𓈒

May 1999, 10:30 PM

“Help me.” You breathe heavily through your words, your bloodshot and puffy eyes staring up at your best friend who looks down at you worriedly. 

It’s pouring outside and you are drenched. You just came from JFK Airport and had been standing outside of his front door for the past ten minutes before finally knocking on the door and him answering it. 

“What are you doing here? What’s wrong?” His voice coos softly, seeing as you had cried.

“Take me somewhere.” You calm down a little, trying to keep your breathing steady. 

“At this hour? Where?” Jungkook peers over your head to see the rain pouring down as hard as it sounds. 

“Anywhere.” You know the only transportation he has is his motorcycle and you usually dared not to get on that vehicle. But right now, you don’t care. You just want to get some air and stop feeling like this.

“Sure. Let’s go.” Jungkook nods, letting you come in. You follow him down to the garage where his motorcycle is parked. He opens the garage door before helping you onto the bike and putting the spare helmet over your head. The rain splashes down onto the driveway, getting heavier by the minute. “You sure about this?” 

You nod, the helmet on your head shaking up and down with your head. 

Jungkook sighs before putting on his helmet and getting on the seat in front of you. He lowers the visor as you wrap your arms around his torso. “Hold on tight.” His voice is muffled but you can still hear him through the helmet. 

He twists the handlebars with his hands to rev the engine before taking off. He turns out of the driveway, races down the street and heads toward the main road. His speed continues on the main road, driving the bike in between cars. He knows that you usually get scared when you’re on his bike, that’s why you never say ‘yes’ to riding on the back of it. 

But something is different tonight. Something is different about you. 

As he speeds through the traffic, he’s headed toward the highway. You sit behind him with the left side of your head leaning against his back, arms wrapped tightly around his waist and eyes closed. You don’t nag him about his reckless driving or scream about his speed. You were just, quiet. 

Once Jungkook gets on the highway, he slows down and his speed is now steady. The ride is now a lot smoother and you feel yourself mindlessly falling asleep behind him. 

11:15 PM 

“What happened? What are you suddenly doing here? Why did you ask me to take you out?” Jungkook leans his right side against the side of his bike. His motorcycle is parked in front of a bench looking out toward the Hudson River, with a view of New York City on the other side of the water. 

The rain has now slightly calmed down, though it is still heavily falling. 

“Ask one question at a time.” You take off the helmet, being greeted by the beautiful scenery. New York City at nighttime is beautiful, especially from here. 

He sighs, “Are you okay?” 

You nod your head while looking at the skyline, though immediately shake your head a second later. You begin to tear up at his words. You then lower your head and stare at the helmet on your lap. Choking on your next words, you feel a pit in your stomach as you speak, “It’s hard.” 

Jungkook is now drenched with you, after being out in the heavy rain for the past 30 minutes. Water drips from the tips of his bangs as he just stares at you, “Then why did you go?” 

You look up from the helmet, finally making eye contact with him, “I don’t think I can do it anymore. I feel like I’m suffocating.” Your voice cracks as your eyes well up with tears. 

You moved to California last July after getting accepted to Stanford. And for you, adjusting to living in a city on the other side of the country wasn’t easy. You had no friends, the classes were too hard and you felt homesick. 

He just looks at you, then takes a step closer to remove the helmet from your lap. 

Tears roll down your face, “Can you come with me?” 

“What?” Jungkook whispers, holding the helmet in his hands. 

“Can you come with me? I’m so lonely.” You whine, your eyes desperate. 

Jungkook sighs and puts the helmet down on the seat next to you, “I can’t. You know I can’t.” He now stands in front of you, watching as you cry harder. 

“Please.” Your voice cracks again as you lean your head against his chest. “Help me, Jungkook.” 

“What do you want me to do?” He lays a hand on your head for the first time. This is the first time in the 15 years you’d known him that you had broken down in front of him like this. He didn’t know what to do to make you feel better. 

You sniffle then lift your head off of his chest to look up at him. You stare at him for a second before slightly lifting your body off of the leather seat that you are sitting on. You mindlessly lean your face closer until your lips touch his. When you pull away a second later, Jungkook just blinks at you. 

“W-What are you doing?” Jungkook whispers. 

Realizing what you just did, you blink rapidly and avoid his eyes. “S-sorry. I d-didn’t mean to do that.” 

You two just stand there in the rain, without saying a word to each other for the next five minutes. All you could hear is the pitter-patter of the water as it falls from the sky. 

Jungkook breaks the awkward silence by exhaling deeply. He rubs his mouth with his right palm, “It’s late. We should get back.” He clears his throat and leans to his right to grab your helmet. He puts it over your head, lowering the visor for you and covering your face. 

After putting on his helmet, he lifts his left leg and brings it over the leather seat to sit on the front of the bike again. You follow and sit properly on the bike behind him before wrapping your arms around his torso. Jungkook revs the engine before the bike speeds forward and turns around sharply in the direction that you came from. 

The ride back home is again silent and once he drops you off at home, that’s the last time you see him again. 

Until June 2008.

© kookied 2026. all rights reserved. all content shared on this page is my own, original work. the above characters (including original), characterizations, dialogue, plot and settings are all fictitious. they are not to be associated with any real people mentioned, whom are solely used for visual purposes. 

it started with the late night snacks, you waking up to him sitting cross legged by the coffee table, halfway through a bowl of shin ramyun, a bluetooth mic warm in his palm with his voice dramatically belting out another pop song crackling through the speakers.

you would ask if he’s live, and he would shake his head, already offering you a spare bowl he made while you slept. you two would eat together, and he would force you to sing sometimes. your parts got edited out, of course, but he would keep those clips just for himself.

then it was the bikes. you already knew your boyfriend would be a problem after the first bike he got, but now he has four, maybe five; and it’s given you more mini heart attacks than you can count.

by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, you would sit and sip some warm cocoa, look out at the nice view like an old lady, try to finally find some reprieve from the constant headaches you get from this man.

he’s gone god knows where, said he was going to film again. you expected him to head to the store, maybe vlog a grocery run, or invade namjoon’s privacy again. what you did not expect was your boyfriend all but skidding down the street right below you, one hand on the handle, and the other steadying a camera in front of him, trying to get a good angle.

you weren’t sure whether to call the cops, your therapist, or his mother. eventually, you shut him down by ringing his phone, and he shut you up by making you squirt twice.

eventually, it trickled into the showers. him wet, hair messy and soaking, making weird faces, furrowing his brows, toothbrush wedged between lips as he stands there in all his half-naked glory. shorts on, of course, because he said his ass is too fat to be given out for free.

those specific scenes you would be bothered by, if he didn’t give you the vip exclusive cuts of him stroking his pretty wet cock after, creaming with your name bouncing off the bathroom walls.

“two more minutes,” you mumble over another layer of brown lip gloss, smacking your lips for the nth time, and you squint at your reflection. then reaching for your eyeliner pen again—“pretty girl, you said that seven minutes ago.” his voice rumbles from behind.

the whine that leaves you makes him whine an even higher, even whinier whine.

your boyfriend sits on his bed bare-chested, grey sweatpants, tattoos out and glowing in the warm light, hair perfectly tousled — the whole effortless pussy-popper-9000 look — phone already propped up with one of his ridiculously expensive black tripods.

there isn’t an ounce of annoyance in his eyes though; just warm, gooey pools of affection for you. you. you.

“c’mere. beautiful baby,” he resorts to making grabby hands at you, which you catch in the mirror of the vanity he put in his room just for you. he’s making gross kissy sounds, beckoning you over like he would his dog bam.

you roll your eyes, and yet, you’re already setting down the pen and making your way to him.

“look who it is!” he’s clapping now, of fucking course he is, beaming at you as you approach. his hands then start drumming over his thighs, like some entrance fanfare for a princess — which you absolutely are in his eyes.

his lip tucks under his teeth immediately, as soon as you make contact, your hand holding onto his shoulder for a brief second just to steady yourself, before settling down on his lap like he’d instructed. and he’s already excited.

jeongguk is warm, and his scent engulfs you like a hug, and it soothes your nerves, even for a moment. you’re soft in his hands, always so soft; and his arms find your middle — you both melt into each other instinctively.

you’re met with a 4k 60fps view of yourself and him, shot wide to capture the way your thighs spread over his, and the way his silhouette swallows yours.

his shoulders go on for days, and his milky skin contrasts beautifully with the black tank top you (barely) have on. he squeezes around your tummy, making both of you laugh like idiots.

you look good together, real good. you lean in slightly, turning your head and pursing your lips to examine your makeup, when your vision is soon obstructed by one large, tattooed hand reaching up and cupping both your cheeks.

he grabs your face, touch gentle but firm as he squeezes lightly, and from what you can see on the screen — god, he’s fucking delighted. “so so prettyyy. what a pretty girl, no?” he coos, eyes crinkling at the corners as he gives one of his eyebrow-smiles.

you’re seething, and also soaking, kinda. he doesn’t need to know that.

“you’re actually the worst ever,” you grunt, trying to sound mean but it’s muffled by the pout he’s forced you into. both your hands have to wrap around his wrist just to wrestle his stupidly strong, stupidly veiny hand off your face, which you manage to do, but it’s no use.

“yeah? you promise?” he’s fucking giggling, proud of it, proud of your little attempts to resist him because you both know you can’t.

his other hand reaches over to gently pat your cheek, before pinching it lovingly; which earns him another whine. and he just loves it. he adores it so much you can feel it right under your thigh. his cock is thrumming in his boxers, heart so full as he leans over to press a big, wet, smooch to your other cheek.

ugh. “just start the damn video.”

after a few more pokes to your face with some odd, boyish explosion sound effects, he finally concedes, hips shifting under you.

one arm — very obvious and very unnecessary — hooks around your chest, effectively grabbing and squeezing your tit as he moves you like he’s done it a hundred times before.

he has. and like a hundred times before, you cuss him out for it.

until his free hand moves, his finger pressing to his lips, which, unfortunately, shuts you up pretty quick.

his thumb hits the record button, and he’s shifting you back, though his grip doesn’t loosen, just slips down to your waist, where he pulls you even closer.

“today, i am joined by the scariest, sexiest, most murderous force of nature i know—” “aaand you are going to end up six feet under,” you’re already crossing your arms, eyes narrowing at him through the screen. his brows pinch, looking to the camera and his imaginary viewers, shrugging in a told you so kinda manner, even as his hands start massaging over your shoulders slowly.

“see, this recording is actually for my safety rather than my enjoyment.”

he props his chin over your shoulder, and his little quip is pathetic. he’s pathetic. but knowing jeongguk, he would own that title like a fuckin’ badge of honor, too. you let out a huff, relaxing into his touch as your eyes flutter shut.

but jeongguk doesn’t like that. he clicks his tongue, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, lips brushing your hair as he nudges you with his nose to look back at the camera. “c’mon. introduce yourself, mama?”

your head falls forward, a smile tugging on your lips as you avoid the camera. “hello, i’m y/n, this is my clingy pet dog. bye.”

your lack of enthusiasm makes him chuckle, breath hot against your skin. you are sooo stubborn and he just loves you like this. “damn right.” he growls right behind your ear, which is insane considering his eyes peek out from behind you, all wide and innocent.

even as he’s clearly ogling at your cleavage and your pretty face on the screen.

his hands move from your waist, sliding up higher, and you, begrudgingly, uncross your arms, earning you another gravelly ‘good girl’ and a wet kiss to your temple. he’s already cupping your breasts, squeezing and bouncing them for the camera, the creamy flesh ripples under his handling.

it’s embarrassing, your face flushing pink as he toys with your tits, and you’re just letting him, biting back whimpers and whines with every punishing squeeze. “mn, koo—”

one hand slides upward from your breast, lightly smacking your cheek again before settling around your throat. the suddenness making your breath hitch, eyes rolling back for a moment as you tried to steady yourself. a breathless huff of laughter leaves you, in another futile attempt to sound mean.

“freak..” you hiss.

he only grinned, a wicked, lopsided thing. "mhm? and what else?" he murmured, his voice a deep rasp.

without so much as a beat to let you respond, he catches your lower lip between his fingers and pushed his thumb past your teeth, filling your mouth and muffling your indignant protests into soft, wet sounds of submission.

rude.

jeongguk is having the time of his life, his hand a heavy weight on your neck, not to choke you, no; but anchor you to him.

he can do the choking later.

his gaze is doe-like and adoring, shimmering with pure, unadulterated joy; glowing with a soft, manic sort of adoration that makes your heart ache even as he's being a total menace.

using his firm grip, he moves your head to get a better look at you and fuck. “fuck, look at you. look at my girl.” a heavy throb pulses straight through his cock, it almost hurts. “you are so pretty.”

his tone is dripping with honey through gritted teeth, disgustingly, aggressively sweet even as his thumb is pressed deep into your mouth.

the thick, delicious intrusion forces you to suckle on it, glaring at him through lashes that were already growing damp. you’re trying to maintain some semblance of that pride, but to him you’re just cute. so fucking cute.

“today,” he starts and reaches down, his fingers hooking under the hem of your black tank top. he doesn't ask; he just peels the fabric upward, dragging the soft cotton over the curve of your stomach and up, up, until your breasts are bared to the cool air and his gaze.

and he gives you that look. that deeply terrifying look that always ends with you in a messy, sticky heap. it’s manic, it’s a hunger that borderlines on holy despite the mischief dancing in his eyes.

he is so, so incredibly gone for you.

he lets out another breathy, jagged laugh.

“we’re gonna see how long it takes to completely break you, aren't we?" he whispers, the challenge hanging in the air like a dare. "how long can i ruin my girl before i finally lose it?" his nose nuzzled back into your hair.

you can’t even process the sheer audacity of his words, you’re struggling to breathe around the pad of his digit when—

smack!

the sound of his palm hitting the underside of your breast is sharp and loud in the quiet room, the sting sending a delicious, jolting shock straight to your clit.

the sting is sharp, a sudden burst of heat that makes your toes curl and your eyes water, but he doesn't give you a second to recover. his expression tells you he’s enjoying your discomfort far too much. then another, smack, right to the other breast.

you protest around his finger, but his grip is so strong and his hand is so heavy.

he gives in another light smack, before grabbing it roughly and squeezing, sending you choking around a sob. “b-baby mmff, please— mmnnn!”

he watches the way your skin flushes, the way your nipple hardens into a tight, dark peak from the sudden sting, and he lets out a soft, triumphant giggle that is entirely too affectionate for the way he’s looking at you.

"hold the camera, baby," he commands, his voice a low, honeyed growl that leaves no room for argument.

he nods his head to the device, forcing you to reach out with a trembling hand to angle it the way he wants.

“that’s it, you listen so well f’me sweet girl,” he peppers kisses over your shoulder, “right on your pussy. show ‘em those cute little panties.”

you would roll your eyes, but you just obey, the hand in your throat and thumb in your mouth a constant reminder of who’s in charge right now. it’s shaky, but it gets the job done, the phone held down low to show off the pretty, expensive black lace that did very little to hide the wetness pooling on your lips.

“fuuuuck, look at that,” he breathes out, mouthing at the juncture of your neck as he stares down at the screen. “god, why are you so fuckin’ sexy, huh? so fuckin’ lucky.” as you struggle to maintain your hold on the camera, your knuckles turning white, you feel his hand leave your breast.

down your waist, down your navel, down the soft curve which he squeezes lovingly. down, down, down.

his fingers come into view on the camera, pressing two into the lace, watching, his jaw falling slack as your lips make a soft, filthy squelch. the dampness only spreads.

“ohhh fuck, sweet girl,” you both whine, like the sight itself is breaking you both.

his thumb presses harder into your mouth, a silent command to keep sucking, to keep staying quiet and good while he works. his hand is a hot, heavy intrusion between your thighs, his fingers sliding past the damp, silken folds of your heat to find the center of your ache.

the moment he touches you, the moment his fingertip brushes against your swollen clit you feel your entire body lurch. you’re trying so hard to keep the camera steady, to keep the frame focused, but as he begins to rub you with a slow, punishingly deliberate pressure, your hand begins to slip.

he sees it, of course; he sees everything.

“don’t let go, baby, come on. you can do it,” his fingers slow, circling aching little figures around your swollen clit, and you buck your hips in an attempt to meet his hand. “k-kooooo—mmmff,” his thumb is now pressing inside your cheek, stretching your lips open for the camera as your noises spill out. “come on, fix the camera. show ‘em how good my girl is, yeah?”

blinking back tears, your grip tightens around the tripod again, the material biting into your palm — and you almost fucking let go because he speeds up all of a sudden. “mnnn ohh— oh my god!”

having your lips pulled open, your spit dribbles down your chin and around his hand, and the disgusting, wet feeling only spurs him on, practically ripping the lace out the way as two thick fingers plunge into your pretty pussy, his thumb relentless against your clit.

“thaaat’s right, that’s my good girl,” he hisses, eyes narrowed and zoned right in on the way your velvety walls suck him in. so fucking needy.

you can only respond with throaty little mewls, trying to hide your face in his neck as he works you open up close and personal, all in high definition.

you feel so fucking exposed, so vulnerable, so disgusting — his hand around your throat tightens, making you gasp and choke for air. his other hand pulls out, and you find tears welling up in your eyes again, head jerking in betrayal, “y-you fucking—”

the slap is sharp, a stinging crack that echoes in the quiet room, and the heat of it goes straight to your tummy as you yelp.

your inner thigh is already flushed, the skin sensitive and tender, but the impact of his hand slick, hot, and heavy with your own sticky juices is enough to make your vision blur. the sensation of his wet palm meeting your skin is so visceral, so unapologetically messy, that a fresh sob hitches in your throat.

he slaps you again. and again, for good measure.

"look at the camera, sweet girl. please?" he coos, his voice a devastating contrast to the sting he just delivered. it’s so sweet, so honeyed and adoring, as if he hadn't just punished you for your momentary lapse in composure.

“don’t hide. show them how much you're enjoying this for me. look at the screen, princess."

you’re fucking shivering.

your face hot and tear streaked, you force your heavy eyelids open. you feel so fucking gross, your lips are swollen and glistening with saliva, your hair is a mess, and you can feel the dampness of your own slick coating his hand.

but as you look back down to where the phone is angled, jeongguk is right there, his face hovering just inches from yours. his dark eyes are round and sparkly, filled with that worshipful light.

"there she fuckin’ is," he breathes, a low, ragged sound that vibrates in the air between you. he presses a messy kiss to your cheek. "my pretty girl. so fucking pretty. look at those eyes.. so wide and beautiful for me."

"j-jeongguk, please," you babble, the corner of your mouth is sore from his digit still pressing you open; the words coming out in broken, frantic whimpers.

your free hand clutches at the bedsheets, his hair, his bicep — anything — as the tension in your lower belly reaches a breaking point. “k-koo! hhnnn baby fuckfuckfuck,” “yes? yes my pretty girl?”

too much; the friction, the pressure, the sheer intensity of being watched and handled like this in front of a camera. "gonna— oh god, koo, g-gonna cum! i’m gonna cum, please!"

"yeah? gonna cum for koo?" his hand finally, finally leaves your face, letting you suck in a deep breath, still covered in sticky sweat and your saliva fucking everywhere.

you’re not sure what’s worse, the smears of your expensive brown lip gloss on his hand, or the way he sucks on his own thumb, making a show of swirling his tongue around it, tasting your spit before reaching down to help you film. like it was the most normal thing ever.

it makes your pussy clench, and you both wince.

“give it to me, mama. please?” he leans in, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to the curve of your shoulder, his lips soft against your heated skin even as his fingers suddenly become a blur of motion between your thighs, making you fucking scream as you squirm. it’s too much. too much. too much.

he’s working you with a ruthless, rhythmic precision, his thumb grinding against your clit in a way that feels like it’s trying to pull the very soul out of you — and the dirtiest thing somehow is the happiness on his face as he’s doing it.

through your tears you can make out his smile, his tongue poking out like he’s concentrated on a sketch rather than making his pretty girlfriend fall apart in a wet, hot mess.

the cherry on top? as he fucks into your sopping cunt, the filthiest noises filling the warm air around you, he’s peering down into the camera from over your shoulder.

and he, with all the audacity in the fucking world, winks.

the climax hits you like a physical blow, a violent, tectonic shift that shatters your remaining strength. you let out a high, keening wail, your back arching so sharply it feels like you might snap.

your vision explodes into white light as the first massive wave of release erupts from you. you feel the hot, forceful spray of your juices drenching his hand and splashing against the sheets, and the floor. a torrential outpouring of pure, unbridled ecstasy.

you’re shaking, sobbing, your entire body convulsing in the throes of a squirt so intense it feels like you’re being emptied out entirely.

and through the haze of your undoing, through the tears and the gasps and the sheer, overwhelming sensation of being broken open, you see him. he’s watching you instead of the camera, his eyes locked on you. his girl. as he captures every messy, beautiful second of your surrender.

a wide, enamored, and utterly obsessed grin is plastered on his face. he’s watching his masterpiece unfold in real time, and he looks like he’s never been more proud in his entire life.

“oh my god, you’re the cutest thing ever,” he’s giggling. he made you squirt all over and he’s fucking giggling.

after the first initial spray, he pulls his fingers out, only to plunge them back in, easily now, from all the wetness and slick, pushing, flicking against that spot with just the right pressure, to pull another spray from you. his eyes glued to your teary face, brows furrowed and lips still pulled in that stupid smile as he tries to soak in every single reaction.

“koo, baby, nghhhh, you’re so—“ you grit out through your teeth, thighs trembling violently, as the pleasure and stinging pain blend together so bad, your eyeliner is washed clean off by now.

he pulls out, goes back in for another, pulling a tinier fountain out of you,

and then another — but you’re pushing, pounding weakly against his forearm, and he finally stops. his hand resting, cupping over your creamy, puffy pussy.

there’s nothing but your breathing for a moment, and the thrum of your heartbeats racing in the aftermath.

he sets the camera back on the table in front of you, angling it low so it still catches every last drop of your release dripping down your thighs. his hand, the one drenched in your squirt, reaches up again, finding its place back on your neck the to tilt your head the way he wants and kiss you.

it’s wet, it’s messy, and so so soft, so so loving. his piercing cools the heat of your swollen lips as he sucks on your tongue playfully, before it’s your turn to smack him away.

“mm, you did so good. you’re so fucking pretty. so fucking sweet.” he praises, genuinely lovesick. “my little porn star.”

your breathing fans his face, and he kisses you again. can’t get enough of you.

“are we gonna count that as one? or three?” you question, the teasing lilt returning to your voice as you glance at the still-recording phone, a few specks of your release glistening on the screen.

he hums for a moment, looking at the device before turning back, that grin of his turning cocky, proud.

“one, definitely one. ‘m far from done with you, mama.”

“i fucking hate you.”

you both let out a deep sigh, and share another deep, lingering kiss, before he’s freeing his huge, heavy, aching cock, and tightening his hand back around your throat with a smooch to your temple.

lord pray for this man’s storage.

© maison raceme2hell.

note. whipped this up in like 4 hours. i’m not a smut writer at all. was very horny. won’t happen again. bye

The Edge of the Map

The air in Oregon didn’t feel like air. To Jungkook, it felt like breathing in a damp sweater that had been left in the trunk of a car.

He leaned his forehead against the cool, fogged-up window of the Greyhound bus, watching endless walls of massive, looming pine trees blur past. They looked less like nature and more like giant, jagged teeth cutting into a permanently gray sky.

He was thousands of miles away from the sun-bleached concrete of Venice Beach. There were no skateboards here. No tacos at 2:00 AM. No ocean breeze—just a oppressive, heavy silence that seemed to swallow the sound of the bus engine whole.

"Gravity Falls," the bus driver grunted over the crackling intercom, not even bothering to look in the rearview mirror. "End of the line. Watch your step, kid. Or don’t. Not my problem."

The brakes hissed violently, and the bus shuddered to a halt in front of a rusted, crooked sign that read: WELCOME TO GRAVITY FALLS (Nothing to see here!).

Jungkook sighed, throwing his heavy canvas duffel bag over his shoulder. He adjusted his oversized leather jacket—a total Y2K thrift find that was currently keeping him from shivering—and stepped off the bus onto the gravel lot.

His parents called this summer trip a "character-building intervention." Jungkook called it banishment. Ever since he told them he wanted to drop everything to focus entirely on his music production instead of a traditional college track, they’d been looking for a way to "ground" him. Their solution? Sending him to spend three months with his eccentric Great-Uncle (who everyone just called "Grunkle") in a town that wasn't even on most digital maps.

"Jungkook! Over here, you absolute city slicker!"

Jungkook blinked against the mist and saw a battered, wood-paneled golf cart idling near the edge of the trees. Sitting behind the wheel was a man who looked like he’d been assembled from spare parts found in an antique shop. He wore a slightly stained maroon fez, thick-rimmed glasses, and a scowl that looked permanently etched into his face.

"Grunkle?" Jungkook called out, his platform sneakers crunching awkwardly on the wet gravel.

"Keep your voice down, the trees have ears. And sometimes teeth," the old man grumbled, slapping the side of the golf cart. "Get in. I'm running a business here, and every minute I'm waiting for you is a minute I'm not overcharging tourists for plastic Bigfoot footprints."

Jungkook climbed in, shoving his duffel bag into the cramped back seat. As the golf cart rattled to life with a sound like a blender full of rocks, Jungkook looked out at the dense treeline. For a split second, he swore he saw a pair of glowing, neon-yellow eyes staring back at him from the dark brush. He blinked, and they were gone.

Yeah, Jungkook thought, pulling his beanie lower over his ears. It’s gonna be a long summer.

The Mystery Shack

The "business" his uncle ran was a monstrosity called the Mystery Shack. It was a massive, ramshackle log cabin buried deep in the woods, covered in fake cobwebs, peeling paint, and a giant, neon sign that was currently missing the 'S', so it just read: WORLD FAMOUS MYSTERY HACK.

"Home sweet home," Grunkle muttered, hopping out of the cart with surprising agility. "You're sleeping in the attic. Don't touch the taxidermy on the second floor, it’s held together by hot glue and prayer. And if you hear scratching inside the walls, just bang on 'em and yell 'Not today, demon!' Usually does the trick."

Jungkook dragged his bag inside. The interior smelled intensely of old paper, dust, and cheap cedar souvenirs. Shelves were packed with absurdities: a jar labeled Actual Ghost Whispers, a stuffed deer with a doll head sewn onto its neck, and rows of green t-shirts with question marks on them.

"I have employees," his uncle shouted from the kitchen. "But they’re useless. You start tomorrow. Cashier duty, stocking shelves, and making sure the local raccoons don't steal the register. I don't pay you, but you get a roof over your head and all the stale corn chips you can find."

Jungkook didn't argue. He was too exhausted. He climbed the creaking wooden stairs to the attic, pushing open a heavy door.

The room was actually sort of cool, in a dark, moody way. It had a giant, triangular window that looked right out into the canopy of the forest. The wood was dark, the ceiling sloped sharply, and a dust-covered twin bed sat in the corner.

He dropped his bag, pulled out his laptop and his favorite headphones, and sat on the edge of the bed. He opened his music software, needing a familiar comfort. He began tapping out a slow, heavy R&B beat on his MIDI pad—something dark and atmospheric to match the gray weather outside. The bass thudded softly through his headphones, making him feel a little less like an alien on a strange planet.

But as the beat looped, a strange, rhythmic thump-thump-thump started echoing through the room.

Jungkook took his headphones off. The thumping stopped.

He put them back on. The thumping started again, but it wasn't coming from his headphones. It was coming from insidethe wooden floorboards right beneath his desk.

The Floorboards

Frowning, Jungkook knelt on the dusty rug. He pushed his desk aside, his fingers tracing the seams of the old pine floor. One of the planks felt loose. It was slightly raised, the nails rusted through.

Using a heavy metal pen from his backpack, he pried the board up.

It wasn't empty space underneath. Hidden in the hollow joist was an object wrapped tightly in a piece of heavy, black velvet cloth.

Jungkook’s heart did a strange, erratic flutter. He pulled the bundle out, the velvet shedding dust all over his jeans. He carefully unwrapped it.

It was a journal.

The cover was made of weathered, dark red leather, looking decades old. But the most striking feature was a golden, six-fingered hand stamped right into the center of the leather. Inscribed inside the palm of the hand was a bold, black number: 1.

Jungkook’s breath hitched. He opened the cover. The pages were thick, yellowed parchment, filled with dense, manic handwriting, intricate sketches of bizarre creatures, and complex geometric diagrams.

He flipped to a random page. There was a detailed drawing of a tiny, bearded creature in a red pointy hat, labeled: GNOMES - Known for teamwork, sharp teeth, and a strange obsession with finding a 'queen'. Vulnerable to leaf blowers?

Another page showed a sketch of the very woods outside his window, with a warning written in stark, bleeding red ink:

TRUST NO ONE IN THIS TOWN. THE SECRETS RUN DEEPER THAN THE ROOTS. IF YOU ARE READING THIS, YOU ARE ALREADY IN DANGER.

Suddenly, the triangular window behind him rattled violently as a gust of wind slammed against the glass. Jungkook jumped, nearly dropping the book, his eyes wide.

He looked from the cryptic warning in the journal to the dark, whispering woods outside. The beat he had been making was still looping softly from his laptop speakers, but it didn't feel like a beach track anymore. It sounded like a soundtrack to something brewing in the dark.

Jungkook slowly closed the book, his thumb tracing the golden six-fingered hand.

"Okay," he whispered into the empty attic, a small, thrilled smirk unexpectedly tugging at the corner of his lips. "Maybe this summer won't be so boring after all."

Clocking In

The next morning, the mist was so thick it swallowed the bottom half of the pine trees, making the forest look like it was floating. Jungkook trudged down the squeaking stairs, the weight of the red leather journal heavy inside the front pocket of his oversized hoodie.

When he stepped into the main gift shop, the lights were flickering, and a mellow, classic neo-soul track was playing softly from a dusty boombox behind the counter.

"Yo, you must be the nephew!"

Jungkook blinked, taken escort by a guy leaning casually against a display of fake Bigfoot fur. He looked around Jungkook’s age, maybe a year or two older, wearing a backwards baseball cap, an absurdly oversized tie-dye shirt, and a permanent, boxy grin.

"I'm Taehyung," the guy said, tossing a plastic skull hand-to-hand. "Technically, I’m the handyman/creative consultant/security detail here. But mostly I just fix the things Grunkle breaks and try to figure out if the vending machine is haunted. Pretty sure it is. It gave me three bags of chips yesterday when I only paid for a comb."

Jungkook couldn't help but smile. Taehyung’s energy was completely grounding, a stark contrast to the creepy vibes of the attic the night before. "I'm Jungkook. Just got dragged here from Cali."

"California? Nice. No wonder you look like you’ve never seen a rain cloud before," Taehyung laughed, walking over to pat him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, man. The Shack’s weird, but we harbor the coolest people."

Right on cue, the rusty bell above the front door jingled.

Jungkook turned around, and his heart did a sudden, violent downbeat—completely throwing off the rhythm of his chest.

You walked in, shaking the morning dew off a dark flannel shirt that hung loosely over a black cropped top. You had a pair of headphones draped around your neck, a half-empty iced coffee in one hand, and a casual, effortless confidence that immediately stood out against the tacky, dusty backdrop of the Mystery Shack.

"Morning, Tae," you said, tossing your keys onto the counter. "Grunkle bossing the new kid around yet?"

"Not yet, Y/N. He’s still sleeping off yesterday's tax evasion," Taehyung joked.

Your eyes shifted over to Jungkook. You took a slow sip of your coffee, assessing him from his beanie down to his chunky platform sneakers. A small, knowing smirk tugged at your lips. "So you're the city boy. I'm Y/N. I handle the inventory and make sure tourists don't actually hurt themselves on the fake exhibits."

"Jungkook," he managed to say, cursing inwardly because his voice sounded a fraction deeper than usual. He cleared his throat, leaning his elbow on the counter to try and look a little more relaxed—the classic LA cool. "Yeah, my parents shipped me out here. Still trying to figure out if this town is real or just a fever dream."

"Oh, it's definitely a fever dream," you chuckled, walking right past him to step behind the counter. You smelled like rain, vanilla, and a faint hint of old books. "But you get used to it. Or it swallows you whole. Whichever comes first."

Jungkook’s fingers instinctively twitched against the hidden journal in his pocket. He stared at you, completely captivated by how much you seemed to fit into this strange, beautiful, moody environment.

The Red Ink

"Alright, slackers!" Grunkle’s raspy voice boomed from the back office, followed by the sound of a cane thumping against the floorboards. "Y/N, take the kid and go hammer the new 'Beware of Flying Piranhas' signs along the lake trail. Some local teens are complaining about 'logic' and 'safety.' Go fix it!"

You rolled your eyes playfully, grabbing a heavy canvas tote bag filled with wooden signs and a hammer. "Come on, Cali. Let's see if you can handle the woods."

Jungkook eagerly grabbed his jacket. Taehyung gave him a supportive thumbs-up from the break room, shouting, "Watch out for the mud, Jungkook! It eats shoes!"

The air outside was crisp, the smell of damp earth and pine needle oil filling Jungkook's lungs as he followed you down the narrow trail behind the Shack. The deeper they went, the quieter the world became. The forest canopy was so dense that the morning sun only broke through in sharp, cinematic beams of light, illuminating the swirling mist.

"So," you said, breaking the silence as you stopped by a massive, moss-covered oak tree. "Music production, huh? Tae told me you write."

Jungkook blinked, surprised. "He told you that?"

"Tae talks a lot," you smiled, leaning against the tree trunk and holding up a sign for him to hammer in. "But it's cool. We don't get many artists out here. Mostly just lumberjacks and people hiding from the government. What kind of stuff do you make?"

"Dark R&B, mostly," Jungkook said, taking the hammer. He stepped close to you—close enough to see the slight amber flecks in your eyes—and carefully nailed the sign into the wood. "A lot of heavy bass, vocal layers. I was working on a track last night in the attic, actually. But..." He hesitated, pulling back. "Something weird happened."

"Weird is the baseline here," you said softly, your eyes locking onto his. "What happened?"

Jungkook looked around. The woods felt like they were listening. Unable to keep it to himself anymore, he reached into his hoodie and pulled out the heavy, velvet-wrapped package, sliding the cloth off to reveal the weathered red journal with the golden, six-fingered hand.

Your eyes widened. You stepped closer, your hand instinctively reaching out to touch the leather cover, your fingers brushing against Jungkook's. A sudden electric spark of tension flared between you, making his breath hitch.

"Where did you find this?" you whispered, looking up at him, your faces only inches apart now.

"Under the loose floorboards in the attic," Jungkook murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "Look at the first page."

He opened the book. But as the page flipped, both of their expressions froze.

The entry he had read last night about the gnomes was gone. In its place, the yellowed parchment was covered in fresh, wet, bleeding red ink that hadn't been there a few hours ago. The manic handwriting read:

HE IS WATCHING FROM THE TREES. THE BOY FROM THE COAST HAS THE KEY. DO NOT LET THE GIRL DECEIVE YOU. TRUST NO ONE.

A low, guttural click echoed from the dark canopy right above your heads.

You and Jungkook slowly looked up into the dense branches. The shadows were shifting, and two massive, pale hands with elongated fingers were gripping the bark of the pine tree directly above you, slowly lowering a shadowy face toward the light.

The high-pitched, manic screaming started before Jungkook or Y/N could even react to the shadow creature above them.

But it wasn’t the shadow creature screaming.

It was a barrage of small, squeaky voices.

A blur of red and white burst from the bushes, moving across the forest floor with surprising speed. They looked like a stampede of aggressive bowling pins. Jungkook didn’t even have time to register what was happening before he was knocked over, his beanie flying one way, the heavy journal sailing the other.

He landed hard in a patch of wet moss, gasping for air.

"What the—" He choked, scrambling up on his elbows.

The woods were alive with motion. Y/N was yelling, but it wasn't out of fear—it was pure irritation. She was currently standing knee-deep in a tidal wave of gnomes.

They were exactly like the drawing in the journal, but somehow sillier and far more aggressive. Small, stout little men in pointy red hats, with bushy gray beards that dragged in the dirt. They weren't trying to eat her; they were trying to climb her.

"Mine! The beautiful one is mine!" one squeaked, using Y/N's boot as a stepping stone.

"No! She belongs to the collective!" another shrieked, grabbing a fistful of her flannel shirt and attempting to hoist himself up.

A swarm of them had grabbed a massive, tangled vine and were attempting to use it as a net, trying to lasso Y/N around the waist.

"Seriously guys? Again?" Y/N huffed, throwing her hands up in exasperation as she tried to shake a gnome off her arm. She managed to fling one off, but three more immediately replaced him, holding onto her jacket like lint.

A small gnome with a patch over one eye suddenly popped up from behind a root, spotted the journal lying in the mud, and gasped. "The forbidden book! The prophecy speaks of the shiny boy carrying the key!"

A group of about five gnomes abandoned their attempt to scale Y/N and immediately redirected, screaming,toward Jungkook.

Jungkook’s eyes widened in sheer, baffled terror. This was not the supernatural mystery he had signed up for.He was being hunted by garden decorations.

"Stay back! I'm warning you!" Jungkook yelled, scrambling backward over the roots, reaching for anything defensive. He grabbed a particularly large pinecone and brandished it like a weapon. "I have... I have tree parts! And I'm not afraid to use them!"

The lead gnome stopped, assessed the pinecone for a split second, and then blew a high-pitched raspberry."Attack!"

They swarmed him.

It was a chaos of scratchy beards and plastic pointy hats. Jungkook was buried in seconds, yelling as tiny little hands grabbed his shoes, his jeans, his jacket. He was currently lying on his back, a very fat gnome sitting triumphantly on his chest, another two attempting to untie his platform sneakers.

Meanwhile, a larger group of gnomes had managed to lasso Y/N’s ankle with the vine and were trying, with very little success, to pull her away.

"HEEEEAVE! HOOO! HEEEEAVE! HOOO!" they shouted in unison, their little feet slipping on the wet pine needles. Y/N didn't move an inch; she just stood there, arms crossed, looking incredibly bored as twenty gnomes strained to drag her 100-pound body across the forest floor.

"If you idiots are done," Y/N said, sighing as she finally bent down and effortlessly snapped the vine. "We actually have work to do."

Jungkook was currently in a headlock administered by a surprisingly strong gnome named Norman, who was whispering threats about "the great pointy hat revolution" into his ear.

"Jungkook!" Y/N called out, looking totally unbothered by the fact that five gnomes were still holding onto her pants legs. "Did you read the journal entry? What did it say under weaknesses?"

Jungkook, fighting for his life against a beard, squinted his memory. "Uh... Gnomes... Known for teamwork...Obsession with... Vulnerable to..."

His eyes widened as he remembered the cryptic, frantic handwriting. Leaf blowers?

He scrambled, pushing Norman off his face. "Y/N! Leaf blowers! The book said leaf blowers!"

A collective gasp rippled through the gnome colony.

"Silence!" their leader shrieked, popping up from a stump. "He speaks the words of the machine gods!"

"Where are we going to get a leaf blower in the middle of the woods?" Jungkook asked, now holding two gnomes back by their faces, their tiny arms flailing harmlessly.

Suddenly, a massive roaring sound erupted from the direction of the Mystery Shack, drowning out the gnome screams and the wind.

Taehyung burst through the trees, wearing noise-canceling headphones, safety goggles, and a high-powered,gasoline-fueled leaf blower strapped to his back like a proton pack.

"YO! CAUTION! HEAVY MACHINERY!" Taehyung yelled, grinning manically as he aimed the nozzle right at the nearest cluster of gnomes.

He squeezed the trigger. The leaf blower roared to life with a violent, ear-splitting drone. The force of the air was so strong it flattened the grass instantly.

The gnomes didn't stand a chance.

It was a massacre of dignity. The high-speed air caught under their pointy hats, turning them into dozens of tiny, bearded frisbees. They shrieked as they were blown backward, spinning wildly through the air, clattering into trees and bushes like chaotic hail.

"GET SOME!" Taehyung whooped, swinging the nozzle from side to side, treating the gnomes like a light rain that needed dispersing. "NO GNOMES ALLOWED IN THE SPLASH ZONE!"

The gnome swarm that had been trying to carry Y/N off screamed in terror and fled, their collective pitter-patter-pitter-patter sounding like a hundred raindrops hitting the ground. The fat one on Jungkook's chest rolled off and scrambled into the high brush, abandoning the great pointy hat revolution for a tactical retreat.

Within ten seconds, the woods were empty of everything except Y/N, Jungkook, a victorious Taehyung, and a few dozen scattered red plastic hats.

Taehyung clicked off the leaf blower, the sudden silence heavy in the damp air. He lifted his safety goggles,beaming at the other two. "Grunkle told me to come 'dispose of some pests.' Man, I love this job. How'd I do?"

Jungkook sat up slowly, brushing the pine needles and gnome dust off his leather jacket. His beanie was still missing. He looked at you, utterly bewildered, then at Taehyung, who was happily checking the fuel level on his blower.

Y/N sighed, shaking her head. She walked over to where the journal had landed, picked it up, and gently wiped the mud off the golden six-fingered hand. She then reached down and pulled a tiny, lost red hat out of the cuff of Jungkook’s platform sneaker.

She tossed the hat to Taehyung, who caught it and immediately put it on. "Nice souvenir!"

Y/N looked down at Jungkook, a small, amused smile playing on her lips. She offered him a hand, pulling him to his feet.

"Welcome to Gravity Falls, Cali," she said softly. "It's always a quiet day in the woods until the tiny lawn decorations try to start a matriarchy."

Jungkook looked at her, his heart rate finally starting to slow down. He took the journal back, securing it in his pocket, but his gaze remained on you. A thrill that had nothing to do with gnomes or monsters raced through him. He adjusted his jacket, matching her smile.

"This town," he muttered, shaking his head. "It's a complete fever dream. But the company is surprisingly good."

Taehyung, now wearing the gnome hat, slapped Jungkook on the back. "A fever dream you can’t wake up from! Now, who's hungry? I think Grunkle left some expired corn dogs in the break room!"

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ:⠀ ⋆.:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .☾