (a.k.a. figures out his password) into taehyung's instagram account and follows bunch of random girls from your college.

yan! jungkook who tells you that taehyung is cheating on you with a girl from his english course. at first you don't believe it, but he tells you to look into his instagram following and that they follow each other.

yan! jungkook who cannot believe how fucking easy it was to make convince you to break up with taehyung.

yan! jungkook who watches in amusement as you yell at taehyung as he is hopelessly trying to convince you that he loves you and would never cheat on you.

yan! jungkook who comforts you when you are crying over the breakup and tell you that if he was your boyfriend, he would never do that.

[koooobi]

My name is Abed.

I’m a survivor from Gaza, holding on to hope in a world that has fallen apart around me. 💔

The life I once knew — my home, my family, my sense of safety — has been shattered by war. Today, I live among the ruins, trying to find a path forward through the rubble and heartbreak. 🏚

Every moment is a battle against fear and uncertainty. What was once ordinary — a safe place to sleep, a future to dream of — now feels like a distant memory. 🕊️

I share my story not to seek pity, but to keep hope alive — to believe that even in the darkest places, kindness can still find a way. 🤍

If my story touches your heart, please consider sharing it or offering support. Every voice, every act of care, brings me one step closer to safety. ✨

Thank you for taking the time to listen. 🙏

Post Link

.

[koooobi]

deserves more attention 🫣🫣🫣

masked series masterlist (m)

pairing: drummer!jungkook x reader genre: smut, thriller, angst, hidden identity word count: tbd description: Silver Tooth is a local rock band that is becoming so mainstream that seeing them live is almost impossible. It isn’t until your friend scores a new position as a guitarist that you find yourself indulging in the craze. Although their songs are catchy, Silver Tooth’s popularity is attributed to one main factor— their mysterious and dangerous masked drummer. Unbeknownst to you, you start a sexual relationship with this dangerous masked drummer. Silver Tooth's “sound guy” Jungkook, who exudes the mystery and intrigue you didn’t know you were chasing, has consumed your world entirely.

……………………………………………

part one: showtime

part two: vinyl 

part three: intruder

part four: ???

[koooobi]

COMPLETED JUNGKOOK FF TUMBLR READS

ONE SHOTS

IDEALIZATIONS CONCERNING REAL LIFE RELATIONS by venusiangguk 

COLD NIGHTS & BLURRED LINES by awrkive

OBVIOUS by lovieku

STRICTLY BUSINESS by adonis-koo

BUT WE LOVED TOO YOUNG by jl-micasea-fics

LETTING FEAR RUN THE SHOW by focusonkayjay

FIVE DATES by kpopfanfictrash 

HOLD ON TO ME by kooklovee

SERIES

AT YOUR SERVICE by untaemedqueen

LOWKEY by xpeachesncream 

TEASE by adonis-koo 

CHASING CARS by oddinary4bts

THE FORGOTTEN SPACES by oddinary4bts 

WHEN THE END COMES by oddinary4bts (Sequel to The Forgotten Spaces)

ANTI-ROMANTIC by armpirate

THE LOVE PROGNOSIS by awrkive 

[koooobi]

[ masterlist of series the love prognosis by awrkive ]

legend

❀ ; fluff ♡ ; smut ✧ ; angst

main masterlist

↳ warnings are stated in the link of each chapter itself as well as on this navi page — all of my works are 18+ so minors, DNI !!

summary for as long as you can remember, you've always been a hopeless romantic. the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.

tags medical!au, surgeon!jk, surgeon!(fem)reader, corporate lawyer!mingyu, rommates!au, f2l(?)

status; completed

total word count: 90.9k words (main story, excl. drabbles)

moodboard • playlist • tlp!jk visual

tlp tag ( fic discourse ) • taglist ( CLOSED ) • tlp extras ( texts + social media shenanigans) • amm ( ask the characters anything )

drabble #3: in which jungkook meets oc for the first time

drabble #7: in which jungkook just wants a little bit of attention

drabble #1: in which doyeon confesses to jungkook in med school

drabble #2: in which taehyung figures jungkook out

main story;

𓍯 the love prognosis

one: in which you give another romantic relationship a try again after four years

↳ genre & warnings: ❀ ; ♡ ; ✧ ; explicit sexual content: cunnilingus, dry humping, making out ; mature language ; alcohol consumption ; slight angst: arguments

two: in which everything is suddenly not the way they are anymore

↳ genre & warnings: ❀ ; ✧ ; mature content: making out ; mature language ; alcohol consumption ; angst

three: in which you navigate the possibility of a completely different relationship with your best friend, jeon jungkook

↳ genre & warnings: ❀ ; ♡ ; ✧ ; explicit sexual content: mature language ; alcohol consumption ; unprotected sex ; protected sex ; multiple sex positions ; multiple orgasms ; oral sex (f&m receiving) ; angst ; fluff

drabble #8: in which you and jungkook try out bdsm ( ♡ )

drabble #4: in which you find jungkook in loose plaid boxers incredibly hot ( ♡ )

drabble #5: in which jungkook proposes

drabble #6: in which you get a baby fever ( ♡ )

[ faq about tlp story ]

ask #1: jk and mingyu undergrad days

ask #2: tlp timeline

all right reserved © awrkive, 2024. no reposts, translations, modification, and copying allowed. if you enjoy my work/s and have the extra means, please consider supporting me on ko-fi <3

[koooobi]

[ masterlist of series the love prognosis by awrkive ]

legend

❀ ; fluff ♡ ; smut ✧ ; angst

main masterlist

↳ warnings are stated in the link of each chapter itself as well as on this navi page — all of my works are 18+ so minors, DNI !!

summary for as long as you can remember, you've always been a hopeless romantic. the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.

tags medical!au, surgeon!jk, surgeon!(fem)reader, corporate lawyer!mingyu, rommates!au, f2l(?)

status; completed

total word count: 90.9k words (main story, excl. drabbles)

moodboard • playlist • tlp!jk visual

tlp tag ( fic discourse ) • taglist ( CLOSED ) • tlp extras ( texts + social media shenanigans) • amm ( ask the characters anything )

drabble #3: in which jungkook meets oc for the first time

drabble #7: in which jungkook just wants a little bit of attention

drabble #1: in which doyeon confesses to jungkook in med school

drabble #2: in which taehyung figures jungkook out

main story;

𓍯 the love prognosis

one: in which you give another romantic relationship a try again after four years

↳ genre & warnings: ❀ ; ♡ ; ✧ ; explicit sexual content: cunnilingus, dry humping, making out ; mature language ; alcohol consumption ; slight angst: arguments

two: in which everything is suddenly not the way they are anymore

↳ genre & warnings: ❀ ; ✧ ; mature content: making out ; mature language ; alcohol consumption ; angst

three: in which you navigate the possibility of a completely different relationship with your best friend, jeon jungkook

↳ genre & warnings: ❀ ; ♡ ; ✧ ; explicit sexual content: mature language ; alcohol consumption ; unprotected sex ; protected sex ; multiple sex positions ; multiple orgasms ; oral sex (f&m receiving) ; angst ; fluff

drabble #8: in which you and jungkook try out bdsm ( ♡ )

drabble #4: in which you find jungkook in loose plaid boxers incredibly hot ( ♡ )

drabble #5: in which jungkook proposes

drabble #6: in which you get a baby fever ( ♡ )

[ faq about tlp story ]

ask #1: jk and mingyu undergrad days

ask #2: tlp timeline

all right reserved © awrkive, 2024. no reposts, translations, modification, and copying allowed. if you enjoy my work/s and have the extra means, please consider supporting me on ko-fi <3