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jeonjayykkayy · 2 months ago

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𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 I 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

💔 Genre:

Dark Romance · Yandere · Psychological Thriller · Obsession · Angst · Tragedy

🧨 Warnings / Triggers:

Yandere themes, obsession, toxic love, emotional/physical manipulation, mild to intense violence, force, non-consensual drugging, trauma, blood, mental instability, memory loss.

❤️ Pairing:

Jeon Jungkook × Fem!Reader

🧠 Summary:

He was her first love — gentle, shy, the kind of boy who gave her bubble tea and carried her dreams in his eyes. But she left. And something inside him broke that day. Now, years later, she returns — not knowing the man who watches her isn’t the boy she left behind. He’s changed. Twisted. Possessive. And he’s not letting her go. Not again. “You were my first... and now, you're my last.”

📊 Word Count: ~4k

Author’s Note: Well… here we go! This one’s a bit crazy, not gonna lie 😭 It’s got major yandere vibes, so if you’re into possessive, obsessive love — welcome to My First and Last.

This is actually supposed to be my first fanfic on Tumblr, but for some reason, I ended up uploading the “Her” series first (oops). Anyway! This one is intense. Dark. Twisted. Just like my imagination (jk… or am I 👀).

It would honestly mean so much if you could share your thoughts. Leave a comment, send an ask, yell in the tags — I read everything. Your support helps me improve and motivates me to write more often 🖤

And hey, if you haven’t already, please check out my other series “Her”. That one’s all angst and heartbreak, while My First and Last is pure possessive obsession. So pick your poison — or read both 😈✨

𓂀 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔽𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 𓂀

Rain drummed relentlessly against the rusty tin roof of Jungkook’s small apartment, but inside, it was quieter than death.

His hands trembled as he reached for hers, gripping them like a lifeline, but they slipped through his fingers.

She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. He already knew it was over.

“You’re really leaving?” he asked, voice cracking like the storm outside.

Her eyes were swollen from crying, yet they were dry now.

Numb. Tired. Gone. “I have to,” she whispered. “I can’t stay here, Jungkook. I can’t keep dreaming when the world is waking me up.”

He dropped to his knees in front of her, holding her waist like he could glue her back into the hollow spaces of his chest.

“I’ll do anything. We can run away. We can start over. Just… don’t leave me.”

She shook her head and gently peeled his hands away. Her touch was soft, almost reverent, but final. “It’s not about you. It’s about me. My family has made the decision. I’m just following it.”

“You said you loved me,” he croaked, voice breaking again. “You said forever.”

“I did,” she confessed. “But love… love isn’t enough anymore.”

His face contorted in pain, as if those words stabbed deeper than any blade. “Don’t do this to me. Please, Y/N.”

She stood like she was walking away from a funeral, her own. He chased her down the driveway barefoot, rain soaking his clothes, the mud swallowing his every step like quicksand.

He didn’t feel the cold. He didn’t feel anything—except the agony tearing through his chest.

“Y/N!” he shouted, desperate, feral, undone.

She kept walking.

He fell to his knees again, soaked and shaking.

“I’ll never love again. You hear me?” he sobbed, fingers clutching his soaked shirt like he could rip his heart out.

“You’re my first and last. I’ll never forget you. I’ll never forgive you.”

Her father’s car pulled away with her inside. The taillights faded like dying stars. And then, she was gone.

For days, Jungkook didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. He sat in the same spot by the window, hoping the rain would bring her back.

That maybe she'd wake up and remember the boy who gave her his entire soul without asking for anything in return.

But weeks turned to months, and the silence screamed louder than her absence.

He tried to write letters. Burned them all. He tried to move on. Couldn’t.

Every girl he met had her smile. Her laugh. But none of them were her.

One day, Jungkook stood in front of the mirror and saw a man he didn’t recognize.

Not the boy who cried in the rain. Not the boy who begged on his knees. Something darker. Something colder.

His eyes weren’t full of pain anymore—they were full of promise. Not to forgive, not to forget, but to remember. To wait.

“I’ll find you,” he whispered to the reflection. “And when I do… you’ll regret ever leaving me.”

The boy she left behind died the day she walked away.

What rose in his place… wasn’t innocent anymore.

𓂀 𝔼𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝔽𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 𓂀

Seoul had changed. The roads were wider, the buildings taller, the people faster. But somehow, amidst the chaos of the capital, everything felt... slower for her.

It had been six years. Six years since she walked away from a boy who cried like a child and begged her to stay. Now, standing beneath the glass dome of Incheon Airport, suitcase in hand and silence in her chest, she realized how heavy regret could be.

The overhead voice announced arrival after arrival, the wheels of her suitcase clacking against the polished marble floor with every step. Her heels tapped lightly, her face stoic, unreadable—but inside, her stomach twisted in quiet discomfort. She didn’t know why.

Maybe it was the weight of returning to a city that once meant everything. Maybe it was the fear of seeing him.

The clouds were already bruising the sky when she made her way to Itaewon. Her fingers clutched her trench coat tighter, cold fingers brushing against her phone screen. It wasn’t the weather that made her feel like she couldn’t breathe—it was the street she had just turned onto.

“Café Moondrop.” Still standing. Still beautiful. Still exactly the same.

The little wooden door with the crescent-shaped handle. The warm glow spilling through the vintage windows. The faint sound of jazz that always played too softly in the background. She remembered it all.

And so, she stepped in.

The air smelled like roasted hazelnut and lavender syrup—just like before. She walked up to the counter, lips parted slightly as her voice came out like a whisper. “A purple bubble tea… please.”

The girl at the counter smiled. “Would you like the same one again? Grape milk tea with jelly pearls?”

She blinked. “You still remember?”

“You used to come here a lot,” she said with a gentle nod. “With someone.”

Her heart twisted. “Yeah,” she muttered. “With someone.”

She sat at their table—by the window. Third table from the left. Back corner.

She didn’t even need to look; her legs just carried her there, muscle memory doing what the heart refused to.

She held the cup of purple bubble tea between her hands, staring at it in silence.

“You wanted a drink that matched your nails.” His voice echoed in her mind. “Anything purple for my purple girl.”

She closed her eyes for a moment.

Then the bell above the door chimed.

Her hand froze.

The softest breeze, the faintest sound of boots on wood. She didn’t want to look. Didn’t dare to.

But the silence around her grew heavier and thicker—until she felt him.

She looked up.

Jeon Jungkook.

His hair was longer now, black and wavy, slightly damp from the drizzle outside. A silver chain peeked from beneath his oversized black coat, and his dark eyes swept across the café like a slow scan—until they landed on her.

He didn’t blink. Neither did she.

For a moment, nothing existed. Not the café. Not the drink. Not the people. Only them.

Then… he walked forward.

Not fast. Not hesitant. But slow, deliberate—like a predator walking toward the prey that never left his mind.

“Purple?” His voice was deeper now, more textured. She didn’t remember it ever sounding like this—hoarse and amused. “Still your color?”

She swallowed. “I... didn’t expect you here.”

He tilted his head, wet strands falling across his cheek. “This was our place. I never left it.”

A beat of silence. He didn’t ask to sit, but he did. Right across from her, same position as always. But he leaned in closer now—too close.

“You left Seoul,” he said, eyes dark. “And now you’re back. Did you miss me?”

The question came with a crooked smirk—but the intensity in his eyes was no joke.

“I missed the city,” she lied, her gaze dropping to the cup.

He let out a breath—half a laugh, half a scoff. “Still a bad liar.”

She didn’t reply. The storm outside had begun to growl. Raindrops started splattering against the windows, and the cafe dimmed slightly under the growing cloud cover.

Jungkook’s fingers drummed against the table.

“You know what I remember the most about that night?” he asked, eyes still fixed on her.

She didn’t answer.

“You were crying,” he said. “But you still left.”

Her chest tightened. “I had no choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” he said quietly, the amusement gone now. “You chose to leave me.”

She looked away, throat tightening. “We were kids.”

“No,” he said. “We were everything.”

The words struck like thunder.

The café emptied as the rain thickened. The sound of droplets crashing on the roof was louder now. She took a sip of the bubble tea just to break the silence.

“Still your favorite?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I used to bring it to your school,” he said. “Sneak in through the back gate during lunch.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I got caught once. Remember?” he smiled—nostalgic and dark. “Your teacher told me I wasn’t allowed near the building anymore.”

She finally smiled, weak and tired. “You still came back.”

“I always came back to you.”

His voice dropped with the weight of something unsaid.

Then silence again. But this time, it wasn’t soft. It was sharp. Like a warning.

He leaned back. “You know what I wonder sometimes?”

She looked up.

“I wonder if you ever thought about me when you were away. Or if I just became a past you tried to erase.”

She couldn’t lie again. So she whispered, “I did think of you.”

His eyes narrowed. “When?”

“In the middle of the night,” she said, voice fragile. “When I couldn’t sleep. When I saw a boy crying on the train. When I saw purple.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. “Then why didn’t you call?”

“Because I knew what I did to you.”

His fingers curled into fists.

“I didn’t want to break you more,” she whispered.

“You already did,” he said, eyes gleaming. “You killed something in me that night.”

Lightning flashed through the window. For a split second, the cafe lit up—and in that moment, she saw it.

He wasn’t the same.

There was a storm behind his calm exterior. Rage dressed as silence. Obsession is behind every movement. He hadn’t healed. He’d buried everything. And now… she was digging it back up.

“I should go,” she said, standing suddenly.

Jungkook didn’t move. “Why? Scared?”

The question burned.

“I’m just—tired.”

He stood too. Close. Too close.

“You’ve been back in Seoul for three hours,” he said. “And you already ran into me.”

Her lips parted.

He leaned in, so close she could feel his breath. “What are the odds?”

She could smell him. Rain. Cologne. Something sharp and intoxicating.

“I didn’t come here for you.”

“Doesn’t matter. I came for you.”

She froze.

“I waited,” he whispered. “And I knew the day you came back… fate wouldn’t let you hide from me.”

She looked up slowly. “Jungkook…”

“I’m not the same boy you left,” he said, voice low, teeth clenched. “And you’re not the girl I loved.”

The rain roared outside.

“Maybe,” she said. “But I’m still the girl you lost.”

Something shattered behind his eyes.

Before she could move, he reached for her hand—just like he did years ago when she walked away.

Only this time… he didn’t let go.

“Don’t leave,” he said, softer now. Broken.

She stared at their hands.

“I can’t lose you again.”

She slowly pulled her hand away. “We’re not the same, Jungkook.”

“No,” he said. “But I never changed how I felt.”

And with that, he walked out into the storm—leaving her trembling, heart pounding, purple bubble tea still half full.

She couldn’t sleep that night.

The rain had stopped hours ago, but its ghost remained—clinging to her window like frost, whispering in every draft that crawled across her floor. She lay beneath her sheets, eyes wide open, heart pounding with a rhythm too familiar to ignore.

Jungkook.

His voice. His hand was around hers. The way he looked at her was like time hadn’t moved, like he had been waiting in that same corner of the café for six years.

It should’ve been just a coincidence. It should’ve been a passing memory.

But it wasn’t.

She knew it the moment she looked into his eyes. He hadn’t moved on. He hadn’t let go. And deep down… some traitorous part of her hadn’t either.

The next morning, she took the subway to her apartment viewing. New city, new place, new life.

Her phone buzzed on and off, emails and notifications flooding in—but she ignored most of them.

Until one name made her blood run cold.

Jungkook.

She stared at the message on her screen.

"You always wanted a view of the river. The building near Seongsu Bridge just opened up." “Apartment 1003. Ask for the key. It’s yours.”

Her lips parted. How…?

She didn’t reply.

But she went.

And there it was—a modern, high-floor apartment with glass walls and the exact view she once dreamt of. The Seongsu Bridge spread out before her like a ribbon of silver. The city below glistens. Too perfect.

Too familiar.

On the kitchen counter, a box waited.

She didn’t want to open it. But she did.

Inside: —A purple mug. —A packet of grape tea. —A note. “So you don’t forget who remembered your dreams.”

Her fingers trembled as she folded the paper.

She told herself she wouldn’t go. That it was dangerous to feed the past.

But the heart never listens when the ghosts wear the face of someone you once loved.

And Jungkook… wasn’t a ghost. He was flesh and breath and a storm that waited just outside the door.

She found herself at the bookstore next week—browsing old shelves, running her fingers along the spines of poetry books—when she felt it.

Someone watching.

Not a stranger. Something more intimate. Deeper. Darker.

She turned.

Jungkook stood two rows away, a book in his hands. His eyes locked on her like a predator finding the shape of prey it never forgot.

She took a step back. He took one forward.

“Still like Neruda?” he asked.

“I like quiet,” she said.

He smirked. “So do I. But only when it comes before a storm.”

Her lips twitched. “Is that what this is? A storm?”

“I’ve always been one,” he said softly. “You just never noticed.”

He walked toward her slowly. “Why didn’t you move into the apartment?”

“I never said I would.”

“You didn’t say no either.”

Her jaw clenched. “Why are you doing this?”

He tilted his head. “Because you’re back. Because you drink purple tea. Because your eyes still look for me when you think I’m not watching.”

She flinched.

He stepped closer, the air around them shifting.

“You don’t get to return to Seoul and pretend the past died. You buried it alive. I heard it screaming.”

Her breath hitched.

He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t shaking.

But something was off.

The way his smile didn’t reach his eyes. The way his fingers twitched near his pocket like he needed something to hold.

“Jungkook—”

“I know you,” he whispered.

“Even now. I know what makes your breath hitch. I know you still sleep with music on. I know you like lemon in your water. And I know,” he leaned closer, “you never stopped dreaming of me.”

She stepped back. He didn’t follow.

“I’m not the same girl anymore,” she whispered.

He smiled, but it was more like a threat. “Good. Because I’m not the same boy either.”

That night, she heard her phone vibrate again.

“You left your favorite book behind.” [attached: photo of the Neruda book]

She never told him she was going to the bookstore.

She never told him what she picked up.

And yet… he had it.

Her hands shook as she locked the windows. Closed the curtains. Checked the door twice.

But deep down, a darker thought whispered something worse.

She didn’t want to let go of the past. She wanted to see how far it would go.

A week later, she had dinner plans with a friend.

She dressed in soft blue. Lip gloss. Slight eyeliner. She hadn’t smiled in weeks—but she tried that night.

Until she saw him again.

Outside the restaurant. Sitting alone in his black car, parked across the street.

She froze. Their eyes met through the windshield.

He didn’t wave. Didn’t blink.

Just… watched.

Her friend noticed her pale face. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she lied.

He didn’t follow her inside. But when she returned to her apartment, a single white rose lay on her doorstep.

A note attached: “You looked beautiful tonight. The blue suits you, but I still prefer you in white.”

She didn’t sleep again.

𓂀 𝔸 𝕎𝕖𝕖𝕜 𝕃𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣 𓂀

The sky over Seoul bled into crimson as she walked down the familiar road, the chill of evening brushing her skin like a warning. Minhyuk's voice was gentle beside her, trying to make her laugh, trying to chase away the storm that had lingered behind her eyes since she returned. She smiled faintly, grateful for the distraction, but her mind kept drifting. To purple bubble tea.

To the boy who had once waited outside this very shop for hours just because she liked the rain.

Now, the world moves more slowly. Her fingers tightened around the cup, and her eyes flickered to the shadows stretching across the street.

Then she saw him. Jungkook.

He emerged from the dusk like a ghost summoned by memory — except he was real. Realer than ever.

His dark coat fluttered in the wind, hair slightly damp from the drizzle, but his eyes… his eyes didn’t blink.

They burned. Her grip slipped. The drink hit the ground.

Before she could speak, before Minhyuk could understand what was happening, Jungkook lunged. A violent blur — fists, blood, bones crunching.

Minhyuk barely managed a breath before he was yanked to the pavement, Jungkook’s fist colliding with his face over and over.

“Don’t touch her.” “She’s mine.” “Mine.”

She screamed, tugging at Jungkook’s arm, sobbing his name — but he didn’t stop.

Blood-soaked Minhyuk’s collar. A tooth rolled onto the pavement. She felt something break inside her. The Jungkook she knew… he was gone.

Only when Minhyuk stopped moving did Jungkook stop. She backed away, horror etched in every breath. Then she turned. She ran.

Rain blurred her vision. Her chest heaved. Her feet throbbed. But she didn’t stop. Not until a cold hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her into the shadows.

She kicked, screamed, but his grip was iron.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he whispered against her ear, breath warm and twisted. “Why are you running from me, baby?”

He dragged her into a car. Her body thrashed against the leather seat. The doors locked with a click.

The car moved. She stared at him. “You're insane.”

He laughed — not bitter, not angry — like a lullaby gone wrong. “I missed you. Do you know how long I waited?”

When they arrived, she recognized the building. The apartment. Her stomach turned.

Nothing had changed. Same photos. Same lavender curtains. Same framed sketch she drew for him — their initials inside a heart.

“You kept this?”

“Of course. This is where we belong.”

Her voice shook. “This isn’t love, Jungkook.”

He tilted his head. “Then what was it? When you kissed me under this roof? When you cried saying goodbye? When you promised you’d come back?”

“I was eighteen—”

“So was I.” His voice dropped. “But I didn’t move on.”

She lunged for the door. A needle sank into her neck before she could scream. The world turned black.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains. Her body ached.

She tried to move — her ankle resisted. A chain. Subtle, but tight. She gasped.

“Good morning.”

He sat by the window, sketching. Like nothing happened.

“What did you do to me?” she rasped.

“Just a little something to help you sleep. You were hysterical last night.”

She looked down at herself. Her clothes were changed. Clean.

Her heart raced. “You’re sick.”

He turned his sketchbook around. It was her — asleep.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? Just like before.”

“You’re not him,” she snapped, her voice trembling. “The boy I loved… he would never hurt someone.”

Something shifted in his eyes.

She went on, desperate: “He would never kill. Never kidnap. No woman could love a man like this.”

Silence. Then — a crack. His hand struck her cheek. The sound echoed. Her face snapped to the side. A sharp sting bloomed. She looked at him, horrified.

“You… hit me?”

His pupils dilated. Regret flickered. His hand shook.

“I… I didn’t mean—”

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“You’re not my Jungkook.”

He grabbed the syringe from the nightstand.

“What are you doing?”

“If the memories hurt you… Let me take them away. Let me start over.”

“No—don’t you dare!”

She lunged at him, but her body betrayed her. Weak, dizzy.

“I’ll never love you again,” she choked out. “You’re a monster.”

His hand trembled. He kissed her forehead, like a goodbye.

“I love you too much to let you go.”

The needle sank in. Her scream died in her throat. And everything went dark again.

“You were my first... and you’ll always be my last. No matter what happens... dead or alive, you’ll stay with me.” His voice was gentle, almost whisper-soft, as her head dropped limply to the side—unconscious once more under the effects of the injection.

The needle still rested in his hand.

Her fingers had slipped from their clenched position on his shirt, now sprawled against the floor where she'd tried to fight him.

He didn’t move her—not yet. Instead, Jungkook just stared.

And stared.

Like he was trying to memorize the shape of her eyelashes, the curve of her bruised lip, the little flicker of movement beneath her closed lids.

He sat next to her body as if she might vanish if he blinked.

Like a man in a trance. Like a monster satisfied... but empty.

He didn’t cry this time. The part of him that used to cry had died the day she walked away. Now all that remained was this raw, wired obsession.

His jaw clenched as he slowly got up, pressing his hand against the dented wall. Blood still trickled down from where he'd punched it.

His knuckles split open, a painful red contrast against the pale walls of the apartment they once shared.

The same apartment she had once walked out of.

But now... She was back.

Jungkook moved like a machine—clearing the broken glass, changing the bedsheets, wiping the traces of his rage from the room.

He tossed the stained shirt he wore into a bag, scrubbed the floor, and opened all the windows, letting in the cold Seoul air.

The scent of roses mixed with antiseptic, haunting and sterile.

By the time she woke up—it was the next day. The entire twenty-four hours, he hadn't slept. Hadn’t eaten. He’d just... waited.

She stirred faintly, brows creasing as the light bled into her vision.

Her lashes fluttered, head lifting an inch before she winced and sank back into the softness beneath her.

Then she gasped.

A sudden, sharp inhale. Eyes wide.

And the first thing she saw...

Was him.

Sitting silently in the corner, hands clasped between his knees, eyes glued to her face like some grotesque sculpture come to life.

The shadows carved his features in eerie stillness, lips curled in something like a smile... but colder. Something dangerous flickered behind those eyes. Not sorrow.

Control.

She bolted upright, the blanket sliding down her shoulders, breath hitching as panic set in.

“Who... who are you?” she whispered.

He tilted his head slowly.

“Where am I?! What am I doing here—did you... Did you kidnap me?!”

Her voice cracked by the last word.

Jungkook didn’t answer. Not right away. He just stood up, steps silent like a predator.

Her fingers scrambled toward the edge of the bed, trying to find something—anything—sharp, heavy, useful.

But there was nothing. The room was empty, white, and clean. Too clean.

He stopped beside her.

And smiled.

That same eerie, calm smile. One that didn’t reach his eyes. One that made her stomach twist and her throat go dry.