Jungkook knew by the third time whatever you were doing was far from innocent. The first time had been easy to ignore. You'd stepped closer while he was grabbing a drink, hand gliding down his grey vest as if there was something to fix, even though it was already perfect.
Then while eating, you'd brushed your hand over his thigh under the table. Although it's a habitual action but your fingers trailed a little too high and dangerously close to where he was already starting to feel the strain in his pants.
Later, when his aunt was showing some old photographs, his hand had rested politely on your waist, while you pressed back almost grinding against his crotch without anyone noticing.
God, you've kept testing his patience since you both arrived here.
From your side, it really wasn’t your fault.
Your husband looked disgustingly hot tonight. The white shirt, the grey vest, the diamond brooch you'd gotten him and those fucking gold rings on his fingers. Your husband looked straight out of a scandalous magazine no less.
It had been too long since he’d properly touched you.
And by too long you mean this morning which only consisted of a desperate makeout session against the dressing table until his dad had called to remind not to be late for the family gathering.
so here he was- looking like pure sin in front of everyone while you were starving for your husband's touch. it's only fair enough to make him suffer too, right. But as you continued with your evil plan of torturing him with your little touches, you began enjoying it too much.
Jungkook was barely holding it together now. He's trying to look relaxed but you knew him too well. Oh, how he wishes if he could just bend you over this instant and fuck that brattyness out of you.
“Aigoo, I left my reading glasses in the kitchen.”
“I’ll get them for you, halmeoni.” You give her a sweet smile before making your to the kitchen.
The moment you reach for the glasses on the counter, a very familiar tattooed arm slams against the cabinet beside your head.
You turn around to find the man you've been successfully avoiding to meet alone. Jungkook’s other hand lands on your hip trapping you between his arms as he presses himself into you. You could absolutely feel the unmistakable bulge pressing against your body.
“What are you doing?” You try to keep your voice innocent.
Jungkook scoffs. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head. “You find this funny, huh?”
You try to bite back your smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about..”
“Keep up with the act and I’ll bend you over this counter right fucking now."
You gulp because your husband may or may not be kidding about this.
“Halmeoni!” you gasp looking at the doorway behind him.
Jungkook jerks back so fast he nearly loses his balance.
By the time he figures there's no one behind, you're snatching the glasses off the counter and dart past him with a bright giggle as you escape the kitchen.
“You little—”
He shakes his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair with a mix of amusement, adjusting his pants to hide his very obvious problem created by his wife.
--
By evening, it’s worse.
Much worse.
The garden's lit up with warm string lights filled with fun chattering and laughters.
But not for Jungkook, because he’s been on edge for hours now and it’s starting to show.
You see it in the way his fingers keeps drumming impatiently, in how his attention drifts back to you no matter who he’s talking to.
Which only makes it harder not to smile.
You sit on the grass with his niece, completely occupied as she shows you her new hair clip collection, nodding along, sharing a laugh at whatever she’s explaining.
“Really?” you speak clipping one on her. “That’s your favorite?”
She nods enthusiastically putting a few on your hair too.
“Are you staying?” she suddenly asks, looking up at you with hopeful eyes.
"Uhh.."
“Stay.” She fists lightly at your dress with her little hand. “Please?"
You soften instantly and glance up to meet Jungkook’s eyes.
The second he sees that look on your face he knows exactly what you’re about to do.
“No, we can't—”
“We can stay,” you say at the same time, smiling down at her.
You don’t look at your husband right away.
because you already know what you’ll see.
and when you finally do glance up—
Yeah.
There it is.
You actually have to press your lips together to stop a laugh.
Of course you didn't intend to stay the night but you also didn't have the heart to say no to his cute little niece. As the night stretches on everyone's scattered. Some have already gone to bed while others lounge in watching an old movie.
You’re curled up on a big sofa, laughing along with Jungkook’s cousins. Jungkook sits across from you joining in here and there.
It’s almost midnight and you’re still showing zero urgency to leave. Your usually patient husband is hanging on by a thread. Jungkook stands up after a moment before letting you know he's heading to bed and you sure catch the sharp edge in his voice when he looks at you.
You give it another twenty minutes before making your way down the room in the hallway where you always stay in whenever you visit.
Your eyes try to adjust to the darkness of the room.
Did Jungkook really fall asleep?
You did tease him a lot today. He’s been worked up since morning and you spent the entire day pushing his buttons.
You pout closing the door behind you. What if he actually got annoyed and decided to just sleep?
The thought barely forms before strong hands grab your waist from behind and you're pinned against the door.
Jungkook’s hand slides up gripping your jaw to tilt your head back. You catch the intensity radiating off him as the moonlight spills through the thin curtains.
He breaths out dangerously calm.
“Had too much fun today, didn't you?” His body burns hot against yours. He only has his trousers on. You can feel how painfully hard he is as his thick length of his cock presses insistently against your ass.
His thumb brushes over your bottom lip almost too possessive.
“My turn now.”
A soft whimper escapes your lips the moment he speaks into your ear. One of his large palm squeezes your waist while the other slides down along your thigh.
You whimper again pressing back against him seeking more friction. The movement makes him growl in warning.
He reaches for the zipper at the back of your dress and yanks it down almost roughly making it pool at your feet. For a second you think he’s finally going to fuck you senseless against the door. but you know your husband too well. After all the teasing you put him through today- he’s going to make you pay for every single second of it first.
You almost whine the moment you feel the loss of his heat. You hear the sound of him unbuckling his belt. Turning around fully, you find Jungkook has dropped his trousers. Sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but his black boxers.
The obscene bulge straining against it only adds more to your wetness.
“Come here.”
Your legs feel weak as you walk towards him.
His gaze drops to your panties. “Off.”
You do as he says, sliding off your drenched fabric down your legs.
Jungkook taps his thick thigh once, manspreading wider. You already know exactly what he wants.
The moment your dripping core makes contact with his veiny muscle, a sharp gasp leaves your lips. His thigh is warm and firm and slightly rough with a light dusting of hair that drags deliciously against your sensitive folds.
Your arms hook around his neck for balance as you begin to rock your hips forward.
His eyes stay locked on where your pussy is pressed, watching the way your slick glistens on his skin.
His muscle flexes beneath you, pressing harder against your clit. Your head falls forward onto his shoulder with a broken moan.
“Jungkoo-” You can feel how wet you are by how easily you’re gliding over his thigh. Jungkook leans back on his palms flat on the bed behind him.
He doesn’t touch you even once. Even as his cock is straining hard against his boxers leaving a wet patch from watching you use him.
Normally, Jungkook’s hands and mouth are always on you. So you know he's deliberately making you suffer.
You moan louder as desperation starts to build. Your slick is dripping down his thigh now.
“Kook.. please”
You become needy. You’re aching for his hands, for his mouth, for anything he's willing to give.
Your hands slide down his chest, pressing against the hard planes of muscle. You need more. You need him to touch you.
You dip your head and bite down on his shoulder making him hiss through his teeth.
“Kook.. touch me..”
Your voice comes out in a pathetic whimper.
Jungkook exhales through his nose in a mock.
You whine loudly, hips stuttering against his thigh as you try to chase the pleasure but it's not enough. It’s almost painful not having your husband’s hands on you when you need him the most.
Your hand moves down to palm him over his boxers. Jungkook lets out a groan jerking up into your touch.
One moment you're riding his thigh and the next you find yourself thrown onto the bed.
“You’re not getting to touch me soon.”
His words vibrate against your skin as he licks a stripe from the column of your throat.
“My wife's been such a brat."
You whimper trying to reach for him again but he catches both of your wrists in one large hand and pins them above your head. Jungkook reaches for something beside you and you know from the feel of it that it's the grey tie he wore. He ties the silk around your wrists tight enough that you feel the gentle bite of restraint.
Jungkook sits back admiring his work. His eyes rake slowly over your body while his fingers barely touch over your belly. Jungkook’s eyes darken even more as he watches you squirm beneath him.
He buries his head into the crook of your neck, teeth sinking into the soft skin to make you gasp followed by the wet heat of his mouth as he sucks hard.
He pulls back up to hover his lips barely an inch away from your own, so close you can feel the warmth of his whiskey breath. You chase his mouth, lips parting in plea to pull him down into a proper kiss. Jungkook exhales a low laugh against your lips. Your back archs as he unclasps your bra.
“You know the safe word?” he speaks against your skin as he starts kissing his way down between the valley of your breasts.
You whine nodding frantically, too worked up to form proper words.
He pauses above your left nipple, his warm breath fanning over the hardened peak.
“words, sweetheart.”
“yes.. jungkook, please—”
The plea barely leaves your mouth before he finally sucks hard around your nipple. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud while his hand continues its torturous path, fingers barely moving along your slick folds.
He alternates between sucking and gentle bites on your breast, then moves to the other one giving it the same attention. All the while, his fingers tease your entrance dipping in just the tip of one finger before pulling back.
You’re panting now, wrists straining against his tie, body arching up into his mouth and hand. Jungkook lifts his head, eyes locked on your flushed face as he continues his slow descent down your body, lips and tongue tracing a wet path over your stomach until he settles between your spread thighs.
When his eyes land on your pussy, a rough sound rumbles from his chest. A thin string of arousal clings to your inner thigh and every time your walls clench around nothing, more of it leaks out.
“I’m sorry,” your voice comes out as a broke whimper. “Sorry, Jungkook.. please”
It’s embarrassing how quickly the apology spills from your lips even though he hasn’t said a single word yet.
Jungkook hums against your thigh. He lifts your left leg angling it up to rest your ankle on his broad shoulder. The new position spreads you open even more for him, exposing your dripping pussy completely to his hungry gaze.
“Can’t hear you.” He places an open-mouthed kiss right on the inside of your ankle.
You whine pathetically.
“Kook, please...” Your voice cracks with desperation. “need you.. so bad. please—”
Jungkook's own desperation wins as he dips his head down dragging his tongue through your folds. The loud moan escapes you as your back arches for him. His hot tongue laps at you with deliberate strokes.
The cool silver of his lip rings only add more to your pleasure as he eats you out like a mad man. One of his hands grips your thigh tightly holding your leg in place on his shoulder while the other slides under your ass, tilting your hips up so he can bury his face deeper between your legs. You moan his name like prayers.
You bring your tied hands to thread your fingers into his hair. Jungkook groans loudly at the tug. His scalp stings from how hard you’re pulling but it only seems to spur him on.
You cry out from the pleasure of his relentless licking, sucking and kissing every inch of your dripping pussy.
You’re shaking. Whimpering. Already close to tears from how badly you need to come but Jungkook pulls back every time only to start the torturous cycle all over again.
“Hands above your head.” Jungkook spreads your folds open with two fingers before you feel the flat of his ring-clad fingers directly onto your swollen clit. You let out a sharp moan as the thick gold rings make contact with your overheated skin. "Fuck—”
He knows how much you love these. How fucking turned on you get every time you see them on his hands. He starts rubbing circles over your clit, letting them drag again and again adding a new kind of delicious friction that makes your toes curl.
Your arousal is leaking steadily down your thighs and onto the sheets beneath you more so coating his shiny gold.
“Look at you,” He murmurs opening you up more. “Dripping all over my rings like a desperate little wife. You love feeling them on your pretty pussy, don’t you?”
You desperately pull down on your tied wrists against the sheets. Your hips twitch uncontrollably trying to grind against the cool metal.
Jungkook chuckles darkly.
He dips his fingers lower curling them deep.
Tears of pleasure stings your eyes as your husband mercilessly continues with fucking you with his fingers.
Every time your moans get louder, every time your pussy starts clenching too hard around his fingers he slows down or pulls back completely leaving you empty and throbbing.
You sob from the frustration and overwhelming pleasure. “I can’t.. koo.. please let me come..”
Jungkook leans down pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your inner thigh. “No,” he sounds almost gentle despite the cruel way he’s denying you.
“You’re gonna come only on my cock tonight.”
He flips you over onto your stomach as his possessive hands manhandle your body yanking your ass up high.
Your tied hands remain stretched above your head. Your back arches deeply, ass presented perfectly for him pussy dripping and exposed.
“Fuck, look at you,” He holds you in place with a bruising grip as he admires the view of his wife.
You finally finally feel the drag of Jungkook’s leaking cock through your soaked folds. The hot tip teases your clit all the way down to your entrance. You can’t help it as you push back against him trying to take him inside.
“My greedy little wife,” he lets out a chuckle.
Before you can form a single word he pushes in with a deep thrust. A loud cry rips from your throat. Jungkook’s cock finds home as he buries himself to the hilt. The sudden fullness makes your walls flutter wildly around him.
“Fuck- baby,” he groans, fingers digging harder into your waist.
He doesn’t give you any time to breathe. He pulls back almost all the way only to slam back in harder setting a brutal pace right away. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass fills the room, mixed with your broken moans and his low grunts.
Your hands fist the sheets above your head as he fucks you roughly from behind manhandling your body however he pleases.
“Take it,” his voice drips possession. “Take every fucking inch like you’ve been begging for all day.”
You’re so glad the rooms in this farmhouse are built soundproof because the noises spilling from your mouth are beyond obscene. Every brutal thrust forces another filthy sound out of you. wet slaps of skin against skin mixing with the squelch of your soaked pussy taking his cock.
Jungkook fucks you rough and deep. His relentless pace makes you see stars. pounding into you from behind as if he’s trying to fuck the brat right out of your body.
His hand slides up from your waist to cup your breast to grope the soft flesh roughly. His fingers find your hardened nipple and pinch it hard.
You cry out.
You’re so close already.
He tugs your hair back roughly with one hand making your back arch until it presses against his strong chest. A strangled moan rips from your throat. The new position has his cock hitting even deeper inside you.
His hand snakes up your body and wraps firmly around your throat making your moan turn choked.
“You don’t get to come until I say so."
He bites down on whatever part of your skin his mouth can reach. His teeth sink in to leave dark bruises, marking you up as he continues thrusting into you with punishing strokes.
“All fucking mine,” he growls right against your ear. His hand tightens slightly around your throat as he speaks. "Taking my cock so well.”
His other hand slides down your body pressing rubbing against your swollen clit.
The sudden added stimulation makes your entire body jerks violently as the orgasm crashes through you.
Tears spill freely from your eyes, sliding down into your hair as your walls clamp down around his cock like a vice. Your pussy gushes around him while he keeps thrusting through it until your legs shake uncontrollably.
"such a brat, aren't you."
You barely recover from the first orgasm of the night before your husband has you on your back.
You try focusing your blurry eyes on him.
Jungkook has his hand stroking his cock glistening with your sweet arousal. The sight of you wrecked and crying beneath him makes him more feral.
He moves on top of you taking your tied wrists and pins them above your head. His mouth crashes down on you hard.
Jungkook barely gives you a moment to breathe between his devouring kisses. You moan against his lips as his cock slides all the way in you again. His hand tightens around your wrists as he starts fucking you harder.
Though the Jeon house has highest grade furnitures but the way Jungkook fucks into you. you pray the bed doesn't break.
“Wanted your husband's cock so bad, didn’t you?” he punctuates each word with a hard thrust. “Now take it. All of it. It’s all yours, baby.”
You can only sob in pleasure as he fucks you into oblivion as he keeps pounding and pouring filthy praises just for you.
You feel like you’re floating in a dream.
You have no idea how many hours have passed. All you know is the endless pleasure of being pulled apart and put back together by your husband’s insatiable hunger.
His stamina is almost animalistic, reminding you of your honeymoon phase when he'd made love seven days a week. In your husband's words, he could never get enough of his beautiful wife.
Jungkook has always been quite experimental with your sex life. loves trying new things, toys, positions on you. but his absolute favourite is still classic missionary. because he gets to see your face when you come.
Jungkook has both of your legs pushed up over his shoulders now folding you in half as he drives into you insane. The angle is brutal, making your eyes roll back.
when he pulls your legs down making them wrap weakly around his waist. your thighs are barely able to hold onto him so Jungkook hooks one arm under your thigh holding it up for you. You’ve completely lost count of how many orgasms you’ve had tonight.
Your mind is too blissed out to keep track of anything and your husband just can’t seem to stop. Jungkook chases every broken moan that leaves your lips.
By the time he finally spills inside you for the last time, you’re more than completely spent.
Your body is covered in his marks. Your pussy is leaking his cum and your legs are shaking so badly you know with absolute certainty you won’t be able to walk properly tomorrow morning.
Jungkook collapses beside you holding you in his arms. You're too dizzy to figure what's happening anymore. But you sure feel your wrists getting lighter followed by so many soft kisses on them and your forehead and your cheeks before you finally pass out.
--
The first thing you register as you awaken are feather-light touches gliding over your skin along with lips trailing down your bare back. You stir letting out a hum.
Jungkook’s hand continues its slow caress down the curve of your waist, over the dip of your hip, then back up again. He becomes so soft after every intense night you spend together. It never not makes you fall for him harder each time.
Jungkook nuzzles his head into your neck while his hand slips between your legs with aching gentleness. His fingers almost caresses over your swollen folds.
A soft whine escapes you as turn around in his embrace, but the moment you do, a sharp hiss leaves your lips.
“Shit, baby” he speaks while his eyes look down to check. “hurts a lot?”
you nuzzle your face into his neck seeking his warmth.
“I can manage..” you mumble against his skin.
Jungkook places a kiss to your hair.
“I’ll cook your favourite pasta when we get home."
You immediately look up at him.
“Work?”
He brushes a hair aside from your face.
“Taking the day off.”
Your face lights up and you lean to peck his cheek.
“I’ll make cheesecake too.” Jungkook shows you his other cheek.
You smile childishly wrapping your arms around his neck smacking another one of your sweet pecks.
“And?”
He slides you closer by your waist, tangling your legs together with his.
“And I’m gonna give you a Jeon Jungkook special massage,” he finishes with a peck on your nose.
“And?” you tilt your head still grinning.
Jungkook lets out a quiet laugh.
“And I’m gonna spoil my wife so so much.” his thumb brushes over your cheek.
“You already do,” you lean in to kiss him properly on the lips. He chases your mouth when you try to pull away.
“Well, I’ll add more to that then." A shared giggle fills between you as Jungkook rolls on top of you and starts attacking you with more of his kisses.
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Genre: angst, smut, royalty au, arranged marriage au
Word Count: 14.8k
Summary: She was never his choice- until she became his world.
Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, angst, smut, royalty au, slow burn?, power struggle, age gap (10 yrs), older jungkook, arranged marriage, (somewhat) enemies to lovers, jealousy, jungkook is a meanie 🙁, possessiveness, hurt/comfort, politics, soft love, declarations, explicit: multiple smut scenes, consensual, unprotected sex, cold/obligatory sex, power play, loving sex, praise, degradation, oral (f. receiving), fingering, clit play, overstimulation
A/N: this was a request from a lovely anon 🫶 friends, i redid the outline for this multiple times bc i normally shy away from fantasies/royalty, so it was cool to try it out! hopefully it lives up to expectations!! (also i rlly don’t know what time period this is so just imagine wtv )
Note: jungkook’s pov is noted. if it isn’t- it’s y/n’s! also y/n is 21, jungkook is 31, jisoo is 26
LINK TO REQUEST ♡ MASTERLIST ♡ a03
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The mirror stares back at you like it’s trying to convince you of something.
That you’re beautiful. That you’re lucky. That this is what you’ve always wanted.
But the mirror lies.
You’re dressed in layers of ivory lace and silk so heavy it feels like armor. Gold threads snake across your bodice like vines, binding you into a shape you barely recognize. Somewhere behind you, handmaidens fuss with ribbons and brocade, cooing soft words you don’t hear. Your reflection looks poised- majestic, even.
But you feel like you’re drowning beneath the weight of expectation.
Your chest tightens. Not from nerves. No, you’d welcome nerves. This is worse. This is suffocation. The perfume in the room is too sweet. The silence, too loud. Every delicate “Princess” that slips from a servant’s tongue hits like a blade.
You’re getting married today.
To a man you’ve barely spoken to.
A man who’s ten years older.
A prince from a kingdom that needed a treaty more than a love story.
You catch your own gaze in the mirror again. Your lips are painted, your hair perfectly pinned, your veil stitched with symbols older than your name. You look like a queen-in-the-making.
But inside?
You’re unraveling.
“Too tight,” you say sharply, not looking at the handmaiden tying your corset.
She freezes. “Apologies, Your Highness…”
You stand abruptly, fingers tugging the laces yourself until the pressure eases from your ribs.
“Leave,” you murmur.
They hesitate.
“I said leave.”
Their skirts whisper across the marble floor as they vanish, one by one, until the room is yours again. Quiet. Empty. Suffocating.
You exhale shakily and lower yourself onto the velvet stool near the fire. You should feel like a bride. Instead, you feel like a pawn being moved across a glittering board.
A knock at the door makes your spine go rigid.
“Come in,” you say, voice tighter than you’d like.
The door creaks open. And there she is.
Jisoo.
Your older sister. Your kingdom’s golden girl.
She steps inside delicately, wrapped in blush silk with her hair softly swept up, eyes wide with sympathy you don’t want. She’s everything gentle and graceful the court adores. She looks like spring in human form.
And she looks like someone’s first choice.
“Soo,” you say, your tone unsure- too many emotions knotted in one syllable.
She smiles. Soft. Almost apologetic. “You look… stunning.”
You blink at her. “Why weren’t you here earlier?”
“I thought you’d want to be alone.”
“I didn’t,” you admit. “Not today.”
She hesitates a step from you. Her fingers curl into each other.
You feel the question bubbling before you can stop it. “Does he love you?”
The words spill out like poison.
Jisoo’s expression flickers- guilt, shock, something unreadable but she catches it before it fully forms. “Y/N…”
“You don’t have to lie,” you whisper. “Not today.”
“I never encouraged it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You must’ve known.” Your voice cracks just slightly. “He looks at you like you’re the crown he lost.”
Jisoo swallows, her voice quiet. “He’s marrying you.”
You stare into the fire, the flickering light licking at your gown like flame to paper. “But he wanted you.”
She doesn’t answer. And her silence says more than a confession ever could.
You don’t blame her. Not really. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“Maybe you should be the one marrying him,” you say, not able to meet her eyes.
“I would never take this from you,” she breathes.
You turn to face her finally. “Would it really be stealing if I was just keeping your seat warm?”
The air between you thickens. You’re not angry at her. Not really. You’re angry at fate. At politics. At the cold man waiting at the altar who wants a different bride.
Jisoo takes a step closer. “You’re stronger than you think.”
“No, I’m just better at pretending.”
She reaches out to touch your shoulder. You don’t pull away, but you don’t lean in either.
“He’ll learn to love you,” she says gently. “Anyone would.”
You let out a dry laugh, sharp as glass. “You don’t learn to love someone like me. You endure her.”
The bell tolls outside- three slow, echoing chimes that stretch across the walls like the opening notes of a funeral dirge.
It’s time.
You rise. Your gown shifts like water. You steady your shoulders, straighten your crown. You feel her watching you, but you can’t look at her again.
Because you are walking down the aisle
Not as the girl he dreamed of. Not as the sister he wanted. But as the bride he’s stuck with.
The chapel smells like ancient roses and old prayers.
You glide down the aisle slowly, deliberately, as the eyes of two kingdoms drink you in. The train of your gown trails behind you like spilled moonlight. Hundreds of royals, nobles, and dignitaries line the carved pews, all dressed in silks and golds, but none of them matter. You feel them watching, judging, whispering about your age, your family, your worth.
But you only look forward.
You keep your eyes on the altar where Prince Jeon Jungkook stands like he’s carved from ice.
He doesn’t smile.
Not even a flicker of warmth touches his face when he sees you. His expression remains cold, impassive, lips a straight line, shoulders square. You wonder if he even sees you or if he’s just counting the seconds until this political obligation is complete.
The music swells. The world fades.
You reach him.
He doesn’t offer his hand.
The High Cleric begins the ceremony with blessings in a language older than either of your kingdoms. You barely hear the words. Your fingers are trembling in your gloves. You feel like you’re underwater. Everything is soft and distant and slow.
Until it’s time for the vows.
You turn to face him. And his eyes aren’t on you.
They’re on her.
You see it. Just for a second. A flicker. A heartbeat. But it’s real.
His gaze shifts- barely, subtly- but you know the direction. You don’t even have to look.
Jisoo.
She’s seated near the front. Pale dress. Downcast eyes. Perfect posture. As still and serene as a statue. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t acknowledge it.
But you feel it. All of it.
The phantom of his feelings for her settles like a chill between your ribs.
“Repeat after me,” the Cleric intones, unaware of the slow fracture blooming in your chest.
You say the words.
You pledge your body, your name, your crown.
You do not cry.
He says the words, too. Calm. Flat. Emotionless. He binds himself to you in front of gods and ghosts, but his voice doesn’t tremble. Not from nerves. Not from affection.
Because he feels nothing.
He lifts your veil. His hands are steady. Distant.
Your first kiss as husband and wife is just that- a formality. His lips brush yours like the passing of winter wind. No passion. No warmth. No curiosity.
The crowd erupts into applause.
You smile.
You have to.
He offers you his arm.
You take it.
You walk down the aisle together, shoulder to shoulder but not touching, as cheers rain down from the golden arches of the chapel.
You smile.
You have to.
And though you can feel him beside you…
he says nothing.
═══════
The ballroom gleams with gold and artifice.
You’re standing in the center of it, hand in hand with a man who hasn’t spoken a word to you all day. Not during the procession. Not during the ceremony. Not after the kiss. Not when he escorted you down the aisle like he was walking beside a shadow.
And now, in front of hundreds of watching eyes, it’s time for the first dance.
The music begins. You take one step forward, and so does he.
His gloved hand rests against your waist like he’s afraid to touch you too firmly- as if contact might imply something that isn’t there. His other hand holds yours, just tight enough to be respectful, just distant enough to make your stomach sink.
You lift your eyes to his.
And for the first time, he speaks, “You should smile.”
Your breath catches.
“That’s what they’re expecting,” he continues, voice low, precise. “A happy bride. A glowing princess.”
You try to smile, but it curls wrong on your lips.
“And you?” you murmur, eyes still fixed on his. “Are you pretending too?”
His grip tightens ever so slightly. “I’m fulfilling a role.”
You laugh- soft, bitter. “And what role is that? Dutiful husband or heartless executioner?”
He doesn’t answer.
You move together across the marble floor like strangers trapped in the same song. The music is beautiful, swelling in delicate arcs around you. But you can’t feel any of it.
“What did I do to make you hate this so much?” you whisper.
He blinks, slowly. “I don’t hate you.”
“No?” you scoff. “Then why won’t you look at me the way you looked at her?”
The words are out before you can stop them. His jaw clenches.
“Don’t bring her into this.”
“She’s already in it,” you breathe. “You put her there when you looked at her during our vows.”
The music swells again, a waltz that sounds too pretty for this kind of pain.
“I don’t want to embarrass you,” he says finally, voice tight.
You force a smile- sharp, graceful, empty. “Too late.”
He turns you in a slow spin, elegant, effortless. From a distance, the court sees perfection. A prince and his new bride, radiant under the candlelight.
But you know better.
You feel the space between your bodies like a scar that hasn’t healed yet.
“Do you love her?” you ask, quiet enough for only him to hear.
He doesn’t answer.
His silence slices deeper than any truth could.
You feel your chest tighten, throat burning. But your face? Your face stays royal. Untouched. Serene.
“Will I ever be more than her shadow to you?”
You see something flicker in his gaze, but it’s gone as fast as it comes.
“You were not the choice,” he says at last.
You blink. You stop moving for half a second. Your shoes nearly slip on the polished floor. The world tilts.
But then the music carries on.
So you do too.
He guides you back into motion, and you match him- fluid, poised, empty.
When the music ends, he steps back. Bows. You curtsy.
Applause erupts across the hall. And you smile so wide it almost cracks your face open.
═══════
The halls are empty when you’re escorted to the royal bedchamber.
No music now. No guests. No watching eyes. Just the sound of your heels against marble and your pulse humming beneath your skin.
The doors are already open.
He’s already inside.
You step in carefully, unsure of what you’ll find. The room is as grand as you imagined- pillars of carved obsidian, embroidered silks draped from the high ceiling, a fire crackling in the hearth like it’s mocking you with its warmth. A table is set with untouched wine. Rose petals litter the floor like someone believed romance could be faked.
He stands by the window, facing away from you. Still dressed in full ceremonial regalia. Still silent.
The doors shut behind you with a hollow thud.
You wait.
You don’t know what you’re waiting for. Instructions? Affection? A beginning?
Instead, you get nothing.
You unclasp your cloak. It falls silently around your feet. Your hair is pinned and tight, your corset aching against your ribs. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to be held.
But he still won’t look at you.
“It’s done,” you say quietly, just to break the silence.
He hums in acknowledgment. Doesn’t turn.
You take a step forward, cautious. “Is there something you’d like me to do?”
At last, he speaks. “Sleep. That’s all.”
That’s all.
The words hang heavy in the air.
You try not to show it, but your fingers curl against your side. “Isn’t this… expected?”
“I don’t owe them a performance.”
“And me?” you ask.
He turns to face you now, slowly. His expression unreadable. Cold. He looks at you like a decision he regrets making. Like a formality he’s been assigned.
“You don’t want this,” he says.
You flinch at the assumption. “You don’t know what I want.”
“You want love. Passion. Devotion.” He crosses his arms. “I’m not the man who gives those things.”
“No,” you say, stepping closer, “you’re the man who gives silence. Distance. Glances meant for someone else.”
His jaw ticks.
You keep going. You’re tired of swallowing pain. “You said your vows. You kissed me. You danced with me. And not once did you pretend I was enough.”
“I told you I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Oh, so this is honesty?” you snap. “This- coldness. This rejection. This… emptiness?”
He sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. His voice is quieter now. “It’s mercy.”
You shake your head. “It’s cruelty.”
Neither of you speak for a long moment.
You break the silence again. “Did you ever think that maybe I didn’t want to be just some treaty girl, either? That I didn’t want to marry a man in love with someone else?”
His face flickers. Just briefly.
You don’t know what emotion it is. Pity? Guilt? Regret?
But it fades too quickly to hold onto.
“You can sleep in here if you want,” he says, voice controlled again. “Or I’ll have a separate room prepared.”
You take a deep breath, walk past him toward the bed. You don’t look at him. Not this time.
“I’ll stay here,” you say softly. “Not because I want you. But because this is my marriage, too.”
You sit on the edge of the bed, spine straight, heart hollow. And he walks away without another word.
The doors close.
You are alone.
Again.
You unlace your corset with trembling fingers. You slide the jewelry off your skin like it’s shackles. You curl beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling that feels more like sky than stone.
And for the first time since the ceremony began, you let the tears fall. No one hears them. No one sees. And when morning comes, you will wear the crown like it never hurt.
═══════
The palace is dead quiet after midnight.
You lie still in the enormous bed, staring up at the carved ceiling, your body wrapped in satin, your heart wrapped in stone.
Jungkook came back hours ago.
He didn’t speak when he entered.
He didn’t speak when he undressed, carefully, methodically, folding his ceremonial uniform with military precision and draping a robe over his bare chest. He didn’t speak when he climbed into the opposite side of the bed, a world away from your side.
He just turned his back to you.
And that was that.
You listened to his breathing even out. Watched the fire in the hearth dim into embers. Let the weight of the sheets press your body down like a crown too heavy to wear.
Sleep never came.
The silence around you was too loud.
You watched the moonlight crawl across the walls until your eyes ached. You imagined what it might’ve felt like to be chosen. To be wanted. To be seen.
You almost didn’t hear it.
A whisper. Barely there.
You blink, breath catching, your body frozen as stone.
Then again- soft. Muffled. Threaded with sleep.
“…Jisoo…”
Your heart stops.
The name barely drips from his mouth- half breath, half confession- but it’s real. It slithers through the shadows between you like smoke.
“…Jisoo…”
He shifts in the bed beside you, still deep in dreams.
And you?
You’re wide awake.
The ache in your chest is immediate and consuming. Sharp enough to make your eyes water, soft enough to break you slowly. You don’t speak. Don’t move.
You lie there, paralyzed. Because how can you scream when the knife was never even meant for you?
It was a whisper. A sleep-talk. A mistake.
But it was her name. Not yours.
Not once tonight- not in his gaze, not in his vows, not in his arms- did you belong to him. But her? She owns the quietest part of him. The part he doesn’t even guard.
You turn your head toward him slowly. His face is peaceful in sleep. Untroubled. Like he hasn’t just carved you open.
You stare at him for a long time.
And for the first time since this all began, you don’t feel sad. You feel cold.
Numb. Resolved.
You pull the covers tighter around you- not for warmth, but for armor.
He may have married you.
But he dreams of her.
And if he thinks you’ll stay quiet forever, if he thinks you’ll simply live in her shadow…
He doesn’t know you at all.
═══════
The first week of marriage does not belong to you.
It belongs to the court.
Every morning begins with a maid waking you before the sun, layering you in gowns chosen by someone else, and fitting a crown so heavy you can feel it in your spine. Every day ends with aching cheeks from holding the same smile for hours.
They don’t call you by name anymore.
You’re Her Royal Highness, Princess Consort of the Northern Kingdom.
A title. Not a person.
The palace calendar is full- parades, charity luncheons, handshakes with foreign diplomats, appearances at schools, hospitals, markets. At each stop, you are arranged like part of the decor. A jeweled accessory for the prince’s arm.
He almost never offers it.
When he does, it’s for the benefit of the crowd. An elbow bent at a perfect angle, a smile carved into place like it was taught, not felt. He’s a master of performance.
So are you.
The people cheer for the image of you both. They throw flower petals into the street, shout blessings, push forward to glimpse their fairytale couple.
If only they knew fairytales rot when the gold is only paint.
At the textile factory, you stand beside him while the foreman gushes about the kingdom’s prosperity. At the ribbon-cutting for a new bridge, you’re handed the scissors, smiling for the press while Jungkook stares past you at some distant point, as though the moment doesn’t require him.
Sometimes, you catch yourself wondering if he forgets you’re even there.
You’ve learned the choreography. Sit still. Smile faintly. Look engaged, but not outspoken. Be regal, but not commanding. Be graceful, but not bold.
Be there.
But never be.
The only time you feel remotely human is during the carriage rides between engagements, when the curtains are drawn, and the crowds can’t see you.
That’s when the silence between you becomes unbearable. He doesn’t speak.
You don’t either.
But you glance at him once, catching his profile in the dim light. It’s like looking at a portrait- beautiful, distant, untouchable. You turn away before he can feel you watching.
By the end of the week, you’ve perfected the role:
A crown without a voice.
═══════
It happens because it has to.
Not because he wants you. Not because you want him. But because it’s expected. Because the kingdom will talk if it doesn’t.
The door opens without a knock. You glance up from your seat on the edge of the bed, silk robe tied loosely around your waist, hair falling over your shoulders. He steps inside, closing the door with quiet finality.
“We need to talk,” you say.
“Not tonight.” His voice is low, clipped, as he shrugs out of his coat. “This isn’t a conversation.”
Your brow furrows. “Then what is it?”
He looks at you but it’s the way a jeweler inspects a gem before deciding if it’s worth setting. “It’s what’s required,” he says. “For the line. For the crown.”
Your chest tightens. You know the court’s whispers- how the marriage will be scrutinized until you produce an heir. You know the timeline they expect. You’d expected distance. You hadn’t expected to feel like an appointment.
He approaches slowly, rolling his cuffs to his forearms. When he stops in front of you, he doesn’t touch you right away- just stands there until the air between you grows heavy.
When he stops in front of you, he looks down at you with the same expression he wears in court- measured, guarded, cold.
“Stand up,” he says.
The command leaves no room for hesitation. You rise.
His hands land on your waist, not with affection but with control, guiding you closer. His mouth meets yours in a kiss that isn’t really a kiss- no give, no hunger, no softness. You press harder anyway, trying to spark something. He responds by gripping your jaw, holding you still.
“You’re trying too hard,” he murmurs.
“At least I’m trying,” you bite back.
A slow, humorless smile curves his lips. “Careful.”
He turns you with deliberate force until your knees meet the bed. You sit. He follows, untying your robe in one smooth pull. It falls to your sides, cool air grazing bare skin.
His gaze sweeps over you- assessing, not admiring. “Beautiful,” he says, tone flat. “But beauty doesn’t make you powerful.”
You swallow. “Then what does?”
His eyes lift to yours, sharp as steel. “Control. And you don’t have any here.”
The word sends a shiver down your spine- half fear, half something you don’t want to name.
He presses you back into the mattress with a firm hand to your shoulder, sliding the robe from your arms. His touch is skilled, confident, but there’s no tenderness. Every movement feels deliberate- designed to take without giving.
You arch into him once, testing him. His palm flattens against your sternum, holding you down.
“Do you think I’ll lose myself for you?” he asks softly, mockingly. “You can’t provoke me into wanting you.”
The words burn hotter than his hands.
When he finally takes you, it’s with the same efficiency as everything else he does- controlled, unhurried, purposeful. The sounds in the room are soft but sharp: the creak of the bed, your shallow breaths, the low rumble of his voice telling you to hold still.
His grip on your hips is firm, guiding you exactly how he wants. You try to match his rhythm, to pull him closer. He shifts his hold, pinning your wrists above your head against the mattress.
“Not yours to lead,” he says. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
It’s almost clinical. Almost mechanical. Your body reacts anyway- heat, breathlessness, the helpless ache for more. But you know he’s watching every flicker of your expression like a general studying an opponent’s next move.
When it’s over, he pulls away immediately. No lingering touch. No kiss. Just rises, adjusting his clothes with the same precision he undid them.
You’re still catching your breath when he looks at you one last time. “This is duty, Princess. Don’t confuse it with anything else.”
And then he’s gone.
The door shuts behind him.
You stay there, robe open, pulse still racing- not from closeness, but from the sting of his words.
═══════
The council chamber smells faintly of parchment, polished wood, and the faint metallic tang of ambition.
You sit in the gilded chair to Jungkook’s right, posture flawless, hands folded in your lap. It’s your first time attending a full royal council since the wedding. You’re here to listen. To be silent. To play the part of the well-bred consort.
At least, that’s what they expect.
The chamber doors close, and the discussion begins. Ministers rise, presenting their concerns: border tensions with the Western Kingdom, grain shortages in the southern provinces, a brewing dispute with the merchant guilds.
Your husband listens with that same infuriating calm, speaking only when necessary, voice even, deliberate. A king in training.
But when the Minister of Trade suggests raising tariffs on imported grain to “incentivize” local production, something twists in your chest.
“That would starve half the southern provinces,” you say, before you can stop yourself.
Every head in the room turns.
Jungkook’s gaze cuts to you. Sharp. Warning.
The Minister blinks, surprised. “Your Highness, the measure-”
“-would drive up prices so high,” you continue, “that families already struggling would have to choose between bread and rent. And if the people are hungry, unrest follows. That is not ‘incentive,’ Minister. That is negligence.”
Murmurs ripple through the chamber.
Jungkook’s voice is quiet but firm. “Princess-”
You turn your head slowly, meeting his eyes. “Am I mistaken?”
A pause. His jaw tightens.
“You are… uninformed,” he says at last.
You lean forward, resting your hands on the table. “Then perhaps inform me. Tell me how destabilizing our food supply will help secure your rule. Or ours.”
A faint gasp from one of the scribes. A few ministers look away, hiding smirks. The Minister of Trade fidgets.
Jungkook’s expression doesn’t change, but you see the flicker in his eyes- anger, yes, but something else. Curiosity.
You look back at the table. “Instead of tariffs, subsidize local farmers to increase production. Buy excess grain directly from them at fair prices, then sell it cheaply in the provinces that need it most. The treasury loses nothing if the surplus is sold abroad. Everyone wins. The farmers, the provinces, the crown.”
The room goes still.
Then, slowly, the Minister of Agriculture nods. “It’s… a sound plan.”
More murmurs. Agreement.
Jungkook leans back in his chair, studying you like he’s seeing you for the first time. You can feel his gaze on your skin, hot and assessing.
“Very well,” he says finally. “We’ll consider the Princess’s… suggestion.”
It’s not an admission. Not in his tone.
But you’ve already won.
When the meeting ends, you rise before he does, smoothing your skirts. As you pass his chair, you feel his hand catch your wrist under the table.
You glance down at him.
His voice is low, for you alone. “We will discuss this later.”
You smile sweetly. “Of course, Your Highness.”
And you leave the chamber with your head high, the echo of your heels a victory drumbeat in the quiet hall. Yet, the moment the council doors close behind you, you know he’s following.
Your heels click against the marble corridor, echoing between the towering pillars. You don’t turn around, but you can feel him gaining on you- steady, purposeful, silent.
You make it halfway to your chambers before his hand closes around your wrist.
He pulls you into a side room- an antechamber lined with bookshelves and an unused writing desk- and shuts the door hard enough to rattle the hinges.
The air changes instantly.
He steps closer. Not close enough to touch, but enough that you can feel the weight of him, the way his presence seems to draw the oxygen from the room.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he says, voice low, razor-edged.
You arch a brow. “Speak?”
“Undermine me in front of my council.” His gaze is molten steel, locked on yours. “You embarrassed me.”
You take a deliberate step forward, closing some of the space between you. “I saved you from making a decision that would’ve turned half your kingdom against you.”
His jaw flexes. “That’s not your place.”
“And sitting there like a decorative vase is?” Your voice is calm, but each word lands sharp.
He moves closer, forcing you to back up until the edge of the desk presses against the back of your thighs. His hands plant on either side of you, caging you in without touching. “You don’t understand how dangerous it is to overstep in that room.”
You tilt your chin up. “I understand perfectly. They’ll eat you alive if they think you’re weak. And nothing says weakness like a wife too afraid to speak her mind.”
His eyes narrow. “You think you’re clever.”
“I know I am.”
For a moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing. His gaze drops briefly- not to your mouth, but to the stubborn lift of your chin- then returns to your eyes.
“You enjoy provoking me,” he says quietly.
“Only when you deserve it.”
One corner of his mouth twitches- not quite a smile, not quite a snarl. “Careful, Princess. If you make a habit of this, you might find I have… inventive ways of teaching obedience.”
You lean just slightly into the space between you, your voice a whisper. “And if you keep underestimating me, you might find I have inventive ways of winning.”
The tension between you is almost unbearable- not heat, not tenderness, just raw defiance meeting raw authority.
Finally, he pushes back, giving you space. “You’re not stupid,” he says. “But you are mine to manage.”
You smooth your skirts, stepping past him toward the door. “If you think I’ll be managed, Your Highness… you really haven’t been paying attention.”
You don’t wait for him to follow.
═══════
5 years earlier (jungkook’s pov):
The gala had been suffocating.
Perfume and politics choked the air inside the ballroom. Every step, every word, every glance felt calculated. The music was loud enough to cover whispers but not loud enough to drown them out.
Jungkook slipped through a side door.
The night air hit him like a blessing- cool, crisp, tinged with the scent of rain. He loosened his collar and exhaled, letting the weight of the crown’s expectations roll off his shoulders, if only for a breath.
That’s when he saw her.
Jisoo.
She was standing at the edge of the balcony, moonlight touching the soft curve of her cheek. A pale silk gown flowed around her like water. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her lips moving faintly as she hummed something he didn’t recognize.
She turned when she heard him.
“Oh- Your Highness,” she said, voice light, careful. She curtsied, the movement graceful, unhurried. “I didn’t realize anyone else would be out here.”
“I needed air,” he admitted.
Her smile was small but knowing. “So did I.”
They stood there for a moment, the muffled music from the ballroom spilling through the open doors. He should have gone back inside. Instead, he found himself asking, “Do you come to many of these events?”
“More than I’d like.” Her gaze drifted toward the gardens below. “But my father says it’s important to be seen.”
The words were simple. Obvious, even. But the way she said them- steady, resigned, without bitterness- struck him. She wasn’t like the others inside, scrambling for attention or advantage.
“I suppose he’s right,” he said.
She looked at him then, really looked, and for a second, he thought she might see past the prince to the man beneath. “You wear the pressure well.”
The compliment shouldn’t have mattered. It was the kind of thing royals said to each other all the time. But there was no jest in her tone, no false sweetness. It felt… clean.
Someone called her name from inside- a soft summons from a lady-in-waiting.
She dipped her head. “I should go.”
And just like that, she was gone.
Jungkook stayed on that balcony long after, the faint sound of her humming still in his ears.
It had been nothing- a polite exchange in the quiet. But in a life where every word was a weapon, her simplicity had felt like a shield.
Years later, he still told himself she was different.
He never noticed that he didn’t know a single thing more about her.
═══════
Two months change nothing… and everything.
The last time you and Jungkook stood together in the council chamber, you defied him in front of his ministers. He hasn’t forgotten. Neither have you.
The winter gala is your first appearance together since then.
The ballroom glitters under crystal chandeliers, every corner alive with silks, jewels, and the low hum of politics disguised as conversation. Gold light spills across polished marble, and the air is warm with the scent of champagne and candle wax.
You’ve chosen your gown carefully.
Silk the color of deep wine, cut low enough at the back to reveal the elegant dip of your spine, the fabric clinging to your curves before spilling loose in a daring slit high on your thigh. By court standards, it’s scandalous. By yours, it’s perfect.
You don’t tell Jungkook you’ve done it for him.
You tell yourself it’s for you.
The heads turn as soon as you enter on his arm. Ministers pause mid-sentence. Noblewomen whisper behind jeweled fans. Men look longer than they should. You feel the power in it- the way the room bends toward you.
Jungkook’s grip on your arm is tight enough to bruise.
“Enjoying yourself already?” you murmur, eyes fixed forward.
“You think this is clever?” His voice is low, dangerous. “Every man here staring at what’s mine?”
“Every man here staring at their future queen,” you correct softly.
He doesn’t reply, but you feel the tension radiating off him.
And then you see her.
Jisoo.
She stands near the far end of the room, surrounded by a small cluster of dignitaries. She’s dressed in soft silver, hair pinned in perfect curls, a picture of refined restraint. The kind of elegance that draws admiration without scandal.
She sees you. She smiles- polite, warm, and just a little too knowing. You smile back, the kind that could be taken for friendliness or challenge.
You make your rounds, greeting nobles, shaking hands, accepting compliments that dance on the edge of impropriety. You can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you even when he’s not beside you- especially when you laugh at another man’s joke, your fingers brushing his sleeve as you speak.
When you finally return to Jungkook’s side, his jaw is tight.
“Careful, Princess,” he says under his breath. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
You sip your champagne, unbothered. “So are you.”
The orchestra swells, the floor clears for the next dance. He offers his hand, not out of romance, but because tradition demands it.
You place your hand in his and let him lead you into the spotlight.
Around you, the court watches. Some curious, some envious, some waiting for one of you to slip.
Under the chandeliers, his hand rests low on your back, almost possessive.
You wonder if he’s imagining Jisoo in your place. You wonder if it’s killing him that he can’t look away from you.
═══════
The ride back to the palace is silent.
Not the comfortable kind.
The kind that crackles with things unsaid.
You can feel him beside you in the carriage, his body still wound tight, his hand flexing once on his knee as though resisting the urge to act. He doesn’t look at you, but his gaze burns into the side of your face all the same.
When the carriage stops, he’s out first, striding through the palace doors without a word. You follow, heels clicking against marble. He doesn’t slow down until you’re inside your chambers.
The door shuts hard behind you.
“Do you enjoy humiliating me?” His voice is sharp, each word laced with steel.
You slip off your gloves one finger at a time. “Do you enjoy pretending you own me?”
He takes two steps forward, closing the space between you. “Everything you did tonight- the dress, the smiles, touching him-”
“-was diplomacy,” you cut in. “Something a ruler should understand.”
His eyes flash, and then he’s crowding you backward until your spine meets the wall. His hand presses against it beside your head, trapping you in place.
“You wanted my attention?” His voice drops lower, dangerous. “Now you have it.”
Your heart kicks hard, but you lift your chin. “And what will you do with it, Your Highness?”
His mouth crashes onto yours- not gentle, not tentative, but claiming. His other hand drags up your thigh, finding the slit in your gown and shoving the silk higher.
“Prove to you,” he murmurs against your lips, “that you can play with anyone else in the room… but you’ll still end up here.”
You bite his lower lip, pulling back just enough to smirk. “And if I’m not impressed?”
His grip tightens on your hip. “Then I’ll try harder.”
He turns you toward the bed in one swift movement, the skirt of your gown bunching in his fist. You go willingly, but when he pushes you down, you twist to look over your shoulder.
“Still just duty?” you taunt.
He freezes for a fraction of a second- then his hands are on you again, rougher now, dragging you back against the hard, unmistakable shape of his cock through his trousers. “Tonight? It’s a lesson.”
The dress comes off in a series of impatient tugs, pooling on the floor. His palms roam over your bare skin like he’s taking inventory, thumbs digging into your ass before parting you just enough to feel the heat of his breath between your legs. You shiver, but refuse to turn your face away.
His clothes follow- not rushed, but stripped with deliberate precision, every motion dripping with control. When he finally presses the heavy, hot length of him against your entrance, he holds there for a moment, letting you feel every inch before he pushes in.
The stretch is deep and sudden, making your breath catch, your nails digging into the sheets. He doesn’t give you time to adjust- his hips drive forward in hard, unrelenting strokes, the thick slide of him hitting deep enough to make you gasp every time. His hands lock your hips in place, forcing you to take him exactly how he wants, his pace a brutal, steady rhythm meant to grind down your defiance.
But you meet every thrust, rocking back against him with just as much force, your slick making every connection filthy and loud.
“Say you belong to me,” he orders, voice ragged.
You shake your head, breathless but smiling even as pleasure twists low in your belly. “No.”
His mouth is at your ear in the next breath, teeth grazing the shell before his words pour over you like molten heat. “You will.”
You push back harder, grinding until the head of his cock drags against that sweet, swollen spot inside you. A moan slips free- you swallow it down before it can give him satisfaction. “Or you’ll learn I don’t belong to anyone.”
The challenge hangs between you, thick as the sweat on your skin. Neither of you slow down, each thrust sharper, wetter, more desperate. The slap of skin fills the room, your breaths tangled with curses and broken sounds you’d never admit to making.
You’re so close you can feel it buzzing in your bones but you hold it back out of spite, out of sheer will. His fingers slip down between your thighs, finding your clit and circling hard until your resolve cracks and your body shudders around him.
He follows with a deep, savage thrust, spilling into you with a low groan, hips grinding through the aftershocks like he’s branding you from the inside.
When it ends, you’re both breathless, flushed, staring at each other across the tangle of sheets.
He doesn’t kiss you. You don’t ask him to.
“You’re exhausting,” he says finally.
“You’re obsessed,” you reply.
And you both know you’re right.
═══════
Two weeks have passed since that night.
The night where anger blurred with want, where neither of you surrendered but both of you took.
Since then, you’ve spoken little. Polite exchanges in public, calculated silences in private.
The world sees perfection. You see the cracks.
This morning, the palace gardens are alive with late winter sunlight. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of blooming camellias and damp earth. You’ve always preferred this part of the palace- away from the council chambers, away from the eyes of the court.
Your ladies follow at a respectful distance as you take the marble path toward the upper terrace. The view from there sweeps over the river, the towers, and the city beyond- a reminder of everything that belongs to the crown, if not to you.
You’re halfway up the wide steps when your heel catches on the edge of your gown.
The world tilts.
Your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp as your foot slides on the slick marble. You stumble forward, ankle twisting hard. The pain shoots up your leg before your knees hit the ground.
And then-
Strong hands catch you before you collapse completely.
The scent of warm spice and leather floods your senses.
“Y/N.” His voice is low, urgent.
You blink up into Jungkook’s face. For once, his expression isn’t composed. His eyes are wide, scanning you for injury.
“My ankle,” you breathe, wincing as the weight shifts.
Without hesitation, he bends and sweeps you into his arms. The motion startles you, your hands gripping his shoulders instinctively.
“Put me down,” you protest.
“Not a chance,” he says, his tone sharp but not cold. It’s threaded with something you’ve never heard from him before. Fear.
He carries you to a shaded bench, lowering you carefully. His fingers are warm and gentle as they press around the swelling ankle, his jaw tight.
“You’ll be off it for a day at least,” he says.
“It’s just a twist-”
“You’ll rest,” he interrupts, brooking no argument. “I’ll have a physician sent immediately.”
You tilt your head. “Are you… worried?”
His eyes meet yours. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t answer. “You are my wife,” he says finally, voice softer than you expect. “What happens to you matters.”
“You’ll stay in your chambers today. I’ll make the arrangements.”
And before you can protest, he bends again, one arm hooking under your knees, the other around your back, lifting you as if you weigh nothing.
“Jungkook-”
“Save your breath,” he says, eyes fixed forward. “You’re not walking on it.”
The world tilts in a different way now, the solid heat of him under you, the steady rhythm of his steps carrying you through the garden paths. Court attendants bow as he passes, some openly staring, but he doesn’t slow.
He carries you up the palace steps, down the corridors, and straight into your chambers- only setting you down on the bed once you’re surrounded by the familiar silk and shadow.
His hands linger for a heartbeat longer than necessary before he steps back. “Rest.”
Then the mask is back, and he’s gone.
═══════
The physician leaves just before noon.
“It’s only a mild sprain,” he’d said, binding your ankle with clean linen and instructing you to stay off it for a day or two. “Nothing serious, Your Highness. As long as you rest.”
You’re propped against a fortress of pillows in your bed, silk sheets spilling over your legs, a cup of cooling tea at your side. The room is too still, too quiet. You’ve never been good at sitting still.
Your ladies-in-waiting keep offering to read to you or bring fresh flowers, but you send them away after the fourth polite interruption. It’s not their fault you feel caged. The crown fits heavy enough without being confined to your chambers.
You’re staring at the gilded canopy when there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” you call.
Jungkook steps inside.
You blink. “I thought you had meetings all afternoon.”
“I do,” he says, but he doesn’t leave. He crosses the room, the sound of his boots muffled against the carpet. “I wanted to see if you were following orders.”
“Orders?” you repeat, arching a brow. “I didn’t realize marriage came with a chain of command.”
His gaze flicks to your bandaged ankle. “You’re still in bed. That’s a start.”
You expect him to leave after that, but instead, he moves toward the table and pours you fresh tea, setting the cup within reach. You catch the faintest furrow between his brows, the one that appears when he’s thinking too much.
“You didn’t have to-”
“It was closer to me than to you,” he cuts in.
“Right,” you murmur, hiding a small smile behind the rim of your cup.
He stands there a moment longer, as if debating something. “If you need anything-”
“I’ll send for a guard?” you finish for him, teasing.
His eyes narrow slightly, but there’s no heat in it. “Exactly.”
He turns to go, and something in you flares- curiosity, stubbornness, maybe both. “Jungkook.”
He pauses at the door.
“You caught me before I fell,” you say. “Why?”
For a heartbeat, his eyes meet yours. “Because you’re mine to protect.”
Then the door shuts behind him.
You’re left staring at it, unsure whether his words were a claim, a duty… or something else entirely.
═══════
By morning, the dull ache in your ankle has faded to something tolerable. Not gone- but not enough to keep you trapped in bed.
You dress yourself in a pale blue day gown, something soft and unassuming, and braid your hair back in a way that says I am perfectly fine, thank you. Your ladies-in-waiting hover nervously as you make your way to the sitting room.
“Your Highness,” one begins gently, “perhaps you should-”
“I’ve rested long enough,” you say, taking the first careful step toward the door. “There are things I need to see to.”
They exchange looks but say nothing.
The moment you open the door, you nearly collide with him.
Jungkook stands there, dressed in deep charcoal, the morning light catching on the silver clasp at his cloak. His gaze drops immediately to your feet, to the subtle limp you try- and fail- to hide.
“Where are you going?” His tone is calm, but there’s a weight to it.
“For a walk,” you say. “It’s a palace, not a prison.”
His jaw flexes. “Not without me.”
You fold your arms. “You’re busy. I can manage.”
He steps past you into the room, closing the door behind him. “You can barely walk without favoring that ankle.”
“I can walk,” you counter. “And I intend to.”
Something flickers in his eyes- not anger, not quite- before he exhales sharply. “Then I’ll escort you.”
It’s not a request.
You consider arguing, but there’s something in his stance, in the set of his shoulders, that tells you it will only waste time. So instead, you smile- sweet, false. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
He offers his arm. You take it, because refusing would feel like losing, and you refuse to lose to him in anything.
The walk is slow, deliberate. The gardens are busy with attendants pruning roses and sweeping paths. You can feel the eyes on you- the court always watches. Jungkook’s hand stays steady under yours, guiding you away from uneven ground, adjusting his pace without comment when you falter.
It’s infuriating how natural it feels.
When you reach the far end of the garden, you stop beside the fountain, pretending to admire the lilies floating on the surface.
“See?” you say. “Perfectly capable.”
He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re stubborn.”
“And you’re controlling,” you reply. “Somehow, we make it work.”
For a moment, it almost feels like truce.
Almost.
Then he says, “Next time, I’ll carry you from the start.”
And before you can respond, he turns and starts back toward the palace, leaving you to follow with the faintest, most infuriating smile tugging at your lips.
═══════
The royal conservatory smells faintly of jasmine and politics.
Today’s luncheon is meant to honor a visiting trade delegation, but as always, it’s also a performance- a showcase of unity between the prince and his consort. You sit at Jungkook’s right, posture perfect, hands folded loosely in your lap.
The conversation drifts from tariffs to art to upcoming festivals. You answer politely when addressed, keeping your smile fixed in place.
Until Lord Jimin speaks.
He’s old money, old power, and old enough to think his opinion is law. Leaning back in his chair with a practiced smile, he says, “It’s lovely to see you out and about again, Your Highness. I’d heard you’d been… recovering from a fall? I suppose marble steps can be dangerous… for those unused to palace life.”
A polite ripple of laughter travels the table. The words are coated in courtesy, but the meaning is sharp- a reminder you’re an outsider, unaccustomed, and perhaps unfit.
You meet his gaze without flinching. “It’s true. I fell. Luckily, my husband was there to catch me.”
“Yes,” Jimin says smoothly, “though I imagine His Highness has far more pressing matters than tending to scraped ankles. Affairs of state require… sturdier footing.”
It’s a dig. Gentle enough to pass as banter, but you hear the insinuation beneath it: fragile, ornamental, a burden.
You’re ready to respond, but Jungkook speaks first.
“Lord Jimin,” he says, voice even but edged with steel, “you mistake grace for weakness.” The table quiets instantly. “The Princess has already proven herself in council and in matters of policy. She is not a burden. She is my partner.”
Jimin blinks, caught off guard.
“And,” Jungkook continues, his gaze locking with the older lord’s, “if I ever hear you suggest otherwise again- even in jest- I will ensure you regret it.”
A ripple of stunned silence follows. Somewhere down the table, a glass is set down a little too quickly.
Jimin forces a smile. “Of course, Your Highness. I meant no offense.”
“Then perhaps,” Jungkook says, his tone softening but not losing its weight, “you should choose your words more carefully.”
The conversation resumes, but the balance at the table has shifted.
You glance at Jungkook. His expression is unreadable, his focus already on the next course being served.
But under the table, you let your fingers brush his hand- not a thank-you, exactly, but an acknowledgment.
He doesn’t pull away.
The luncheon ends in a blur of polite farewells and murmured congratulations. You don’t remember half the names of the people you shook hands with- not because they weren’t important, but because you could feel Jungkook beside you.
Not just beside you. With you.
Every time you replay his words- “She is my partner”- your pulse stirs a little faster.
The doors close behind the last of the guests. Servants move to collect the empty glasses, but Jungkook’s voice stops them.
“Leave us.”
The room empties quickly. You’re still standing by the long banquet table when he crosses to you, his steps unhurried, but his gaze locked on yours like he’s already made a decision.
“You enjoyed that,” you murmur, chin lifting.
“What?” he says, stopping just close enough that you feel the warmth of him.
“Defending me.” You allow a slow smile. “Making it clear I’m yours.”
His hand is at your waist before you can react, pulling you flush against him. “You are mine.”
The words aren’t cold this time. They’re hot. Dangerous.
You open your mouth to retort, but his lips crash onto yours- not claiming like before, but taking, deep and insistent, like he’s been holding it back all afternoon. His tongue pushes past your lips, tasting you, coaxing a soft sound from the back of your throat.
Your fingers curl into his jacket, dragging him closer. The kiss breaks just long enough for him to murmur, voice rough, “Tell me to stop.”
You don’t.
He lifts you onto the table in one motion, your skirts spilling over polished wood. His mouth moves to your neck, your jaw, his teeth scraping lightly before his hands shove fabric higher and higher, until your thighs are bare.
“This isn’t about duty,” you breathe, half dazed.
He pushes you back so you’re lying on the table, bunching your dress up, and then he drops to his knees between your legs. Your breath catches. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you open.
“No,” he agrees, his voice low, almost dangerous. “This is about you.”
And then his mouth is on you- a slow, deliberate lick over your slit that makes you jolt.
He doesn’t give you time to think before his mouth is on you- hot, wet, and devastatingly slow. His tongue slides from your entrance to your clit in one unhurried stroke, making you jolt.
His hands grip your thighs like steel, keeping you open while his tongue circles lazily, deliberately avoiding giving you enough pressure to push you over. He pulls back just enough to blow a warm breath over you, watching the way you shiver.
“Already wet,” he murmurs, smirking before diving in again, licking you like he’s savoring every drop. He alternates between slow, languid strokes and fast, focused flicks over your clit until your hips are rocking into his face.
You try to pull him closer, but he shakes his head against you, forcing you to take his pace. “You’ll come when I say,” he growls, before sealing his mouth over your clit and sucking hard. The sound that tears from your throat is half-moan, half-curse.
He doesn’t stop. His tongue fucks into you, wet and insistent, before returning to your clit. The obscene sounds of his mouth on you fill the room, mingling with your ragged breathing. You’re panting now, thighs trembling against his grip, every muscle wound tight.
When your climax finally breaks, it’s sharp and shuddering, your back arching off the table. He holds you there, riding out every wave, his mouth never leaving you until you whimper from oversensitivity.
Only then does he rise, mouth slick, eyes dark. He leans over you, his cock already pressing against your thigh. “You don’t get to keep pretending after this,” you whisper, still catching your breath.
His hips still for a second, gaze locked on yours. Then he leans to your ear. “Then don’t give me a reason to.”
He frees himself and pushes into you in one deep, steady thrust, the thick stretch forcing a sharp gasp from your lips. The aftershocks of your orgasm make every inch of him feel amplified, your walls fluttering around him as he bottoms out.
He doesn’t give you time to settle- his hips draw back slow, almost teasing, before slamming forward again, the table groaning under the force. The rhythm he finds is hard and sure, each thrust hitting deep enough to make your breath hitch. His hands grip your hips, dragging you into every snap of his body, the sound of skin meeting skin sharp in the quiet room.
You cling to him, nails digging into the back of his jacket as he fucks you like he’s trying to brand himself into your muscles. The slick slide between you is filthy, your wetness coating him, making each thrust faster, harder.
When his mouth finds yours again, the kiss is desperate- teeth, tongue, shared breath- his pace never faltering. He swallows your moans, dragging them out until they’re rough, uncontrolled sounds you swore you wouldn’t make for him.
Your legs wrap tighter around his waist, angling him deeper, and he growls low in his chest, the sound vibrating against your mouth. His hand slips between you, thumb finding your clit and circling just hard enough to make your vision blur.
“Come for me,” he orders, voice ragged. You do- helplessly- your body clenching around him as the climax rips through you. He groans, hips driving deep one last time before he spills inside you, grinding through the aftershocks until you’re both shaking.
For a moment, the only sound is your mingled breathing.
When it’s over, he stays inside you just long enough to make you feel the weight of it- then pulls out, tucking himself back in with slow precision. He adjusts his jacket, then reaches down, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
“You should eat dinner in your chambers tonight,” he says.
It sounds like an order. It feels like care.
═══════
It’s only been a few days since the luncheon- and what happened after- but already, the edges between you and Jungkook are back to cutting.
The council chamber is thick with debate. A dispute over land rights has ministers talking over one another, and you’ve had enough. You speak up, cutting through the noise with a solution that’s both strategic and bold.
The room goes quiet. Even the scribe pauses his pen.
Jungkook’s expression doesn’t change, but you catch the way his knuckles tap the table once- a subtle warning meant for you.
When the meeting adjourns, you rise with the others, smoothing your skirts. You expect him to walk beside you. Instead, he barely glances your way.
“You enjoy taking command in front of my council,” he says as you step into the corridor. His tone is light enough that an outsider wouldn’t catch the bite beneath it.
“They were wasting time,” you reply evenly. “I offered a solution.”
“You offered my solution,” he says, eyes forward. “Before I could give it.”
“That’s not my fault,” you counter, but he’s already striding ahead.
By the time you reach the great hall, he’s gone. No explanation. No dismissal. Just gone.
You wander the palace to cool your temper, your steps echoing in the quiet corridors. You’ve never cared much for the east wing- it’s quieter, more private- but today, you find yourself there.
A door at the end of the hall stands slightly ajar.
Jungkook’s office.
You hesitate, but curiosity wins.
Inside, the space is meticulously ordered- shelves lined with ledgers, a polished desk, the faint scent of ink and parchment in the air. You trail your fingers along the edge of the desk, noticing the papers stacked with military precision.
And then, near the bottom of one stack, you see it.
An envelope. Unsealed. Your name isn’t on it and the handwriting is Jungkook’s.
The date at the top freezes your breath in your chest- the day after your wedding.
You shouldn’t read it. You know that. But your fingers are already sliding the page free.
The first word you see is her.
Jisoo.
Your stomach twists.
You look toward the door- still closed- then back at the page, your pulse loud in your ears.
You sink into his chair, the letter trembling slightly in your hands.
Whatever’s written here, you already know it’s going to hurt.
═══════
My dearest Jisoo,
I should not be writing to you. Every reason I have been given tells me to let go- to accept the reality they have bound me to. But it is not reality I am living in. It is a sentence.
Yesterday, I stood at the altar with your sister. I said the vows. I placed the ring on her finger. I lifted her veil. And the entire time, all I could think was how wrong it was that it was her standing there, and not you.
You should have been my bride. You should have worn the crown beside me.
But politics is a crueler ruler than either of us. You know as well as I do that your father would never have allowed it- not with the trade agreement your marriage prospects could secure for your kingdom.
You were promised long before I had the right to ask.
Lord Dae-Hyun’s second son was a match your father could not afford to lose, and once your name was spoken, it could not be withdrawn. By the time I realized, you were already gone- sealed off by duty, unreachable by even my title.
They told me it was impossible. That I had to take the match offered. That she was the only way to solidify the alliance.
As though I should be grateful.
I am not.
Y/N is… restless. Too quick to speak, too unwilling to simply be still. She moves like she’s waiting for a fight that no one has offered her, and perhaps that is the part I resent most- her constant need to be seen, to be heard. Even in these first hours as husband and wife, she seems determined to prove something, though I cannot imagine what it is, or to whom.
She will make noise, I am sure, and perhaps even cause enough distraction to make the ministers believe she is worth the trouble.
But she is not you.
She does not have your grace. Your steadiness. The way you can command a room without raising your voice.
When I look at her, I see only the shadow of what could have been. And it is unbearable to wake each day beside the wrong sister, knowing the one I wanted most is still within reach, yet impossibly far.
I do not expect you to answer this. Perhaps you will not even read it. But I needed you to know that, in every way that matters, I am still yours.
I will always be yours.
- Jungkook
═══════
You don’t remember standing.
One moment, you’re staring at the ink- the words curling across the page like they were meant to strangle you- and the next, you’re shoving the letter back into the envelope with shaking hands.
Your legs move without thought, carrying you out of his office and through the palace corridors. You don’t care if anyone sees you. You just need to be away from there. Away from him.
By the time you reach your chambers, your breath is uneven, your vision swimming. The ladies-in-waiting rush to greet you, offering tea, asking if you’d like to change before dinner.
“Leave,” you say, your voice tight.
They freeze. “Your Highness-”
“Please,” you add, softer this time, but your voice cracks around the word. “I need to be alone.”
They bow and file out, glancing back as though worried to leave you like this. The door shuts.
The silence is crushing.
You press your back against it for a moment before sliding down to the floor. The sob breaks free before you can stop it- raw, shattering, the kind that leaves you gasping.
You push yourself up and stagger to the bed, sinking into the mattress as if the weight of the letter is still pressing down on you. The tears come harder now, unstoppable. You press your hands over your mouth to muffle the sounds, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no one left to hear.
Every word replays in your mind- restless, wrong sister, always be yours. Each one cuts deeper, tearing through every fragile thread of dignity you’ve tried to hold together since the wedding.
Hours pass. The light outside dims to gold, then gray, then nothing. You don’t move. Dinner comes and goes. You don’t send for food. You don’t light the lamps. The only glow in the room is the faint spill of moonlight across the floor.
The knock at the door comes late. Before you can answer, it opens.
Jungkook steps inside, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “You weren’t at dinner.”
You don’t reply.
His gaze shifts to your face- the flushed skin, the reddened eyes, the damp lashes. His body stills.
“What happened?” he asks, his voice quieter now.
You just stare at him, the letter’s words burning between you like a secret only you know.
You don’t remember standing, but you’re on your feet when he steps closer.
“What happened?” he asks again.
Your fingers curl into fists at your sides. “If my father let you marry her right now,” you say, your voice shaking, “would I still be here?”
His brows draw together. “What are you talking about?”
“Answer me!” Your voice rises, breaking against the walls. “Would I still be here, Jungkook?”
His eyes narrow. “You went through my things.”
“You wrote it!” you shout, the tears burning hot again. “You wrote it the day after our wedding! You said you wished it was her. You said I was the wrong sister. You said you’d always be hers.”
His jaw tightens, but his voice stays level- too level. “And what if I did? It was the truth.”
Your breath catches.
“I married you for politics,” he says, each word deliberate, cold. “Not for love. And yes, everything in that letter is true.”
It feels like the floor drops out from under you.
You take a step back, but he follows, his voice sharper now. “You think snooping through my office will make you more than what you are? It doesn’t. You were a convenience, Y/N. Nothing more.”
The sob rips from your throat before you can stop it. “You’re cruel.”
“And you’re naive,” he snaps. “If you thought this marriage was anything else, that’s on you.”
It’s the final blow- not just the words, but the way he says them, like they’re facts, not daggers.
Your vision blurs. You turn away before he can see the collapse happening inside you. “I’m going home.”
“You can’t just-”
But you’re already moving, shoving past him, through the door, and down the corridor.
Within the hour, you’re in the stables, your guards scrambling to follow orders they didn’t expect. The palace fades behind you as the carriage rattles toward your father’s kingdom.
You don’t look back.
If you did, you might see the shadow in the window- a figure watching you leave, unmoving until you vanish from sight.
═══════
jungkook’s pov:
The door slammed behind her hours ago. And yet, the echo of her voice still lingers.
Jungkook sits at his desk, the untouched glass of brandy in front of him reflecting the moonlight. He’d been furious when she confronted him- furious she’d been in his office, furious she’d read the letter. But fury fades fast when it’s replaced by the memory of her face, wet with tears, breaking in front of him.
Six months.
They’ve been married six months. Long enough for him to know the sound of her laughter when she’s not guarding it, the precise way her brow furrows when she’s deciding whether to speak her mind, the warmth in her voice when she’s talking to anyone who isn’t him.
And long enough for him to notice her- truly notice her. The way she moves, carries herself, commands attention without even trying. The way her beauty isn’t something the court dresses gave her, but something she wears like armor.
He’d told himself from the start that she was a political necessity, nothing more. The letter he’d written to Jisoo had been the truth back then or at least the truth he’d chosen to believe. But now?
Now he remembers the garden. How light she’d felt in his arms when he carried her back to her chambers. How she hadn’t flinched when Lord Jimin made his sly dig, but met it with a smile that made Jungkook want to break the man’s teeth.
The way her hand had brushed his under the table after he defended her. The faint smile she tried to hide.
And after everyone left , the way she’d come apart under his hands. How the urgency between them had been more than anger, more than duty. The taste of her still lingers on his tongue, the sound of her voice when she moaned his name still carved into his memory. It hadn’t been detached, like before- not when he was buried inside her, not when his mouth was on her, not when her nails clawed at his shoulders like she was trying to hold him there forever. He’d been closer to her in that hour than in the entire six months of their marriage.
God, he’d said she was a convenience. Nothing more.
The lie tastes bitter.
He pushes back from the desk and stands abruptly, the chair scraping the floor. His coat is on in seconds, boots echoing against the stone floors as he makes for the stables.
It doesn’t matter that it’s past midnight. It doesn’t matter that the journey to her father’s kingdom will take hours.
He has to see her.
Not as a prince, not as a husband fulfilling some duty- but as a man who knows he’s made a mistake.
The groomsman barely has time to saddle his horse before Jungkook swings into the saddle. The cold night air bites at his skin, but it’s nothing compared to the emptiness in the palace without her.
He rides hard.
He’s going to bring her home.
═══════
The warmth of your father’s manor is different from the one you left.
Here, the air doesn’t feel like it’s pressing down on you. The corridors smell faintly of cedar and fresh bread instead of cold stone. You can breathe without worrying about who’s watching.
For the first time in months, you let yourself sit without the weight of the crown. Wrapped in a thick blanket in your father’s private sitting room, you sip tea, listening to the muted hum of distant conversation.
You’re not healed. You know that. But for now, you’re home.
The knock on the front doors comes just as you set your cup down. Footsteps cross the marble foyer, and then- a voice you never thought you’d hear here.
“Is she here?”
Your blood runs cold.
Jisoo’s voice answers, careful but unmistakably surprised. “Jungkook.”
You freeze, every muscle locking in place.
“I need to see her,” he says- no hesitation, no preamble.
Before you can even decide whether to stand or run, he’s inside. His eyes find you across the room in an instant. And then he’s moving- past Jisoo, past the threshold, crossing the space between you like nothing else exists. He’s in front of you before you can even get to your feet.
Jungkook drops to his knees, the movement sharp and sudden, his hands coming up to cradle your face like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on. His eyes search yours- not for anger, not for forgiveness, but for proof you’re real.
“Y/N-”
You shove his hands away, the blanket slipping from your shoulders. “Don’t.”
For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. Then Jisoo, sensing the air between you, murmurs something to your father and slips from the room. The door shuts behind them, leaving only the two of you.
Your voice is low, but cutting. “You don’t get to come here, after what you said, and pretend it never happened.”
He doesn’t argue. He just looks at you- truly looks- as though you’ve hung the stars and he’s only just realizing it.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For all of it. For the letter. For what I said after. For every time I made you feel unwanted.”
You fold your arms, holding your ground.
“I didn’t know I was falling for you,” he continues, “until it was already happening.”
You scoff. “Falling for me?”
“The winter gala,” he says, and you can hear the truth in his voice. “You walked into that room and the whole court bent toward you, even when I was furious. The garden- when you fell, I’ve never been that afraid in my life. Your wit, the way you see through people at council. The luncheon- the way you touched my hand under the table like you knew exactly what it meant. And after… when we were together, it wasn’t just anger or duty anymore. For the first time, I felt like I was with you, not just my wife.”
He swallows hard. “And the quieter things. Dinners where you laughed with the servants and made them forget you were royalty. The way you read late at night, biting your lip when you turn the page. The way you hum when you think no one’s listening.”
Your breath catches, but you mask it with a shake of your head. “Words are easy, Jungkook. You’ve had six months to show me I matter and you didn’t. Why should I believe you now?”
His jaw tightens. “Because I’m standing here, asking you to come home.”
You meet his gaze, steady and unflinching. “No. Not until you prove it.”
The silence that follows is heavy, but you don’t look away. For the first time since you’ve known him, he nods- not in dismissal, but in acceptance.
“I will.”
═══════
jungkook’s pov:
The court is already buzzing when Jungkook walks into the great hall. Ministers in rich silks murmur over parchment, their jeweled rings catching the light. They fall silent when they see what he’s carrying.
An envelope. Old. Unsealed.
He walks to the center of the room, past the council table, past the throne. The letter-the one he wrote to Jisoo six months ago- feels like it weighs more than steel in his hand.
Without preamble, he sets it atop the silver brazier meant for burning old decrees.
“This letter,” he says, his voice carrying easily in the vaulted hall, “is a lie I let live too long.”
The ministers glance at one another.
He strikes a match and drops it onto the parchment. Flame curls the edges, swallowing the words, until nothing remains but black ash.
“I have one queen,” he continues. “Not simply a wife to fulfill politics, not a placeholder for another. Y/N is my queen- in title, in duty, and in my heart.”
Murmurs ripple through the chamber.
“She is the woman who has stood beside me when I gave her no reason to. Who has shown strength where others expected silence. Who has matched me in wit, in will, and in fire.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “And I love her.”
The last of the letter collapses into ash.
He turns to the royal scribe. “Send word to her father’s court. Let it be known across both kingdoms.”
═══════
The day is uneventful until the envoy arrives.
The royal messenger steps into your father’s receiving room, his cloak still dusted with travel, the sealed scroll in his hand gleaming with Jungkook’s crest.
“For Her Highness, the Princess Consort,” he says, bowing as he offers it.
Your father watches you break the seal.
The parchment is brief but formal- the kind of statement meant to be read in public squares and whispered over in taverns:
A letter burned. Your name spoken in the great hall. You, named not only wife, but queen. And the final line, in Jungkook’s unmistakable hand: I love you.
Your fingers tighten on the parchment. You can hear the pounding of your own heart.
“Seems he’s made his choice,” your father says quietly.
You don’t answer. You can’t. Not yet.
You’re still staring at the proclamation when Jisoo slips into your room.
“So… he burned it?” she says, perching lightly on the edge of your bed.
You nod, the parchment still in your lap. “In front of everyone. Declared me his queen. Said he loves me.”
Jisoo studies your face. “And you don’t believe him?”
“I want to,” you admit, your voice low. “But wanting to and trusting are two different things.”
Jisoo’s expression softens. “You’ve always been braver than you think, Y/N. Go see him. Make him prove it in person.”
The next day, you do.
The journey back to his kingdom feels shorter this time, though your heart is heavier with each mile.
When the carriage pulls into the palace courtyard, you expect the usual line of attendants and guards. You don’t expect him- standing at the base of the steps, dressed simply, holding a bouquet of deep red roses.
The door opens, and the early Spring air rushes in.
He looks up at you, something unguarded in his eyes. “Welcome home, Y/N.”
You step down from the carriage, the scent of the roses reaching you before his hands do.
For a moment, neither of you moves. Then he offers them to you. You take the roses, the petals velvety against your fingers.
“They’re beautiful,” you say, your voice careful.
“They’re not enough,” Jungkook replies.
You blink up at him. “Then why give them to me?”
“Because I needed something in my hands when I saw you,” he admits. “Otherwise I might not have been able to keep from-” He stops himself, his jaw flexing. “-from saying too much, too soon.”
The words catch you off guard.
An attendant moves to take your luggage, but Jungkook waves them off. “I’ll walk her.”
You glance at him, then at the long climb up the palace steps. “You don’t usually play porter.”
“I don’t usually try to win back my wife,” he says, matter-of-fact.
Inside, the corridors are quieter than usual. He walks beside you, matching your pace, and doesn’t speak again until you reach your chambers.
“I know words won’t be enough,” he says, stopping at the threshold. “So I’ll show you.”
“How?” you ask, wary but curious.
“By being the man you deserve,” he answers without hesitation. “By giving you reason to believe me every day, not just when it’s convenient for me. By making sure you never have to doubt you are my queen- in every way that matters.”
You search his face, looking for cracks in the resolve. But his gaze holds steady.
“Then start proving it,” you say finally, stepping into the room.
Before the door closes, you hear him say softly, “I already am.”
═══════
The council chamber feels different this morning.
The air isn’t thick with the weight of being tolerated- it hums with the quiet acknowledgment of your place at the table. The ministers rise when you enter, bowing not out of obligation, but something closer to respect.
Jungkook takes his seat at the head of the table. You take yours at his right but for the first time, you don’t feel like you’re in his shadow.
A dispute over the naval fleet’s funding takes center stage. Two ministers argue over whether to cut costs or invest in new shipbuilding.
You listen. And when their voices climb over each other, you speak.
“Cutting costs now will cost us more later,” you say, your tone firm but measured. “If we invest in the fleet, we secure our trade routes. That’s more revenue in the long term- and more security for our allies.”
All eyes shift to you.
One minister hesitates. “But, Your Highness-”
“She’s right,” Jungkook cuts in smoothly, his gaze steady on you. “The Princess’s proposal is sound. It will be implemented.”
You allow yourself a small smile, meeting his eyes.
The discussion moves on, but the shift lingers- ministers asking for your opinion, valuing it, weighing it as they would his. And each time you speak, Jungkook listens. Not with the detached patience of before, but with intent, his attention fixed on you as though no other voice in the room matters.
By the end of the session, the room feels different again. Not because you’ve changed, but because they’ve started to see you as you’ve always been.
A queen in the room.
═══════
The council chamber has long since emptied, but the weight of the day lingers in your shoulders.
You find him in his office, the golden light of late afternoon spilling over the maps and scrolls spread across his desk. He looks up when you enter, his expression softening almost imperceptibly.
“You were remarkable today,” Jungkook says, leaning back in his chair. “The fleet’s commanders will be sending you wine for that decision.”
You smile faintly but don’t sit. Instead, you step closer, your skirts whispering over the polished floor. “I need to ask you something.”
His gaze sharpens. “Anything.”
You stop a few feet from him, folding your hands in front of you. “What do you see in me,” you ask slowly, “that you never saw in Jisoo?”
The room stills.
He blinks once, as if he’s not sure he heard you right. “Why are you asking me that now?”
“Because,” you say, keeping your voice even, “you’ve told me you love me. You’ve burned your letter. You’ve defended me in court. But there’s still a part of me that wonders if you love me for me, or because I became what you needed.”
He rises from the chair, closing the distance until he’s standing right in front of you. “You think I’d confuse the two?”
“I think,” you answer, meeting his eyes, “that I deserve to know the difference.”
For a moment, neither of you speak. The only sound is the quiet ticking of the clock on the mantle, marking each second between you.
And then he nods once- slow, deliberate. “Alright. I’ll tell you.”
He doesn’t look away when he speaks.
“When I thought of Jisoo,” Jungkook begins, “I saw… calm. The kind of quiet the court praises. She was gentle, and she fit the image of a queen in everyone’s mind, including mine. But it was a dream I built out of fragments. I didn’t know her. I had a single conversation with her.”
He takes another step closer. “And when I married you… I told myself it was only politics. But then the reality of you started undoing me.”
Your breath catches, but you don’t interrupt.
“The winter gala,” he says softly. “You walked in wearing that wine-red gown, and the entire court turned toward you- not because of your title, but because you owned the room. And I hated how much I noticed. The garden, when you fell- I’ve been in battles where men were dying around me, and I wasn’t as scared as I was in that moment.”
His voice lowers. “Your wit in council. The way you don’t back down, even when I’ve given you every reason to. That day you outmaneuvered Lord Jimin with a single look and a sharper tongue- I wanted to kiss you in front of everyone.”
You swallow hard, your heart pounding.
“And the luncheon,” he continues. “When you touched my hand under the table, I thought it was nothing. But afterwards… when I had you in my arms, when you let me in completely- it wasn’t anger, or duty, or proving a point. It was you. Just you. And I realized I’d never had that with anyone before.”
He exhales slowly. “You don’t just fit the image of a queen. You are one. And I see you, Y/N- not the crown, not the alliance, not my title beside yours. Just you. And I love what I see.”
He runs a hand through his hair, almost like he’s searching for the right words. “I think I was in love with you before I even understood it. Before I let myself admit it. Every time you challenged me, every time you made me see the world differently, it was another thread pulling me toward you. And now… now I can’t imagine a world where you’re not mine.”
The silence between you is different now- not the sharp-edged kind that’s filled your marriage, but something warmer. Something that pulls you toward him instead of pushing you away.
When he reaches for you, it’s not rushed. His hands frame your face gently, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. His kiss is unhurried, deep, and you taste the truth of everything he’s just said in the way his mouth moves against yours.
You let him guide you back toward the bed, but this time there’s no battle for control- only the steady pull of his hands and the unspoken promise in his touch. Every glance, every brush of his fingers is a question, and you answer without hesitation, giving him all of you.
When his lips trail down your throat, you feel the weight of his love in the way he lingers, his mouth pressing gentle kisses, his nose brushing your skin like he’s breathing you in.
Clothing falls away slowly- not torn, but removed like it’s precious. He studies every inch of revealed skin with eyes that are soft and heavy with want, his hands tracing you as though he’s committing each curve to memory.
He eases you back onto the bed, kneeling between your thighs, and lowers himself until his breath ghosts over your core. The first kiss he presses there is slow, deliberate, making you gasp. “You’re so beautiful here,” he murmurs, before his tongue drags through your folds.
The first wave comes quickly- his mouth seals over your clit, tongue flicking just right while two fingers slide inside you, curling until you’re gasping his name. He hums, the sound sending shivers through you as you clench around him, hips rocking helplessly.
He doesn’t let you come down. His mouth never leaves you, his fingers easing out only to be replaced by the wet slide of his tongue dipping inside you, tasting everything you give him. You whimper, overstimulated already, but his hands pin your hips to the mattress, holding you there until the second orgasm crashes over you- sharper this time, your thighs trembling around his head.
When you sag against the bed, panting, he kisses your inner thigh, his voice low and reverent. “One more for me, love.”
You can barely shake your head before his mouth is back on your clit, slower this time, coaxing instead of demanding. His fingers return, pumping deep and steady while his tongue traces lazy circles. The build is excruciatingly tender, your body tightening until you spill over again, crying out and clinging to him like you might drown without him.
Only then does he finally come up to you, his mouth finding yours, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “Perfect,” he whispers, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “You’re perfect.”
He lines himself up and pushes into you with a long, steady thrust, the head of his cock stretching you inch by inch until he’s buried fully inside. Your lips part in a shuddering gasp, your body still fluttering from the last climax, the aftershocks wrapping around him and drawing a deep groan from his chest.
He stills there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard like he’s savoring every second of being inside you. “God, you feel incredible,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “I love you so much.”
His hips begin to move- slow at first, dragging all the way out before pressing back into the hilt, making you feel every inch. Each thrust is deep and deliberate, his hand finding yours between your bodies and lacing your fingers together like he’s anchoring himself.
He kisses you through it, the kind of kisses that steal your breath- soft one moment, hungry the next. His free hand strokes your cheek, tucks your hair back, touches you like you’re fragile and the most precious thing he’s ever held.
“You take me so well,” he breathes against your lips. “Every time… every time you feel like home.”
The words make your chest ache in the best way, your hips rising to meet his as the rhythm builds. He shifts slightly, angling his thrusts until the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. His thumb finds your clit again, stroking in slow, perfect circles that have you gasping into his mouth.
“Come with me,” he whispers, his voice almost desperate. “Please… I need to feel you.”
It hits you fast, your body clenching hard around him as your climax rips through you. He follows instantly, his hips stuttering as he spills deep inside, groaning your name into the crook of your neck. He keeps moving, slow and gentle now, riding out every aftershock until you’re both trembling and breathless.
When it’s over, he stays inside you, his chest pressed to yours, his hand still laced with yours. Finally, he eases out, tucks himself back in, and gathers you against him. His lips brush your temple in a soft, lingering kiss.
“I love you,” he murmurs again, quieter now, like the words are meant just for you.
You close your eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart under your ear, and for the first time since you married him, you let yourself believe it.
═══════
Four months pass, and the court is no longer divided over you.
You’ve stood in the council chamber beside Jungkook, your voice carrying as much weight as his. You’ve walked the gardens with visiting dignitaries, negotiated trade proposals, and heard the people’s petitions in the great hall. Every step, every decision, every glance exchanged with him has been watched- and now, no one doubts.
Today is the day it becomes official.
The great hall is a sea of color, banners of both your kingdoms and his draped from the vaulted ceiling. Sunlight pours through stained glass, scattering jewels of light across the marble floor. Nobles, ministers, and foreign rulers fill the room, their eyes on the dais where two thrones sit side by side.
Jungkook is already there, dressed in ceremonial black and gold, a crown resting lightly on his head. He turns when you enter, and the faint smile that touches his lips is for you alone.
The High Chancellor’s voice rings out, carrying over the hush. “By the will of the Crown and the grace of Almighty God, let it be known throughout this realm and beyond its borders: Princess consort Y/N, beloved daughter of the realm and consort to His Majesty the King, having been found worthy in faith, in honor, and in steadfast devotion, is this day anointed and crowned.
From henceforth she shall be known as Her Most Gracious Majesty, Y/N, Queen Consort of this Kingdom, Guardian of the Crown’s dignity, and sworn companion to the Sovereign.
May her counsel be wise, her heart steadfast, and her reign beside His Majesty bring peace, prosperity, and glory to the realm.
Long live the Queen!”
You step forward, and the crown- lighter than you imagined, yet impossibly heavy with meaning- is placed upon your head.
When you rise, Jungkook takes your hand in front of the entire court, his grip warm and steady. The cheers that follow echo through the hall, the sound of a kingdom bearing witness.
You glance at him, your heart steady and certain.
Once, his heart was elsewhere. Now, it beats for me alone.
═══════
LINK TO REQUEST ♡ MASTERLIST ♡ a03
♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡
These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.
Genre and Tags : friends to lovers, fake dating, fluff, romantic, kissing, light spice
Summary : When Jungkook begs you to play the role of his doting girlfriend for an athletic department dinner to show his ex he has completely moved on, you agree to help your best friend out. You expect a night of bad acting and awkward smiles. What you don't expect is for the line between reality and the script to blur completely under the terrace lights.
Word Count : 2.7k
Warnings : mild mature language, heavy making out, intense yearning, mentions of an annoying ex,
The rain in Seoul doesn’t just fall; it claims the city. It slicked the asphalt outside the small, second-floor cafe, turning the neon signs of Hongdae into bleeding streaks of red and gold against the glass. Inside, the air smelled of roasted coffee beans, damp wool, and the faint, sweet scent of vanilla from the pastry display.
You were nursing a lukewarm americano, your fingers tracing the condensation on the mug, when the chair opposite you flew back with a sharp scrape.
Jungkook dropped into the seat like a storm front rolling in. He was wearing his usual uniform—an oversized black hoodie that swallowed his broad shoulders, silver hoops catching the dim light in his ears, and his dark hair falling messy and damp across his forehead. But his eyes, usually wide and bright with some kind of boyish mischief, were narrowed, fixed on his phone screen.
"I need you to do something insane," he said. He didn’t look up, his thumb flying across the screen as he typed a furious response to someone. "And you can't say no. As my best friend, you are legally obligated."
You laughed, leaning back in your chair. "That's not how the law works, Jungkook. What did you do now? Did you accidentally sign up for another marathon? Did you lose your gym locker key again?"
He finally dropped the phone onto the wooden table with a heavy thud. The screen lit up, displaying a message preview from a name you recognized instantly: Mina. His ex-girlfriend. The one who had broken his heart six months ago, only to realize later that she missed the gravity of his attention.
"She’s coming to the alumni dinner tonight," Jungkook said, his voice dropping an octave, thick with frustration. "The one for the athletic department. And she’s bringing that guy from the tennis club. The senior who always used to 'help her with her backhand.'" He mocked the words with a bitter twist of his lips. "She just texted me to ask if I was going alone so we could 'catch up and be mature.' She thinks I’m still sitting at home listening to sad indie music, waiting for her to call."
"Are you?" you asked gently, knowing him better than anyone.
Jungkook scowled, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "No. But I don’t want her to think she has that kind of power over me. I want her to see that I’ve moved on. Completely. Effortlessly." He leaned across the table, his large, calloused hand suddenly reaching out to cover yours. His palm was warm, rough from the grips of his racket and gym weights, and the sudden contact made your breath hitch in your throat. "Fake date me. Just for tonight."
You stared at his hand over yours, your heart giving a strange, uncomfortable thud. You and Jungkook had been friends for three years, a comfortable, solid fixture in each other's lives. You knew his habits, his favorite late-night snacks, the way he crinkled his nose when he laughed too hard. But you had also spent the last year carefully burying a very specific, very dangerous crush on him.
"Fake date you?" you repeated, your voice a little breathless. "Jungkook, that’s a cliché. It never works in real life."
"It works if we’re good actors," he pressed, his grip tightening just a fraction, his thumb brushing against the side of your wrist. It was an casual gesture for him, but it sent a jolt of heat straight up your arm. "Come on. Everyone at the department knows we hang out all the time anyway. If we walk in there together, holding hands, looking... like we finally realized what was right in front of us, Mina won’t say a word. Please? I’ll buy you that vintage camera lens you’ve been eyeing for three months. The one from the shop in Myeongdong."
You bit your lip. He knew your weaknesses. But more than the lens, it was the look in his eyes—that rare, vulnerable plea behind his stubborn pride—that broke your defenses.
"Fine," you sighed, trying to sound exasperated rather than terrified of how close he was leaning. "But if this backfires, I’m telling everyone you forced me into it."
A brilliant, bunny-toothed smile broke across Jungkook’s face, instantly erasing the tension in his shoulders. "You're the best. Seriously. Go get changed. I’ll pick you up in an hour. And wear something... you know. Like we’re actually crazy about each other."
An hour later, you stood in front of your full-length mirror, smoothing down the fabric of your outfit. It wasn't overly formal, but it was a step up from your usual oversized sweaters—a dark, form-fitting dress that hit just above your knees, paired with a structured jacket. You had spent far too long fixing your hair, cursing yourself for caring so much about a fake date.
When the knock came at your door, your stomach did a violent flip.
You opened it to find Jungkook standing in the hallway, and for a second, neither of you spoke. He had ditched the hoodie. Now, he was wearing a crisp, black button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbones and the edge of the tattoos creeping up his neck. His dark hair was styled back, exposing his forehead, and he smelled faintly of woodsmoke and expensive cologne.
His eyes swept down your outfit, his gaze lingering on the curve of your waist before snapping back up to your face. A dark, intense look flashed through his eyes, so quickly you almost missed it.
"Wow," he murmured, his voice suddenly much deeper than it had been in the cafe. "You look... really beautiful."
"Thanks," you said, your cheeks heating up. "You don't look too bad yourself. Clean up nice for a jock."
Jungkook let out a soft laugh, the familiar, easygoing version of him returning. But as you stepped out into the hallway and locked your door, the air between you felt different. Charged. The casual boundaries of a three-year friendship were about to be crossed, even if it was just an act.
He offered his arm, bending his elbow with a mock-gallant bow. "Shall we, girlfriend?"
You rolled your eyes, but as you slid your hand through the crook of his elbow, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt, a heavy weight settled in your chest. Don't get used to this, you told yourself. It's just for Mina.
The venue was a trendy, dimly lit lounge near the university, packed with student-athletes, alumni, and professors. The hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses filled the space. As soon as you stepped through the door, Jungkook’s posture changed. He straightened up, his shoulders squaring, and before you could react, his hand slid down from your arm to wrap firmly around your waist.
His large palm rested against the small of your back, the heat of it burning through your dress. He pulled you flush against his side, his hip bumping yours.
"Jungkook," you hissed under your breath, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Too close."
"Not close enough," he whispered back, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he leaned down. "Look at the bar. Ten o'clock."
You glanced over. Standing by the bar, holding a glass of white wine, was Mina. She was gorgeous, effortlessly elegant, talking to a tall, athletic guy who was laughing at something she said. But as the door opened, her eyes scanned the crowd and locked directly onto Jungkook.
And then, her gaze dropped to his hand, which was firmly, possessively wrapped around your waist.
Jungkook didn't look at her. Instead, he turned his head to look down at you, his eyes incredibly soft, a small, tender smile playing on his lips. To anyone else in the room, he looked like a man completely, utterly besotted.
"Just look at me," he murmured, his thumb tracing slow, mesmerizing circles against your lower back. "Ignore her. Let's go get a drink."
For the next hour, you were subjected to a masterclass in acting. Or at least, you hoped it was acting.
Everywhere you went, Jungkook stayed glued to your side. When someone brought over a tray of champagne, he took a glass for you, his fingers lingering against yours as he handed it over. When the crowd grew tight and someone bumped into you from behind, Jungkook instantly stepped into your space, his chest pressed against your shoulder, shadowing you from the rest of the room.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice low, his eyes scanning your face with a fierce, protective intensity that made it hard to breathe.
"Yeah. Just crowded," you whispered, your fingers tightening around his sleeve.
"Let's get some air," he said.
But before you could move, a voice cut through the noise. "Jungkook? Hey."
Mina stood there, her eyes darting between you and Jungkook, a tight, strained smile on her face. Her companion was nowhere to be seen. "I didn't think you'd come tonight."
Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightened, pulling you back into his side. His expression was polite, but cool. "Hey, Mina. Yeah, I wasn't going to, but..." He looked down at you, his eyes softening into something so warm it felt like a physical touch. "...someone convinced me to get out of the house."
Mina’s smile faltered. She looked at you, her eyes assessing, a flicker of something like regret crossing her features. "I don't think we've met formally. I'm Mina."
"I know who you are," you said, keeping your voice polite but firm. You felt Jungkook’s thumb twitch against your hip, a silent sign of approval.
"We were just about to head to the terrace," Jungkook said, his tone final. He didn't wait for her to respond. He nodded politely, turned you around, and guided you through the double doors leading out to the balcony.
The night air was cool, a sharp contrast to the suffocating heat of the lounge. The balcony overlooked the city lights, the distant hum of traffic a soothing background noise. You walked over to the railing, letting out a long, shaky breath.
"You were amazing," Jungkook said, stepping up right behind you. He didn't leave any space between you; his chest was nearly brushing your back, blocking the wind. "Did you see her face? She didn't know what to do."
"Yeah," you said, staring out at the neon lights, your throat suddenly tight. The act was over, or at least suspended, but your heart wasn't slowing down. "We did it. She believes it."
"Are you okay?" Jungkook asked. He stepped closer, his hands coming up to rest on the railing on either side of you, effectively trapping you between his body and the metal bar. When you turned around to face him, you were inches from his chest.
The dim golden light of the terrace caught the sharp angles of his jaw, the deep, unreadable dark of his eyes.
"Jungkook," you whispered, your hands coming up to rest against his chest to keep some distance between you. You could feel the heavy, rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. "You can stop acting now. There's no one out here."
Jungkook didn't move. He looked down at your hands on his chest, then slowly raised his eyes to meet yours. There was no teasing glint in them, no playful bunny smile. Just a heavy, burning intensity that made the air feel thick.
"What if I'm not acting?" he asked, his voice a low, rough murmur.
Your heart stopped. "What?"
"I haven't been acting all night," he said, stepping in closer, forcing you to lean back against the railing. His hand left the metal bar and came up to cup your jaw, his thumb wiping gently across your cheekbone. His touch was incredibly soft, contrasting with the sheer size and strength of him. "I haven't thought about Mina once since we walked through those doors. All I've been thinking about is how good you feel against me. How much I hate the fact that I had to make up an excuse just to hold your hand."
You stared at him, your breath hitching. "Jungkook, don't joke about this. We're friends—"
"I'm not joking," he cut you off, his voice cracking slightly with a raw vulnerability that broke your heart. "I've been terrified of saying anything because I didn't want to lose you. But watching everyone look at you tonight, realizing that anyone could have you... it drove me crazy. I don't want to be just your friend. I want this. I want you.
The silence between you was loud, filled only by the distant sound of the city and the heavy rhythm of your shared breathing.
"Say something," Jungkook whispered, his eyes searching yours, a sudden flash of panic crossing his features as you remained quiet. "Please. If I just ruined everything, just tell me, but don't—"
You didn't let him finish. You reached up, grabbing the lapels of his black shirt, and pulled him down to you.
When your lips met his, it felt like an explosion of everything you had been holding back for a year. Jungkook let out a low, ragged sound against your mouth, his entire body shuddering. The hesitation vanished instantly. His arms wrapped around you, his large hands gripping your waist and lifting you slightly, pressing you so hard against his chest you could feel every muscle in his body.
The kiss was heated, desperate, filled with the pent-up tension of years of friendship turning into something entirely consuming. His lips were soft but firm, parting yours with an urgent hunger that made your knees go weak. You tangling your fingers into his styled hair, ruining the neat lock of it as you pulled him closer, losing yourself in the taste of him—mint and the faint sweetness of the champagne.
Jungkook groaned, his lips leaving yours for a split second to press hot, frantic kisses along your jawline, down to the sensitive skin of your neck. His breath was scorching against your skin, sending shivers straight down your spine.
"God, you have no idea," he muttered against your skin, his hands sliding down to your hips, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress, pulling you flush against his lower body. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."
"Jungkook," you gasped, your head tilting back as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear. A soft, embarrassing whine escaped your throat, and you felt him smirk against your skin, his grip tightening.
He brought his lips back to yours, slowing the kiss down just a fraction, turning it into something deeply romantic, thick with affection. It was a long, slow melt, his tongue sweeping against yours in a rhythm that made your head spin. He kissed you like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, like he finally had his hands on something he never intended to let go of.
When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your lips flushed and swollen. Jungkook rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. A beautiful, genuine smile broke across his face—the boyish, happy one you loved so much.
"So," he whispered, his thumb gently tracing your lower lip, which was shiny from his kisses. "Does this mean the fake date is over?"
You laughed, a little breathlessly, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the crook of his shoulder, inhaling the comforting, masculine scent of him.
"Yeah," you murmured against his neck, feeling the smooth skin of his tattoos under your fingertips. "The fake date is definitely over."
Jungkook chuckled, his arms tightening around you, lifting you off your feet for a brief, joyful second before setting you down. He took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, his palm warm and solid.
"Good," he said, turning you back toward the double doors, his eyes shining with a mischievous, proud light. "Let's go back inside for five minutes so I can show you off one last time, and then I'm taking my girlfriend home."
The Grumpy Girlfriend Protection Program | One-shot
Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader
Genre: sunshine bf x grumpy gf, golden retriever! jungkook, black cat! reader, office worker! reader, veterinary student! jungkook, fluff, comedy, thriller, mystery (slight), action, angst.
Summary: Jeon Jungkook has always been the sunshine in every room; warm, kind, and completely oblivious to danger. Luckily, you, his grumpy, overprotective girlfriend have made it your personal mission to keep him safe. But when the threat shifts to you instead, Jungkook proves that even sunshine can scorch, and for you, he’d burn.
Word count: 22.8k+
Warnings: reader is very protective, themes of stalking and obsession, usage of drugs (not reader or jungkook), fight scene, violence, multiple flashback scenes.
MOODBOARD
A/N: hugeeee thanks to my dear friend sy (@btswit7 ) for going through my fic and suggesting edits! ilysm. sorry this took so long for me to write. i swearrr this fic was supposed to be fluffy, cute and around 10k words but I got carried away 😔 (not sorry for that). i might've absolutely butchered the tattoo shop scene pls forgive me (I've never been to a tattoo shop before idk how it works) this is also my first time writing an action scene it prolly sucks but wtv.
The sun hung high in the cloudless sky, casting a golden glow over the city. A gentle breeze drifted through the streets, the warmth of the morning wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, just the right kind of day that practically demanded an escape from the ordinary. And what better way to spend it than sprawled out on a checkered blanket, a basket full of food beside you, and your ever-so-enthusiastic boyfriend, Jungkook, grinning at you like this was the best idea in the world?
That’s right. It was picnic day. After a gruelling week at work, all you wanted was to stay in bed, sleep until the afternoon, have a late lunch, and then (ideally) go right back to sleep. But Jungkook, being the ever-optimistic, early-rising, productivity-loving man that he was, thought weekends were best spent on morning picnic dates at whatever random park he had decided on that week.
There was nothing you hated more than disappointing your sweet boyfriend, so cancelling the picnic dates altogether wasn’t an option. After extensive negotiations (read: you groggily whining while he laughed and refused to budge), you managed to compromise—morning breakfast dates became brunch dates. Because let’s be real, every extra second of sleep counts.
On the way to your picnic, you were stopped by a teenage boy, probably 17 or 18, who practically shoved a clipboard into your faces. With the practised enthusiasm of a seasoned salesman, he introduced himself, flashing a grin as he extended a hand in greeting. Then came the pitch.
“Donations for a local animal shelter,” he announced, voice laced with urgency. A shelter you had never heard of.
“The puppies and bunnies are all sick, sir, and the kittens are underfed,” he continued, his face contorting with the sheer heartbreak of it all. The kind of expression that would probably work on unsuspecting souls. Jungkook, being Jungkook, was already pulling out his wallet. And you were having none of it.
Before he could hand over a single bill, you yanked the wallet straight out of his hands. Jungkook blinked at you, stunned.
“Did you even check if it’s a real shelter?” you asked, unimpressed.
Jungkook glanced at the boy, then back at you. “Looks pretty real to me.” You sighed, taking a look at the "official website" the scammer eagerly pulled up on his phone. One glance was all it took.
“That’s a Wix template, you dumbass,” you deadpanned, shooting Jungkook a look. And to drive your point home, you dialled the actual shelter’s number. A moment of silence.
Then, like clockwork, the boy’s phone started ringing. The scammer stiffened, eyes wide with panic. And then, without as much as another word, he bolted down the street before you could report him to someone.
Jungkook pouted, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket. You rolled your eyes. “I can’t believe you almost fell for that.”
“One of these days,” he muttered, crossing his arms, “you’re gonna stop me from donating to a real shelter.” You snorted, nudging his shoulder as you started walking again. “Yeah, well, until that day comes, I’ll keep saving you from getting scammed by guys who probably spent five minutes on Google slapping together a fake charity.”
Jungkook huffed, kicking a loose pebble down the sidewalk. “He had a clipboard. People with clipboards always seem legit.”
“Oh, right, because clipboards are the universal sign of trustworthiness,” you deadpanned. “Next time, I’ll be sure to scam you with one myself.”
He shot you a playful glare. “I’d see through you in a second.” You smirked. “Would you, though?”
Jungkook opened his mouth, then shut it again, squinting at you like he wasn’t entirely convinced. You just grinned, patting his arm. “Exactly.”
You sit cross-legged on the checkered blanket, arms crossed, watching as Jungkook digs through the picnic basket like a child on Christmas morning. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, pulling out sandwiches, fruit, and what looks like an obnoxiously yellow thermos you don’t remember packing.
You squint. “Did you sneak in banana milk?”
Jungkook pauses, looking entirely unrepentant. “No.” You stare. He stares back. The thermos stares between you, the undeniable evidence of his crime.
Finally, he grins. “Okay, maybe.”
You let out a slow exhale, reaching for one of the sandwiches while he happily pours himself a cup of his beloved banana milk.
“I don’t get how you function sometimes,” you mutter, unwrapping your food.
“I function beautifully,” he corrects, flashing you a smile that’s far too bright for someone who just lied to your face. “You’re just too grumpy to appreciate it.”
You roll your eyes. “Right. Because nothing screams ‘functioning adult’ like getting scammed five minutes before a picnic.” Jungkook gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “I was being charitable!”
“You were being a prime target,” you deadpan. He huffs dramatically, taking an exaggerated bite of his sandwich as if it’s the ultimate form of protest. Cheeks puffed out like a bunny, he mumbles through his mouthful, “You stress too much.”
You raise a brow. “I wonder why.” He ignores your sarcasm, swallowing before continuing, “Maybe if you—” He suddenly stops, mid-thought, his eyes lighting up with a spark of mischief.
Oh no. You’ve seen that look before. It never leads to anything good.
"You should feed me."
You nearly choke on your drink. Coughing, you set your cup down with a thud and blink at him. “What?” Jungkook leans forward, resting his chin in his palm with the most infuriatingly smug expression. “You know,” he drawls, wiggling his eyebrows, “since you like taking care of me so much.”
You stare at him, unamused. Then, without breaking eye contact, you take the smallest, most unimpressive bite of your sandwich—just to spite him.
Jungkook groans, slumping back. “You’re no fun.”
“You knew that when you fell in love with me.”
His lips curve into something thoughtful, eyes flickering over your face like he’s considering something. Then, in one swift motion, he reaches over and swipes a strawberry from your plate, popping it into his mouth before you can react.
You gasp. “Jungkook!”
He grins, entirely unapologetic. “Yeah, but I like a challenge.” Without hesitation, you swat his hand, aiming for another grab. He yelps, laughing too hard for someone who just got smacked, dodging your next attempt with the reflexes of a seasoned strawberry thief.
"Unbelievable," you mutter, shaking your head. "A menace to society."
Jungkook only grins wider. "And yet, you still love me."
And just like that, it’s the both of you, bickering, teasing, him being too soft, and you pretending you don’t secretly like it. Despite everything, you’re glad he dragged you here. Because for all his nonsense, for all the chaos he brings into your life, Jungkook makes the world a little brighter.
You hated Monday mornings with a burning passion. If you walked into work and saw someone being all cheerful and optimistic, you’d have the overwhelming urge to dump ice-cold coffee over their head, just to make their day as miserable as yours. Of course, you wouldn’t actually act on that particular intrusive thought. Not unless you had a sudden desire to get fired.
Every day, it was the same soul-sucking routine. Log into your computer, answer emails, prepare for meetings, and trudge through an endless list of mind-numbing tasks that make you question all your life choices. You were staring blankly at your screen, fingers moving mechanically as you typed up a report when your phone buzzed.
Kook 🐰💜 [11:10 AM]: Miss me yet?
Your fingers pause on the keyboard. Buzz.
Kook 🐰💜[11:10 AM]: Or are you too busy being all serious and grumpy at work?
Kook 🐰💜[11:11 AM]: Bet you’re smiling right now, though.
You bite your lip. You are not smiling. Absolutely not.
“Okay, what is that face?”
Jimin’s voice cuts through your concentration like a knife. You snap your head up to find him leaning against your desk, arms crossed, a knowing smirk already in place.
“There is no face,” you say quickly, locking your phone screen and shoving it away. Jimin gasps dramatically. “Oh my God, it’s him, isn’t it?”
You groan, rubbing your temples. “I swear to—”
“Ohhh, it totally is!” Jimin snatches your phone before you can react, scrolling through the notifications like he has every right to be nosy.
If there’s one person who never lets you live in peace, it’s Jimin. Coworker, best friend, professional pain in your ass, he’s all of the above, wrapped in a smug little package. You first met him when you started this job, and somehow, between the forced team projects, shared complaints about the boss, and mutual hatred for monday mornings, you ended up stuck with him for life. Not that you’d ever admit you’re grateful for it.
Unfortunately, he knows it anyway.
“Jimin, I will end you.”
But it’s too late. He’s already grinning like the devil himself. “Look at you. Getting all giddy over a text. My, my, how the mighty have fallen.”
“I’m not giddy.”
“Oh, you absolutely are.” He mimics your earlier expression, clutching his phone to his chest with a dreamy sigh. “Oh, Jungkook, my sweet precious sunshine, text me more. I can’t possibly get through this workday without knowing you’re thinking about me.”
You throw a stapler at him.
He dodges effortlessly, laughing. “Relax, lover girl. It’s cute. Gross, but cute.” You huff, snatching your phone back. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” Jimin plops down in the chair next to you, still smirking. “Now tell me, what’s golden boy up to?”
You stare at the screen for a moment, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you eventually settle on a simple reply.
You [11:14 AM: Okay.
…Okay, maybe you are smiling a little.
Jimin sees it immediately. And you already know you’re never going to hear the end of it.
The moment you step into the break room—finally free from Jimin’s relentless smirking, you let out a breath and pull out your phone, scrolling through your recent calls before dialling Jungkook. It barely rings twice before he picks up, his voice warm and teasing, like he already knew you’d call.
“Hey, baby,” he greets smoothly, amusement lacing his tone. “Miss me already?”
You roll your eyes, setting your lunchbox on the table with a thud. “In your dreams, Jeon.”
Flipping open the lid, the rich, savoury aroma of bibimbap immediately washes over you. The vibrant colors of the ingredients are neatly arranged, looking almost too perfect to eat—almost. You can tell Jungkook took his time making it, carefully placing each topping exactly where it should be, ensuring it looked as good as it tasted.
Your heart does something traitorous in your chest, but you ignore it. Jungkook chuckles at your silence, clearly pleased with himself. “I assume this is your way of telling me my cooking is amazing?”
“Not even close,” you say, grabbing your chopsticks. “Jimin wouldn’t shut up about you, so I figured I’d call and annoy you instead.” A deep, rumbling laugh comes through the speaker, the sound sending warmth curling through your stomach. “Mhm. Sure, love. You could’ve just admitted you wanted to hear my voice.”
Your eye twitches. “That’s not—”
“Shh, no need to be shy. I won’t judge.” You groan, tilting your head back against the chair, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you. He’s impossible, and worse, he knows it.
“Whatever,” you mutter. “What are you doing this weekend?”
“Mmm.” There’s some shuffling on his end, followed by the faint rustling of sheets like he’s lying down and getting comfortable. “I was thinking… instead of our usual park picnic, you could come with me to get my sleeve reworked.” That makes you pause, chopsticks hovering mid-air. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” he says, voice a little more casual. “It’s been a while, and I wanna touch up some parts. Maybe add something new.”
You lean back in your chair, considering it. You’ve seen his tattoos up close plenty of times—traced them absentmindedly, let your fingers follow the inked lines whenever he had an arm wrapped around you. There’s something mesmerizing about them, the way they flow seamlessly over his skin, each design an intricate part of him.
You definitely wouldn’t mind watching the process.
“That’s fine with me,” you say after a beat. Then, under your breath, you mumble, “But if the artist messes up, I’m fighting them.” Jungkook snorts. “Of course you will.” His voice takes on that teasing lilt that makes you want to reach through the phone and flick his forehead. “You’re so cute when you get all protective.”
Your face heats up instantly. “Oh my god, eat your lunch.”
“I will. But only if you say you love me first.” You nearly choke. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” His grin is obvious, even through the phone. “Say it, and I’ll go eat.” You huff, glancing around the empty break room just to make sure no one’s around. Then, in the lowest possible whisper, you mumble, “…Love you.”
A beat of silence.
And then, even quieter, “Love your bibimbap too.”
Jungkook hums, unreasonably satisfied. “Love you too, baby. Now go eat before Jimin catches you blushing.” Your eyes widen, and you hang up immediately.
Unfortunately, when you turn around, Jimin is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking far too smug for your liking.
“So,” he drawls, tilting his head. “How’s Jungkook?” You groan, slamming your head onto the table. You are never going to live this down.
Jimin’s laughter echoes in the room, pure evil.
Jungkook’s apartment is the kind of place that makes it dangerously easy to never leave. It’s cozy with warm lighting, soft blankets draped over the couch, and the faint scent of vanilla and fabric softener lingering in the air. You tell yourself that’s the main reason you always find yourself here instead of your own place, but, if you were being completely honest, there are a few other factors at play.
For one, his snack collection is legendary. His kitchen cabinets are stocked with an endless supply of goodies, including a lifetime’s worth of Twinkies, your weakness. And then there’s Jungkook himself, but you’re not about to admit that. Especially not to him.
Curled up on his couch, you lazily flip through his Netflix, eyes scanning titles without really registering any of them. The ambient noise of the apartment, the hum of the heater, the occasional rustling of pages from Jungkook’s workspace, only adds to the drowsy comfort settling over you. Just as you’re about to give up on finding something to watch, Jungkook suddenly plops down beside you, sketchbook in hand.
The cushion dips under his weight, and you barely manage to suppress a startled flinch. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans back against the couch with a content sigh, flipping the sketchbook open across his lap. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, curiosity piqued despite yourself. "Okay," he says, grinning as he settles beside you on the couch. His fingers drum against the edge of his sketchbook before he flips it open, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. "Wanna see what I’ve been working on?"
You nod, humming in interest. "Mhm. Sure."
The moment the pages spread out before you, your breath catches. Intricate designs fill the book, some half-finished, others shaded to perfection. There are fine, precise lines, bold strokes, and an almost obsessive attention to detail in every drawing. You can tell he's poured hours into this, into crafting something that isn’t just art but a reflection of himself.
"Damn," you murmur, fingertips tracing lightly over the paper. "You did all these?" Jungkook grins, his dimples making an appearance. "Yup," he says, clearly pleased with your reaction.
You take your time flipping through the pages. There’s a sketch of a skeletal hand doing the rock on sign, a detailed microphone showcasing his love for music, lyrics from his favorite songs inked in elegant script, and the word Bulletproof scrawled in a graffiti style, right beneath it, a note written in his unmistakable handwriting: cover-up for eye tattoo. And then, sitting proudly in between these edgy, personal pieces, is a woozy face emoji.
You huff out a small laugh. His tattoo ideas range from deeply meaningful to outright ridiculous.
But then you pause. Nestled between his designs is a rework of his tiger lily tattoo—his birth flower. But entwined around it, curling gracefully between the petals, is another flower. Chrysanthemums.
Your birth flower.
The realization sinks in, slow and warm. Jungkook goes still beside you, barely breathing. You don’t miss the way his fingers twitch, or the way his ears turn bright red when he realizes that you understood. Then, like a man caught in the act he snatches the sketchbook away, snapping it shut so fast you barely have time to process it.
"Aha—! Anyway—" He clears his throat, ears burning. "That one wasn’t, uh—I wasn’t supposed to show you that yet."
Your lips twitch. "Mhm. Jeon, I see what you did there."
"What?" he says too quickly. "It’s just, you know, it looked nice with the lilies." His voice cracks. You arch a brow. "Looks nice? That’s all?" Jungkook nods a little too fast. "Yeah. No big deal."
You don’t believe him for a second.
So, naturally, you lean in, lowering your voice just enough to watch him squirm."You sure about that, baby?"
Jungkook.exe has stopped working.
With a groan, he buries his burning face into your shoulder, mumbling something incoherent against your sweater. You laugh, warmth blooming in your chest, fingers threading absentmindedly through his hair. Yeah. No big deal.
The weekend sun was just beginning to climb when Jungkook pulled up outside your place, the low hum of his car engine a familiar sound by now. You barely had time to lock your door before he leaned over, effortlessly pushing the passenger door open with that usual bright grin of his. “Morning, baby,” he greeted, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. Without missing a beat, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek—warm, lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You sleep well?”
You slid into the seat, closing the door behind you with a huff, eyes narrowing at him. “No, because someone was blowing up my phone with memes and ‘fun facts’ about toxic tattoo inks at two in the morning.” Jungkook had the audacity to look proud. “I just thought you should know! What if they use cheap ink, huh? Gotta protect this masterpiece.” He gestured vaguely at his arm, where his tattoos peeked out from under the sleeve of his shirt.
You sighed, clicking your seatbelt into place. “Just drive.”
As he shifted gears and pulled onto the road, you let your gaze wander around the car, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne, the faint hum of the engine, and the steady rhythm of the music playing low through the speakers. His hand, warm and absentminded, found its usual place on your thigh like it belonged there, thumb tracing gentle patterns against your skin. It was peaceful. The kind of easy, comfortable silence that only came from knowing someone so well.
But then, something caught your attention.
Your eyes drifted to the backseat, where his sketchbook sat, slightly ajar as if hastily tossed there. A few loose sheets stuck out from the pages, filled with the intricate designs you’d seen before. You reached for it instinctively, but before you could grab it, the scenery outside made you pause.
“...Wait.” Your brows furrowed as you looked out the window. The streets weren’t familiar, the route different from what you expected. You turned back to him. “This isn’t the way to your usual place.” Jungkook hummed, like he’d been waiting for you to notice. “We’re trying a new one today.”
You turned to him, suspicious. “Why?”
His grin widened, full of mischief. “Jin got a job there.” That took you a second to process. “Seokjin?”
“My cousin, yeah.” Jungkook drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road. “He’s a receptionist now. Lured me in with staff discounts.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “So, let me get this straight—he got a job there yesterday, and today you’re already showing up to cash in?” Jungkook gasped, all faux offense, clutching his chest as if you’d just wounded him. “I would never use my dear cousin like that.”
You gave him a deadpan look.
His lips twitched, the act crumbling instantly. “…Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted, flashing you a boyish grin. “But hey, cheaper tattoos, and I get to support my hyung? Win-win.” You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the amused smile pulling at your lips. “Does he even know we’re coming?”
“He does,” Jungkook replied, his grin not fading. “He actually told me to wait for him before I get started with the consultation.”
And that’s how you and Jungkook ended up stuck in the lobby of the tattoo shop, waiting for over thirty minutes for Jin to show up.
Jungkook exhaled loudly, rolling his shoulders before pulling out his phone and dialing Jin for the sixth time. His other hand absentmindedly tugged you closer by the wrist, a small, unconscious habit of his whenever he was growing impatient. “Jin said he’d be here soon,” he muttered, eyes flickering to the entrance yet again, as if willing his cousin to walk through the door. “Told me to get comfy and wait.”
You smirked, shifting slightly in your seat. “He did? So, naturally, he’s gonna be late.” Jungkook groaned, tilting his head back against the couch. “He promised, okay? Swore he wouldn’t ditch me this time.”
“That’s cute.” You patted his thigh mockingly. “You still believe him.” Jungkook shot you a halfhearted glare before flicking his gaze to the empty reception area for what had to be the hundredth time. His foot bounced impatiently against the floor, but before he could make another complaint, the sound of a door opening drew both of your attention.
A woman with sleek, silver-dyed hair emerged from one of the back rooms, her sharp gaze scanning the lobby before landing directly on Jungkook. Her expression immediately shifted into a perfected customer-service smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. “What are you here for?”
“Sleeve rework,” he replied casually, rolling his shoulder as if to emphasize the ink beneath his sleeve. “You’re the one getting the sleeve reworked?” she asked smoothly, completely ignoring your presence. “Seokjin’s cousin, right?
Jungkook nodded, his own expression polite but confused. “Yeah, but he isn’t here yet. Jin told me to wai—”
“Oh,” she cut in, her lips curving just slightly, a little too knowing. “Well, that’s okay. I’m sure he would’ve referred you to me anyway. I could start taking care of you now.”
Something about the way she said it made your jaw clench.
Jungkook, oblivious as ever, only hummed. “Uh, I mean… I guess we could start the consultation?”
You didn’t like the way she was looking at him.
As she moved closer, the glow of the overhead light caught on her name tag—Nari. The name meant nothing to you, but something about her demeanor put you on edge.
Jungkook settled into the chair, stretching his arm out as Nari prepped her station. You remained seated across from him, phone in hand, pretending to scroll while keeping a close eye on the exchange. Nari pulled on a pair of gloves, her movements fluid and practiced as she leaned in, examining Jungkook’s inked skin. “Your ink is solid,” she murmured, fingers ghosting over the intricate designs. “Whoever did this knew what they were doing.”
Jungkook grinned, clearly pleased with the compliment. “Yeah, my old artist was great. Just wanted some refinements, you know?”
“Mm,” Nari hummed in agreement, grabbing a marker to outline a few areas. Her gaze lingered on his arm longer than necessary, her lips curving slightly. “You’re adding new work too, right?”
Jungkook nodded. “Yeah, just some floral details around the tiger lily.”
That was supposed to be the end of it. But then Nari tilted her head, eyes flickering up to his face before dropping back to his arm, and subtly, but not subtly enough she licked her lips.
“I love doing florals on guys,” she said, voice dipping into something softer. “There’s just something about the contrast, you know?”
Your grip on your phone tightened. Jungkook, completely unaware of the shift in tone, simply lifted his arm to show her the faded edges. “Yeah, I wanted to add some chrysanthe—”
Before he could even finish, Nari reached out, fingers wrapping around his arm, her touch lingering.
“Oh, your skin is so nice,” she murmured, smoothing her fingers over the defined muscle as if she were admiring it rather than prepping it for work. Your eye twitched.
Jungkook blinked, a little startled by the comment but still too polite to pull away. “Uh… thanks?” Nari only smiled, nails grazing his forearm ever so slightly as she adjusted his position. “Good canvas makes all the difference.”
You swore you could hear your patience snapping like a twig. Jungkook looked slightly uncomfortable but still handed over his sketchbook, flipping to the page with his design. “This is what I had in mind for the rework,” he said, tapping the paper.
Nari barely glanced at the intricate details before tilting her head, her gaze flickering back to him instead. “You drew this yourself?”
Jungkook nodded. “Yeah.”
“Wow,” she hummed, leaning in slightly, the corner of her lips quirking up. “That’s impressive. Not many clients walk in with this level of detail.” From where you sat, you rested your chin on your hand, unimpressed.
Jungkook offered a small, polite smile. “I just like having a clear idea before I commit.” Nari's smirk deepened. “That’s really attractive,” she mused, fingers skimming the edge of the sketchbook instead of actually turning the page. “A guy who’s artistic and decisive? Rare find.”
You blinked. What.
Jungkook cleared his throat, shifting in his seat like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “Uh… thanks?” Nari finally flipped to the next page—though at this point, it felt more like a courtesy than genuine interest. “And you did all of these?”
Jungkook nodded again. “Mhm.”
“That’s insane,” she gushed, dragging her fingers over the lines like they were worth framing. “You could easily be a tattoo artist yourself.” Jungkook chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think I have the patience for it.”
“That’s a shame,” Nari sighed, her fingers lingering a little too long on the sketchbook. “With hands like yours, I bet you’d be amazing at it.”
Your expression went flat. Jungkook just coughed into his fist, visibly flustered. “Uh—”
You snapped before you could stop yourself. “If you’re done with the consultation, I think you should get started with the sketching.” Your voice was even, but the words were clipped. “Unless this is just a fan club meeting now.”
That made Nari pause.
Jungkook turned to you, lips twitching as if he was trying not to laugh. Nari dared to send you a sharp glare, like you had just interrupted something sacred. But she grabbed a fineliner anyway, her movements slow and deliberate, as if making a point.
You didn’t waver. Arms crossed, you kept your gaze locked on her hands, watching every unnecessary adjustment she made—each one turning into soft, lingering touches against Jungkook’s skin. It was infuriating, the way her fingers skimmed his arm like she had every right to.
And then she bit her lip.
A coy smile played at the edges of her mouth, subtle but unmistakable. Jungkook, completely oblivious as always, remained relaxed in the chair, only wincing slightly when the cold surface of the fineliner pressed against his skin.
You were far from relaxed.
Shifting in your seat, you clenched your jaw, fingers curling against your arms. Maybe—maybe—she was just a touchy person. Maybe you were overanalyzing this. Maybe it was nothing.
“So,” Nari began, her voice light and conversational, “do all your tattoos have a meaning?” Jungkook, still staring at the ceiling like this was any other consultation, nodded. “Most of them, yeah.”
“What about this one?” She tapped the tiger lily, her fingertips trailing over the ink just a little too leisurely. Jungkook smiled, unaware of the way your patience was fraying. “That one represents passion, confidence… all that stuff. It’s also my birth flower”
Nari hummed, like she was committing that information to memory. “And the chrysanthemums?”
At this, Jungkook hesitated. For the first time, he flicked his gaze toward you, something unreadable passing through his eyes. Your posture stiffened, waiting. He cleared his throat. “They mean a lot to me.”
Nari tilted her head, expectant.
You leaned forward, expectant.
But Jungkook just chuckled lightly before answering, “They’re my girlfriend’s birth flower.” His tone was proud, almost smug, as if relishing the chance to say it out loud. A smirk tugged at your lips. That should be enough to shut this down, enough for her to finally get the message—
Except Nari barely reacted.
If anything, she just hummed again, dragging her eyes across his arm like she hadn’t even heard him. “Hm. Bet they’d look really pretty on you,” she mused, her tone as sweet as syrup. Then, without missing a beat, she added, “Then again, I bet a lot of things do.”
Your head snapped up. Jungkook tensed slightly but played it off with an awkward laugh. “Uh… thanks?”
Oh, hell no.
Maybe it was the way she said it. The way her voice dripped with something just a little too sweet, like she wasn’t just appreciating his tattoos but the person wearing them. Maybe it was the fact that her fingers were still lightly dragging along his forearm, slow and deliberate, like she had every right to touch him like that. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the fact that Jungkook, ever polite, ever oblivious, wasn’t saying anything to stop her. Either way, your patience is officially gone.
You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, voice smooth but sharp enough to cut. “So, is this your usual customer service?” you asked, tilting your head. “Or is my boyfriend just getting the VIP treatment?”
Nari barely spared you a glance. “Oh, don’t worry. I take very good care of my clients.” Your smile was saccharine, all teeth. “I bet you do.”
Jungkook shifted, fingers gripping the armrest as if bracing himself. “Baby—” You ignored him. “I thought professionalism was a basic requirement for tattoo artists. But I guess it’s optional here, huh?”
Nari’s smirk twitched, but she held her ground. “I’m just making conversation.”
“Right.” You nodded slowly, voice dripping with faux understanding. “Because flirting with your client while his girlfriend is sitting right here is so normal.”
Jungkook, bless his clueless heart, looked between the two of you like he’d just walked into a battlefield with no armor. His lips parted—he should say something, anything, should try to calm you down before things escalated, but the words never came.
Because truth be told, seeing you like this, so protective and so fierce was kind of hot.
Nari’s eyes narrowed, her confidence flickering just a little. “I wasn’t flirting.” You let out a mock gasp, pressing a hand over your chest in exaggerated horror. “Oh, my bad.” Your tone was syrupy, dripping with fake innocence. “I must have misheard when you basically drooled over my boyfriend while I was sitting right here.”
Nari let out a sharp huff, her irritation finally surfacing. She set the fineliner down with a little too much force, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and condescension. “Look, do you want me to finish this or not?”
You opened your mouth, already armed with a sharp retort—
“No.”
Jungkook’s voice cut through the air, calm but unwavering.
Nari blinked. “What?”
Jungkook rolled his shoulder back as he sat up straighter, his usual easygoing expression replaced with something unreadable. “I’ll get it done somewhere else.”
She scoffed, crossing her arms. “Seriously? Just because she’s insecure?”
Oh. That did it. A slow, burning heat unfurled in your chest. The audacity, the sheer nerve to say something like that when she had been the one crossing every possible line. You barely registered standing up, only aware of the way your pulse pounded in your ears as you took a step forward.
“Excuse me?”
But before you could let loose, Jungkook was already moving. His hand found yours, his grip warm and steady as he gently pulled you back. “Let’s go,” he murmured, his voice low but insistent. Nari rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair like she couldn’t care less. “Your loss.” Jungkook didn’t bother responding. He just grabbed his jacket, intertwined his fingers with yours, and led you out of the shop without a single backward glance.
The second the door shut behind you, the tension that had been coiling in your muscles finally snapped.
“I swear—” you started, still fuming, but Jungkook sighed, squeezing your hand in his. “I know, baby,” he said, his voice softer now, the warmth of it cutting right through your frustration. “I know.”
You exhaled sharply. “She was touching you.” Jungkook let out a low chuckle, rubbing his temple. “I literally had no idea she was flirting.”
“You never do.”
That earned you a grin. Jungkook tilted his head slightly, leaning down just enough that his nose nearly brushed yours. His eyes locked onto yours with a familiar fondness. “But you do.” His voice was teasing, but there was something else there too. Something softer. Something that made your breath catch, just a little.
You scowled, but he just wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Jealous?” he teased. You scoffed.
His smile turned fond. “Cute.” You smacked his chest. “Shut up.”
Jungkook barely flinched at the hit, his grin only widening. He tightened his hold around your waist, pulling you in until there was hardly any space left between you. “That’s not a no,” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to make your stomach flutter. You narrowed your eyes, tilting your chin up defiantly. “I wasn’t jealous.”
Jungkook hummed, unconvinced. His fingers skimmed over the small of your back, the touch light but deliberate. “Mhm. Sure.”
You huffed, crossing your arms. “She was unprofessional.”
“True.”
“And disrespectful.”
“Very.”
“And her eyeliner was uneven.”
Jungkook snorted, finally breaking into a full laugh. “Okay, now you’re just being mean.” You shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the way he was looking at you, like you were the most amusing thing in the world made your face heat up. His laughter faded into something softer, something unbearably fond. “You know you’re cute when you’re all worked up, right?”
You scowled, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I said shut up.” Jungkook grinned, catching your hand with ease before lacing his fingers through yours. “Make me.”
Your breath hitched. His gaze flickered to your lips for the briefest second, and suddenly, the air between you shifted—
“You guys done with the tattoo already?”
A loud, familiar voice shattered the moment like glass hitting the pavement.
Both you and Jungkook turned your heads in unison, only to find Jin standing a few feet away, looking between the two of you with an expression far too amused for your liking. Jungkook groaned, running a hand down his face. “Hyung, seriously?”
Jin blinked. “What? I was just asking.” His gaze flickered over Jungkook’s arm, eyes narrowing as he took in the faint ink lines still marking his skin—the rough sketch of the tattoo, untouched by the needle. His brows furrowed.
“Wait. You didn’t actually get it done?”
Jungkook huffed, crossing his arms. “No. Because the tattooo artist was too busy flirting with me.”
Jin’s face twisted in confusion. “Huh?”
You, still somewhat bristling from the whole ordeal, rolled your eyes. “She was all over him. Barely even looked at his designs before trying to eye-fuck him.” JIn’s jaw dropped. “Wait, are you serious?”
Jungkook nodded, his expression flat. “Dead serious.” Jin winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn. I had no idea she was like that.”
At least he had the decency to look sorry.
Jin sighed, rubbing his temple dramatically. “Alright, fine. Since I unknowingly threw you both into the lion’s den, I owe you.” He clapped his hands together. “Lunch is on me.” Jungkook raised a brow. “You? Paying for food? Willingly?”
Jin scoffed. “I can be generous, you know.”
You snorted. “That’s new.”
Jin ignored you. “Come on, let’s eat. My treat. Think of it as compensation for the mess I accidentally dropped you into.”
Jungkook hummed, pretending to consider. “I mean… if you’re paying, I’m definitely ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.”
Jin rolled his eyes. “As if you wouldn’t do that anyway.”
Jungkook just grinned. “True.”
You laughed, your earlier irritation melting away. “Alright, fine. You’re forgiven. But only if I get to pick the place.” Jin groaned. “Why do I feel like I’m about to regret this?” Jungkook laced his fingers through yours, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Because you probably will.”
Jin sighed but motioned for you both to follow. “Hurry up before I change my mind.” With that, the three of you headed off, leaving the unpleasant encounter behind in favor of good food.
Nari leaned against the counter, arms folded tight as she glared out the shop’s large window. Outside, you stood near the curb, your gaze fixed on Jungkook and Jin as they chatted. You weren’t speaking, just watching with that quiet, unreadable expression. But somehow, that made Nari even angrier.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath.
“What is?”
The question came lazily from the man who had just strolled up beside her. He shook out his wrists after finishing with his last client, pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash. His attention remained casual, uninterested until Nari gestured toward the window with a sharp tilt of her chin.
“Her.”
His eyes followed her gaze. His posture was still loose, still easygoing until he saw you. For the briefest moment, his entire body went rigid. His casual demeanor cracked, just slightly, before he smoothed it over with a slow smirk.
“Huh.”
Nari, oblivious to the shift, let out a scoff. “She threw a whole fit because I was being nice to her boyfriend. Completely embarrassed me in front of him and acted all possessive, like I was some kind of threat.” She tapped her nails against the counter, still glaring at you through the window. “And now, thanks to her little tantrum, he refuses to get his tattoo done here.”
The man hummed, tilting his head. “Jealous girlfriend type, huh?”
“Exactly.” Nari huffed before turning to him with a slow, calculating smile. “You’re good at handling people, right?” He lifted a brow. “Depends on what you mean by ‘handling.’”
She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Do you think you could… I don’t know, do something about her? Save Jungkook from her?” For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze flicked back toward the window, settling this time on Jungkook himself.
And just like that, his smirk thinned.
Jungkook stood beside Jin, hands in his pockets, his head tilted slightly as he listened to whatever Jin was rambling about. But every so often, his attention shifted to you. The way his fingers brushed absently over your back, the way his expression softened whenever he glanced your way, like keeping you close was second nature.
The man’s fingers curled into a fist. “Figures,” he muttered under his breath.
Nari frowned. “You know him?” A sharp exhale. A shake of his head. “Not personally. But I know of him.”
She perked up at that, her curiosity piqued. “Oh?”
His tongue ran over his teeth, jaw working as he leaned against the counter. When he spoke again, his smirk had returned but there was nothing amused about it. “Let’s just say… I have unfinished business with her.”
Nari blinked at that, lips parting slightly as she took in the underlying venom in his tone. Then, as if catching on, she let out a slow, delighted hum. “Well then,” she murmured, turning back to the window, watching you through narrowed eyes. “Wouldn’t it be fun to mess with her a little?”
His gaze never left you. He watched as Jungkook reached out, tugging the sleeve of your jacket into place with an unconscious sort of familiarity, the kind that spoke of years spent together.
The kind of familiarity that should have been his.
The corner of his lips lifted, the smirk sharpening into something colder. “Oh, sweetheart.” His voice was smooth and teasing, laced with something far more sinister.
“I’d love to.”
You groggily blink your eyes open, immediately regretting it as the soft glow of the morning filters through your curtains. Too bright. Too early. Too… awake. You bury your face into your pillow, grumbling incoherently, unwilling to leave the comforting warmth of your bed. It’s Sunday. A day meant for sleeping in, doing absolutely nothing, and ignoring all responsibilities.
Then, you feel it—the weight of an arm loosely draped over your waist, the warmth seeping through your thin shirt. Your sleep-addled brain takes a moment to process before it clicks. Jungkook.
Right. He stayed over last night.
A sleepy sigh escapes your lips as you shift slightly, pressing closer to his warmth. His scent lingers on your sheets, wrapping around you like a second blanket. You peek up, still half-asleep, and catch the sight of him lying beside you, propped up on one elbow, his phone held in his free hand. The soft glow of the screen illuminates his face, casting delicate shadows over his sharp jawline. He’s already awake, completely engrossed in whatever he’s scrolling through.
Too awake for your liking.
“Five more minutes,” you mumble sleepily, voice muffled against the pillow. Your words slur together, more of a plea than a statement, as you instinctively nuzzle into Jungkook’s chest, seeking warmth.
A deep chuckle rumbles from him, low and fond, the kind that makes your heart squeeze without permission. His arm tightens around you in response, fingers lazily tracing light circles against your back. “Five more minutes? Baby, you said that like… an hour ago.”
You don’t respond, only snuggling deeper into his embrace, fully intent on ignoring him. Jungkook exhales dramatically, an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. “You’re gonna sleep the whole day away.”
“That’s the plan.”
“You’re literally wasting the morning.”
“Mm,” you hum noncommittally. “Not wasting if I’m warm and comfortable.” Jungkook pokes your cheek, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he tries to stir you. “C’mon, let’s go out. We could get breakfast, maybe go on a walk—”
“No.” You blindly swat his hand away.
Jungkook groans, flopping onto his back in frustration. “Why did I fall for someone lazier than me?” You crack one eye open, just enough to see his pout. Smirking, you shift slightly and mumble into the pillow, “Because I’m cute.”
Jungkook huffs. “…I mean, yeah, but that’s not the point.”
Jungkook finally manages to wrangle you out of bed—a feat that takes a ridiculous amount of whining, bribing, and sheer force of will. He practically drags you across the apartment, his grip firm around your wrist, ignoring every single one of your grumbles and half-hearted protests.
“You are,” you mumble as he steers you into the kitchen, “the absolute worst.” Jungkook snorts, already rummaging through the cabinets for coffee beans. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I supposed to let you rot in bed for eternity?”
“Yes.”
Jungkook ignores you, expertly working the coffee machine like a man on a mission. You slump against the counter, still half-asleep, head lolling dramatically to the side as you watch him move around like an overly energetic golden retriever. Then, your phone buzzes on the counter. You lazily glance at the screen, skimming the weather forecast—
Rain incoming.
Your spine straightens, sleepiness vanishing in an instant as you whip your phone up to show Jungkook, shoving the screen in his face with an almost evil sort of glee. “Oh no~” you sing-song, tone dripping with faux disappointment. “Looks like we can’t go out.”
Jungkook’s brows furrow as he squints at the screen, reading the forecast. His expression quickly morphs from mild confusion to full-blown horror. “…It wasn’t supposed to rain today,” he says slowly, almost like he can will the reality away.
“Guess we have to stay in.” You sigh dramatically, clutching your chest like it pains you. “Damn. What a shame.”
Jungkook groans, slumping against the counter like his entire soul has left his body. His dreams of a fun, eventful day were shattered. “You’re lying,” he accuses weakly. “This is a personal attack.”
You shake your head, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “I don’t control the weather, baby.”
Jungkook glares. “But if you could, you’d make it rain every day, wouldn’t you?” A smirk tugs at your lips. “Absolutely.”
Jungkook throws his head back with a dramatic, suffering groan, sliding down the counter like a man defeated. You watch him in amusement, lifting the coffee cup he had just made for himself and taking a slow, satisfied sip. The moment the taste hits your tongue, Jungkook’s entire body snaps upright.
He watches, utterly betrayed, as you lower the cup with a pleased hum.
“…Did you just steal my coffee?”
You blink at him, all innocence. “You made this for me, didn’t you?”
Jungkook scoffs, expression scandalized. “No! I made it for me!”
You shrug, taking another sip as you meet his glare with zero remorse. “Tastes great, babe. Thanks.”
Jungkook clutches his chest like you’ve personally wounded him. “You’re the actual worst.”
“And yet,” you hum, leaning against the counter with a satisfied smirk, “here you are, hopelessly in love with me.”
Jungkook stares at you for a long second, lips pursed. Then, without warning, he lunges. You yelp as he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you with ridiculous ease and tossing you over his shoulder.
“JUNGKOOK—”
“NOPE,” he interrupts, already marching towards the living room. “If I can’t have fun outside, I’m gonna make you suffer with me inside.” You kick your feet uselessly, fists pounding against his back as he effortlessly carries you away. “Put me down, you muscle bunny!”
Jungkook only laughs, completely unfazed, before spinning on his heel and tossing you onto the couch like you weigh nothing. You land with a soft ‘oof,’ bouncing slightly against the cushions as he flops down beside you, stretching out like a starfish. “You are so dramatic,” you grumble, attempting to shove him away with your foot.
Jungkook just grins, easily catching your ankle and tugging you closer instead. “And yet, you love me anyway.”
You huff, too lazy to argue.
Before you can protest further, he shifts, rolling onto his side and resting his head comfortably on your lap. His eyes flutter shut almost instantly, his breath evening out as he settles in like he belongs there. At first, you stiffen, but as the seconds pass, your fingers instinctively weave through his soft, dark hair. You barely even realize you’re doing it, the motion coming as naturally as breathing.
Jungkook hums at the feeling, half-conscious, but content. His face is completely relaxed and unguarded in a way that makes your chest ache. He looked so soft like this. So warm. So… safe. And something deep inside you just melts.
Your fingers slow, combing gently through the strands, nails lightly scratching his scalp. A soft scowl tugs at your lips. Because this? This is a version of Jungkook you’d fight the entire world to protect.
Jungkook must feel your gaze because, after a moment, he cracks one eye open and peeks up at you. “You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice still laced with sleep. You blink, quickly masking your expression with a huff. To cover up the warmth creeping up your neck, you flick his forehead. “Just making sure you’re still breathing.”
Jungkook snickers, stretching lazily. “Aww, are you worried about me?”
You cross your arms, unimpressed. “Obviously. You’re fragile.”
Jungkook immediately bursts out laughing, full-bodied and carefree, his entire frame shaking against your lap. “Me? Fragile? Baby, I could bench press you.”
You roll your eyes, completely unfazed. “Yeah, well, I could stab someone for you.”
Jungkook’s laughter dies instantly. His eyes widen slightly, blinking up at you as if processing your words. Then, ever so slowly, a grin spreads across his face.
“…Okay, that’s really hot.”
You scoff, flicking his forehead again. “Pervert.”
Jungkook just smirks, completely shameless. “What can I say? I like my girlfriend a little unhinged.” You roll your eyes, but before you can retort, a deep rumble of thunder echoes outside.
Jungkook groans, throwing an arm over his face. “Great. So we really are stuck inside all day.”
You don’t even bother hiding your glee. “Tragic.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Jungkook shifts, burying his face into your stomach like a sulking puppy. You try to shove him off, but he only clings harder, grumbling nonsense against your his hoodie.
“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, fingers idly threading through his hair again. Eventually, he shifts, lifting his head to look at you properly. His expression softens laced with something so fond it makes your breath hitch. He doesn’t say anything. Just laces his fingers through yours, absentmindedly tracing patterns against your palm.
Then, suddenly there's a sharp poke to your side and you jolt with a squawk, trying to wiggle away. “Jungkook!” He grins, eyes twinkling with mischief. “If we’re staying in, we should do something.”
You glare at him, still half-prepared to smack him upside the head. “Like what?”
His smirk deepens. “You know exactly what.” For a second, you just stare at him. He stares back.Then, without breaking eye contact—he grabs the game controllers.
Jungkook’s sunshine boyfriend energy disappears the second the race countdown starts. Gone is the sweet, cuddly man who had been wrapped around you like a koala just minutes ago, now, he’s leaning forward, brows furrowed, fully in the zone.
“Loser does the dishes in both apartments,” he announces, rolling his shoulders like he’s prepping for war. You scoff, cracking your knuckles for dramatic effect. “You’re about to regret that.”
The moment Lakitu drops the starting light, Jungkook launches forward like he’s been possessed by the spirit of every pro gamer ever. Meanwhile, you barely get past the first turn without slamming into the barrier. You spam every single item box you can get your hands on, determined to take him down with sheer pettiness if not skill.
Then there’s a miracle. Jungkook is just about to cross the finish line when you hit him with a perfectly timed blue shell.
BOOM.
His character spirals into the air, crashing down just inches from victory. You zoom past him at the last second.
“IN YOUR FACE, JEON.” You throw your arms up like you just won an Olympic gold medal. Jungkook stares at the screen in stunned silence. Then, slowly he turns to you. You suddenly get the feeling you’ve made a terrible mistake.
“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, cracking his knuckles. “No more playing nice.”
The next race starts and you get absolutely destroyed.
Jungkook goes full demon mode, drifting around corners with terrifying precision, dodging every single attack like he can see the future. He launches red shells, banana peels, lightning bolts— you don’t even know how he’s getting this many power-ups.
It’s a massacre. One round. Two rounds. Three. You lose every single one. By the end, your controller is nearly embedded into your palm from how tightly you’re gripping it. Jungkook, on the other hand, is lounging back against the couch, arms stretched behind his head, smug as hell.
He tilts his head, smirking. “Do you yield?”
You scowl. “I hope you step on a Lego.”
Jungkook just laughs, grabbing your wrist and yanking you into his lap before you can escape. The controllers are discarded, forgotten as you end up tangled together on the couch. His arms snake around your waist, holding you in place as you halfheartedly struggle.
Then—he boops your nose.
You blink. Once. Twice. Then groan, flopping dramatically against his chest. “I take back every nice thing I’ve ever said about you.”
Jungkook only hums, smug and unbothered. “Even though you lost, I still think you’re the cutest.”
You smack his arm. “I will actually fight you.”
“Mm. As long as it’s not in Mario Kart, I like my chances.”
Jungkook’s phone buzzes against the coffee table, the vibration cutting through the comfortable silence. He lazily reaches for it, glancing at the screen. His brows knit together for a second before his face smooths over into a grin.
“Oh, my mom’s planning a family dinner. She wants you to come.”
You, mid-sip of your newly-made coffee, nearly choke.
“…Huh?”
Jungkook tilts his head, amused. “What? You act like this is the first time she’s invited you.”
You pause, tapping your fingers against the cup. His family liked you. You knew that. His mom always sent you home with extra food whenever you visited, and his dad made it a point to tease Jungkook about “finally settling down” whenever you were around. Jungkook leans closer, watching you expectantly. “So? You’ll come?”
You exhale dramatically, pretending to be deep in thought. “…Maybe.”
Jungkook narrows his eyes. “Maybe?”
You smirk. “I’ll go on one condition.”
He leans in even more, suspicious. “What?”
You set your cup down with a slow, deliberate motion. Then you look him dead in the eye. “…Admit that I’m better at games.”
Jungkook snorts. “Not happening.”
You grin. “Then I’m not coming.”
Jungkook blinks. Then, before you can react, he pounces.
“YOU’RE COMING.”
“JUNGKOOK—”
You barely have time to throw your drink onto the table before he tackles you down onto the couch, arms caging you in as he buries his face into your neck. His weight presses you into the cushions, his laughter muffled against your skin.
“You little brat,” he mutters, nuzzling into you. You squirm, but he’s relentless, peppering lazy kisses against your jaw just to distract you.
“Say you’ll come,” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.
“Say I’m better.”
Jungkook grins against your neck. “Hmm. How about this—you come to dinner, and I’ll let you win next time.” You gasp, shoving at his chest. “Let me win?!”
His laughter shakes both of you, but he doesn’t budge. “I’m trying to be generous, baby.”
“Jungkook, I swear—”
The argument quickly devolves into a mess of tangled limbs and laughter, neither of you backing down. Jungkook is still half on top of you, his arms lazily wrapped around your waist, completely unwilling to let you escape. His warmth seeps into you, making it harder to even think about moving. You sigh, dramatically slumping against the couch cushions. “Fine. I’ll go to dinner.”
Jungkook’s head snaps up instantly. “Really?”
You roll your eyes, poking his cheek. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m expecting VIP treatment.”
Jungkook grins, wide and bright, before leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “Deal.”
Outside, the rain picks up, sheets of water blurring the world beyond the glass. The streetlights flicker, their glow reflecting off the puddles collecting on the pavement. But just beyond the window, Neither of you notice the figure standing on the balcony of the building across the street a dark silhouette barely visible through the downpour.
He watches. He waits.
The overhead lights in your office cast a dim, sterile glow, humming softly in the near silence. The usual buzz of the workplace has long since faded, leaving only the occasional click of your keyboard and the distant sound of the air conditioning whirring. You rub your tired eyes, exhaustion settling deep in your bones as you scroll through the last few emails of the day.
Just as you’re about to tackle the next document in your never-ending pile, your phone vibrates against your desk, the soft buzz cutting through the quiet. You glance at the screen, and a familiar name lights up:
Kook 🐰💜 [6:15 PM]: Still working?
Kook 🐰💜 [6:15 PM]: Come over after work?
A small smile tugs at your lips despite the fatigue weighing on you. You reach for your phone, letting your gaze drift to the towering stack of documents beside you before sighing. There’s no way you’re finishing up anytime soon. With a resigned exhale, you type out a response.
You [6:16 PM]: Working overtime. I’ll text when I’m done.
His reply comes almost instantly, as if he’d been waiting for your response.
Kook 🐰💜 [6:16 PM]: It’s late. Want me to pick you up?
Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a second before you shake your head, rolling your eyes fondly. It wasn’t like you weren’t capable of getting home on your own. The walk to your apartment was barely ten minutes, and you’d done it countless times before without issue. You hated the idea of relying too much on someone else, even if that someone was Jungkook. He was always eager to drop everything for you, to take on your burdens like they were his own, and while a part of you adored that about him, another part resisted it. You never wanted to feel like you needed saving. You could handle yourself.
You [6:16 PM]: I’m fine. My apartment’s nearby, remember?
There’s a brief pause before his next message comes through.
Kook 🐰💜[6:18 PM]: At least text me when you’re home.
You bite back a smile, shaking your head.
You [6:18 PM]: Yes, yes, Mr. Protective.
A second later, your screen lights up again with a message that’s nothing but a row of emojis. You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head as you set your phone down. Stretching your arms over your head, you glance back at the unfinished work in front of you. The night is far from over, and exhaustion lingers in your limbs, but you push through.
Two hours later, the office is nearly deserted. Rows of empty desks stretch out before you, their monitors dark, abandoned by coworkers who were lucky enough to call it a day. Somewhere in the distance, the faint murmur of a janitor echoes through the halls, a quiet reminder that you’re not entirely alone. Still, the stillness feels heavy, pressing against your shoulders as you rub your tired eyes and blink at your laptop screen.
“Still here?”
The familiar voice startles you, pulling you from your work-induced daze. You look up to see Jimin standing by your desk, a bag slung over his shoulder and an amused expression on his face.
You let out a sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Unfortunately.”
He crosses his arms, leaning casually against the cubicle wall. “Overtime?”
“Yeah.” You stretch your stiff fingers before clicking through your files. “Trying to get ahead of things since I’m taking a day off for Jungkook’s family dinner.”
Jimin raises a brow, clearly holding back a smirk. “You? Taking a day off? Who are you, and what have you done with my workaholic friend?”
You snort, rolling your eyes. “It’s one day, Park.”
“Still. Didn’t think you’d willingly take time off for a boyfriend’s family event.”
You shrug, shifting your attention back to your laptop. “I’m being a supportive partner. And also avoiding Jungkook’s pout if I don’t go.”
Jimin chuckles. “Yeah, that tracks.” He checks his watch, then nods toward the exit. “Well, it’s already past eight. I can drop you off—my car’s in the basement.”
You pause for half a second, tempted. It would be easy, safe. A quick ride home without having to walk through the dark streets alone. But something in you resists. You’ve always prided yourself on being independent, on handling things yourself. You weren’t about to start needing an escort home like some helpless protagonist in a thriller movie. Besides, your apartment wasn’t far, and you could take care of yourself just fine.
You shake your head. “I’ve still got work left. Need to refine a client presentation before tomorrow.”
Jimin frowns, clearly debating whether to push the issue. “You sure? I don’t mind waiting.”
You give him a small, reassuring smile. “Go home, Jimin. I’ll be fine.”
He hesitates for a moment longer before exhaling in defeat. “Alright. Text me when you get home, yeah?”
“I will.”
Satisfied, he ruffles your hair in a way that makes you swat at him, laughing as he dodges your weak attempt at retaliation. “Night, workaholic,” he teases before heading out, his footsteps fading down the hall.
And just like that, you’re alone again, the dim glow of your laptop screen casting long shadows across your desk.
It’s nearing eleven o'clock by the time you finally leave the office, exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders like a weight you can’t shake. The automatic doors slide shut behind you, sealing the building in eerie silence. Outside, the streets stretch before you, quieter than usual, the world dipped in shades of silver and black under the dim glow of the streetlights.
The scent of rain lingers in the air, damp and heavy, even though the drizzle had stopped hours ago. The pavement glistens under the flickering glow of streetlights, reflecting the distorted shapes of the empty road ahead. A chilly breeze whispers through the deserted streets, curling around your skin like invisible fingers. You shiver, tugging your coat tighter around you, telling yourself it’s just the cold. You exhale slowly, watching your breath fog in the night air, and begin your walk home. It’s not far—barely a ten-minute walk. You’ve done this route countless times before. It should feel familiar. Safe.
But tonight… something feels off.
At first, it’s just a small shift in the air, a faint prickle at the back of your neck that strange, creeping sensation of being watched. It crawls up your spine, makes the hair on your arms stand on end.
You shake it off, adjusting the strap of your bag. You’re just tired. Paranoid. That’s all. The streets are always eerie this late of course they are. There’s no one around, just the distant hum of traffic blocks away, the occasional flicker of a neon sign from a closed shop. But then when you’re halfway home, just as you pass the turn near the old bookstore you hear it.
A faint, subtle sound, a footstep, echoes just a second too late after your own. Your breath catches in your throat as you freeze, and the sound stops too. The silence is suffocating, pressing in from all sides. Slowly, so painfully slowly, you turn to glance behind you.
Nothing.
Just an empty sidewalk, stretched too long and too dark behind you. The streetlights buzz faintly, their glow flickering, casting strange, distorted shadows on the wet pavement. Your own heartbeat pounds against your ribs, a heavy drumbeat in the stillness. You swallow, trying to shake the feeling creeping under your skin. You’re imagining things. You have to be. The city is full of noises like cars in the distance, leaves rustling, a stray cat darting between alleyways. That’s all it is.
Still… your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you push forward, steps quicker now. But the feeling doesn’t go away. It lingers. Pressing against your skin like static, buzzing at the edge of your awareness. You’re not alone.
You almost pull out your phone. Almost. Jungkook would pick up in an instant and he’d tell you to stay on the line, that he was coming to get you. But you don’t.
Because what would you even say? Hey, I think I’m being followed, but I’m not sure, and I don’t want to sound like an idiot? No way. Jungkook would freak out, and you weren’t about to send him into a panic over something that was probably nothing. So instead, you pick up your pace, each step sharper, more urgent. The streetlights above seem dimmer now, their glow barely cutting through the shadows pooling at the edges of the road.
Your building is just a few turns away. You make it past the first one, then the second. Then you hear it again—not just a sound this time, but a shift, a presence. Someone is there. Your heart hammers as you whip around faster this time.
Nothing.
Your own shadow stretches long on the pavement, its shape warping under the flickering lights. The alleyway to your right is yawning and dark, a gaping mouth of blackness that seems to pull at the edges of your vision. Your pulse is a thunderous roar in your ears.
You’re not imagining this. This is real.
And now, your body knows it too and every instinct is screaming at you to move. So you do.
You rush forward, walking as fast as you can without breaking into a sprint. Your breath quickens, your fingers curling into fists, every nerve in your body on high alert. Just a little further. Just one more turn.
And then finally your apartment building comes into view, looming in the darkness like a beacon. Relief crashes over you so forcefully that you nearly stumble. You don’t turn around again. You don’t want to know if someone is standing there. Watching.
You force yourself to stay calm as you punch in the building’s entry code with unsteady fingers, stepping inside the safety of the lobby. The door shuts behind you with a heavy click, locking out the night.
You practically rush inside, the cool air of the lobby offering little comfort as your fingers tremble over the keypad. Your breath is shallow, coming in uneven gasps as you punch in your passcode. The numbers blur slightly in your vision, whether from exhaustion or the lingering tension clawing at your mind, you’re not sure. The beep of the lock disengaging feels deafening in the stillness. You push the door open, stepping inside so quickly that you nearly stumble over your own feet. The door swings shut behind you with a soft but final click, sealing you in the safety of your apartment. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.
For a moment, you just stand there, listening. Nothing but the hum of your refrigerator, the faint creak of the building settling, and the sound of your own breathing, ragged and uneven in the silence. You don’t stop moving until every lock is in place.
Click. Click. Click.
Each one echoes louder than it should, like an affirmation that you are, in fact, secure. That no one followed you. That no one is outside, waiting. Still, the unease gnaws at you, refusing to settle. So, you make your rounds. Checking. Double-checking. Triple-checking.
You pull the curtains shut, firmly, ensuring no sliver of the outside world can seep in. You check the windows next, pressing your fingers against the glass, as if expecting to feel warmth from another presence, a breath on the other side. But there’s nothing. No shadow moving in the darkness, no faint imprint of something or someone having been there.
Finally, with a deep breath, you force yourself to move, shedding your coat, kicking off your shoes with sluggish movements. The exhaustion from the long day crashes down on you all at once, dull and heavy. Your limbs feel leaden as you shuffle toward your bedroom, every step slower than the last.
The warmth of your bed is almost enough to chase away the unease, the mattress soft, inviting and safe a stark contrast to the cold anxiety curling at the edges of your consciousness. You exhale, forcing yourself to relax, letting your body sink into the familiar comfort of your sheets.
But even as your eyes grow heavy, your mind refuses to let go completely. That nagging sense of being watched still lingers. Faint but present. And just before sleep claims you, a final thought slithers through your mind.
What if you weren’t imagining it? What if someone was still out there? Watching. Waiting.
Jungkook drives with effortless ease, one hand lazily gripping the steering wheel while the other taps against the radio in rhythm with the song playing softly through the speakers. The hum of the engine blends with the melody, filling the quiet space between you, neither of you needing to speak. The road stretches ahead, endless and open, disappearing into the horizon. A faint trace of salt lingers in the air, creeping in through the half-open window, a quiet reminder that you’re getting closer to Busan.
You sit in the passenger seat, your gaze flickering between the blur of passing scenery and the man beside you. The steady motion of the car, the warmth of the moment, it all feels oddly soothing. After days of unease, of tension wound so tightly in your body that even sleep felt like a battle, you finally feel yourself exhale.
“Can’t believe you actually agreed to take a day off for me,” Jungkook teases, his grin nothing short of triumphant as he spares you a glance. “Is this what love does to people?”
You roll your eyes, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “One time, Jeon. Don’t get used to it.”
Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head like he doesn’t believe you for a second. His smile spreads wide, bright enough to make your chest ache with something unspoken. He reaches over without hesitation, his fingers giving your knee a playful squeeze before returning to the wheel. The touch is fleeting but warm, grounding in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.
You should tell him.
The past few days have been unbearable due to the creeping paranoia, the feeling of eyes tracing your every move and the subtle shifts in your apartment that made your skin crawl. It’s like living with a shadow just out of reach, something you can’t see but can feel pressing in from the edges. You don’t scare easily, but this has been different.
Your fingers twitch against your lap. One word. That’s all it would take. Jungkook would listen like he always does. He’d furrow his brows, tilt his head in that concerned way he does, and tell you not to brush it off. He’d probably get all worked up, insist on staying over, refuse to let you out of his sight.
And yet, looking at him now being so carefree, his bunny-like smile tugging at his lips as he taps his fingers against the beat makes you hesitate. He’s happy. Peaceful. This moment is untouched by the weight sitting on your chest, and for once, you don’t want to taint something good.
So you take a slow breath, forcing yourself to relax against the seat. You tell yourself it’s fine. That you’re just being paranoid. That if anything truly happens, you’ll deal with it.
You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to stay in the present, to focus on the soft hum of the radio, the rhythmic tap of Jungkook’s fingers against the steering wheel. But the memory pulled at you, dragging you under before you could stop it—
You had come home after another long day at work. Your shoulders were aching from hours spent hunched over your desk. You had barely registered the familiar scent of your apartment as you pushed the door open, the soft creak echoing into the stillness inside.
Everything had looked normal at first.
Your shoes sat neatly by the entrance, exactly where you had left them. The kitchen counter was cluttered with the remnants of that morning’s rushed breakfast.
But the air had felt… different. Slightly off. As if someone had been there. Your heartbeat had stumbled, picking up speed before you could rationalize it. You had told yourself it was nothing. Just the exhaustion making you paranoid.
And yet, as you had stepped further inside, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The sound was the first thing that struck you. Cheerful, repetitive, out of place.
Your TV was on.
Not just on but playing Mario Kart. The character selection screen looped in the background, the upbeat jingle clashing against the heavy silence that filled your apartment. You hadn’t touched your console in days. Not since you and Jungkook played together last Sunday. Your pulse quickened.
Your eyes flickered to the couch. It had been moved just slightly. Barely an inch out of place, but enough for you to notice.
A slow, creeping unease settled into your bones as you stepped further inside, your movements cautious. Your apartment wasn’t large. There weren’t many places for someone to hide. And yet, your skin prickled with the overwhelming sensation that something or someone had been here.
Your breath hitched as your gaze fell on your bedroom door, slightly ajar. You had closed it that morning. You were sure of it. With measured steps, you pushed the door open fully. And that’s when you saw it.
Your bed—completely in ruins. The sheets were tangled, pillows tossed carelessly, the once-smooth blankets now bunched in the center as if someone had been lying there. Your stomach twisted with unease because this morning, just before leaving for work, you had made your bed. Yet now, the sheets were rumpled, disturbed in a way that sent a chill crawling up your spine. Someone had been here.
Your pulse thundered in your ears as you took a shaky step back, your eyes darting around the room. Everything looked normal aside from the bed, the couch and the TV but the air felt wrong. Tainted. Like someone had occupied this space in your absence.
Your mind raced as you checked the locks. Still in place. No broken windows. No signs of forced entry.
So how— Your breath hitched as a thought struck you. With trembling fingers, you grabbed your phone and immediately dialed Jungkook. He picked up after a few rings, his voice slightly breathless, like he had been running. “Hey, baby. Everything okay?”
You swallowed the lump in your throat, gripping the phone tightly. “Yeah,” you lied, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Where are you right now?”
"Still at the clinic," he answered easily. "Was assisting with a surgery on a Pomeranian. Poor guy had a blockage so it took longer than expected." Your stomach dropped.
If Jungkook wasn’t here… then who was?
Your fingers curled around your phone, knuckles whitening as you fought to keep your breathing even. “Got it,” you said, trying to sound casual. “Just checking.” There was a pause. Then, Jungkook’s tone softened. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” Another lie. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before he could press further, you ended the call.
The only sound left was the distant loop of Mario Kart, mocking you.
The weight of the memory lingered, suffocating, but the warmth of the car, the low hum of the radio, and Jungkook’s familiar presence slowly pulled you back. You blinked, staring at him.
Jungkook was happily rambling about his mom’s cooking, hands moving animatedly as he drove. “—and she always makes extra, like extra extra, because she knows I eat a lot. But now she’s even more excited since you’re coming—oh! She even tried making those cookies you love—”
His voice was light, full of an excitement you didn’t want to taint. A small part of you wanted to tell him. But another part, the part that didn’t want to see that deep crease of concern on his forehead, didn’t want to take away his peace, told you to keep it to yourself. For now.
You turned your head, looking out the window, watching the scenery blur past. You didn’t notice the way Jungkook’s eyes flickered toward you, his brows knitting together for just a moment before he forced his usual smile back onto his face.
Jungkook pulled into the driveway, parking with practiced ease. You had been here more times than you could count, yet there was always something comforting about stepping into his childhood home like the faint scent of home-cooked meals wafting through the air and the familiar sight of the wind chime swaying gently by the door.
Jungkook turned to you with a grin, one hand still resting on the steering wheel. “Mom probably made enough food to feed a small army.”
You chuckled, already knowing that was true. “She always does.”
Before you could even step out of the car, the front door swung open, revealing his mom waving enthusiastically. “You’re finally here! Hurry, come in before the food gets cold!” His mom pulled you into a hug the second you stepped inside, squeezing you tight.
“You’ve lost weight,” she huffed, pulling back just enough to inspect you with a critical eye. “Are you eating properly?”
You laughed, but before you could respond, his dad stepped forward with a warm smile, offering a firm handshake. “It’s good to see you again,” he said, his voice as steady and kind as ever.
“It’s good to see you too, Mr. Jeon,” you replied politely. “Mrs. Jeon, thank you for having me—”
Before you could finish, his mom smacked your arm lightly, her expression scandalized. “Yah! How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Mom and Dad.”
Your face heated instantly. “R-Right. Sorry… Mom.”
Jungkook snickered under his breath at your obvious embarrassment, and his mom beamed, clearly pleased. “That’s better,” she said, linking her arm with yours as she led you further inside. “You’re family, sweetheart. No need for formalities.”
The house smelled incredible of rich simmering broth and freshly cooked rice. The warmth of it all settled deep in your chest, making you realize just how much you had missed this. As you stepped into the living room, your gaze landed on a few baby toys scattered near the couch, a soft blanket draped over the armrest. Before you could ask, his mom sighed.
“Junghyun and his wife wanted to come with the twins, but the girls were too fussy today.”
Jungkook pouted dramatically, crossing his arms. “I still haven’t met my nieces.”
His mom shook her head, unimpressed. “You could visit them, you know.”
The dining table was packed with dishes his mom had gone all out, as always. Various side dishes, steaming hot soup, perfectly grilled meat, and a mountain of rice sat invitingly before you. It was a feast, one you had grown familiar with over the years, yet it never failed to impress you. Before you could even reach for anything, Jungkook was already piling food onto your plate, stacking it with precision. “Eat,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You know the rules.”
His mom beamed, clearly pleased. “At least someone in this house listens to me.”
You chuckled, picking up your chopsticks, but the moment was shattered when your phone lit up beside your plate, vibrating with an insistent ping. You glanced down, your stomach twisting into a knot.
Your pulse quickened. The messages came one after the other.
Unknown [1:10 PM]: You think you can stay safe by staying away from here?
Unknown [1:10 PM]: You think he’s gonna save you?
Unknown [1:10 PM]: I am always watching you, doll.
Your breath hitched. Cold fingers of unease crawled up your spine, but you forced yourself to stay composed. Your hands thankfully didn’t shake as you turned your phone upside down and set it to silent. Jungkook had noticed. His gaze flickered to the screen before you flipped it over, his brows knitting together in quiet concern. He looked like he wanted to ask, but you didn’t give him the chance.
The vibration had caught his parents’ attention too. “Oh dear, is that work?” his mom asked, concern lacing her voice.
“Yeah,” you lied smoothly, forcing a small smile. “Just some messages I need to deal with later.”
You weren’t sure if Jungkook believed you, but he didn’t press. Instead, he reached out under the table, squeezing your knee reassuringly before focusing back on his food. You tried to do the same, pushing down the paranoia clawing at your chest.
Dinner flowed with easy conversation. His parents asked about your work, laughing when Jungkook grumbled about how much time it took away from him. They also teased him relentlessly about how attached he was to you.
“Three years, and he still acts like you’re going to disappear if he looks away,” his dad joked, shaking his head fondly.
You snickered, nudging Jungkook’s foot under the table.
But Jungkook just shrugged, completely unbothered. “Can you blame me?” he said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Dinner continued with warmth and laughter, his parents seamlessly shifting the conversation to Jungkook’s studies.
“So, how’s school going?” his dad asked, scooping some more rice onto his plate. “Third year already, huh? Feels like just yesterday you were running around pretending to be a zookeeper.” Jungkook groaned. “Dad.”
His mom chuckled. “What? You were obsessed with animals. You even tried to ‘rescue’ the neighbor’s cat by sneaking it into your room.”
You gasped dramatically, turning to Jungkook. “Wait, I didn’t know about this!”
Jungkook sighed, shoving a bite of food into his mouth like he could physically escape the conversation. “That was years ago.”
His dad laughed. “And now look at you, halfway to becoming a real vet.”
“Not halfway,” Jungkook corrected between bites. “But yeah, it’s been tough. Classes are intense, and the practicals are even harder. Two days ago, I had to assist with a surgery, and let’s just say I wasn’t prepared for how long it would take.”
His mom’s eyes softened with pride. “You’ll be amazing, sweetheart. You’ve always had such a big heart for animals.”
Jungkook ducked his head, ears tinged pink. You smiled, nudging his foot under the table again. “She’s right, you know. You’re going to be an incredible vet.”
Jungkook glanced at you, his bunny-like smile appearing for just a second before he returned to his food. But the warmth of the moment did little to push away the unease creeping up your spine. The phone lay silent beside your plate, but you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling.
Just as the conversation was settling into a warm, familiar rhythm, the front door slammed open with the force of a small explosion.
“The prodigal son returns!”
Jungkook groaned, not even bothering to look. “Why. Are. You. Here.”
Jin strutted in like he was making a grand entrance at an award show, tossing his jacket onto the couch with an unnecessary flourish. “Heard there was food,” he announced before turning to you with a smirk. “And obviously, I had to make sure my dear cousin hasn’t scared you off yet.”
Jungkook scoffed. “You scared me off first.”
Jin ignored him completely, already making a beeline for the dining table. His mom, unfazed by the theatrics, clapped her hands together. “Oh, perfect timing! Sit, eat.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Jin said cheerfully, dropping into the seat beside you. He grabbed a pair of chopsticks like a warrior unsheathing his sword, ready for battle.
“So,” he drawled, nudging you playfully. “Three years and you still haven’t run for the hills? Impressive.”
You smirked, taking a sip of your drink. “I’ve considered it.”
Jungkook gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like you had personally stabbed him. “Betrayal! In my own home!”
“Technically, it’s our home,” his mom corrected.
“Exactly!” Jin said, pointing his chopsticks at Jungkook before shoving a mouthful of rice into his mouth. Jungkook’s dad, ever the composed one, leaned back in his chair and regarded Jin with an amused shake of his head. “So, how’s the tattoo shop? Are you still working reception?”
Jin waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that? I quit.”
Jungkook’s mom sighed, as if she had already seen this coming.
Jungkook’s dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jin, you just started that job.”
“Yeah, and I just quit that job,” Jin said brightly. “But don’t worry—I’ve moved on to better things.”
Jungkook raised a brow. “Should I even ask?”
“I now work at a pastry shop.” Jin declared, as if he had just announced a groundbreaking scientific discovery.
Jungkook blinked. “You?”
“Yes, me.”
Jungkook’s dad sighed. “Jin, you have to start thinking about stability. You can’t keep jumping from one job to another like this.”
Jin only laughed, waving him off like the thought of responsibility was a foreign concept. “Oh, please. Stability is boring. I get bored too fast—I need thrill, excitement, the rush of something new.”
“You sell croissants,” Jungkook deadpanned.
“And I do it with flair,” Jin shot back, popping a piece of fried chicken into his mouth. “Speaking of which, I brought some samples! The head baker said they were too ‘experimental’ for customers, but I figured you guys would appreciate my artistic vision.” He reached into his coat pocket because of course he carried pastries in his coat pocket and plopped two small, questionably green muffins onto the table.
Jungkook recoiled. “What is that?”
Jin grinned. “Matcha and kimchi fusion.”
Jungkook’s dad sighed again. His mom simply patted Jin’s hand, as if she had long since accepted his chaotic ways. Jin wipes his hands dramatically after placing down his abomination of a pastry creation, then immediately turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“So,” he starts, leaning in with the air of someone about to cause chaos. “On a scale of one to dear god, someone save me, how difficult is he to live with?”
You barely have time to react before he fires off another.
“Any plans to upgrade from ‘boyfriend’ status?” Jin asks, voice dripping with faux innocence.
Jungkook chokes so hard on his food that you have to thump his back. His mom gasps in concern, while his dad just continues eating like this is any other Thursday night.
Jin smirks in triumph. “Ah, so is there a wedding?”
Jungkook, still recovering, glares murderously. “You are so not invited to the wedding—”
Jin claps his hands together. “Confirmed!”
Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. He grabs a spoonful of rice and hurls it straight at Jin. Jin dodges like a seasoned warrior. “Oh, it’s war now.”
A second later, a piece of kimchi smacks Jungkook right in the cheek. Jungkook gapes at Jin. “You did not—”
“Oh, I did.” Jin wiggles his eyebrows before launching another attack. What starts as a petty sibling squabble escalates into all-out warfare. Jungkook lobs a dumpling; Jin retaliates with a piece of radish. Rice goes flying. You duck just in time to avoid getting hit by a rogue piece of tofu.
“Jeon Jungkook!” his mom shrieks, voice cutting through the chaos like a knife. “Kim Seokjin!”
They both freeze mid-throw, like guilty kids caught red-handed.
His dad sighs, a long and tired sigh, the kind that speaks of years of dealing with this exact scenario. He calmly reaches for his drink. “Can we please have one dinner without someone launching food across the table?”
Jungkook and Jin exchange glances.
Then, as if telepathically synchronized, they both lift their chopsticks and point at each other. “He started it.”
You snort. His mom groans. His dad sips his tea in silent resignation.
The night air is crisp, carrying the distant hum of crickets and the occasional rustling of leaves in the trees that line Jungkook’s backyard. The stars above twinkle through gaps in the branches, their light soft and distant. Out here, away from the city’s chaos, everything feels quieter like the world has shrunk to just the two of you. Jungkook slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Sorry about him.”
You chuckle, leaning into his warmth. “I like him. He makes things interesting.”
“Interesting until he’s grilling you.”
“True,” you admit, grinning. “But I can handle him.”
Jungkook huffs a quiet laugh, resting his chin atop your head. You exhale, letting your eyes flutter shut for a moment, savoring the security of his presence. It’s moments like these that make you forget the paranoia and the unease clawing at the edges of your mind.
But it never truly leaves.
The feeling of being watched. The weight of unseen eyes crawling over your skin. The messages you’ve ignored all night. They all linger in your mind. You glance up at Jungkook. He’s still smiling, talking about how his mom packed you extra leftovers. “She thinks you don’t eat enough,” he says fondly, shaking his head.
You should tell him.
The words sit heavy on your tongue, pressing against your teeth. One sentence, and it would all be out in the open.
But you don’t.
Instead, you nod, forcing a small laugh. “She really doesn’t take no for an answer, huh?”
“Never,” Jungkook confirms, squeezing your waist. His touch is warm, grounding. But even that warmth doesn’t reach the cold pit in your stomach.
“Jungkook!” His dad’s voice calls from inside. “Come here for a second.”
Jungkook groans, reluctant to move. “Stay here, I’ll be back,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before disappearing inside.
The moment he’s gone, the silence presses in. You hesitate before pulling out your phone, unlocking it with a swipe of your thumb. The notifications are still there, messages from Unknown piled up like unanswered warnings.
The last one catches your eye.
Unknown [1:10 PM]: I am always watching you, doll.
Your breath stutters.
The phone suddenly feels heavy in your hands, like a weight dragging you down into something inescapable.
No.
Your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out the gentle chirping of crickets, drowning out reason. A suffocating sense of dread settles in your chest as you stare at the word, doll. There was only one person who ever called you that.
Only one voice that had whispered it against your skin, had laughed it into your ear, had let it drip from his tongue like a slow poison.
Kim Taehyung.
The room was thick with the stench of alcohol and sweat, the air heavy with cigarette smoke that coiled toward the ceiling in lazy spirals. Dim lighting flickered from a dying bulb, casting long, distorted shadows across the stained walls.
Taehyung sat slouched in a tattered armchair, his body sinking into the worn-out fabric. His limbs felt like lead, the weight of intoxication pressing down on him, making his movements sluggish, his thoughts hazy. A half-empty bottle dangled loosely from his fingers, the condensation dripping onto his jeans, but he barely noticed.
Around him, his friends were strewn across the room in various states of intoxication, some laughing at nothing, their voices slurred and senseless, while others lay sprawled out, lost to the world. Taehyung exhaled a slow, heavy breath. Everything felt distant and detached until a stray thought cut through the fog: you.
His lazy smirk faltered. His fingers twitched against the armrest, tightening before relaxing again. His vision blurred at the edges, but the memories were sharp. Unwelcome. Unrelenting. His jaw clenched. He willed himself to push it away, drown it in the haze, let the high carry him somewhere else. But it never worked.
It never did when it came to you. His body was here, slouched in a torn armchair, but his mind was somewhere else. Three years ago.
"I don’t love you anymore."
The scent of espresso and warm pastries was suffocating. The quiet hum of conversation around them felt like static in his ears. But none of it fucking mattered. Not when you were sitting across from him, staring at him like he was nothing.
The words barely registered at first. His mind lagged behind reality like a glitching tape, playing back a version of events where this wasn’t happening.
"What?" His voice was sharp, disbelieving. "What the fuck did you just say?"
Your gaze didn’t waver. "I said I don’t love you."
The words cut. They didn’t hit all at once they sank in slowly, like a blade sliding between ribs.
Taehyung laughed. "Bullshit."
He leaned forward, jaw tight, fingers curling into the edge of the table. "You’re being dramatic. You always do this shit when you want attention."
Your expression didn’t change, but something about it made his stomach turn. You weren’t crying. You weren’t shaking. There was no hesitation or guilt or any of the things he had relied on to keep you in line. This wasn’t like before.
Your voice was flat. "You ruined this, Tae. You ruined me."
His laugh was louder this time, bitter and sharp. "Oh, so I’m the villain now? After everything I did for you?"
"Everything you did to me."
His breath stuttered.
And then you kept going. You fucking kept going.
"You controlled me. You isolated me. You made me feel like I was insane every time I called you out on your bullshit."
His hands curled into fists. "Oh, fuck off—"
"You threatened me, Tae. You threw shit. You punched walls, grabbed me so fucking hard I had bruises for days. And every time, you’d crawl back, begging, saying you didn’t mean it—"
His teeth clenched, fury bubbling beneath his skin. "Because I didn’t!"
"You dangled your own life over my head like a leash."
His blood turned cold, the first sliver of panic slicing through the rage that had consumed him moments ago. He wasn’t winning. The realization struck hard. His grip tightened on the table, nails digging into the cheap wood as if he was bracing for impact. You weren’t supposed to fucking say that. You weren’t supposed to know.
He forced a laugh, but it came out desperate. "And what, you're suddenly a fucking therapist? Psychoanalyzing me like I’m some fucking monster?"
Your voice was quiet, but it sliced straight through him.
"I don’t need to psychoanalyze you, Taehyung. I lived through you."
The air left his lungs. His vision blurred at the edges, rage and panic clashing, drowning him.
All of a sudden, ‘his’ name fell from your lips like a gunshot.
Jungkook? That pathetic little nerd? The one he used to shove into lockers, humiliate just for the fun of it? The same one who flinched if someone raised their voice too loud?
He let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh, but there was nothing funny about this. His hands shook from the effort of holding himself back.
"So that’s what you’ve been doing, huh?" His voice was sharp, venomous. "Nursing him back to health after I fucked him up?"
You exhaled, shaking your head, unimpressed.
Then, he snapped. "You fucked him, didn’t you?"
He spat the words like a curse, like they burned his tongue. Even as he said it, he knew you wouldn’t. You were a self-righteous bitch with all your morals, your bullshit standards. You wouldn’t dare. But the thought of it, the idea of you with him made his head spin, made his vision go dark at the edges.
His voice dropped to a hiss. "That little fucking loser? You let him touch you? You let him—"
His hands ached. He wanted to grab you, to shake you, to make you look at him.
"He’s a pussy, doll." His voice cracked, something wild and desperate bleeding through. "He won’t take care of you like I did."
You scoffed, expression unreadable. "You never took care of me, Tae."
"What the fuck does he have that I don’t?" His voice rose, teetering between fury and desperation. "Tell me."
You just stared at him, and that look—that fucking look—
It was over.
It was fucking over.
Panic clawed at his ribs, lodged itself in his throat, made his vision blur and his hands shake. So he did what he always did when he lost control.
"I’ll kill myself if you leave me."
The words came out fast and sharp, a desperate lifeline thrown into the storm. It had always worked before, always made you hesitate, always made you stay. But this time, you simply exhaled a breath of relief, as if you had finally broken free.
And then, for the first time, you smiled.
"Look at you." Your voice was soft. Almost pitying. "Still trying to manipulate me."
Something inside him snapped.
His vision blurred, his body moved and the next thing he knew, the coffee cup on the table was in pieces, shattered porcelain scattering across the floor.
The café had gone silent.
The whole fucking world had gone silent.
You stood, your chair scraping against the tile. Unbothered.
You walked away. No hesitation. No tears. No fucking remorse.
And for the first time, Taehyung had nothing.
Nothing left to say. Nothing left to hold onto.
The cigarette burned down to the filter, searing his fingers. He didn’t flinch. Taehyung’s jaw clenched, knuckles turning white as his fists curled against the armrest. The high didn’t feel so numbing anymore, just agitating. His skin felt too tight, his thoughts too sharp, too loud.
For almost a year, he had drowned you out with drugs, alcohol, distractions, anything to blur the edges of what you had done to him. To make himself forget the way you walked away without looking back. But the moment he saw you again it all came rushing back.
The obsession. The hunger. The need to undo it all.
You thought you walked away for good?
No. You were always his. Even when you hated him. Even when you ran. And now he was going to take back what was his.
One way or another.
After returning from Busan, you stayed over at Jungkook’s place.
You didn’t want to sleep alone. Not after the messages. The number was blocked now. You hadn’t received anything since. But still… you didn’t feel comfortable going back home yet.
Jungkook hadn’t questioned it. He just smiled and let you in, happy to have you around. But the more time you spent with him, the harder it became to ignore the guilt settling in your chest.
Because Jungkook didn’t know.
You hadn’t told him about the messages. About the unease creeping up your spine every time your phone vibrated. About the name that had resurfaced in the form of a single word:
“Doll.”
It shouldn’t have meant anything. Anyone could use that word. It was common, impersonal.
But not to you.
Not when you could still hear his voice saying it. Not when you remembered how it had dripped from Taehyung’s lips sometimes sweet, sometimes cruel.
“Be good for me, doll.”
“You know I only act like this because I love you, doll.”
“You’re nothing without me, doll.”
The thought alone made your stomach churn. You weren’t even sure if it was him. Maybe it was just paranoia. Maybe it was just a coincidence.
Yeah. It had to be. So you pushed it down, shoved it into the corners of your mind where you didn’t have to look at it. You told yourself you were keeping this from Jungkook to protect him.
But now, as you sit at your office desk, your mind is miles away from the reports in front of you. You tap your pen against the surface, gaze unfocused.
You don’t notice Jimin watching you from across the room until he finally speaks.
“Everything okay between you and Jungkook?”
You blink, snapping out of your daze. “What?”
Jimin leans against your desk, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “You seem off. Thought maybe you two had a fight or something.”
You force a small laugh, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that. Everything’s fine.”
Jimin doesn’t look convinced. His sharp gaze lingers for a second too long, like he’s waiting for you to crack. But he doesn’t press.
And you’re grateful for that.
Lunchtime rolls around when you finally check your phone.
The morning had been filled with client meetings, thankful for the welcome distraction. For a few hours, you managed to keep your mind from spiraling. But the moment your screen lights up with a string of unread messages from an unknown number, reality crashes back in.
Your stomach plummets.
Unknown [10:28 AM]: Did you really think blocking me would make me disappear, doll?
Unknown [10:28 AM]: How cute. Almost as cute as you playing house with your little pet.
Unknown [10:29 AM]: Speaking of pets… your boyfriend’s been working so hard. Diligently studying to save all those poor, dying animals.
Unknown [10:30 AM]: How pathetic.
Unknown [10:31 AM]: Wanna see?
Your breath catches.
The next message has three images attached. With shaking fingers, you tap them open.
First image: Jungkook in class, focused, scribbling down notes. Second image: Him in the lab, sleeves rolled up, handling equipment with practiced ease. Third image: Now. Jungkook at lunch, head slightly tilted as he listens to someone, chopsticks resting in his hand.
Your blood turns to ice as your vision tunnels, the world narrowing to a single horrifying realization—Jungkook is right there. Someone… no, not just anyone. It has to be Taehyung. He is near. He is watching. And if he is close enough to take these photos, then he is close enough to do something worse. Your phone nearly slips from your grip as pure, heart-stopping terror crashes into you. Jungkook is in danger. The first message was sent almost an hour ago, which means Taehyung has been near him this whole time. Watching him. Stalking him.
Your first instinct is to call the cops. Your fingers hover over the dial pad, heart hammering until your screen lights up again. As if he had been waiting for you to see his messages.
Unknown [12:01 PM]: I know what you’re thinking, doll.
Unknown [12:01 PM]: Call the cops, and I’ll slit your pretty boyfriend’s throat right where he sits.
Your breath locks in your chest, hands trembling so violently you almost drop your phone.
No. No, no, no.
You don’t think you just move.
You bolt out of your office, barely registering Jimin calling after you. His voice is distant, but you can’t stop. You don’t have time. You race to your car, hands fumbling with the keys as you throw yourself into the driver’s seat. The second the engine roars to life, you’re speeding down the street, ignoring every traffic rule, every red light.
There’s only one thought pounding in your skull, louder than the frantic beat of your heart—
Get to Jungkook. Now.
You pull up to Jungkook’s university, barely throwing the car into park before shoving the door open. Your legs feel unsteady as you rush out, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Your hands tremble as you fumble with your phone, fingers slipping as you dial Jungkook’s number again and again. No answer. You try once more, the ringing tone stretching unbearably before it goes to voicemail.
The campus is alive with movement students chatting, laughing and going about their day, blissfully unaware of the sheer terror gripping you. You push through the crowd, scanning faces wildly, your heart pounding against your ribs. Where is Jungkook?
People glance at you, their whispers buzzing at the edge of your hearing, but you don’t care. You try his number again. Still nothing.
A sickening thought slithers into your mind— What if Taehyung already got to him? What if you’re too late?
Finally, your eyes land on him.
Jungkook stands in the courtyard, laughing with a couple of friends, completely oblivious to the danger shadowing him. The world around you blurs as relief crashes over you like a tidal wave.
Alive. Unharmed.
Your knees almost buckle, the tension in your body unravelling just enough for you to let out a sharp, shaky exhale. Your breath stutters as the panic begins to subside, but the urgency still thrums beneath your skin. Then Jungkook sees you.
His laughter dies mid-sentence, his brows knitting together in concern as his eyes rake over your disheveled form. His friends glance at you curiously, but Jungkook is already moving toward you.
"Y/N?" His voice is gentle but urgent. "What’s wrong?"
You shake your head quickly, forcing a weak, unconvincing smile. "It’s nothing," you say, voice tight. "But we need to leave. Now."
Jungkook blinks, his confusion evident. "What? I have an afternoon lecture."
You tighten your grip on his wrist, desperation seeping into your voice. "Jungkook, please. We need to go home."
His brows draw together, concern deepening in his soft gaze. "Why?" His voice remains gentle, but there's a quiet insistence beneath it. "What’s going on?"
When you don’t answer, Jungkook exhales softly before taking your hand, leading you away from the courtyard and into a quieter corner. His touch is firm but never forceful.
"Y/N, talk to me." His voice is barely above a whisper, but there’s an edge of worry to it. "What’s wrong?" His dark eyes search yours, trying to unravel the truth you refuse to say.
You swallow, avoiding his gaze. "It’s nothing, I swear—"
His jaw tightens, his fingers twitching at his sides. "That’s not true."
Jungkook doesn’t raise his voice, but the frustration is clear. He takes a slow step closer, his warmth now suffocating. "You’ve been acting different for weeks. Distant. Jumpy. And now you show up here looking like you’ve seen a ghost and expect me to just go along with it?"
You flinch at the quiet intensity in his words, but still, you don’t answer. Jungkook’s voice rises just a little, but the hurt in it is undeniable. “Do you not trust me?”
You bite your lip, guilt pressing down on your chest like a heavy weight. “Of course I do, Jungkook, it’s just—”
“Then tell me.” His fingers rake through his hair, his brows drawn together, frustration flickering in his dark eyes. But his voice stays soft, laced with something almost pleading.
“I’m not a child, Y/N.”
The words land harder than you expect, sinking deep. Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken truths and the weight of his quiet disappointment. You know you should tell him. You should warn him. But… you can’t.
Jungkook exhales slowly, his jaw tightening as he watches you struggle with whatever it is you’re refusing to say. His frustration is evident, but his voice remains gentle, laced with quiet insistence.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on,” he says firmly. “If you won’t, I’ll just stay here.”
Your stomach drops. No. He can’t stay here. Not when you know Taehyung is watching. “Jungkook, please,” you whisper, gripping his wrist tighter.
“Then tell me, Y/N.” His gaze softens, but the unwavering determination in his eyes sends a surge of panic through you. You have no choice. You have to tell him something—anything—just to get him to listen.
“Someone’s been watching you,” you admit in a rush, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know who, but it’s not safe.”
Jungkook stiffens. His expression shifts from frustration to shock, then to something unreadable. “Watching me?” he echoes. “Y/N, what—why wouldn’t you tell me earlier?”
You look away, guilt gnawing at you. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s still skeptical, still confused, but he can see the genuine fear in your eyes. And that alone is enough to make him give in.
“Alright,” he finally murmurs. “Let’s go.”
Relief washes over you, but just as you think you’ve convinced him to leave, your phone vibrates. It's another message.
Unknown [12:17 PM]: Ah, there you are, doll. So desperate to save your boyfriend? Cute. But I’m not done playing yet.
Your breath hitches.
Taehyung is watching you right now. Your fingers tighten around your phone as your eyes dart around the campus, paranoia seeping into your every movement.
Jungkook immediately catches the way your face drains of all color. His fingers gently close around your wrist before you can react, his other hand swiftly taking your phone from your grip.
“Jungkook, wait—”
But it’s too late. His eyes scan the message, and you feel his entire body go still. His brows knit together, his lips parting slightly as he rereads the words, processing the threat laced between them.
“Who…” His voice is quiet at first, controlled. Then, a little sharper. “Who the hell is this?”
You swallow hard, panic clawing at your chest. You should’ve been more careful. But now there’s no avoiding it. Jungkook looks up at you, eyes searching. “Y/N,” he says softly, but there’s an undeniable firmness in his tone. “Tell me.”
You take a shaky breath, forcing the words out before you can hesitate.
“I… I think it’s Taehyung.”
Jungkook blinks. For a moment, he just stares at you like you’ve said something completely incomprehensible. Then, he shakes his head, a disbelieving scoff leaving his lips.
“Taehyung?” He lets out a breath, his brows furrowing. “No. That’s impossible. We haven’t seen him in years.”
You can see the way his mind is racing, trying to rationalize it, trying to convince himself that it can’t be true. But then piece by piece it all starts to click. The way you’ve been acting. The paranoia. The half-truths. Everything makes sense now.
Jungkook’s expression shifts, his grip tightening slightly around your phone. He looks at you again, this time with quiet intensity. “Tell me everything.”
You take a deep, unsteady breath and finally let it all out. Every message. Every chilling threat. The way Taehyung has been watching, lurking in the shadows, getting closer and closer. How you’ve been living in constant fear, too terrified to sleep, too paranoid to breathe. How you blocked him, but he always found a way back. The photos of Jungkook the proof showing that Taehyung has been near him all along.
Jungkook doesn’t say a word. He just listens. His hands slowly curl into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening, but his eyes stay locked on you, soft and unwavering. By the time you finish, your throat is tight, and your vision blurs slightly. You blink rapidly, forcing back the tears threatening to spill. You quickly wipe at your eyes before Jungkook can notice.
But he does.
Without a word, he steps forward and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his warmth. You freeze for a second, startled, but then you let yourself sink into the embrace. His arms are strong and steady, anchoring you as if he’s shielding you from everything that’s been haunting you.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice softer than ever. “You don’t have to hold it in, Y/N.”
Your breath shudders. “I-I’m fine,” you whisper, even though your grip on his hoodie tightens. Jungkook shakes his head slightly. “No, you’re not. And that’s okay.” His hand runs up and down your back in slow, soothing motions. “You don’t always have to be strong on your own.”
Something in you cracks at his words. A single tear slips down your cheek, and this time, you don’t wipe it away. Jungkook holds you tighter, his voice firm but gentle. “You should’ve told me sooner.”
“I know,” you whisper. “I was scared.”
“I get that.” He exhales, resting his chin lightly on top of your head. “But you’re not alone in this. I’m here now. And I won’t let him hurt you.”
When you finally pull away, his hands stay on your shoulders, grounding you. Now, you have to decide.
Go to the police? It’s the logical choice, but Taehyung already made it clear what would happen if you did. Jungkook’s life isn’t something you’re willing to gamble with. Confront Taehyung yourself? It’s reckless, dangerous, and probably a mistake. But part of you feels like it’s the only way to put an end to this.
Jungkook watches your face carefully, reading the thoughts swirling in your head. Then, his jaw tightens, his voice steady but firm. “If you think I’m letting you do this alone, you’re out of your mind.”
For the first time in weeks, the suffocating loneliness eases because no matter what happens next, Jungkook is with you. Suddenly your phone vibrates again.
Unknown [12:51 PM]: Such a heartwarming moment. But how far will he go to protect you?
And then another message. A photo.
It’s a picture of you and Jungkook. Right now.
He’s still here.
"Y/N?" Jungkook’s voice is soft but sharp with concern. "What is it?"
You turn the phone toward him, and the moment he sees the message, his entire body stiffens. His jaw clenches, fingers curling into fists. His voice is low but firm when he speaks.
"We’re leaving. Now."
You don’t argue.
Jungkook grabs your wrist, pulling you through the crowd of students, his grip tight but reassuring. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you scan the area frantically, eyes darting from face to face.
But you don’t see him. He could be anywhere.
Jungkook doesn’t slow down until you reach his car. He unlocks it in a rush, practically shoving you inside before slamming the door shut behind him. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. Only when he locks the doors and exhales a shaky breath does he turn to look at you.
"He’s here, Y/N." His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it.
You swallow hard, gripping your phone. "I know."
Jungkook starts the car. "We’re going home. Then we figure out our next move." You nod, but the unease lingers.
Because Taehyung isn’t done playing yet.
Jungkook paces the length of his living room, fingers running through his hair in frustration. You sit on the couch, gripping your phone tightly, going over every possible option. Jungkook is still talking, still trying to come up with a solid plan but his voice fades into the background as your eyes remain glued to your phone screen.
Unknown [1:37 PM]: Come alone. Midnight. Your apartment.
Unknown [1:37 PM]: Don’t make me repeat myself, doll.
Your grip on the phone tightens. Your pulse roars in your ears. If Jungkook sees this, there’s no way he’ll let you go. He’ll insist on coming with you. And that’s exactly what Taehyung wants, a reason to hurt him. Swallowing hard, you quickly lock your phone and shove it into your pocket before Jungkook notices.
“Y/N?”
You snap back to reality to find Jungkook watching you carefully. “Yeah?”
“I was saying…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe we should stay at a hotel tonight. Just in case. I don’t want you anywhere near that apartment if Taehyung’s been watching you.”
Your stomach churns with guilt, but you shake your head. “No. I think we should just stay and act normal. If we start running now, he’ll know we’re scared.”
Jungkook’s eyes darken. “We are scared, Y/N.”
You force a small, tired smile. “But we can’t let him know that.”
He exhales, clearly frustrated but unable to argue. “Fine. But I’m not letting you out of my sight.” You nod, pretending to agree.
But deep down, you already know that the moment Jungkook falls asleep tonight, you’re leaving.
Alone.
It’s a little past midnight when you finally slip out of Jungkook’s apartment.
You hesitate at the door, glancing back at his sleeping form. Even in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, you can see the tension on his face. He had been restless for hours, his body stiff with unease, as if sensing that something was wrong.
You had pretended to fall asleep just so he could relax. It worked eventually. But now, as you step out into the cold night, a bitter weight settles in your chest.
Jungkook would never forgive you for this.
But this is the only way.
You move quickly, keeping to the shadows as you make your way to your apartment. The streets are eerily quiet, the distant hum of the city muffled by the pounding of your heart. Every step you take feels heavier like you're walking toward something inevitable.
Suddenly you hear a second set of footsteps.
You don’t have time to react before a hand clamps over your mouth, muffling your startled gasp.
Before you can struggle, an arm wraps around your waist in a vice-like grip, dragging you off the sidewalk. The world tilts as you're yanked into a dark alleyway. Your pulse hammers against your ribs as you thrash against the hold, but it’s uselessm his grip is unyielding, effortlessly strong.
A low, deep chuckle brushes against your ear, sending a sickening shiver down your spine.
"Took you long enough, doll."
Taehyung had grown impatient waiting for you to show up. Without warning, he forcefully turns you to face him, his grip unrelenting. The sudden contact sends a jolt of fear through you, and seeing him again after all these years feels like being doused in ice water.
Time has changed him, but not enough. His face is still achingly familiar from the sharp jawline, the tattoos that snake up the expanse of his neck to the piercing eyes that burn with something much darker.
A part of you always knew this day would come. You had told yourself that the way Taehyung left without so much as hurting you was too good to be true, but maybe, just maybe he had realised he was in the wrong and disappeared into the past like a bad dream. But now, standing here with his breath hot against your skin, you realize how foolish you were to think he’d ever let you go.
"You thought I wouldn’t come back for you?" he whispers against your ear, his voice sickeningly soft.
Your breath stutters. You try to shove him away, but he’s faster amd stronger. His grip tightens as he forces you back, slamming you against the cold, unforgiving brick wall of the alley. The impact knocks the air from your lungs, and before you can recover, his fingers press into your jaw, tilting your face up toward him.
The streetlamp above casts a sliver of light over him, illuminating the twisted smile on his lips.
"I gave you everything, and you threw me away for him?"
Resentment drips from every word, his voice cracking with something raw.
"I should’ve taught you a lesson years ago."
Your heart hammers in your chest, panic locking your limbs in place. But before you can even react—
A force rips Taehyung away from you, sending him crashing onto the pavement with a brutal thud.
Jungkook stands over him, breath uneven, fists still clenched from the impact. His usual softness is nowhere to be found—his expression is cold, lethal.
“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it that makes the air feel heavier.
Taehyung chuckles darkly. “I knew you’d come running.”
Jungkook doesn’t take the bait. His eyes flick to you, scanning for any sign of injury, before settling back on Taehyung with something dangerously close to disgust.
“You don’t get to lay a hand on her,” Jungkook says, his voice steady. “Not now. Not ever.”
Taehyung chuckles again, pushing himself up with an air of arrogance. He rolls his shoulders, cracking his knuckles as if this is all a joke to him.
"You?" He scoffs, eyes glinting with amusement. "Defending her?" His gaze flickers to you, sharp and accusing. "I bet she never even told you what she did to me."
Jungkook doesn’t flinch nor does he hesitate. His voice is calm, unwavering. "She didn’t do anything." He steps forward, eyes locked onto Taehyung like he’s daring him to try again. "I know she’s mine. And I know you’re just a lying, manipulative piece of shit."
Taehyung's smirk vanishes.
In a flash, he lunges.
Jungkook barely dodges, twisting to the side just in time, but Taehyung is relentless. He moves fast, and Jungkook isn’t a fighter he doesn’t have brute force or years of experience throwing punches. But what he does have is speed, quick reflexes and the sheer, unshakable will to protect you.
A fist catches Jungkook’s side, making him stagger back, but he barely registers the pain before Taehyung moves toward you again.
And that’s when Jungkook stops thinking.
His hand finds a broken pipe lying in the dirt. In one swift motion, he grips it tight and swings, slamming it straight into Taehyung’s stomach.
A sharp gasp rips from Taehyung’s throat as he doubles over, coughing violently. But he’s not down. Not yet.
Jungkook doesn’t wait. He reaches for you, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist. His eyes meet yours, urgent and fierce.
"Run."
The pounding of your footsteps echoes against the pavement, your lungs burning as you push yourself to keep running. The night air is thick, every breath heavy with exhaustion and fear.
Behind you, Taehyung is gaining. His ragged breaths cut through the silence, his footsteps unrelenting.
“You think you can run from me?” His voice is sharp, twisted with amusement and fury. A metallic glint catches the dim streetlights indicating he has a knife now.
Panic seizes your chest.
Jungkook’s grip tightens around your wrist. He doesn’t slow, doesn’t hesitate just yanks you sharply to the side. Your vision blurs as he drags you toward a dark, skeletal structure.
A construction site.
You stumble into the half-built building, weaving through stacks of bricks and steel beams. The scent of dust and concrete fills your lungs as you press yourself into the shadows, trying to quiet your frantic breathing.
Jungkook releases you only to crouch down, scanning the ground. His fingers curl around a rusted wrench, heavy in his grip. It’s not much, but it’s something.
“Stay behind me,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the fear you know he must be feeling. Your heart slams against your ribs. Your thoughts are spiralling. You should have been more careful, quieter when slipping out of the house. You can't believe you're the reason Jungkook is in danger, that he is the one standing between you and the threat. It should be you protecting him, not the other way around.
The footsteps slow. Taehyung has followed you inside.
A chilling silence settles over the space.
Then, a low chuckle.
“You can’t hide forever.” His voice is laced with amusement, the scrape of his knife dragging along metal making you flinch. “Come on, Jungkook. You really think you can protect her?”
Jungkook doesn’t move, his stance solid, wrench gripped tightly, shoulders squared. The tension is suffocating, every second stretching unbearably. You don’t dare breathe. Then Taehyung moves. The knife slices through the air.
Jungkook barely dodges, instinct driving his body before his mind catches up. The blade misses him by inches, but there’s no time to think, theres no time to breath, only react.
With everything he has, he swings the wrench. It connects hard against Taehyung’s wrist.
The knife clatters to the ground.
But Jungkook doesn’t stop this time.
His fist collides with Taehyung’s jaw, the impact ringing in the empty construction site. The force of it sends Taehyung staggering back, his body slamming against a stack of bricks. He’s weak now, unsteady, but still smiling like he’s enjoying this.
And then, in a last, desperate attempt, he speaks.
“You really think you’ve changed, Jungkook?” Taehyung breathes, voice laced with mockery. He spits blood onto the dust-covered ground, laughing through the pain. “You’re still the same pathetic kid I used to toy with. Weak. Spineless.”
Jungkook’s breath hitches.
“You’ll never be enough for her.”
The words land heavier than any punch ever could. For a split second, Jungkook falters. The old wounds, the taunts, the bruises, and the humiliation come rushing back. The memories claw at the edges of his mind, threatening to pull him under.
He remembers the way they used to laugh at him, the cruelty in their voices, the way they looked at him like he was nothing. Like he would always be nothing. He was the loser, the punching bag, the boy who never fought back. Every insult had carved itself into his skin, every shove had left something deeper than just bruises. They made him believe it. That he was worthless. That he would never be enough.
And then there was you. You. The only light in the darkness, the only person who had ever looked at him without disgust. He fell so hard, so helplessly in love with you, even though you belonged to Taehyung. It was cruel, really. The way fate played its hand. You were Taehyung’s girlfriend, yet you were the only one who saw Jungkook. The only one who stood up for him when Taehyung and his gang pushed him down. When he was at his lowest, you were there, offering kindness.
But how could you have chosen him? Him? A pathetic loser who had spent years as the butt of every joke, the weakling who was too afraid to fight back. He hears the echoes of their laughter, the mocking whispers that still live inside his head. Maybe they were right. Maybe he really is nothing. Maybe you made a mistake choosing him.
Taehyung’s voice is smooth and insidious, wrapping around him like a noose. The doubt, the shame, the years of self-hatred it all pulls him under, dragging him back to a place he swore he’d never return to. His fists loosen at his sides, his body feels too heavy, like he’s sinking into the past, like he's losing himself all over again.
But then—you.
You, standing behind him. The warmth of your presence, the unwavering belief in your eyes. The way you never once hesitated to love him, to choose him. His heart pounds against his ribs, pushing away the suffocating weight of the past.
No. No.
He is not that boy anymore. He is not weak. And he will not let Taehyung twist his mind, not when he has you to protect.
The hesitation vanishes as Jungkook moves, striking once, then again, each blow fueled by something raw, something deeper than anger—something desperate. His jaw is clenched, muscles taut, as if he is holding back years of something buried deep inside, something he never let himself feel until now. You have never seen him like this. Then another hit. And another.
His knuckles split, blood dripping onto the cold concrete, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. Not until Taehyung stops moving.
The only sound left is Jungkook’s ragged breathing. His chest heaves, his hands shaking.
His eyes, dark and unfocused, burn with an intensity you have never seen before. It is not just fear, nor is it just anger. It is something far more terrifying in its certainty, something that does not waver, something that does not break. It is an unrelenting, all-consuming protectiveness, the kind that leaves no room for hesitation, no space for doubt. And the most haunting part of it all—you know he did it for you.
“Jungkook.”
Your voice is sof t but it cuts through the chaos like a blade.
He freezes.
His chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, his knuckles raw and bloodied. His grip on the wrench trembles, muscles locked so tightly you wonder if he even hears you.
Then he looks at you, and in that moment, something inside him fractures. The fury that had burned so fiercely in his eyes splinters, crumbling into something far more fragile: fear. But it is not fear for himself. It is for you. For what could have happened. For what he almost became.
You take a step closer, carefully, like you’re approaching a wounded animal. His breathing is ragged, his body strung so tight it might snap. But he doesn’t move away when you reach for him.
Fingers brushing against his wrist, you gently pry the wrench from his grip. His hand is still trembling when it slips from his grasp, clattering onto the ground.
“It’s over,” you whisper, your voice steady even as your own hands shake. “I’m okay.”
Jungkook swallows hard, his throat working around unspoken words. The wail of sirens cuts through the heavy silence, distant but growing closer. Someone must have heard the commotion and called the police.
Taehyung groans from where he lies sprawled on the ground, too weak to move, too beaten to fight. But you barely spare him a glance.
Jungkook exhales shakily, his entire body trembling with the aftermath of it all. His fists are still clenched, his knuckles still bleeding, but his eyes are different now.
They are not just the eyes of your sweet, oblivious boyfriend anymore.
He steps closer, hesitant, hands hovering over your arms, your waist, checking, searching, needing to convince himself that you’re still here. That you’re real.
“I could’ve lost you,” he breathes, his voice rough, breaking at the edges.
The weight of his words settles deep in your chest.
You reach up, cupping his face, your thumb skimming over the small cut on his cheek. He flinches at the touch, but not from pain he just wasn’t expecting something so gentle.
“But you didn’t,” you murmur.
Jungkook’s breath shudders out of him. His lashes flutter shut for a second, his jaw tightening like he’s holding something in, something overwhelming, something too big to put into words.
Then, in a voice so quiet, so broken, it almost shatters you
“I was so scared.”
And just like that, everything collapses.
The rage, the adrenaline, the fear everything he had forced himself to carry, to bury, it all crumbles in one breath.
You don’t hesitate. You pull him into you, arms wrapping around him, and he clings back just as tightly. His grip is almost desperate, his fingers pressing into your back like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.
Then, suddenly, he tilts his head down, capturing your lips in his.
The kiss is not careful. It’s not soft.
It’s raw. Desperate. Heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.
His lips press against yours with an urgency that steals your breath, like he’s trying to pour everything he feels into this moment. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he wants to lose himself in you, in the feeling of you alive and warm in his arms.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, anchoring him to you, and he sighs into your mouth—a broken, trembling sound that sends a shiver down your spine.
When you finally pull back, foreheads pressed together, Jungkook’s breath is warm against your skin, uneven and ragged.
He’s still shaking.
And you hold him tighter, letting him feel it all.
The flashing red and blue lights spill across the pavement as the police cars screech to a stop.
Jungkook pulls away just enough to look at you, his hands still cradling your waist, like he’s reluctant to break contact. His eyes search yours, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you see something unshakable in them.
Taehyung’s screams cut through the air as he thrashes against the officers, his wrists locked in cold steel. His voice is hoarse, spewing empty threats, venom dripping from every syllable—
“This isn’t over!” he snarls. “You think you can take her from me?”
Jungkook doesn’t react. He doesn’t even spare Taehyung a glance.
Instead, he lifts a hand, brushing his fingers lightly against your cheek, grounding himself in the fact that you’re safe.
His voice, when he finally speaks, is low, steady. A quiet promise.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”
And for the first time you believe him.
Because this isn’t the same Jungkook who was oblivious, who used to let things slide, the one who always saw the good in people even when they didn’t deserve it.
This is the Jungkook who stood his ground.
The Jungkook who fought for you.
And if the world ever tried to take you away from him again, he wouldn’t hesitate.
The park is quiet, bathed in the soft glow of late morning light. Birds flit between the branches, their songs blending with the gentle rustling of leaves. A cool breeze brushes against your skin, carrying the scent of freshly baked pastries from the open basket beside you.
Jungkook sits across from you on the checkered picnic blanket, absently poking at his croissant with a fork. His knuckles are bandaged and a faint bruise lingers on his cheek just below the strip of medical tape.
You watch him, waiting.
He hasn’t said much about it. But the way he holds himself now, shoulders squared just a little more, gaze a little steadier it feels different.
“You know,” you start, plucking a strawberry from the fruit bowl and tossing it into your mouth. “For once, I wasn’t the one saving your ass.”
Jungkook snorts, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me,” he mutters, but there’s a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. “I’m still getting used to it.”
“You should be proud,” you tell him, shifting onto your knees so you’re closer. “Not just because you fought. But because you didn’t let him win.”
Jungkook exhales, rolling his jaw like he’s still processing the weight of it. “I used to think…” He hesitates, gaze flickering down to his hands. “That I’d never be the kind of guy who could protect someone. That I’d always be the loser who let things slide.”
You reach out, fingers curling over his bandaged knuckles, squeezing gently. “You were never a loser, Jungkook.”
You trace a light touch over the bruise on his cheek. “And if you’re measuring strength by how many fights you win, you’re missing the point.”
Jungkook’s lips twitch, his fingers tightening around yours. “Oh yeah? And what’s the point, then?”
“That you were strong even before this,” you murmur. “You didn’t need to throw a punch to prove that. But I think… you finally see it now, don’t you?”
He doesn’t answer right away, but the tension in his shoulders eases. Then, with a soft chuckle, he tilts his head and smirks. “So what you’re saying is… you’re swooning over me right now.”
You roll your eyes, but your laugh gives you away. “Unbelievable. One heroic moment and your ego skyrockets.”
“What can I say?” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I’m basically a knight in shining armor now.”
You groan. “You’re literally covered in bandages, Jungkook.”
“Battle scars,” he corrects smugly.
“You are so—”
He cuts you off with a kiss.
His lips taste like the strawberries you were just eating, but there’s something else too, something warmer. The quiet relief of knowing you’re here. That you’re safe. That you chose him, again and again.
When you finally pull away, Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, exhaling quietly. “I wouldn’t hesitate,” he murmurs. “If it ever happens again. If the world ever tries to take you away from me.”
Your heart clenches. You press a kiss to his bruised cheek, whispering against his skin. “I know.”
For a while, you just sit there, basking in the quiet hum of the park, in the way his fingers stay laced with yours. The past still lingers, but it doesn’t hold you down.
synopsis: the start of jungkook's process: to mold you into his perfect girl.
pairing: manipulative kidnapper!jungkook x female reader
genre: smut, angst, dark romance (read warnings please)
word count: 5.9k+
warnings: NSFW, explicit, 18+, manipulation, threats, harsh language, mentions of guns and knives, cutting, age gap, jungkook is manipulative and unhinged, mentally ill, blindfolding, bondage, helplessness, explicit: noncon, dubcon, somnophilia, biting, degradation, praising, sexual fantasies, bondage, spanking, choking, groping, undressing, nudity, oral (f!receiving & m!receiving), fingering, clit rubbing, squirting, corruption, overstimulation, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding kink, shower sex, brat taming, creampie, cum eating, dominant!jk, submissive and distressed reader.
contents. (read 01. family tree before this!!)
𝜗ৎ 𝜗ৎ 𝜗ৎ
you look so peaceful when you sleep. your chest rises with each small breath you take. your breathing is so soft; it barely stirs the unsettling silence in the room. your lips are open, tempting, calling out for something that's unreachable. you look too comfortable while restrained, a sight one would oddly find beautiful and unforgettable.
jungkook finds your helpless and peaceful state beautiful and unforgettable. he's shocked to see that you haven't stirred awake from the sound of the machine moving his bookshelf that hides you, his dirty little secret.
"so fucking perfect.." jungkook whispers under his breath. he takes slow steps towards your exhausted body. his eyes glint with a new sense of sick and twisted.
jungkook's well aware that he was way too nice to you during your hot intercourse in his truck. a hand runs over his face while thinking about how he's going to ruin you further. he didn't wanna fully break you immediately; he wanted to toy with you like prey he had no intention of killing, only keeping you alive for his own sick and twisted pleasure.
he sighs in satisfaction once he figures out what he'll do to you, but he's impatient. his growing length pressing against his trunks aches so badly.. he needs a release now.
"fuck baby.. don't kill me for this." jungkook whispers while looking up at the ceiling, probably praying to the same God that you pray to. he continues to move closer, stopping an inch short from your vulnerable body.
he begins to remove his basketball shorts, also removing his trunks in the same swift, hurried motion. he's so hungry for you and it shows through his actions. he's acting like the world will end if he's not inside you within the next 2 minutes.
your lower half is still exposed from last nights events. the room still houses the faint smell of your arousal, making jungkook's cock hurt even more. he thinks of the way your back arches at the feeling of him eating you out with no mercy. jungkook made it his goal to teach how it feels to be eaten the right way; to make your first time unforgettable. he also made it his goal to make sure you never escape his grasp. but if by some lucky shot you are able to escape, then he hopes whenever you get eaten out by some lucky bitch, that you think of him and moan his name instead. he'll make sure your body will never forget him.
jungkook climbs on top of you, trying his best to not wake you up with the way his bulk and muscle dip the mattress far more than you have.
"you'll take this like a good girl.." he whispers deeply, like a promise you can't refuse. he obnoxiously inhales your fear-filled scent that's so addictive. it turns him on even more, causing him to moan while his tip gently nudges your clit. your legs move ever so slightly, but you're still not awake.
jungkook watches your peaceful face while in the process of lining himself up with your tight entrance. he bites his lip to suppress any moans, struggling to push into your opening. your warmth makes his arms feel like jelly as he struggles to hold himself up.
he moves slowly, your walls clenching around his length. you're still asleep as he continues to explore deeper with each thrust.
"too. damn. perfect." jungkook hisses through his teeth, his eyes closing while the strength of his thrust continues to move your limp body. he doesn't realize that you're beginning to awaken.
you begin to stir awake, your eyes fluttering open to see a sweaty jungkook in a white wife beater, his length now fully in you. you don't realize what he's doing until he thrusts harshly, hitting just the right spot. you moan loudly, causing his eyes to widen.
"shit.. baby." he tries to calm you down, already assuming that you'll be freaking out. you stare at him with your glossy eyes before moving your gaze down to see where he's completely inside of you.
"i'll be done soon.." jungkook reassures softly, holding your face with a mocking gentleness. he almost fully pulls out before shoving his full length into you. the slapping of your guys' skin makes your ears ring.
"ahh-!" you reply at the rough thrust, your brows furrowing at the overwhelming pleasure. it's even more overwhelming first thing in the morning.
"you fucking like that..?" jungkook growls while continuing to speed up with his thrusts. you continue to scream with each thrust, it's too much to handle. you feel so filled, and so filthy.
you're too lost into pleasure to even remember what this man did to you yesterday. you nod promptly, feeling his full length fill you completely. he fucks too well, so well to the point that you forget everything. you're just focused on the moment and your pleasure. you feel guilty, because you were taught that thinking for yourself is a sin. you secretly wanted more because it made you feel so good.
"you look so pretty like this.." jungkook whispers in a worshipful tone. he then stops his thrusts and pulls out, causing you to frown. you don't realize you're frowning, but the emptiness that follows immediately after just being filled is sickening.
you watch nervously while he's in the process of untying your ankles. you don't fight or thrash the moment you're free; you sigh in relief. his hands quickly find belonging under your calves as he pushes your legs up. he places your legs on his shoulders before sinking deep into your hole once more.
"i'm not done with you." jungkook reassures, assuming you want more after your positive responses and pleasure-filled screams. you're about to fight back when at the same time, your eyes spot a handgun on the nightstand.
tears form in your eyes as he continues to thrust into your gushing hole, mushy noises fill the room as your cream continues to coat his cock.
"too good, huh? crying for me.." jungkook growls as he almost fully pulls out. you shake your head once he rams fully into you, causing you to cry and sob. your tears fall uncontrollably. his thrusts slow down, only to fill you more deeper.
your head lolls back while you continue to choke on sobs. his thrusts speed up when he watches you lose control. he can feel your walls beginning to clench around his girth.
"yes.. baby. oh- oh fuck. you look so, so good." jungkook praises. you clench around him once more, a high-pitched whimper escaping that addictive mouth of his.
"so warm.. ah- feels like a nice warm hug." his praises send you over the edge. you scream, the world shattering around you while your orgasm squeezes every last juice out of you.
jungkook pulls out and uses your open mouth as an opportunity. he shoves his dick into your mouth, making you almost choke at the girth. your jaw immediately begins to hurt at the moment he begins to thrust.
"you'll take this like a good girl." jungkook demands through clenched teeth, his thrusts were sloppy as they hit the back of your throat. you gag, whining around his cock. tears begin to streak down your cheek at an alarming rate.
"still crying? fucking pathetic." jungkook teases in a cruel tone. his smirk growing. a sudden spark of defiance ignites within you. at that very moment you bite down on his cock, a sharp yelp escaping his lips. he pulls out of your mouth, his eyes now blazing with anger while staring down at you.
"what the fuck?!" jungkook thunders. his hands find your ankles, grabbing at them violently. he pulls your left leg, at the same time you begin to kick and fight back. he pulls your left leg once more, harsher than the last, a sharp cry escaping your mouth in natural response.
"fucking stop! stop! you're a monster!" you insult while thrashing around. your fight is put to an end when a hand violently meets your cheek, his silver rings inflicting a sharp feeling of pain. you're sure that there will be an ugly bruise tomorrow morning.
"please.. no- stop." you beg. jungkook's out of breath from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. he wants to hurt you, but he has other plans to make you suffer.
he reaches for the gun that's situated behind him. he brandishes the firearm in front of your pale face. you feel sick to your stomach, anticipating that this is the end for you. he then points the gun at you.
"you. you are going to take my cock like a good girl, and you're going to swallow my cum. consider this your breakfast since you're such an ungrateful brat." jungkook concludes. he keeps the gun pointed at you while strapping both of your ankles back down.
he puts the gun down before taking his still erect cock, gently slapping it against your mouth. you open slowly, his anger vanishing at your tameness.
"good girl." jungkook whispers softly, gently fucking your mouth in response to your obedience. he wipes every tear away with a gentle touch, hissing every time you gently gag against his length.
"this.." jungkook begins. his need for you comes out in hisses and soft groans, making it hard to construct simple sentences. "i'm gentle. i'm good to good girls." he communicates lustfully. you whimper softly against his cock, the vibrations earn a guttural groan that escapes his soft lips.
he feels himself reaching his high that he so desperately wants to chase. he begins to thrust faster, you gag and whine too many times to count in response to his change of rhythm.
his hips buck one last time into your mouth, making you gag loudly. you soon feel an odd warmth coat the back of your throat; your brows furrow in confusion, wondering what just hit the back of your throat. your eyes widen when the realization hits you. it's that white substance he dispelled all over you in his truck from yesterday's heated session. at the same time he pulls himself out slowly.
his thumb finds your lip, gently caressing so that your mouth would close shut.
"swallow." jungkook whispers gently, watching you in some kind of mock adoration that makes your stomach churn.
you mouth down the thick substance. it's sweet and a little salty, something so foreign yet oddly delicious. an acquired taste.
"hmm.. looks like someone's enjoying themself." jungkook coos softly. you subconsciously lick your lips to clean the rest of his semen. his face twists into a satisfied smile. he leans in and gives you a soft peck.
he then looks up and nods to the camera in the corner of the room.
"if you need anything else, just wave at the camera." jungkook instructs calmly.
"okay." you reply in a soft whisper, your eyes lowering down in defeat and disgust.
he caresses your head calmly before untying your right arm and ankle. he gives you a mocking kiss on the forehead, a few seconds later he attacks your lips in a nasty kiss. you whimper in response, his tongue intruding your mouth.
"you'll learn how to love me." jungkook whispers while pulling away, its as if he feels that he has the power to control every outcome in your life. you stare at him with your fear-filled glossy eyes. he smirks proudly, chuckling to himself as he leaves the room.
you watch him leave. the sound of the metal door slamming shut is deafening to your ears that have already heard enough; a harsh reminder that this is your new hell.
you struggle to reach for the glass of water on the bedside table. your eyes meet with the camera in the corner of the room. you're too scared to call out; you don't want to appear weak and helpless.
you let out small whimpers and noises of anger. meanwhile..
jungkook is watching you through the camera, a small smile growing on his lips whenever he watches you struggle. he put the glass of water an inch further than you can reach. he wanted to enjoy the sight of you struggling before deciding that you need him after all. another one of his small yet sick and twisted mind games.
he reaches for the mic, connected to a secret speaker system wired into the walls. he clears his throat.
"do you need help, princess?" jungkook teases gently. he laughs when he sees you flinch and scream at his loud voice coming through the speaker.
you look around the room, your heart rate increasing at the same time. this insane bitch is everywhere. you think to yourself. you eye the camera, a hidden desperation painted on your eyes.
you choke on air before getting the courage to answer.
"yes." you simply answer, not wanting to give him the pleasure he gets from your desperation.
"what's the magic word?" jungkook asks wryly.
"p... please." your voice comes out small and pathetic. you internally cringe at this.
"good girl." he softly praises. your eyes meet with the door at the same time it opens, his alluring self steps into the room.
"you'll always need me." jungkook says calmly, as if he understands your wants and needs.
you don't react to this, or at least you try not to. he gently tips the water into your mouth. you sigh at the refreshment coating the walls of your dry throat.
"so needy." jungkook murmurs while watching you with a predatory gaze. it's as if his default setting is horny.
you continue to drink the water, your loud gulps filling the silence in the room. your stomach obnoxiously growls, a light flush creeping on your cheeks from embarrassment.
"was my cum not enough?" jungkook asks. he's eyeing you so deeply, it feels like a crime to look away. his hands presses gently on your hollow, hunger-filled stomach.
"what's that?" you ask out of genuine curiosity. your church never gave out sexual education which added to your "innocence" that jungkook loves oh so much.
"it's what you swallowed." jungkook replies with confidence. he doesn't elaborate any further, enjoying the expression on your face as you try to recall the feeling of his cum down your throat.
"that's not a proper breakfast." you reply with a certain innocence that's hard to forget.
"i know baby, but you should be grateful.." jungkook answers your harmless statement. you frown, shaking your head.
"but i'm hungry!" your brattiness beginning to come through. jungkook's eyes slowly darken at your demand, something he doesn't take very lightly.
"ask nicely." jungkook attempts to approach you with a calmness before resorting to something more violent.
"no- don't you understand?! i'm hungry!" you continue to brat out. hunger turns you into someone who's grumpy and irrational, which won't get you far with someone like jungkook.
a swift, forceful strike meets your already bruised cheek. you gasp in pain, tears forming in your eyes when he strikes you a second time, further bruising your cheek even more.
he grabs a fistful of your hair, painfully pulling your face forward.
"do you know what happens to bitches like you?!" jungkook's spit flies into your face, he's seething with anger. he pulls your hair once more, earning a soft scream from your rebellious mouth.
"no.. please stop!" you beg. it was scary seeing him go from lustful to furious. it makes you acknowledge the fact that he can kill you at any given moment. you'd have to learn to submit whether you like it or not.
"you're fucking ungrateful. spoiled little princess. but in here? you're going to submit to me. fully." jungkook orders, giving you another slap that brings you further down to reality.
"let's start now. you're mine. i wanna hear you say that you belong to me." he continues pulling your hair, choked up sobs escaping from your mouth every time he painfully shakes your head.
"no-" you're about to begin during which he pulls your hair, causing you to scream from the pain.
"say it." jungkook commands in a dangerously calm tone. your breathing is stopped by the feeling of a cold metal pressing against your neck. he obnoxiously inhales your scent, making you whimper in fear.
"i-.." you're struggling to form sentences. your breath catches in your throat; you don't wanna submit again, when that's all you've done your whole life. "i belong to you." you choke out, glaring at him through your tear filled eyes.
"don't glare at me." jungkook warns, his eyes widening. you can see his hands shaking as he holds the blade to your neck. you close your eyes and let out another whimper.
"say it nicely, baby. like you mean it.. i hate seeing you so mad.." he mocks, licking the tears off of your cheek. you feel the blade's presence disappear from your neck. you gasp for air in response to the relief you feel.
a moment later, you feel a warmth caressing your sensitive nub. you gasp in response, the sudden contact catches you off guard.
"c'mon.." jungkook murmurs against your skin, continuing to pepper soft kisses along your jaw. he continues to rub you gently as soft gasps escape your lips.
"i.. i belong to you." you whine out. you cry out when he rubs you in the right spot. you can feel the shameful heat blooming in your lower stomach.
"again." he whispers into your ear. you moan softly, a sign that you're about to tumble over from the overwhelming pleasure.
"i-.." you cum before you can fully let out that sickening phrase. your body stiffens, your head lolls back, your eyes rolling back at the same time your breath catches in your throat.
"yes, you belong to me." jungkook finishes your thought before kissing your lips gently, continuing to rub your throbbing clit.
you cry, feeling another climax sneaking up on you. you're letting out ragged breaths and pathetic pleas for him to stop. you're sure that this orgasm will be messier than the last.
"already cumming?" jungkook whispers, his voice filled with the need to see you orgasm once more. you nod, eyes shutting tight while you lean your head onto him for some kind of support.
"let it go. you've been good." he whispers darkly, increasing the pressure and speed. he sees your body stiffen. in the same moment you cry out loud, squirting all over his fingers.
"it's too much.." you pathetically whisper, your squeaks increasing as you continue to squirt all over his fingers. he kisses your head gently, trying to distract you from the overstimulation that you were suffering from.
"look.. all done baby." jungkook removes his hands from your painful clit. he strokes your head in a teasing gentleness, making you shiver even more as you come down from your high.
he presses a gentle kiss on your lips before leaving the room, leaving you soaked in your juices; a shameful reminder of your corruption.
𝜗ৎ 𝜗ৎ 𝜗ৎ
it has been a few hours since he completely ruined you.
your mouth's dry, your stomach is hollow and pained with hunger, growling louder than ever. it overpowers your soft breathing that used to fill the silence in the room.
the metal door creaks open, awakening you from your food-focused day dreams. your nose is attacked with the delicious smell of red sauce and meat.
your eyes widen at the sight of jungkook, walking in with a tempting plate of spaghetti. he's holding a glass of water, something you've been craving just as much as food.
"hungry?" jungkook questions softly. you nod gently, your eyes admiring the food and beverage.
"want me to feed you?" he questions again. you look at the restraints still on your left arm and ankle. you nod, avoiding his gaze.
"let me teach you some manners," jungkook begins. "you will say please and thank you when i ask for it, but i expect you to naturally say it once you've spent enough time with me." he establishes. you feel yourself wanting to throw up at the first stage of absolute submission to him.
jungkook watches you with a predatory gaze, waiting for your response. he sits down beside you, lifting a forkful of spaghetti.
"do you want some?" he asks softly, teasingly wiggling the fork in front of you.
you gulp down every bit of rebellion wanting to escape your pure mouth.
"yes please." you reply softly, your eyes betraying the sweetness that escapes your lips. jungkook aknowledged this, but decides to keep quiet to prevent you from acting up.
jungkook gently feeds you the spaghetti, watching in awe at the way your jaw moves slowly and the way you're trying to savor the delicious taste. your eyes almost roll to the back of your head, feeling your hunger deplete.
he feeds you another forkful of spaghetti. a little dash of sauce lands onto the corner of your mouth. he uses his thumb to gently wipe it off, the touch so fleeting yet leaves your skin burning.
"is my cooking good?" he asks, eyeing you with a gentleness that you wish lasted forever.
"yes.. good." you reply honestly but the bluntness of your answer makes it sound emotionless. he wanted more from you.
"are you sure?" he searches for confirmation in your eyes. his hands gently grip the edge of your chin, forcing you to look at him.
you hesitate to answer.
"yes. it's really good." you say with the tiniest bit of enthusiasm, hoping it's enough to express your sincerity.
"if you keep being a good girl.. i'll continue cooking for you." jungkook murmurs while caressing the edge of your chin. it felt like something between a threat and a promise.
he feeds you another bite of spaghetti with dangerous gentleness.
"make you feel good.." he continues to list all the things he can reward you with if you continue to submit to him.
"give you kids.." he adds on, making you choke on your bite of food. his eyes immediately shift to you, narrowing ever so slightly.
"is something wrong..?" he questions carefully, searching your expression for any kind of answer.
"no- no.." you reply in a panicked tone, making him even more suspicious.
"whatever. shut up and finish my food." jungkook mutters quickly, like he's bothered but doesn't want to admit it.
you nod promptly, continuing to eat. you eye the gun on his belt that sits there like a quiet reminder of who truly has control in this situation.
you finish the meal in awkward silence. it bleeds into the moment when he's helping you drink small sips from the cup of water. you avoid his eyes, while he looks at you, hoping you'd look at him. even if it's for a split second.
he leaves the room without another word. the silence is a deadly reminder to keep anticipating the worst. you've observed his character; he can be gentle but he truly does have the spirit to kill you.
𝜗ৎ 𝜗ৎ 𝜗ৎ
you don't remember how many hours have passed. but you have a feeling that it's dark outside, possibly close to midnight. this room has succeeded at making you lose track of time, pushing you further to insanity.
you hear the same defeaning screech of the metal door struggling to open. you see jungkook walking in with a new pair of pajamas in hand and a towel. you look around the room, confused, because you don't have a bathroom to freshen up whatsoever.
"don't break my trust tonight." he warns darkly. he walks over, placing the pajamas on the bed before beginning to untie your restraints. you sigh in relief as each limb is released from their straining positions.
he doesn't say a word to you. his hands wrap around your waist, helping you stand up.
"go." jungkook calmly instructs, leading you to the metal door. your feet step onto the cold, wooden floors of his room. you observe your surroundings, shocked to see how normal and aesthetically pleasing his room is.
he keeps his hands on your waist, leading you into his marble white bathroom. the coldness on your feet sting, continuing to remind you that this isn't a dream, it's reality.
he watches you eye the bathroom in awe, a small smirk crawling on his lips in the moment. he lands a gentle spank on your ass before rubbing it gently. you whimper loudly in response, your body shaking in fear from the harsh contact.
"don't be scared. just be good." jungkook whispers, completely intoxicated by lust. he gives a gentle squeeze to your cushiony ass before nudging you closer to the shower.
you go inside, reaching for the handle. you then turn on the shower, the warmth of the water immediately makes you sigh. you're too busy enjoying yourself under the water to notice jungkook has now joined you.
you open your eyes and squeal, earning a soft chuckle from him. it was too gentle and comforting. too dangerous..
"relax baby, it's just me." jungkook reassures softly. it felt too comforting, almost something a lover would say. you look at him while trying to sort out the thoughts that run through your mind.
he reaches for you. you instinctively back away, your hands on your chest for protection. his expression darkens, now completely pissed off at your rejection.
"don't you remember what happens when you act like a brat?" jungkook throws out a quick warning. your blood runs cold, realizing you've woken up that side of him.
you shake your head, backing up until your back hits the wall in his huge shower. he moves closer to you at a teasingly slow rate, feeding off of the fear that radiates off of you.
"please, get away from me." you weakly attempt to stop this situation. but of course, nothing works when it comes to jungkook.
"no. listen to me. you will never be able to get away from me. i will make sure that you live and die in this house. so it's either you let me tame that damn brat in you or i continue to punish you in ways you won't like." jungkook growls. you're now trapped between his arms, his biceps the size of your head. his scent is so intoxicating yet sickening at the same time.
"i don't fucking want to!" your inner brat makes its full appearance. you push him off of you. he growls in anger, watching you reach for absolutely anything to protect yourself with.
you stupidly grab a soap bar, earning a low, mocking chuckle from his damned mouth. you whimper in fear, watching him inch closer to you.
"a soap bar? you really are stupid." jungkook insults. he aggressively removes it from your grasp, throwing it against the glass. you close your eyes in fear, shrinking up.
you can feel his strong hands turn you around. you're now pressed against the white marble. his arm snakes around your neck, putting you in a headlock.
"no- no! please. let me go!" you beg while trying to push yourself off the wall but his naked body keeps you pressed against it.
"i'm going to ruin the brat within you." jungkook growls against your skin. you feel his tip poking at your entrance, making you moan softly.
"nono- i'm sorry!" you plead as you feel himself jerking off between your pussy lips. you're squirming like a damn brat, his chokehold only tightening in order to keep you down.
you feel him slowly enter your cunt, making you moan out loud. your hands fly to his head that is behind you, grabbing at his hair while he thrusts into you.
"you. fucking. need. me." jungkook says with each thrust. you can only moan and scream in response. one of your hands lands on his forearm that's around your neck, digging your nails into them.
"look at you, already falling apart." jungkook mutters in a mocking tone, you whimper pathetically in response.
"p.. please." you choke out. this was your plead for him to stop, but jungkook takes this as a green light to fully ram into you.
"please what?" jungkook asks, tightening his hold around your neck. you begin to gasp for air. you feel so filled, so well-fucked and taken care of. this makes you feel incredibly shameful.
"please." is all that you can get out. his thrusts are sending you into otherworldly places. you forget where you are, who you are, and most importantly; who's fucking you.
"look at you.. i'm great at taming brats like you. you're learning so fast." jungkook drawls, amused at your current state. you continue to moan and whine, crying out loud whenever he hits the right spot.
"yes.." you moan out loud, your eyes roll to the back of your head. your nails dig deeper into his forearm, making him thrust faster. harder. you don't even realize what you're saying because the pleasure is too good.
you let out another loud moan, feeling the sharp contact of his hand meet with your ass.
"ah! oh my gosh.." you cry out. jungkook's chuckle fills your ears, but are soon replaced with groans as you clench around his length.
you let one last sharp cry out before fully crumbling beneath him. you almost fall over, your legs quivering uncontrollably. he holds you gently while savoring the feeling of your walls clenching around him. this soon brings him to his orgasm as well, filling you up completely with his semen.
"you are so good." jungkook praises while massaging your stomach and kissing your neck. you feel an odd sense of comfort, a contrast to your thoughts telling you to resist him.
he helps you clean up right after, leaving you alone to do your whole shower routine beside him. you want to throw up at the sight of you two coexisting, as if you guys are a couple already.
you two dress up and get ready for bed in silence. he then grabs your waist and leads you back into your prison.
"be a good girl." jungkook reminds you sweetly. you lay down slowly on the bed, your chest feeling heavy as you feel your freedom being stripped completely from you.
he leaves your left side free, your right arm and leg restrained. he sinks into the bed beside you, looking at you with a gentleness that's hard to forget.
"i never learned your name.." jungkook begins, stroking your hair gently. you look at him, your neck stiffening when you realize how close he is to you.
"and i never learned yours." you whisper softly, lying right through your teeth. he smiles at you, a contrast to his fucked up personality.
"then let's properly introduce ourselves.." jungkook insists. he takes your free hand, tracing the curves of the lines on your palm. you watch him in his gentle state, something you wish lasted forever. you believe that you might be able to tolerate this life if he is like this.
"okay." you reply, keeping yourself soft and small. you realize he likes this.
"i'm jungkook. jeon jungkook." jungkook meets your gaze with a softness in his eyes. he smiles gently at you, waiting for your response.
you begin, but hesitate. should you do this? you look at him, a sense of guilt growing in your chest when you see his patient eyes.
"take your time." jungkook reassures. he buries his face into your neck, gently kissing you. you sigh softly without a second thought.
"i'm y/n." you whisper. he lifts his head, eyes meeting your unsure ones.
"y/n.. y/n." jungkook repeats, savoring each syllable on his tongue. his face softens into another smile, one that you could get used to.
you nod in response to his enthusiasm. you pray to God, hoping he'll remain like this. again, you feel like you can tolerate him in this state.
"well.. y/n." jungkook begins, your name rolling off his tongue sends a shiver down your spine. he senses your uneasiness and immediately squeezes your hand as an attempt to comfort you.
"can i put you to sleep?" jungkook's question lingers in the air. you're unsure about what his intentions are, but you nod in order to save yourself from a more gruesome fate.
his smile widens, his eyes darkening at the same time. he moves away from you, now tying your left arm and leg back up. he gently removes your pajama shorts. you gasp at the feeling of your cunt being exposed to the ice cold air.
"already needy?" jungkook teases softly. you only look at him, not responding directly. but your body language completely gives you a way.
he lowers himself onto your pussy, giving it a long, teasing lick. your body shudders at this fleeting touch, making you secretly ache for more.
jungkook lifts his head, watching your eyes close in anticipation. he smirks to himself before latching his mouth onto your clit, making you cry out loud.
the sound of the restraints shaking is like music to his ears. he wraps two warm hands around your ass, gently squeezing as he continues to suck at your clit.
"jungkook-" you choke out helplessly, not knowing what else to say. your legs are already shaking in response to his magic.
"yes?" he hums teasingly against your clit. he reaches for the knife in his pocket.
he begins to carve his initials 'JJ' on your lower stomach. you moan loudly, feeling a satisfying sting from the mix of pain and pleasure.
you meet his eyes while yours starts to fill up with tears. you watch him continue to carve his initials into your skin while licking and sucking at your swollen bud.
"please- no. please stop.." you cry out, tears now flowing uncontrollably down your cheek. he sucks harder at your clit at an attempt to shut you up.
your head leans back, unable to keep yourself together under the pleasure that he's giving you. you feel the pain on your hip increasing with every movement you make, the cold air harshly contacting the fresh wound.
"are you mine?" jungkook growls deeply against your pussy, continuing to hungrily eat it. you mewl, struggling to form a response.
"ye-.. yes." you choke out. you continue to cry and squirm against his tongue, his groans send vibrations deep into your core. "i'm yours.." you moan out loud, hoping that this is enough to satisfy his hunger and bloodlust.
"good. good girl." jungkook mumbles against your clit. you scream as your vision begins to whiten. your back then begins to arch. you feel your warm blood drip off your hip as you continue to lean into his talented and comforting mouth.
you cum into his mouth, whimpering at every contact his tongue makes with your throbbing clit. he makes filthy sounds with every slurp of your juices. your body spasms, his strong hands keep you down, calming your movements.
your body soon falls limp while you catch your breath. your eyes close a few moments later. you try to recover from your overstimulation.
jungkook lays down next to you, whispering softly into your ear.
"you're beautiful." jungkook whispers, pressing his nose against your cheek while continuing to kiss your soft skin.
his hand gently wipes the blood off your fresh wound, making you whimper and choke on a sob. he kisses your cheek once more in a mock gentleness.
he continues to kiss and gently caress you until you fall asleep against his warmth. he admires your peacefulness that follows after he's taken such great care of you.
"soon.. you'll be perfect for me." jungkook whispers into the deafening silence, imagining you dressed up prettily for him. he imagines you repeating all the right phrases, constantly moaning out words of affirmation such as 'i'm yours' and 'i belong to you'.. he can't wait for your full transformation and his endless corruption.
he falls asleep right besides you, as if you two are a happy couple sharing a bed on their honeymoon night.
but for now, this is just the start of his process: molding you into the perfect girl.
𝜗ৎ 𝜗ৎ 𝜗ৎ
prev. next.
(um.. hello again!! low-key this is really fun to write.. lmk if you wanna be tagged for the next upcoming chapters!! i feel so filthy writing this and this is lowk a straight porn plot but the next chapter will focus on other things, rather than just sex. but it's mainly smut for this chapter since this is the beginning of jungkook's process to corrupt you... anyways i'm planning on writing a cmbyn inspired series too. I just love the book and movie so freaking much.. can't wait to start writing it!!)
tag list: @koo-com @jiminpancake @eatingbills @femcrazy
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Synopsis : When everything around you starts falling apart, Christmas feels like both an escape and a way to fix it all. But back in the small town of Sarton, where you grew up, you come face to face with Jungkook —your childhood best friend and a self-proclaimed Scrooge. He’s adamant. So are you: this year, you’re going to make him love Christmas.
Pairing : Jung Jungkook x Reader (one-shot)
Genre : Christmas Fic, Childhood friends to lovers, grumpy x sunshine fluff, angst, smut
Word count : 23,3 k (help)
Warnings : angst, miscommunication, mention of dead side characters (just me and my love for deep backstories tbh), way too much fluff, idiots to lovers really, also way too much mentions of Mariah Carey and Love Actually, SMUT (I went wild) (oral, multiple orgams, protected sex), minors dni !
Authors note : I started this like mid-november and it took forever to write ;n; I'm actually proud of myself for managing to finish it before the end of december. Anyway here's a little fluffy christmas fic for you guys, hope you like it <3
Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are entirely fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.
DECEMBER 13.
You did it. You finally did it.
Right up until the very last second, you thought they were going to stop you, grab you and send you back there —but the doors finally slid shut behind you, and you’re safe.
You did it. Now all you have left to do is—
“Miss Lee! Wait!”
Damn it. Pretending not to hear the voice calling after you again and again, you keep walking, your stride firm, your handbag clutched tightly against your side.
No way you’re sticking around. Everything’s already planned: your taxi is waiting outside, and if all went well, your suitcase is already—
“Miss Lee, please !”
A hand suddenly clamps down on your shoulder, yanking you backward so hard you almost land flat on your ass. You spin around, stunned —a small cry of pain slipping out before you can stop it— but it dies instantly when you come face to face with a giant. Literally.
A man nearly twice your size, both tall and wide, dressed head to toe in black, looms over you. Beside him, a small woman with thick glasses hurries up, completely out of breath.
“I’m very sorry, Miss Lee, but your father was quite insistent. You’ll have to get back on the plane.”
She looks genuinely apologetic —which does absolutely nothing to soften your irritation. You had made it, damn it. Why does your Dad always have to ruin everything?
“First of all —ouch,” You snap, glaring at the security guard as you swat his hand off your aching shoulder. “And second of all, no thank you. Kindly pass along my regards to my father.”
Your words crack sharply through the air, but you don’t wait to see how they react. You’re a little ashamed to admit it, but you bolt. For a split second, you even consider running —if you remember the airport layout correctly, you should be able to reach the exit pretty fast.
The idea dies almost immediately.
You’ve barely taken five steps before several guards converge on you, clearly alerted by the brute who grabbed you earlier. It doesn’t take long to realize you’re surrounded. An exit would be nice right about now.
You don’t get the chance to find one.
You’ve barely stopped —panic rising as you take in all these guards who very clearly do not want to welcome you— when the same colossus grabs your forearm this time.
“I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”
You react without thinking.
“Don’t touch me,” You growl, teeth clenched as you shove his hand away. You can already hear your Dad telling you this is for your own good. What a funny way to show concern.
“I’m sorry, Miss Lee. These are your father’s orders,” the woman with the glasses mutters, cheeks flushed from running.
You clench your jaw even tighter.
When you were little, your Mom always said that during the holidays, everyone should behave properly —because it’s the Christmas spirit, after all.
Let’s just say the holidays start tomorrow.
“Oh yeah?” You shoot back, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. “Well, you can shove my father’s orders where the sun doesn’t shine.”
Saturdays are usually quiet.
When he arrived, they told him that with the end-of-year holidays approaching, crowds were pouring in and airports were often completely overwhelmed.
Apparently, the small town of Sarton is an exception.
Not that he would’ve been drowning in work either way —his job is to hand out flyers to people exiting the airport. Not the hardest thing out there.
Still, if there had been more people around, Jungkook might not have noticed what happened.
Then again… even buried under a swarm of tourists hunting for Christmas activity pamphlets, he wouldn’t have missed this. It’s that simple.
One second, the main hall is nearly empty —quieter than ever. The next, screams echo through the space, and smoke pours out of the main corridor —the one leading to the boarding gates.
It takes him a few seconds —people rushing past him, coughing, security agents sprinting in panic— to realize it isn’t smoke.
It’s gas.
Gas billowing from a fire extinguisher clutched tightly in the arms of a young woman. She walks with determined strides, completely unfazed by the chaos, heading straight for the exit while aiming the hose and spraying anyone foolish enough to get close.
“Miss Lee, please!”
One voice rings out louder than the others, and Jungkook frowns, confused. Miss Lee? Why does that name sound familiar?
He doesn’t have time to think. In the blink of an eye, she’s only a few meters away. The extinguisher sputters —empty— and she drops it to the floor without a second thought, utterly indifferent to the dozens of people trapped in the haze behind her, coughing and shouting.
Up close, Jungkook can finally see her face —her shining hair, the elegant long coat she’s wearing, the gold watch at her wrist.
His breath catches. It really is you.
You notice him as you pass, your gaze settling more on the flyers in his hands than on him himself. Guards try to approach, waving their arms to clear the gas, but you barely spare them a glance, instead plucking one of the pamphlets from his stack and skimming it.
When you look up at him, Jungkook can’t miss the crooked smile —or the mischievous sparkle in your eyes. “They’re probably going to ask if you saw me,” you say, biting your lip to keep from grinning too widely as you wave the flyer lightly. “Tell them I violently threatened you before stealing this. I’d hate for you to lose your job over something so trivial.”
Then, without a backward glance, you walk away and push open the heavy door, a rush of cold air flooding the hall.
“And Merry Christmas!” you call cheerfully, handbag swinging from your arm, blowing a kiss toward the guards before vanishing into the dark night, gone in less than a second as the door slams shut behind you.
Jungkook remains frozen, too stunned to move, as silence slowly settles back in. The guards return to their posts, but the woman with the glasses stays behind, ranting breathlessly about how Mr. Lee is really not going to be happy.
Jungkook, meanwhile, can’t get over it —his eyes still locked on the door where you disappeared. For him, it’s simply unbelievable.
A fire extinguisher. Seriously.
How the hell did you manage to become even crazier than before?
DECEMBER 14
Mom isn’t coming.
That’s the bitter truth you’ve finally had to accept after a long string of messages —she isn’t coming.
And you’d already been so excited. The house decorations, gingerbread men, movie nights wrapped in a blanket. All of it —gone.
All that effort, for nothing.
You wish you could be angry —part of you is— but mostly, you’re just sad. In part because you’d been so proud of myself: your coming here was meant to be a Christmas surprise. A way to keep your traditions alive, like every year, despite all the changes.
But there’s no point in traditions if you’re the only one left to carry them.
You’ve never been so happy to be back in your childhood home —its scent, the decorations, everything brings you straight back to your younger years. And yet, you hate how sad you feel now that you’re finally here, after pulling off a plan you’ve been preparing for months.
More than anything, it makes you angry that they managed to make you sad. Again. And especially at this time of year.
Mom — 9:17 a.m. Please don’t be too hard on your father. It’s the holidays, after all.
The message warms your heart just as much as it hurts.
Your sweet mom is thoughtful enough not to want to upset your Dad —but not quite thoughtful enough to notice how much this whole situation hurts you. She didn’t even react when you told her you’d arrived.
You sigh, grumbling under your breath, head in your hands. Then suddenly, you straighten up.
Enough.
With renewed determination, you grab the little flyer you left on the table last night and get moving, pulling on your coat and boots in record time. According to the paper, all volunteers are welcome —and Christmas market setup starts this morning.
You have nothing special to do, since your Mom isn’t here. And one thing’s for sure: nobody is ruining your December.
And if your Dad isn’t happy about it —well, too bad for him.
The town square looks exactly like you remember.
Red cobblestones dusted with a thin layer of snow, the same snow resting on the rooftops of the small shops lining the square. In the center stands a massive Christmas tree —almost tall enough to rival the Rockefeller Center one— still bare for now.
Around it, about a dozen people in coats and thick hats bustle about, stacking boxes at the tree’s base and pulling out what very clearly looks like garlands. Farther away, small groups are already hanging glittering stars from the lampposts.
You pull your nose out of your scarf and take a deep breath. No matter where life takes you, you still love the feeling of Christmas.
You’ve barely stepped onto the square when an elderly man greets you, handing you the same flyer you picked up at the airport yesterday and cheerfully explaining all the preparations underway.
Every year, ever since you were little, the town organizes public events throughout the entire Christmas season —which probably explains a lot about your love for it.
You don’t have to insist much before he accepts your help —that’s why you came, after all— but he still insists on giving you a full tour of the square, explaining everything in detail.
You listen with a small smile, attentive —at least until your gaze drifts to a man standing off to the side, struggling to untangle a long string of lights.
He doesn’t look very old —about your age— and even though you can’t see his face from here, you suddenly get the unmistakable feeling that you know him.
When the old man finally leaves you with a last warm smile, you instinctively head toward the stranger, smiling at people you pass —many of them familiar faces from your childhood.
When you reach him, his back is to you, too focused on the endless knot in the garland to notice you. “Isn’t it a little late to decorate the tree? It’s already the 14th —I thought this would’ve been done earlier.”
“You could’ve done it yourself if you’re not happy about it,” he mutters irritably, clearly assuming you’re one of his coworkers.
He turns toward you —and freezes when he realizes you’re not. And you freeze too. Only for a very different reason.
Messy dark strands escape from beneath his gray beanie, framing two large black eyes that widen in surprise.
Those eyes —you’d recognize them anywhere.
“Just leave me alone already!”
“Come on! You know I’m too short to hang the star —I need you to carry me on your shoulders!” You whine, tugging at him with all your might.
He resists —already much stronger than you at eight years old. “Why should I do that, anyway?”
You stare at him, incredulous. “It’s the school tree, Kookie! It needs a star!”
He frowns, cheeks puffing slightly as a pout forms. “You’re annoying,” he mutters —before giving in and following you anyway. Just like every year.
“Jungkook ? Jeon Jungkook ?! Is that you?”
In front of you, the neighbor’s kid —your childhood partner in crime, even if he rarely agreed to your antics— immediately darkens, cheeks flushed from the cold.
“So it really was you yesterday. Damn it.”
“Wow, you grew, like, fifty centimeters since the last time I saw you!” You blurt out, completely ignoring him. “And are those muscles I see, Kookie?”
Anticipating your move, he dodges before you can pinch his arm like you used to, jaw clenched. “Stop calling me that,” he grumbles.
You roll your eyes, unable to hide your smile. “Grump.”
It’s like you’re not even there anymore as Jungkook pointedly ignores you and goes back to his garland. He’s always been good at that —blocking out anything he deems unimportant.
Which often meant you. But hey, the boy’s always had focus issues. You can’t blame him for not concentrating on you, as perfect as you are.
Anyway.
“I didn’t know you still lived here!” You exclaim, just as undeterred as you were as a kid. If he doesn’t want to listen, he’ll at least have to hear you. “Are the others still around?” you ask, smiling as you remember his high school friend group.
You both barely talked back then, but you always kept an eye on each other from afar. Even if Jungkook would rather die than admit it.
“No,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the lights. “And you? Weren’t you studying to become a lawyer?”
You suddenly feel a strong urge to look away, your hands twitching in your pockets. Six years ago, you waited only until graduation before buying a plane ticket and getting out of here. You needed air —away from your parents who couldn’t stand each other anymore, away from all the pressure they put on you. You left without telling anyone.
At the time, it felt like the only right option. But you hated yourself for it —because you’d basically abandoned everyone you knew. Jungkook doesn’t need to know any of that, though.
You snatch the garland from his hands, eyes locked on it as you automatically undo the knot he’s been stuck on for minutes. “Vacationing at my mom’s. Didn’t know you worked for the city.”
If he notices the sudden change of subject, he doesn’t say anything.
“Because I don’t,” he replies curtly —just like when you were kids. “I work at the fine dining restaurant on Main Street. In the kitchen.”
“That’s awesome!” You still remember how much he loved cooking as a kid. “I think I might apply here toward the end of the month. Helping out at the Christmas market sounds fun and—”
“Cool. Guess I’ll just quit then,” he cuts in, clearly exasperated.
“What?” You mumble, startled.
He sighs, adjusting his beanie. “I offered to help to make some extra money, but all this Christmas crap? No thanks. And if I have to put up with you all day on top of that, I’m out.”
Ouch.
You’re about to snap back, offended, when a vague memory resurfaces —you pestering him all day to come to the Christmas market with you, eventually dragging him by the ear.
You grimace. Being your neighbor every Christmas probably wasn’t easy.
“‘Christmas crap’?” You protest instead —because honestly, you kind of deserve the jab. And you’re clearly not as close as you were as kids, so it’s not like you can say anything really.
He just gives you a look that says it all. Hand to your chest, you nearly choke. “No way. Don’t tell me you’re still a Scrooge?!”
The word sounds like an insult —especially with your shocked tone— but he just rolls his eyes, gently taking the garland back and placing it with the others.
“You’re kidding. Tell me you’re joking!”
You follow him as he grabs a crate and joins the group near the tree without even looking at you.
Even as a kid, he hated Christmas —or rather, you think your enthusiasm annoyed him so much that he just checked out completely.
Still. It’s Christmas.
“If you want my honest opinion, all this excitement is ridiculous,” he mutters. You almost choke on air.
He stops and turns to you, one eyebrow raised —and only then do you realize you’ve almost shouted, feet planted firmly in the snow, with everyone staring at you. The hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “I see Mariah Carey still has the same effect on you, Twinkle.”
The sound of that old nickname makes something twist in your chest, but you ignore it, shaking your head fiercely. “Nope. I refuse. You cannot be almost 25 and this bitter about Christmas!”
“I turned 24 three months ago, but sure,” he replies, utterly unimpressed as he hands the crate to a guy and listens to two women explain how to decorate the tree.
“You’ll see —I’ll teach you the real Christmas spirit. I’ll stick to you all day if I have to, but I will change your mind!”
“Sticking to me all day would be a change,” he mutters —an obvious reference to your childhood winters when you forced him to play in the snow with you.
Actually… You forced him to play with you year-round, now that you think about it. You grit your teeth, narrowing your eyes at him.
It only makes him smile. Which somehow annoys you even more.
“Go on, laugh,” You threaten, pointing a finger at him. “By the end of the month, you’ll be begging me to binge Alvin and the Chipmunks with you!”
He looks down at your finger, unimpressed, clearly about to reply —then stops. “Y/N,” he says with a sigh, his voice deeper than you remember. Not at all like the whiny kid you used to know.
Deeper —and suddenly sadder too. “Forget it. I don’t care what you have to say. I don’t do Christmas.”
His tone is final, and his look dares you to argue.
Unfortunately for him, if there’s one thing you’ve always excelled at —it’s proving Jeon Jungkook wrong.
“We’ll see about that.”
DECEMBER 15.
Getting hired by city hall to organize the Christmas activities turns out to be the easiest thing you’ve done in a long time.
Over the past few years —ever since you decided to pay for your law studies yourself just to piss your father off— you’ve spent your life juggling crappy little jobs. You’ve been rejected so many times that you never would’ve believed landing this position could be so easy.
But apparently, around here, while everyone eagerly awaits the Christmas setup, no one actually wants to organize it. So they take anyone who volunteers. Which is how, on Monday morning at exactly 7 a.m., you’re in the middle of brushing your teeth when your phone buzzes with a message from city hall.
Ho ho ho! City elves, time to get to work! Meet at 8 a.m. sharp in the town square!
You snort to yourself —you can very clearly picture the face Jungkook must be making while reading that.
When you step outside, car keys in hand, you come face to face with Jungkook, already standing by his car a few meters from yours on the sidewalk. Instinctively, when your door clicks shut, he turns toward you —and it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing.
His eyes are puffy, his hair a complete mess like he just rolled out of bed, and he’s thrown on a thick sweater —black, obviously— to face the cold. Beneath his hair, you watch his brows knit together when he spots you, his nose scrunching as he tries to make sense of your presence.
You can see the exact moment it clicks. “This is a fucking joke…” he mutters, just as you slide into your car, grinning.
This is going to be a very interesting day, you think as you start the engine.
“Can you pass me the cream, please?”
Jungkook barely looks at you, simply extending an arm to grab and toss you the closest bottle —the milk.
You take it automatically, blinking. Jungkook keeps stirring the thick mixture in his bowl with a wooden spoon, his arm muscles flexing with every movement because the dough is ridiculously dense. You’ve been debating for several minutes whether to tell him to add milk instead of more flour —but you don’t do it.
And that has nothing to do with the view in front of you. “The cream, Jeon,” You remind him gently after a few seconds.
He freezes mid-motion, eyes still fixed on the bowl —but unfocused. Staring into nothing. He used to do that as a kid too, zoning out when he was thinking. And for the record —no, you do not find that adorable at all.
After a moment, he reaches out again, this time grabbing the bowl of cream and handing it to you, giving you a clear view of his tattoos as you take it.
You say nothing.
The last time you commented on them —about twenty minutes ago, when he rolled up his sleeves— he growled that if you kept it up, he’d happily show them to you up close.
By choking you with his elbow. And no, that didn’t make you blush, that’s ridic —Okay. You went bright red.
Without realizing it, your eyes drift back to his arm. Has it always been that big?
“What the hell am I doing here, seriously?” Jungkook mutters, snapping you out of your thoughts.
It’s clearly not meant for you, but you seize the opportunity anyway. He’s so grumpy —you’d be stupid not to. “That’s a good question. What are you doing here? Is the restaurant closed for Christmas?” You ask casually.
He turns toward you, suspicious, but you keep your eyes fixed on the gingerbread dough you’re struggling with. You’ve always been better at cookies and shortbread, but unsurprisingly, these were one of the first workshops chosen.
“Not really,” he replies after a moment, once again focused on his rock-solid dough. “My boss forced me to take the vacation days I didn’t use this year.”
Silence falls again, broken only by our movements. After a few seconds, he adds quietly, “My dad always wanted me to help with these stupid preparations.”
This time, you freeze. The subject of his father has always been sensitive —probably because he was the only parent Jungkook ever had, and kids used to tease him for it. Back then, you used to punch anyone who made fun of him.
Jungkook’s dad was always so kind —he’d give you candy whenever he picked you both up. In middle school, you stopped punching the kids who mocked him. Jungkook said it embarrassed him.
You still threatened the bullies behind the cafeteria wall, though.
“You’re really weird, you know that?” You finally say, shaping sugar paste into a tiny scarf for your gingerbread man. “You’re the guy I know who hates Christmas the most, and instead of going, I don’t know, to the Caribbean, you choose to spend your vacation organizing it.”
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say —especially with sarcasm— because he scowls immediately. “I’m the weird one? You literally applied here just to stick to me!”
You clutch your chest dramatically, fake-offended. “What, I’m not allowed to look for a job to pay for the end of the year? Get over yourself, Jeon. My world doesn’t revolve around you.”
He raises an eyebrow like he strongly disagrees —which, honestly, is fair. Anyone who’d seen you as kids would’ve sworn otherwise. “Say whatever you want,” he mutters, “it doesn’t change the fact that you’re still just as unhinged.”
It’s so quiet you can’t even tell if he’s joking.
“And you’re still the same lost little kid,” You shoot back, “You know, the one who came crying to me every time he lost a toy?”
His cheeks immediately turn red. “At least the ‘lost kid’ didn’t drop everything to become a lawyer just because he had ‘good arguments,’ only to completely fail his career.”
Okay. Now you’re actually offended.
You didn’t fail your law career —you just didn’t start it. This year wasn’t exactly ideal for that. You should’ve known rumors would spread around town. Still —it stings.
“You little—” You mutter through clenched teeth.
Jungkook has the audacity to give you a smug little look. “What? Isn’t it true? If it wasn’t, why would you come back to this dump?”
For a split second, he looks genuinely sad —like he himself regrets never leaving. It almost calms you down. Almost.
Then he brings back the smug look, and you snap.
When you were kids, he always won —every game, every stupid little challenge. It made him kind of arrogant sometimes. Someone has to put him in his place, right?
He opens his mouth to speak —but Jeon Jungkook loses that infuriating smirk before he can say a word, because a violent handful of flour slams straight into his nose.
He starts coughing violently, clouds of white powder exploding with every breath. He flails his arms to push you away —but you’ve already reloaded, both fists full of flour, ready to strike.
“Say that again!” You growl when he finally manages to open his eyes, his face completely white.
“You’re completely insane!” he practically yells, drawing the attention of the other volunteers.
“Yeah, you’ve said that already,” You reply, raising your hand again. “Go on. Say it again.”
“You’re just a spoiled daddy’s girl who doesn’t know what she wants!” he blurts out, looking seconds away from sticking his tongue out at you.
“And you’re a stuck-up idiot!” You fire back, launching flour straight into his face.
This time, he doesn’t wait to stop coughing before retaliating. Blind in the flour cloud, he reaches into the bag, grabs a handful, and throws it at you with way more force than necessary.
You cough, eyes squeezed shut, letting out a furious yelp. “That’s cheating! You’ve got bigger hands!”
“You started it,” he snaps —right before grabbing the back of your head and smashing flour into your face.
You’re going to kill him.
You don’t know who’s yelling or attacking more —only that suddenly it’s nothing but shouting, grabbed clothes, and flour flying everywhere.
When you deliberately shove some into his ear, he retaliates by dumping it into your hair. You shove some down the collar of his sweater, making him yell. He scratches at his back, trying to shake it off —and instead trips over the table leg.
Naturally, he takes you down with him.
Your eyes widen at the same time when you realize he’s about to crush you —but somehow, miraculously, he catches himself. One hand grips your waist, and he takes the worst of the fall, landing flat on his back with your full weight on top of him. You both groan in pain.
You push yourself up on your forearms, Jungkook’s hand still steady on your waist. Fine clouds of flour drift around you like snow, and you can feel his breath on your cheek —just like he must feel yours on his.
Your gazes lock. Your noses are only inches apart.
And suddenly, you both become painfully aware of how close you are —your body pressed against his, one hand on his chest, one of his still on your waist. And yet, the moment your eyes meet his dark ones, you find yourself completely unable to move.
He doesn’t seem any better.
“Alright, children! What on earth is going on here?!” Mr. Rodolph’s voice— assistant in charge of Christmas activities— booms across the room.
Jungkook and you both jolt like you’ve been struck by lightning. You quickly scramble to your feet, immediately putting distance between the both of you.
You’re covered in flour from head to toe. So is he. Around you, the other volunteers stare in stunned silence. Heat floods your face —and when you glance at Jungkook, his cheeks and ears are bright red.
You apologize in unison, promise to pay for the wasted flour, and once everyone gets back to work, you resume your baking like nothing happened.
Still red.
You’re the first to speak. “Just so you know,” you say. He turns toward you, wearing something other than his usual grumpy expression for once. “You hit the ground first. I’m counting that as a win.”
You suppress a smile when he raises an eyebrow, offended. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Twinkle,” he mutters —his tone sounding suspiciously like a promise of a rematch.
Your smile grows —but you hold it back. At least until you see him hiding one of his own.
When you burst out laughing, he joins in, cheeks still flushed —but this time with a real smile lighting up his face.
Silently, you think that Jungkook is really handsome when he lets himself go like that. You don’t say it out loud, of course.
But when he goes back to stirring his awful dough while half-heartedly holding the conversation you’re forcing him into, you grab the milk bottle and pour at least half of it into his bowl.
And he lets you. Without a single comment.
DECEMBER 17.
Out of all the Christmas activities organized by the village, the ice rink has always been your favorite. The feeling of gliding freely, the wind biting at your face, hours of fun with friends, the inevitable falls that make everyone laugh… Yeah. You’ve always loved it.
Apparently, that’s very much not the case for Jungkook.
On Wednesday, your task is to set up the temporary ice rink —as fast as possible— so it can open to the public the very next day. Your small team of volunteers gathers early that morning, and you’re more efficient than ever. Probably because, for once, Jungkook and you don’t argue.
Well. Except that one time when you got into it because he refused to hand you the wrench —after which you hit him with a scaffolding pipe. He barely felt it. Really. Nothing worth mentioning.
By around four in the afternoon, everything is finally set up, and the small tent with the skates opens just for you and the team, before the rink officially opens later that evening. You’re bouncing with excitement as you eagerly look for your shoe size —then even more so when you sit down near the edge to put them on.
Some of your coworkers are already on the ice, laughter cutting through the air above the soft rush of wind. You double-check that your skates are properly tightened, then push off to join them, starting with your skates parallel to the barrier.
It’s only after a few laps —smiling wide— that you notice Jungkook standing near the railing, phone in hand, looking thoroughly miserable. Frowning, you skate over and lean against the barrier to catch his attention.
“What are you doing? Go get some skates, let’s do a few laps!” You say, giving his shoulder a light tap. He steps back like you just insulted his entire bloodline, shooting a dark look at the rink.
“No thanks,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. You’d bet good money that if he could cross his arms like a sulking child, he absolutely would.
“Oh, come on. You’re not seriously going home already? Just one lap —not long, I promise!”
His expression darkens. “Forget it. I’ve got stuff to do.”
Without meaning to, your mouth twists into a small pout. “That sucks. You sure you don’t want to take this chance to totally impress me?” You joke, eyes pleading.
Jungkook has always been good at everything —a kind of natural talent that lets him excel at literally anything he touches. Completely unbearable, in your opinion. When he wasn’t busy wiping the floor with you, he used that gift to help you with things you were terrible at —though more often than not, he preferred to rub it in.
“I’m sure you’d be amazing…” You add, more as a last-convincing attempt than anything else.
To your surprise, he doesn’t respond. Instead, the tops of his cheeks turn red, and he looks away. “What?” You ask after a few seconds, confused by the lack of smug teasing you’re used to.
He mutters something you can’t quite hear, then clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck nervously. You frown. “Nothing. I’m heading out.” He tosses out a rushed, barely intelligible “see ya” and walks off quickly —almost jogging.
His escape might’ve worked if he didn’t have to walk all the way around the rink to leave.
“Jeon Jungkook,” You sing-song, your tone half-suspicious, half-amused, skating along the edge to follow him. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to skate?”
He freezes.
His head drops, clearly trying to hide his burning-red face. Internally, you rejoice. “No way.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he grumbles, glaring at you while glancing around to make sure no one heard. You stare at him, mouth hanging open.
Jeon Jungkook. The kid genius who can do everything. Can’t skate.
You burst out laughing so hard you can barely breathe, clutching the railing to keep from slipping, one hand pressed to your stomach. “Shut up,” he snaps after a few seconds, shooting you a dark look —looking embarrassed, and unfairly cute.
“You never learned?” You ask once you manage to calm down, still smiling way too much.
He scowls but answers anyway. “I was scared of falling and losing a finger.” At your confused look, he adds, “If someone skated over it.”
You laugh even harder. He glares at you twice as fiercely —but at least he doesn’t run off, which you count as a win.
“You’re not going to lose a finger,” you reassure him. “People are careful, don’t worry.” “Still—”
“Come on, go get some skates. I don’t have all day,” you press gently, tapping his shoulder again.
This time, he doesn’t brush your hand away. He just stares at you, eyes practically popping out of his head. “Are you insane? Absolutely not.”
“I’ll teach you! It’s easy, you’ll see!”
“No way. I value my life.”
You don’t answer right away, stung. Sure, you like teasing him —but not like that. If he’s going to be mean, he might as well just go home.
He seems to realize it too, because his expression softens, something like regret flickering in his eyes. He pauses, exhales louder than necessary, and you watch his gaze drift toward the other skaters already on the ice. When he looks back at you, that same awkward expression is back.
“If I walk away with even a single bruise…” he starts threateningly.
You wave him off. “Stop being dramatic, Jeon. Do you really think I’d let you fall?”
In the end, you do let him fall. Three times, actually.
The fourth time, the sore loser clings to you and drags you down with him —and if you yell at him at first, you both quickly lose your seriousness and end up laughing like you did during the flour fight.
Jungkook’s ridiculous talent hasn’t faded with the years. He only needs about ten minutes with you before he’s comfortable skating on his own. And just like that, your moment of glory is over. He beats you every time you race, skates with such effortless elegance you’d swear he’s been doing it his whole life, and even catches you several times when you almost fall.
A group of kids takes a liking to him, amazed by his skills, and he plays with them for a while —smiling far more than he’d ever like people to notice.
You watch from a distance, a fond smile appearing every time Jungkook looks up and meets your gaze, like he’s checking that you’re still there. Actually, you keep smiling even when he’s not looking.
It feels like you’re seeing the little boy from your childhood again —the shy one who was also the funniest and sweetest, who just needed an excuse to let it show.
He joins you by the railing as the setting sun paints long streaks of orange and red across the sky. You turn toward him, smiling. His cheeks and nose are red from the cold, but his grumpy scowl is gone, replaced by a small smile.
“So?” You say, proud of myself. “The ice rink?” He blushes even harder, that awkward look returning. “Told you you’d be amazing.”
“You’re just bad,” he shoots back, nudging you with his elbow and making you laugh. He always has to get his little comment in.
“You know, you’re allowed to admit you liked it,” You tease, turning toward him with a smile.
He pretends to weigh the pros and cons, nose lifted into the wind.“Yeah… it wasn’t bad,” he finally admits with a shrug.
Then he looks at you —and the look he gives you warms your chest in the best way. “Really not bad.”
DECEMBER 19.
“Which one looks better? Red or white?” You ask, holding the two ornaments side by side to compare.
“I don’t know the fuck. Hurry up, we don’t have all week,” Jungkook grumbles back without even bothering to look at the glass balls you’re offering him.
You lower your arms, annoyed. God, he’s unbearable this morning.
Okay, he’s never liked decorating Christmas trees —when the deputy assigned you both to it, you honestly thought he might start crying— but still. He could at least appreciate how lucky you are. The only other group made up of “young people,” besides you, got stuck decorating the giant tree in the village square —the three-meter-tall one everyone walks past all day long. They’re going to be there forever. All day, if they’re fast.
You’ve got the modest elementary school tree. You’re doing great. In an hour or two, you’ll be done. At least, you would be, if Jungkook would stop sulking.
“Okay, and if we go with the polite option, what does that get me?”
He looks up at you, completely unimpressed. “Go fuck yourself.” You sigh. You guess you shouldn’t be surprised.
When you were kids, it used to take you forever to convince him to decorate the tree with you —your favorite activity back then— and he always complained. He didn’t dare insult you yet, because he would’ve gotten scolded. But that’s the perk of being an adult: no one tells you off for being rude anymore.
“Whatever, you’ve got terrible taste anyway,” You say cheerfully, deciding to ignore him since he’s clearly chosen to be insufferable today.
“Go fuck yourself,” he repeats, still not pretending to care as you hang the ornament yourself. Probably because he knows you well enough to guess you’ll end up putting both on. You’ve never been able to choose —they’re all so pretty…
“Excuse me, kids,” one of the volunteers suddenly says, stepping in and reaching toward you just as you’re forced to climb down from the step ladder to grab more ornaments —since a certain unbearable child refuses to pass them to you. “I’m going to borrow this for a minute, but I’ll bring it right back, don’t worry!”
You barely have time to react before the man grabs your ladder and disappears without waiting for an answer. You stare after him, dumbfounded, as he vanishes down the street. Jungkook, meanwhile, doesn’t move an inch —still in full rock mode.
For a ridiculous full minute, neither of you moves. You, because you’re stunned. Him, because he’s been emotionally fossilized since this morning. “So… what do we do?” You finally ask quietly, turning to him.
He looks at you, utterly uninterested, clearly wishing he were anywhere else. “What do you mean, ‘what do we do’? We decorate the tree.”
Translation: do whatever you want, just deal with it —and hurry up.
“Uh… Jungkook ?” He frowns at your evasive look and the way you suddenly start wringing your hands. “He’s with the group doing the supermarket. There are like ten trees over there. I don’t think they’re bringing the ladder back.”
He stays still, but you can practically see the gears turning in his head. His brows knit together slowly, his gaze bouncing between you, the door the ladder thief disappeared through, and your tree.
You instantly regret your habit of decorating the bottom first —because now, without the ladder, the top is completely out of reach. “Is this a fucking joke?” he mutters when he reaches the same conclusion.
You just shake your head. He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So what do we do?” he asks in turn. You’re very tempted to answer as sarcastically as he did earlier. But you don’t, because you’re nice like that.
“I can’t reach the top without the ladder,” You point out, gesturing to the entire bare upper half of the tree.
The look you give him seems to make the implication sink in —he’s going to have to do it— but he shakes his head before you can even try to convince him. “No way. I’d rather die,” he says firmly, clearly not open to discussion.
You want to snap back that he could at least try, but you know that would just start another argument, so you bite your tongue. After another minute where no one moves —and your ladder is still very much gone— an idea finally comes to you.
An idea he is going to hate. Still, since it’s your only option, you turn to him anyway, choosing your words carefully. “I mean… I do have an idea. But I’ll need your help.”
He gives you a deeply suspicious look, like he’s convinced you’re plotting something awful. You tense up reflexively, ready to back away the moment he figures it out —especially since earlier he shoved you, which he called a “light tap,” even though you almost face-planted.
After a moment, though, he raises an eyebrow in silent question. You swallow nervously. He’s definitely going to hit you if I say this out loud.
“You know… we could…” You gesture vaguely toward the tree, hoping he’ll catch on quickly. “…Like when we were kids?”
His face falls the second he understands, and you could swear his cheeks turn pink before he shakes his head decisively. “Not in a million years.”
You stomp your foot, annoyed. His wannabe rebellious-teen attitude is getting seriously old. “You got a better idea?”
He looks up at the ceiling with a long sigh, silently screaming please just kill me now. “No, but I’m not—”
“The faster it’s done, the faster we can go home!” You snap, at your wit’s end. “It’s twenty minutes. Max.”
That finally hits home. He goes quiet, lower lip sticking out slightly as he thinks —and no, you were not staring at his mouth to notice that. He shoots you another wary look, eyes narrowed. “Five,” he finally says, reluctantly.
You shake your head, eyeing how much of the tree is still undecorated. No way you can finish that in five minutes, even with the best intentions.
“Fifteen,” You counter with a sigh.
“Six,” he shoots back —and at this point you don’t even know if it’s for him or just to annoy you.
“JUNGKOOK.” “Fine. Ten. But after that, you make sure they never ask us to decorate these shitty trees ever again.”
You suppress a smile at his sulky expression. What a child. “Deal.” “Deal.”
Jungkook complains a lot less than you expected when you climb onto his shoulders. Given how grumpy he’s been all day, you were fully prepared for comments like you weigh a ton or hurry your ass up, but he’s strangely quiet as he gently places his hands on your thighs before standing, gripping firmly to keep you from falling.
You get back to work without a word, silence settling in as he hands you ornaments and garlands one by one so you don’t have to lean too far.
Normally, you would’ve filled the quiet with chatter —but you’re way too busy keeping your focus on the tree, and not on his hands on your legs.
When you were kids, you did this every year. He’d complain while you decorated the bottom, then hoist you onto his shoulders so you could do the top. It worked —you always finished fast enough to avoid the teacher catching you. Otherwise, you would’ve been scolded.
Even now, the method is just as effective.
Still, you’re pretty sure little kid you never had to deal with burning cheeks and that fluttery feeling in her stomach every time he shifts.
You’re proud of yourself, though —for now, you’re keeping it together. You haven’t completely embarrassed yourself yet.
Right as you think that, he tightens his grip on your legs, presses his cheek against the inside of your thigh, and squeezes much more firmly. You gasp in surprise, grabbing his hair to keep from letting out the tiniest sound.
You squeeze your eyes shut, lips pressed together. Having Jungkook’s head there is already more than enough, you really don’t need this turning into full-on groping.
Even if… no. Stop.
“Sorry,” he mutters so quietly you barely hear it, shifting back into place and moving his head just enough for you to breathe again.
The building door opens before you can respond, and a tall woman carrying notebooks storms inside.
Your heart nearly stops when you recognize her.
The teacher.
“Lee and Jeon! What a surprise!” she says warmly. “I almost thought I was dreaming when I saw you two. Up to your old tricks again, hmm?”
Jungkook’s eyes go wide as he recognizes Mrs. Song, your former teacher, who’s smiling at you fondly. When you were kids, you always rushed to decorate the tree before she could see you —and she never actually caught you, even though she absolutely knew it was you doing it against the rules.
Years later, she’s caught you red-handed.
Worse —Jungkook’s head is between your legs, and you’re clutching his hair like your life depends on it.
You’re going to die of embarrassment.
“We’re working for the city,” Jungkook says smoothly, sparing you an awkward silence. That’s when you notice your fingers that are still tangled in his hair. You yank your hands back in a panic, wobbling and forcing him to place a hand at the small of your back to steady you.
A shiver runs straight down your spine. You do your best to ignore it and smile at Mrs. Song. “We’re almost done, I promise.”
She bursts out laughing, setting her notebooks down on a table in the hallway. “Oh, you’re not bothering me at all. Quite the opposite. It reminds me of when you were little…”
Jungkook’s hands tighten on you as you lean forward to hang the last garland. You have to stop yourself from squirming.
“Almost twenty years already… I can still see you arguing over which colors were best…”
“We weren’t arguing. She picked on her own,” Jungkook grumbles, handing you another red ornament.
You tap his forehead lightly, but despite your bickering, Mrs. Song clearly notices your shared smirks.
“It amused all my colleagues every year,” she continues cheerfully. “Watching you two plot to decorate the tree right under the city staff’s noses —and sneaking around so you wouldn’t get scolded.”
You smile without realizing it.
You can still see yourself —tiny as anything— dragging Jungkook along by the ear. He always came. He hid it well, but deep down, you’re sure he loved those moments.
“Every time, we debated catching you in the act,” she laughs softly, crow’s feet forming at the corners of her eyes.
You remember Jungkook tugging at your pigtails while you were still on his shoulders, urging you to hurry down, terrified of getting caught.
“The star,” You say quietly, pointing to the large white one.
He bends to grab it and hands it to you. You lean forward and secure the final touch.
“I even remember that every year, you chose the same colors,” she adds fondly. “Your own little tradition.”
You can feel Jungkook holding back a comment —but he stays silent, too focused on keeping you steady.
“Gold and green would look better,” he always used to complain, stomping his foot.
“The tree is already green, it’ll look awful!” You’d argue back.
And in the end, you always went with red and white —your favorite colors.
“All done,” You say, tapping his shoulder gently.
He grabs your waist to help you down.
The way his hands hold you steals your breath, and you blush at the realization that all these years, you’ve always trusted Jungkook not to let you fall —just like he trusted you on the ice rink. It almost makes you feel guilty, because he’s never let you down.
The bruises he probably still has from the other day say otherwise about you.
With the mess at your feet, he hesitates before setting you down, keeping you suspended against him longer than necessary. You cling to his shoulders instinctively, breath shallow.
When he finally looks up after nudging the decorations aside, your eyes meet. Your noses brush—
“The best part was when your father came to get you early and caught you in the act!” Mrs. Song laughs as she walks toward her office. “The looks on your faces! Ah, good old times...”
She disappears down the hallway, smiling warmly.
But at the mention of his father, Jungkook loses all trace of warmth.
The second she’s gone, his body goes rigid. He grips you —harder this time. Too hard. Not the kind of pressure that gives you butterflies.
His eyes harden, his face closes off, and a moment later he sets you down abruptly.
“I’ll clean this up,” he mutters, grabbing the large box of decorations.
What the—
You don’t even have time to say anything. He’s already gone.
“You could’ve waited for me!” You complain, jogging up to him in front of the school. He’s standing there doing nothing, stiff as a lamppost.
He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t even turn his head. He just stares into nothing, glassy-eyed, his face completely blank. A small spike of worry pricks at you, but you know Jungkook well enough to understand that if he doesn’t want to talk, he won’t —no matter how much you push.
So instead, you choose to worry about his physical health —because once again, Mister decided to go out wearing nothing but a sweater while it’s minus five degrees outside and night is already falling.
“You got your car?” You ask casually, eyes fixed on his profile.
He snaps out of his daze, startled by the sudden question, and stares at you with those big doe eyes of his. “No,” he answers simply, without looking away. He hesitates, as if weighing his options, then adds, “You?”
You shake your head. You both live ten minutes away on foot —why would you have taken your car?
“Wanna walk home together?”
“Do I even have a choice?”
Neither of you speaks as you head down the street toward your place, walking side by side in silence, your breaths forming little clouds in the cold air. More than once, you see Jungkook shiver, but you stop yourself from doing anything about it —because right now, randomly grabbing his hand would be weird, right?.. I think about it for a second, then decide it’s a terrible idea. So instead, you bury your nose in your scarf and keep your eyes fixed straight ahead.
You leave the main road, turning right onto the small path that leads home, but as you round the corner, you cross paths with a man coming the other way. With the poor lighting, you can’t make out his face —just the vague shape of it, lit by his phone screen.
Reflexively, you move closer to Jungkook, your shoulders bumping as you hurry toward him. Startled, he lifts his head, frowning, and follows your gaze to see what caught your attention.
Before he has time to figure it out, though, the guy ahead of you lifts his head too —and a wide grin splits his face when his eyes land on Jungkook.
“Fuck, Jeon! What the hell are you doing here —still crying over your daddy?”
Silence.
You can feel Jungkook tense beside you —his entire face shuts down, and a muscle jumps in his cheek as his jaw clenches.
The guy stops under a streetlamp a few steps away, and now that his face is lit, you recognize him —he was in your class in high school, though you can’t remember his name. You probably spoke to him, what, three times? Max.
You stop short, thrown by his words. What the hell is he talking about? You open your mouth to ask Jungkook, confused, but at the same time the guy’s gaze slides over to you, his grin morphing into something more unsettling.
“Who’s that?” he asks, openly checking you out, jerking his chin toward you. “Didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Jeon. You gonna introduce us?”
That does it —you shoot him a death glare. Who the hell does he think he is, this loser?
“Go fuck yourself, Ryan,” Jungkook snaps through clenched teeth, before grabbing your elbow and picking up the pace, pulling you along with him.
You almost have to run to keep up with his long strides —why are his legs long like that?!— and when you try to tell him to slow down, one hand on his arm, it’s like he can’t hear you, charging ahead just to get away from the guy.
Worse than that, he keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead like a charging bull, holding his breath as he puts distance between you and him.
You turn your head, confused, doing your best to keep up while looking back over your shoulder to glare at the guy.
Your expression hardens when, instead of seeing him walk away like a normal person, you catch him already staring at you, a smile on his lips —and judging by the way he subtly lifts his chin when you turn around, it’s not your back he was looking at, but lower.
That alone is enough to make your blood boil.
Jungkook’s grip on you is too firm for you to go punch what’s-his-face —whose name you’ve already forgotten— so instead you turn to him, brows furrowed.
“Do you know him? Who was that?” You vaguely remember seeing that guy in high school, but you’re pretty sure he was never friends with Jungkook. You were even convinced no one from your class still lived here —Jungkook’s friends, like yours, all moved away to study or work elsewhere.
He waits until you’ve turned onto another street to slow down, casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure the other guy didn’t follow us. His hand stays on your elbow —big, warm, grounding.
“An asshole,” he mutters, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. Then, after a brief moment where your eyes meet, “Forget it.”
You tilt your head, even more confused, but this time he avoids your gaze, staring back into the emptiness ahead.
You sigh, annoyed. You’re willing to give him space —partly because you know how stubborn he can be— but this? You feel like you have the right to know. That bastard just checked out your ass, after all.
“What did he want, exactly?” You mutter with a displeased grimace, fully aware there’s little chance he’ll answer —but you never know. “And why did he talk about your dad?”
You look straight at him when you say that, then add, eyes suddenly wide as your grimace disappears, “How is he, by the way?”
For your studies, you left home right after high school —Jungkook did too, as far as you knew— but at first, your parents —especially your mom— kept you updated on everything going on back here. They always got along well with Jungkook’s dad, so you heard about him now and then, even if you didn’t really talk anymore.
A memory you’d completely forgotten slams back into you like a flash —your dad, on the phone the day after Christmas during your third year, telling you Mr. Jeon had been in a car accident. You vaguely remember asking how he was doing, but now that you think about it, you don’t think you ever got an answer.
And just thinking about it twists something in your stomach, a wave of worry washing over you. Because you’ve been back for almost a week now —and you haven’t seen Mr. Jeon even once.
Jungkook remains stoic, not a flicker of emotion crossing his face while you spiral beside him.
You lean closer to try and see his expression, but he doesn’t look at you when he answers.
‘How is he, by the way?’
“He’s dead.”
The three words hit you like a truck. You stop dead, suddenly unable to move.
Jungkook keeps walking for a few steps before stopping too —without turning around.
All you can do is stare at his back, eyes wide.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Your third year was three years ago—three years, damn it.
Don’t tell me you’ve been stupid enough not to know for three fucking years?!
Jungkook’s back stays rigid, unmoving, and your fingers itch with the sudden urge to pull him into your arms.
You bet he closed his eyes. You bet he’s keeping his back turned so nothing shows. And you just asked him how his dad was doing —unbelievable, what a—
“I’m going to kill him.”
“What?!”
You take off running in the opposite direction —you’re sure that asshole Rémi —or whatever his name is—is still on the street, you can catch up to him, right?— but you barely make it ten steps before Jungkook grabs you by the collar and yanks you back hard.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he sighs, but at least his eyes aren’t empty anymore.
“I’m going to kill him,” you repeat, swatting his hand away. “Let go.”
He sighs again, this time a mix of exhaustion and irritation crossing his face.
“Stop it,” he mutters, shoving you a little harder than necessary as he releases your coat.
“Stop what?” You ask suddenly, all your anger draining away at the genuinely hurt look in his eyes.
“Don’t pity me,” he says softly, eyes locked on yours. Your heart tightens at all the pain you see there. “I don’t need that. Least of all from you.”
You should be offended —but instead, it’s the opposite. Maybe because you know pushing people away has always been Jungkook’s way of protecting himself.
Too bad your way of protecting him is forcing him to put up with you all day long.
“Who’s pitying you, exactly?” You shoot back, one eyebrow raised. His face falters slightly, confusion written all over it. You click your tongue, feigning annoyance. “That asshole was staring at my ass. I just want to teach him some manners.”
When he doesn’t react —standing still while processing your words— you roll your eyes and start walking again, arms crossed over your chest —toward home this time, not toward the other asshole. You pass him, and Jungkook falls into step beside you automatically, still silent.
Only after a full minute of complete quiet does his voice break through again.
“Everyone stares at your ass, Twinkle.”
You smile to myself, absurdly pleased —because he never calls you Twinkle when he’s angry.
You glance at him over your shoulder as he catches up to walk beside you. “Well, that shouldn’t be allowed,” you retort, because deep down, he’s not the only stubborn one here.
“What shouldn’t be allowed,” he mutters without looking at you, “is having such a nice ass.”
“Wow, Jeon Jungkook. Was that a compliment?”
“Shut up,” he snaps, cheeks flushing red, pretending to grumble while you burst out laughing —and yet, you can clearly see the small smile he’s trying to hide.
Several minutes later, when the silence has long settled again, you finally gather your courage and, giving in to the tingling in your fingers, slip your hand into his, gently squeezing his fingers with yours.
This time, you’re the one who ignores his look as he turns to you, one eyebrow raised —clearly saying ‘see? you ARE pitying me’.
You scrunch your nose, annoyed —and a little embarrassed too.
“Shut up. It’s so you don’t get cold,” you mumble into your scarf, tucking your joined hands into your coat pocket. “What kind of idiot goes out in just a sweater in this weather…”
He doesn’t answer —but he doesn’t pull his hand away either.
And for the rest of the walk home, that small, quiet smile stays right there on his lips.
DECEMBER 21.
Jungkook spent the entire day shut inside his house.
The day before, the two of you had been assigned to the Christmas market that had just opened, while others —luckier, according to him— were stationed at the ice rink, or simply tasked with checking the latest decoration orders at city hall.
You, on the other hand, had been put in charge of the hot chocolate stand —the most popular stand in the entire market.
Still, he has to admit it wasn’t that bad. In fact, generally speaking, he might even go so far as to say it was nice —though he would never say that out loud— and that he enjoyed spending that time with you.
He’d forgotten how easy it was to get swept up in your good mood.
The one moment he might like to forget —maybe, if he really had to— was when a small boy had come over in tears after scraping his knee, and you’d spent long minutes comforting him as if he were your own child.
He still remembers the warmth that bloomed in his chest as he stood there in silence, watching your profile, your smile, the way your eyes shone. And then he noticed the stupid grin spreading across his own face, and hurried to wipe it away, embarrassed.
What the hell is wrong with him?
He’s letting himself go too much since you came back —he hadn’t felt like this since high school, maybe even before, and it doesn’t bode well. You’re only here for the holidays, after all.
Still… he’d forgotten how radiant you were. How kind. Even if you’re unbearable sometimes.
So pretty.
He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. He really needs to get a grip.
“Bam!” he calls over his shoulder, bending down to grab his dog’s bowl. “Dinner time!”
With a practiced motion, he grabs the bag of kibble and pours it into the bowl. His mind has been foggy for days now, split between his usual grief and… you, even if he’d rather die than admit that to himself.
When you finally asked about his father —the question he’d been dreading the most, even though he knew it was coming— he’d expected to feel sad. Angry. Desperate, maybe.
He’d expected the usual speech —that you were sorry, that you were there for him, blah blah blah.
Instead, you’d confessed your murderous urges and teased him, perfectly true to yourself.
From anyone else, it would’ve offended him. Outraged him. He probably would’ve punched whoever dared say that.
But coming from you, it made him smile —worse, it warmed his entire body, like a blanket wrapped tightly around him.
The best part was certainly when you took his hand.
He wouldn’t be able to describe what he felt the next day, when you met again to manage the ice rink stand as planned, and you talked to him like usual. Nothing had changed in your tone, in your gaze —and it affected him far more than he would’ve imagined.
But Sundays are a day off for volunteers —city hall staff take over instead.
So he stayed home.
And it turns out that without you there to bother him all day, the dark thoughts come back much faster.
He woke up thinking about his father.
Ate thinking about his father.
Watched a show thinking about his father.
It’s his fault, really —everything in this house reminds him of his dad. He should’ve left a long time ago. He just never found the strength.
“Bam?” he calls again when the doberman still hasn’t appeared.
Silence.
That’s strange. Usually the dog comes running at the slightest noise —often just to play— and even faster when it’s time to eat.
But now? Nothing.
Frowning, Jungkook straightens up and searches the house. Nothing in the living room. Nothing in the bedroom. Not even in his office. Where the hell could Bam have gone?
He considers checking the attic —who knows, maybe he snuck up there— when he suddenly notices that the kitchen door leading outside is wide open.
Shit, Jungkook thinks, just before panic takes over.
Shit shit shit shit shit.
Bam —his hyper, uncontrollable dog— loose in the street? Shit.
Jungkook doesn’t think twice. He runs outside, vaguely remembering to lock the door behind him before bursting into the street, shouting his dog’s name. For what feels like an eternity, that’s all he does —running around, calling out— until after long minutes, resigned to the idea that all he can do is put up flyers, he heads back home.
That’s when he passes your house, glowing with Christmas lights —and stops.
Could it be…?
Yes. It would make sense.
He’s had Bam for several years now —since he started working at the restaurant, actually— and your mom always gave him treats whenever she saw him. Over time, the dog learned that going to your place meant free food.
So maybe…
Jungkook ignores the way his chest pounds as he slips through the little red gate, just like he used to as a kid.
He ignores the flutter in his stomach as he walks up your driveway and knocks on your door.
And he does everything he can to ignore the way his breath catches when you open it and you’re suddenly face to face.
“Jungkook?”
You stare at him, surprised, watching him swallow as the tops of his cheeks redden visibly. Suddenly, you remember the tiny shorts you threw on with your sweater without thinking —and instantly regret not considering it before opening the door.
Though, admittedly, the way Jungkook’s eyes linger on your bare legs is… pretty nice.
“Hey, uh…” he starts, nervously scratching the back of his neck.
You tilt your head, amused. You will never stop finding his shy side adorable.
“By any chance, have you seen—”
“WARF!”
He’s cut off mid-sentence by Bam, who explodes with joy at the sight of him and literally jumps on him. You step aside just in time to avoid being taken out —thankfully, because you would’ve ended up flat on your face— but Jungkook isn’t so lucky.
He stumbles back several steps, struggling not to fall as his dog overwhelms him with affection, licking his face enthusiastically while completely ignoring the “stop, stop, THAT’S ENOUGH” Jungkook yells.
The scene is so adorable you can’t help but laugh, which earns you a glare from Jungkook.
“…Seen your dog? Yeah. I might have.”
“Thanks,” he mutters softly, scratching Bam behind the ears. He finally manages to calm him down, gripping his collar to keep him still before petting him gently, visibly relieved.
“I was going to bring him back to your place, but first I wanted to finish—” You trail off, gesturing vaguely toward the inside of the house.
He looks up, surprised. “You were doing something?” he asks, half-apologetic for interrupting you, and half-curious.
You smile, a small laugh escaping you. “I was decorating my tree.”
His eyebrows shoot so high they disappear into his hair. “You haven’t done your tree yet? Three days before Christmas?”
You pout, fake-offended. “I haven’t really had time, you know. I only pulled all the boxes out of the attic this morning. Those things weigh a ton.”
“You should’ve asked me —I would’ve done it for you,” he blurts out naturally while petting his dog.
You both freeze.
Realizing what he just said, he turns bright red. “I mean—”
“You want to help me?” You ask simply, smiling softly.
He rubs the back of his neck, messing up his hair in the process —and the result is far too sexy to be legal. Mentally, you sigh, resisting the urge to bat your eyelashes.
How can he be so cute and so handsome at the same time?
He looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. “…With the tree?” he asks in a tiny voice, as if he can’t believe his ears.
You nod, doing your best to hide his growing smile.
God, he’s adorable.
“Okay,” he finally says, biting his lower lip.
Your Christmas playlist hums in the background, Mariah Carey hitting that high note while you sway your hips gently, humming along. Jungkook is quiet, but the small smile on his lips hasn’t left since he came in.
On the couch, Bam is happily chewing on an old plush toy he found and that you’d forgotten existed —after Jungkook spent a long time making sure you didn’t mind his dog destroying it.
You assured him you didn’t —result: the doberman is seconds away from ripping the teddy bear’s head off. Five-year-old Y/N might cry if she saw this, but you find it hilarious.
“What color do you want?” Jungkook asks absently, crouched in front of the big boxes you dragged down from the attic this morning —nearly breaking your back in the process.
He’s clearly asking out of politeness, since he’s already grabbed a long red garland and a white glass ornament. When he holds them out to you, though, you don’t take them right away, lost in thought.
He looks up, puzzled when you don’t take the ornament —and downright confused when you reach into the box for another one instead.
“That one,” you say simply, pointing to a shiny green ornament.
He stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. “Uh… Y/N ? You don’t want the red one?”
You shake your head, holding out your hand for the green one. “I feel like changing things up.”
He pulls his arm back, pressing the green ornament to his chest, out of your reach when you try to grab it. “You never want to change things, though…?”
“Give it to me!” You complain —but he lifts his arm over his head, forcing you onto your tiptoes, one hand landing on his shoulder, only barely brushing his wrist with your fingertips.
As you stretch higher, you stumble —and he places a hand on your waist to steady you. Your noses brush when he lowers his head to look at you.
“You’re not doing this just to make me happy, are you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” You laugh —but you can feel your cheeks heat as a smile slowly blooms on his lips.
You expect one of his usual teasing remarks, but instead he just looks at you, smiling, eyes bright, his bunny smile lighting up his whole face.
That’s worse.
Because now all you can do is blush and squirm under his gaze.
“You know what?” You grumble, bright red, finally giving up and dropping back onto your heels. “Forget it. We’ll do white and red like always —it would’ve looked ugly anyway.”
You barely have time to turn your back before your hear him snicker —then he slips an arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently against his chest.
“Perfect. Then it’ll be green and gold!”
And because you’re physically incapable of saying no when he’s this adorable —especially when he’s holding you like this— you give in, grumbling only a little.
For the first time, Jungkook doesn’t complain while helping you decorate the tree. He even laughs at your jokes. Even when you tease him for not having done his own tree, he stays in a good mood —smiling, even, though he’d definitely deny it.
“I didn’t do one last year either. Lost half the boxes when I moved back here. Last time I tried, I couldn’t find the star, so I just took everything down,” he explains, shrugging at your stunned expression. “It’s not really a Christmas tree without a star on top.”
And you smile like an idiot, because you never would’ve guessed that Jungkook —the one who claims to hate Christmas— would care so much about a star.
Why does that make him even cuter?
“I can give you one, if you want,” you say at last.
His eyes widen again. “You would?”
Since your parents divorced —when you were thirteen— your mom has bought you a new star every year, and Jungkook came with you to buy it almost every time.
He knows how much stupid little traditions mean to you.
If only he knew that no star was bought this year.
The thought knots your stomach, so you shove it away. “Yeah. I’ll look through the boxes.”
He nods, cheeks pink, and you smile at the sight, fond.
At some point, the playlist loops back to the beginning and Mariah Carey starts singing again —naturally, Jungkook complains, and you burst out laughing. He complains even more when you start singing at the top of your lungs, grabbing his hands to make him dance with you in the middle of the living room.
Eventually, he joins in, flailing ridiculously while laughing, his bunny smile on full display.
“I’ll never understand why you love this song so much,” he says when it ends, breathless.
“It puts me in such a good mood,” you reply softly, rising onto your tiptoes to place the star —when, without interrupting you, he gently lifts you by the waist, just enough for you to set it at the top. “And in a way, it’s romantic too. You know —like in Love Actually!”
He just raises an eyebrow as he sets you back down, his hands still on your waist —and they’re so warm, so comfortable, you’re not sure you want him to move them.
“Love Actually?! The movie!” You turn to stare at him, aghast. “With Keira Knightley!”
He shakes his head. “This might shock you, Twinkle, but I—”
“…Don’t watch Christmas movies, blah blah blah—but still! Love Actually!”
“You do realize repeating the title won’t magically put the movie into my brain, right?” His sarcasm makes you roll your eyes.
“Sit,” you point at the couch after a second of thought. “I’m fixing your culture.”
He sighs. “Seriously…?”
“SIT.”
You don’t wait for an answer —turn on the TV, then dash to the kitchen for cookies and hot chocolate.
When you come back, Bam has his head on Jungkook’s lap, and you leave a small space between you and them. When the movie starts, you grab a blanket and drape it over the both of you, inching closer without even realizing —your thighs brushing.
“What are you making me watch this time…” he sighs, rubbing his eyes, his elbow resting on the back of the couch behind your head.
You glare at him. He shuts up.
The thing is, Jungkook likes to pretend he’s grumpy —but deep down, he’s just as childlike as you are, and it shows whenever he lets his guard down.
He giggles like a kid during almost every John and Judy scene, pretends to be exasperated by David dancing through the house, but can’t hide his smile.
And at the end, when the kids start playing All I Want for Christmas, he pretends to cover his ears —but he keeps smiling as he watches you sing through tears.
Because yes. No matter how many times you’ve seen it, this movie still makes you cry all the same.
By the time it ends, his arm is around your shoulders, your head resting against his, and neither of you dares move —you’re too comfortable.
It’s warm. It’s safe. And being like this against him feels so good you could stay here for hours.
“We should do this every year,” you murmur, half-asleep, cheek pressed to his chest.
He lifts his head slightly, hair falling into his eyes, and your fingers tingle with the urge to run your hand through it.
“Do what?” he murmurs.
“This,” you repeat softly, gesturing vaguely at the room —the tree, the boxes, the credits rolling on the TV. Bam leans in to sniff your hand, and you pet his muzzle, then behind his ears. “You complaining while I force you to watch my favorite Christmas movies. It’s nice, right?”
He thinks about it for a moment.
When you lift your head to look at him, suddenly panicked that he doesn’t think it’s nice at all, he smiles —amused.
“What?”
“I just thought you were asking me to apply for Christmas prep duty next year. I was trying to figure out how to tell you without offending you that I’d rather die.”
His bunny smile makes your heart stutter.
God, you want to kiss him so badly.
“Okay… maybe we don’t have to redo that,” you admit after a few seconds, making him laugh softly. “But I’m totally voting for another movie-and-hot-chocolate night like this one. I’ve always loved doing this kind of stuff with you anyway —the tree was my favorite part. We should do it again, right? Make it our little tradition.”
Your voice drops to a murmur, suddenly heavy with emotion —because God knows you love traditions, and lately that’s been the problem.
He doesn’t answer —but he doesn’t pull away either.
Instead, he pulls you closer, until you’re almost lying on him.
And you don’t want to move.
Only when Netflix automatically starts another Christmas movie does he finally speak —and too focused on the screen, you miss the blush on his cheeks and the emotion in his eyes.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Maybe we should.”
DECEMBER 23
Jungkook is late that morning.
It might be —probably is— because he kept hitting snooze over and over, in a futile attempt to stretch out the time he could spend in the cozy paradise of his bed just a little longer.
The result: he’s nearly twenty minutes late, hasn’t eaten anything, and while he tries to brush his teeth with one hand, he struggles to fasten his jacket with the other.
Bam circles around him, tail wagging lazily, completely oblivious to the rush. Still, all it takes is one glance out the window for Jungkook to feel reassured —there’s a car parked in front of your house. So you must be running late too.
Maybe Jungkook should suggest going together.
At first, it seems like a good idea. It wouldn’t be weird, right? You were the one who suggested spending the evening together just yesterday. There’s no reason you’d find it strange. Right?
Part of jungkook hates how he can feel his cheeks heating up —and hates even more how his heart starts racing at the mere idea of walking to work together.
He’s got it bad. He can feel it. And he doesn’t like it at all.
Even as kids, he’d been drawn to you, unable to refuse you anything —even when you were insufferable. Years later, and he’s still pulled toward you like a magnet. It’s almost insulting.
But as Jungkook gives Bam one last pat, telling him to behave before closing the door behind him and heading down the driveway toward your place, he quickly realizes that something is wrong.
The only time he’s ever seen you use a car in the morning, it was blue. The one parked in front of your house now is completely black.
That’s when he stops dead in his tracks, brows knitting together, as he notices a figure dressed in black standing in front of your door, one hand raised to knock.
“Y/N ! Y/N, open the door —I know you’re in there!”
Jungkook’s frown deepens. He knows that voice —he just can’t place it.
As he approaches from behind the figure —who turns out to be a man slightly shorter than him— he can see without even peeking through the window that the house is dark. You’re clearly already gone.
So why is this man still calling for you?
“Can I help you?” Jungkook blurts out before he has time to think twice, his tone sharper than he intended. His fists clench at the mere idea of a stranger causing you trouble.
But he freezes completely when the man turns around, startled —and Jungkook finds himself face to face with a very familiar face.
“Mr. Lee?!” he exclaims, stunned, as your father’s face lights up.
Jungkook hasn’t seen your dad around this neighborhood —hell, in this city— since your parents divorced, when you were thirteen. What is he doing here…?
“Jungkook! Damn, you’ve grown!” your father exclaims. “You still live here?”
Before Jungkook can answer, he suddenly adds, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, “Don’t tell me I woke you up with all that noise?!”
Jungkook quickly shakes his head at the man’s apologetic look. Your father sighs, rubbing his scalp, casting an almost desperate glance around.
“If you’re looking for your daughter,” Jungkook says gently after a few seconds, uncertain. Your father looks genuinely troubled —but he also doesn’t want to impose. “She must’ve already left. She works—”
“What? No. Y/N doesn’t work here. That’s the problem.”
“Yes, she does,” Jungkook insists softly, surprised. “We work together on the city hall Christmas preparations.”
Your father’s face falls. He clearly hadn’t known.
“She must’ve forgotten to tell you.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, your father mutters something Jungkook can’t quite hear —but it doesn’t sound very kind. Now that he’s paying attention, your father looks downright furious. He stomps his foot, exhales sharply, and pulls out his phone to text someone.
Suddenly, Jungkook regrets talking to him at all. Whatever this is, it’s personal —and your father has always intimidated him, especially when he’s angry.
“Is it urgent?” Jungkook finally mutters, mostly because the silence is starting to make him uncomfortable. “What you need to tell her —if you want, I could—”
“Urgent?!” Mr. Lee cuts him off, cheeks puffed with irritation. “Of course it is! She needs to move out and empty the house by tomorrow, for God’s sake!”
Jungkook feels his entire body go rigid.
…What?
Your father rubs his scalp again, lost in thought. “The real estate agent won’t stop calling me to close the sale… and Y/N’s boss keeps harassing me, asking when she’ll take up her position in Fernsworth…”
“…In Fernsworth?” Jungkook can only repeat, stunned. Fernsworth —the massive business city on the other side of the country ?
What would you even be doing there—
“Yes, for her damn transfer!” your father snaps, practically talking to himself now. “She’s been asking for it for months, and the day she finally gets it, she decides to fool around here —right when her mother’s away! Of course she picks her timing!”
Suddenly, Jungkook can’t move.
It’s as if his body has shut down completely, frozen by a strange knot forming in his stomach —growing, tightening, twisting until it makes him feel sick.
Mr. Lee keeps ranting, but Jungkook isn’t listening anymore. He can’t —his ears are ringing too loudly.
He doesn’t understand anything.
All he knows is that he really shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning.
By the time you get off the bus and walk down my street, it’s already dark.
A light breeze carries tiny snowflakes —not heavy enough to blanket the ground, but more than enough to give the moment a magical feel.
You bite your lip to keep from smiling as you glance at the small package in your hands. It’s stupid, really —even you know that— but you couldn’t help yourself.
Jungkook didn’t come to work today. You bombarded him with messages, but he didn’t reply —didn’t even open them, which makes you think he probably slept all day.
Knowing him, it wouldn’t surprise you if he stayed in bed out of pure spite toward Christmas, which is getting closer by the day. He can be stubborn when he wants to be.
You shiver with excitement when you stop in front of his house. You must look like a middle schooler with her first crush, completely unable to wipe the smile off your face.
It surprises you to admit it —but you missed him today. You spent the whole day waiting for news from him, constantly checking your phone for a notification, irritated by anyone who dared speak to you if they weren’t Jungkook. You looked like a neglected housewife. Seriously.
You try to rein in your impatience as you knock, already smiling at the look he’s going to give you when he sees the package. You remember how much he’s always loved—
The door swings open sharply, and you straighten instinctively, stiff as a board.
Jungkook cracks the door open. His face is hidden by his hair and the hood of his hoodie. He doesn’t say anything —you’re not even sure he’s looking at you— but you don’t hold it against him, too busy trying to ignore the way your poor little heart stutters at the sight of him.
God, what is happening to you?!
“Hey! You weren’t answering my messages, I was getting worried…” you say, unable to hide your smile —or the warmth flooding your cheeks at your own words.
To save face, you hold up the small package proudly. “I bought waffles. Your favorite. I thought we could—”
“Go home, Y/N,” he cuts in, his voice dull and low, like speaking itself takes effort.
You freeze.
When you lift your head, he barely looks at you —his gaze tired. The same look he gives people when he’s clearly uninterested. Not the way he usually looks at you.
“…What?” you manage, your excitement gone. Your voice sounds tiny.
Jungkook sighs —sighs— then shakes his head.
“Go home,” he repeats, irritation creeping into his tone. “And stop texting me. I went to city hall. I quit.”
Something collapses inside you.
“What—but… I—” You stammer, completely lost. “I don’t understand.”
He rolls his eyes, though the motion is hidden by his hair. Fed up, he straightens, hand on the handle, ready to close the door. “Forget it.”
Panic hits full force.
What the hell is this?! He can’t just shut you out like that—
Your brain racing, you put a hand on the door to stop him for a few seconds, frowning. You know Jungkook. He’s not the type to ignore people overnight —that’s more your thing. Something has to be wrong.
“Did I do something wrong…?” You finally ask, your voice pleading. You need him to explain. If he doesn’t, You’ll never sleep again. You might never make it home.
“I don’t know. You tell me,” he replies flatly, and irritation flares. Seriously? He expects you to drag it out of him?
You open your mouth, even take a step toward him with what’s meant to be a threatening look —but he doesn’t give you the chance.
“Oh, and by the way —your dad’s looking for you. Apparently your boss is harassing him, and you need to empty the house.”
You freeze again, feeling your face fall apart.
What?
No —that’s all you can think as it sinks in. That can’t be possible. Dad didn’t—
Shit.
You knew you should’ve answered his messages. The temptation to piss him off had been too strong to resist. He must’ve come to clear things up, run into Jungkook, and told him everything…
Shit. Shit shit shit shit.
What did he tell him? Don’t tell me—
“You know,” Jungkook continues, making you look back up at him, “after all this time, I thought you’d stop taking me for an idiot.”
His eyes aren’t the soft, reassuring ones that usually make your chest tighten. They glare at you now, harsh and cold, sending a shiver through you —and not the good kind.
You hate that you suddenly want to cry.
“But nothing’s changed, has it?” he goes on. “You’re still here with your pretty speeches that make people dream —me included— before disappearing without warning.”
You swallow hard.
“I didn’t—” You try, but he doesn’t let you finish.
“Save it,” he snaps, fist clenched. “I don’t know why you came back here —or why you came back to me— but I don’t care. Leave me alone. Go start your life over for the second time and forget we ever met, okay?”
You swallow again, painfully. “I don’t understand what you’re—”
“I’m talking about you filling my head with traditions and futures and Christmases together when you know damn well you’re never staying!” he nearly shouts, his face twisted with anger and grief. “Do you think it’s funny? Playing with me? Lying to my face?!”
You try to speak, to form a coherent sentence —but suddenly you can’t. You’re frozen, stomach twisting, tears burning in your eyes as your mind screams at you to apologize, to explain everything, to say something —anything.
You have to explain. Even if it’s only part of the story. Even if it’s a mess. Your life has been a mess lately, you just need to—
“I didn’t—” you murmur, just as he straightens, avoiding your gaze.
“Good night, Y/N.”
“I love you…” you whisper—
Right as he slams the door in your face.
DECEMBER 24
Mom – 10:03 a.m. Sweetie, please stop doing everything your own way.
Mom – 10:07 a.m. Can you answer my calls? I’m worried. I just want to talk.
Mom – 10:07 a.m. I just don’t want you to be alone for Christmas. Are you sure you don’t want to join me?
Dad – 1:40 p.m. If you don’t want to talk to me, at least answer my messages.
Dad – 5:12 p.m. The real estate agent is coming to pick up the keys in an hour.
You can’t find the words to describe the feeling that settles in you as you stand in the entryway, suitcases in hand.
Just an immense emptiness, as your eyes sweep over the house you grew up in —now stripped of everything that once made it feel safe.
All the decorations, the lights, the personal items… everything has been taken away, carefully packed into boxes your parents will probably never open, leaving only the furniture you made sure to cover with white sheets.
You feel like throwing up and crying at the same time.
But you guess it’s not the time anymore —you already spent the night crying.
And to think you believed coming back here for Christmas was a good idea. Still just as naïve, even after all these years.
Your Mom spent the night texting you when she found out your Dad had sold the house, trying to convince you to join her and your stepfather in their new seaside home so you wouldn’t spend Christmas alone.
You said no, obviously. The only person you wanted to spend Christmas with told you to go fuck yourself —you’re not about to torture yourself further with your stepfather’s company.
You take one last look around, sniffing to fight back fresh tears. With just one glance, you can see yourself as a child running down this hallway laughing —sometimes alone, often with Jungkook. You see your younger selves, getting into trouble together until you were caught and Jungkook complained that you’d forced him.
And damn it —why does that memory hurt even more?
Your vision blurs as you finally grab your suitcases, clutching the small package tightly to your chest.
You feel too empty to react when your heart tightens as you step outside and lock the door —for the last time. Too empty to stop the tears that slide quietly down your cheeks.
You walk mechanically down the driveway to the sidewalk, proud of yourself for not breaking down into sobs as you slip the key into the mailbox, making it unreachable —at least until the real estate agent arrives.
The keys hit the bottom with a metallic clink, and suddenly it’s just you in the winter cold, your breath dissolving into the wind.
You stay still for maybe ten seconds. Then you wipe your tears.
There’s no way you’re standing here wallowing.
You already left this town once because you were unhappy —you can do it again. You’ll cry later, when you’re rich and happy.
Your flight leaves in two hours. You could call a taxi now, sit down at the airport, and wait.
So why does your heart hurt so much at the thought of leaving like this?
Without meaning to, your eyes drift next door —to Jungkook’s house.
The deep breath you take leaves a cloud of steam in the cold air, but you don’t stop to look at it. You step forward decisively, leaving your suitcases on the sidewalk —you don’t want anything slowing you down while you still have an ounce of courage.
You realize you’re holding your breath as you walk up his driveway, nearly gasping by the time you reach his doorstep.
Normally, you wouldn’t hesitate for a second to knock. Today, you mostly hope he hasn’t seen you through the window.
Slowly, silently, you crouch down and place the small package on his doormat. You grabbed the first box you could find —it isn’t sealed very well.
Through the narrow opening, You can see the golden star softly shining, along with the small letter beside it. With a sad smile, you think of his love for green-and-gold Christmas trees.
He’s going to love it.
A sudden thump against the door from inside makes you jump violently, followed by barking through the wall.
You sigh, steadying yourself —and when you hear scratching at the door, you realize sadly that Bam must’ve smelled you from inside and wants to come see you. That thought alone almost brings another tear —but you manage to hold it back, standing up quickly and stepping away.
Bam’s barking grows louder as you walk away, but despite your tightening chest, you only quicken your pace. You absolutely do not want to be here when Jungkook comes home and sees the package.
Otherwise, you’re really going to cry.
You almost start running when a car turns into the street, panic shooting through you.
You barely have time to grab your suitcases and slip into the small pedestrian street before the car stops in front of Jungkook’s house —and out of the corner of your eye, you see a man with messy black hair step out.
Your suitcase makes a horrible noise rolling over the cobblestones. Actually, it doesn’t roll —it screeches. You should probably buy a new one.
Maybe later.
Maybe you still have time to ask your parents for one for Christmas —they owe you that much after the mess they put you through this year. And if you do, you’ll ask for gloves too, because your fingers are freezing.
You half expect them to fall off your hand at any moment —they’re so cold they could probably chill mulled wine just by dipping them in. But you don’t care.
The pain in your frozen fingers doesn’t stop you from dragging your suitcase along as you walk slowly and unenthusiastically down the sidewalk, heading… nowhere, really.
A phone notification a few minutes ago told you your taxi would arrive soon. You barely remember the address you put in —only the plane ticket your dad sent you, which was enough to make you break down crying. A simple ticket, and yet it shattered your heart.
You truly thought coming back here would fix things.
Looks like, once again, you were too naïve.
Your steps are so automatic that you barely notice you’ve stopped —until festive music drifting from a small temporary ice rink pulls you out of your thoughts. In front of you, perched on their skates, a dozen children laugh and play, sometimes joined by their parents. Their smiles and clumsy spins blend perfectly into the scenery, even more than the little Christmas hats snug on their heads.
Without meaning to, a sad smile spreads across your face.
“Stop being stupid, Jeon. You really think I’d let you down?”
“Yeah… that was pretty good,” you whimper, struggling to stop the single tear sliding down your cheek. “Really good.”
You realize quietly that you would’ve loved to go back to the rink with him, brushing away that stupid tear with your cold fingers.
But now that you’ve started, the tears won’t stop.
Shit.
You really wanted to go back with him. Or do anything —anything at all— as long as it was with him.
You force yourself to sniff and take deep breaths to calm your erratic breathing, wiping your cheeks angrily, almost ashamed. So much for courage. “No one’s going to make me cry on Christmas.” Yeah, right.
You hesitate despite yourself.
Would Jungkook really be that angry if you went to see him —just one last time?
The idea of leaving like this, once again, makes you feel awful.
But just as the temptation hits, too strong, too desperate to see him again, the argument comes rushing back —the cold tone he used. The look he gave you. His closed-off face, tense features.
The complete absence of warmth when he said your name.
Maybe he really is better off without you.
Maybe you were the only one who felt… whatever it was between you.
5:47 p.m. Your driver has arrived!
You stand there staring at your phone for far too long.
You’re not even reading the words anymore —just looking at them, like maybe if you stare long enough they’ll change and bring good news.
You feel empty. Empty and desperately sad at the thought of leaving.
Because part of you knows you’ll never come back.
This is the city where you grew up. Where you spent every Christmas with Jungkook. Where so many memories were made.
Soon, all of that will exist only in your head.
Your phone vibrates again —a text from your dad. You don’t open it. You can easily imagine what it says, asking if you’re at the airport already.
That’s when you remember your taxi is there, just a few meters away —you only have to lift your head to see it parked by the curb— and that you should already be gone.
Part of you can’t move.
But another part refuses to wallow, refuses to be weak —so with a deep breath and one last look at the ice rink that brings tears back to your eyes, you grip your suitcase handle tightly and walk toward the black car waiting with its headlights on—
—you’ve barely taken two steps when a hand grabs your shoulder, making you jump violently.
“Lee Y/N, would you mind opening your fucking ears?! I’ve called you at least ten times!”
You don’t know what shocks you more —the words spat in your face, or the voice saying them.
All you know is that when you turn around, disoriented, you find yourself face to face with a very angry Jungkook, his black hair whipped into a mess by the wind.
You freeze completely.
This is impossible. What is he doing here…?
“What are you—” You manage to say, stunned, but his jaw tightens before you can finish.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” he snaps, glaring at you from beneath his dark bangs.
“What? What are you—”
“What did you think you were doing with this, huh?” He waves a package under your nose, and you instantly recognize the small box you left the star in. For reasons you can’t explain, you feel yourself blush. “I give you this whole speech about not wanting your pity or your stupid games, and you give me this shit?!”
Your face darkens, redder than ever. Okay, leaving him a gift without saying anything before disappearing wasn’t your brightest idea —but still—
“Hey, it’s a gift—” You protest, but he cuts you off again.
“And then what, you disappear?!” The frustration in his voice knocks the air out of you. “I don’t want your cheap-ass present!”
You stand there frozen, completely unable to believe this as he stares at you, breathless.
“I don’t understand,” you finally manage after a few seconds, your voice hollow.
He hesitates, his frown shifting into confusion.
“Don’t understand what?”
“You’re the one who lectured me, who told me to stop talking to you, to disappear from your life —and when I do, you lose your mind?” Your words are muffled by your scarf as you hide your nose in it, lowering your gaze. You’ve never felt so ashamed in your life.
“Yeah, I want you gone!” he snaps. “I want you to leave me alone, stop messing with me all day, stop lying —I just want to go back to my miserable life in peace, but instead I can’t stop thinking about you, about your stupid jokes and your ridiculous obsession with Christmas —and then you ruin everything by making a fool of me and I—” He stops, running a hand through his hair, stewing in his frustration. “I’m… so fucking angry I could kiss you !”
Silence.
Until slowly —very slowly— both your eyes widen at the exact same time.
“Huh?” “Huh?”
“You... -Wait —did you cry?” he blurts out suddenly, all the anger draining from his face as he steps closer, hand reaching for you. You might have been touched by the sudden concern if his words hadn’t frozen in your mind.
“What did you say?”
He hesitates, then abruptly looks away.
“You lied to me.”
You wipe your damp cheeks with the back of your hand and shake your head. There’s no way you imagined that. “No —after that—”
“You lied,” he repeats quietly, shaking his head too. “After six years, you show up out of nowhere and you do the exact same thing again…” You open your mouth to protest, tears already welling up, but he cuts you off. “You mess with my head, you scatter your stupid good mood everywhere, and you— You drive me insane. I should’ve known it was too good to be true. You’re doing exactly what you did last time.”
“I didn’t lie,” You manage, your voice breaking around a sob.
“Yes, you—”
“There’s a difference between lying and not telling everything.”
Your voice comes out louder than you expect, but he just rolls his eyes. “Psychopath logic.”
“You really think I wanted to dump all that on you?!” You explode, and this time you don’t even try to stop the tears spilling freely down your cheeks. “You think after years of not seeing each other, the first thing I want to say is, ‘Hey, my parents finally decided to completely ruin my life, and you, how’re you doing?’” You have to take a shaky breath, no longer bothering to keep your voice steady. “I can barely talk about it without breaking down. So yeah, I admit it —when my dad transferred me without telling me and my mom decided to sell the house, I lost it. But what was I supposed to do, huh?” A nervous laugh slips out, drowned in silent tears. “I shouldn’t have come back at all…”
“He forced you?…”
It’s his voice —oddly flat, stripped of its earlier anger— that makes you look up at him. Only to find his expression unreadable, his eyes fixed on you in a way that sends a shiver through you.
Slowly, you nod, unable to hold his gaze.
“I know it’s for the best —I’ll have more opportunities there. But I don’t want to go. It feels like they’re trying to change everything about me, and I—”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he cuts in suddenly. His voice wavers with worry, but his face is twisted with frustration, his jaw clenched so tightly it looks like it might crack.
It takes you several seconds to find an answer —because honestly, you don’t have one. “…I don’t know. Maybe I thought it wasn’t worth it. Or that you wouldn’t believe me.”
He lets out a humorless scoff. “I rank that low, huh?” he mutters sarcastically.
“No!” You rush to say, shaking your head. “No, not at all —it’s just… Remember when you asked me not to pity you about your dad? Well, I guess in a way, I’m the same. My whole life is falling apart, but I still have this stupid pride that forces me to pretend I don’t care…”
He doesn’t respond. Not even when you try to soften the end of your sentence with a small laugh —meant to ease the tension, but coming out pathetic instead. Come to think of it, you probably look pathetic. Crying, suitcase in hand, practically begging him to believe you —you’ve seen better versions of yourself.
“Listen,” you manage after a moment, when his silence becomes too heavy even for you. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was… playing with you. Or with your feelings. And I know it’s just my word, but you have to know that was never my intention. Running into you again after all this time was a surprise —but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t hoped, just a little, that it would happen when I came back. And it reminded me how much I love what we have, and how much I wish we could’ve spent all day skating or making gingerbread men because I— I never feel as good as I do when I’m with you, and—and I’m starting to realize that I really like you, and it kind of kills me that we’re parting like this, and I—”
“Hey,” You vaguely hear him say, but your vision is blurred with tears, and now that you’ve started, the words just keep pouring out unchecked.
“I’m just… so sorry, I—” You swear as your words dissolve into sobs. “Forget it, I really need to catch my tax—”
“Don’t you dare run off.”
His words cut through the air. You barely have time to react before he grabs your elbow and pulls you toward him. Your tears soak into his sweater the moment your head hits his chest, and you don’t even try to pull away because his arms wrap tightly around your back, crushing you into one of his rare bear hugs.
You sniffle, saying nothing. His scent fills your lungs. His arms are so warm that suddenly, you’re not cold at all. You think you could stay like this for hours.
Then the tears really come —uncontrollable. “Jungkook… I’m so sorry.”
He doesn’t push you away when you hide your sobs against his chest. Instead, he rubs your back, almost gently. “Don’t beat yourself up. It’s already forgotten.”
“I should’ve told you everything from the start…”
“Shh. Stop crying.”
You lift your head, surprised, eyes swimming. “Why?”
“Because,” he grumbles, his cheeks flushing all the way to his ears as he wipes your tears away with his thumb, “I don’t like it. So stop. Come on —I wanna see a smile.”
You stare at him, torn between amusement and disbelief. Jungkook is the worst person you know when it comes to comforting people. And yet, somehow, his stupid words warm your entire chest. You don’t know what to do with that feeling —except that it’s not unpleasant.
When your expression doesn’t change, he mutters something you don’t catch, then tries again:
“…What if you imagine me dressed as a Christmas elf?”
A small smile tugs at your lips —not so much because of the words (the image is objectively ridiculous), but because of the intention. You think you love the way he comforts you. “There. That’s better,” he says proudly, even if it’s just the tiniest smile.
You burst out laughing, and even when you calm down, your smile lingers —mirroring the discreet one that’s appeared on his lips. “Thank you,” you murmur, wiping your eyes. You bet your mascara is ruined. “I’m still—”
“It’s fine. Really,” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “I get it. I probably wouldn’t have said anything either. And I barely gave you time to explain. Let’s say we’re even.”
Hope floods your gaze, warmth swelling in your chest as you nod and extend your pinky. Your heart skips when he doesn’t hesitate for a second before hooking his finger with yours.
Neither of you lets go. Even just his finger is comforting, warm.
So you stay like that —two idiots staring at your joined hands. Mostly you. Why do these little moments of closeness affect you so much?
Until he breaks the silence.
“…Me too.”
You look up, startled. “Hm?”
“Me too —I like you,” he murmurs softly, then immediately drops his head, blushing furiously. You freeze, stunned —and yes, your face is burning too. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but he cuts you off again, his ears now bright red. “Anyway —move it, your driver doesn’t look very hap—”
“Did I hear that right?” You blurt out, a smile tugging at your lips. You try to hide it —you don’t want him to think you’re making fun of him— but the truth is your heart has never pounded this hard. Your whole chest feels tight with hope, and you’re smiling like an idiot. You look like a teenager, seriously.
“Hear what?” he mutters, avoiding your eyes.
“What you said.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he scoffs.
“Yes you did —you said—”
“Go on, get lost!” He grabs your shoulders, turning you and pushing you toward the taxi like a sulking child. “You’re gonna miss your flight!”
You almost tell him you don’t give a damn about this flight —but the words come out before you can choose better ones.
“Jeon Jungkook, you said you liked me!”
He shakes his head furiously, jaw clenched, still pushing you. “Never. Get out of here.”
He groans when you dig your heels into the ground —and even more when you turn back to him, chin lifted, finger poking his chest.
“If I remember correctly, you also said you could kiss me…”
He glares at your finger, though it does nothing to hide the crimson on his cheeks. “Nonsense —you dreamed it. Even if I thought it, I’d never say it out loud, or—” You only realize how wide your smile has grown when his eyes flick up, land on it, and he promptly loses his words, looks away, and blushes even harder. God, how can one be this cute? “I mean—I…” He swallows hard, then seems to make a decision and blurts out, “Hey —are you really just going to leave like that?”
And there it is again —the big, hopeful doe eyes. You smile like an idiot (as usual), your heart squeezing because no matter what you say, one look like that and you melt completely.
Damn it. You like him way too much.
“I mean —I’d understand, but I just thought that… well, you know, I—”
He never finishes the sentence —because before he can, your lips crash into his, cutting him off.
At first, he doesn’t react. You can practically feel his eyes widen as his body goes rigid.
Then he exhales —and leans in, molding his mouth to yours.
Your lips meet, brush, dance together. Suddenly there’s no skating rink, no Christmas market —just the peaceful silence around you, broken only by the soft sighs and sounds that escape you.
When he nips at your lower lip, brushing it with his tongue in a silent request, shivers race through you, your legs trembling on their own.
You have to rise onto your toes to reach him, nearly stumbling, your hands clutching his arm and chest on instinct.
His arms slide around your waist, holding you firmly against him, and you moan into his mouth when his tongue tangles with yours —slow, deep, intoxicating. He tastes like chocolate.
You’re the first to pull back, mostly because you’re out of air —much to your regret.
It’s like he refuses to let you go, tightening his arms as if afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip.
You smile, breathless. His lips curve into a faint smile as he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed.
“For what it’s worth… I don’t really want to leave,” You murmur at last, a small, sad laugh slipping out.
He opens one eye, then the other, his expression unreadable. Gently, he rubs his nose against yours, almost affectionately, searching for words.
Then he murmurs something you never thought you’d hear him say.
“If you want… you could come spend Christmas at my place. We could decorate my tree together.”
The moment he opens the door, you’re hit by a delightful scent of pine, cedar, and… gingerbread?
But you barely have time to think about it before your back is pressed against the door, Jungkook not wasting a second. Sliding between your legs, his pelvis gently hitting yours, he moves close, your lips meeting, your tongues turning, exploring, holding, in a dance of familiar intimacy. A soft gasp escapes you, delighted, and you follow his rhythm, wrapping your arms around his neck, letting your hand slide down his back, under his sweater.
Shivers run down his shoulder blades at the touch of your fingers, and then it's his that wander, sliding under your clothes, caressing your waist, your ribs, deliciously moving up to the elastic of your bra…
His hands are everywhere. One teases your underwear, the other moves down your lower back, sliding lower to grab an asscheek and massage it between his fingers, drawing another moan from you, more breathless. You’re all over the place.
His name leaves your lips in the kiss, at the exact moment when, without even meaning to —now unable to control your movements— you move your hips a little, just a little. All you want is to feel just a little of the delicious friction that you know will release the unbearable pressure that has built up in your lower abdomen.
And damn it —it works. He's already semi-hard, quivering inside his jeans, and the movement draws a moan of pleasure from both of you. You can already feel your thighs trembling for him.
His lips leave yours —much to your regret— and move away to explore your cheek, your jaw, then lower —all the way down your neck to your collarbones, before stopping at that precise spot where you can feel your heart beating furiously— and he gently sucks on the skin, nibbling here and there, drawing as many little cries from you as ragged breaths, your head falling back against the wood of the door.
The combination of his mouth on your neck and his icy hands on your burning skin sends violent waves of heat through your body, making you shiver, and you can only respond by moving your hips faster, craving the friction that alone is enough to make your head spin.
“Did you buy a Christmas log?” You murmur when your eyes fall on the cake box on the kitchen table, so quietly that even you can barely hear it above your ragged breathing.
His mouth leaves your neck, only to grab your earlobe between his teeth —and his hand massages your butt harder, less delicately, giving it a little slap that makes you arch against his chest. “Mmm. For you, actually,” he mumbles without releasing your lobe from between his teeth, and his voice directly against your skin makes it tremble. His words alone are enough to squeeze something in your chest with the rush of affection. “I wanted to apologize, but you were already gone when I came to your place...”
You can only moan in response, because you can very distinctly feel him harden beneath you, surely at the thought of our argument in front of the ice rink, then your passionate kiss that led to... Well... There. Reflexively, you grind your hips against his, your eyes rolling back as the simple movement sends waves of pleasure through your crotch. He swears before grabbing your hips with both hands, slowing the movement.
“Holy shit, do you want me to come now, or something ?!” he growls more for himself than anything, his hand slapping your thigh again, but the feeling is so good, so perfect, you can't stop.
“Please,” you whisper, drawing his lips back to yours, tugging on his lower lip with your teeth before slowly, so slowly, rolling your hips against his, until you can feel every inch of him rolling against you. His dark eyes lock onto yours, misty, and he swears again.
“Oh, shit.”
You barely have time to respond before his hands slide under your thighs, his arms flexing as he lifts you effortlessly, and you can only cling to his shoulders as he starts walking, kissing you so hard that you lose your breath.
Once in his room, he kicks the door shut behind him, then approaches the bed —only to sit down on it, with you on his lap.
You look at him, puzzled, your eyes slightly higher than his in this position, and he wraps his hands around your waist, gently pulling you toward him before kissing you deeply, his tongue deliciously teasing yours.
Only, when after a few seconds, you start swaying your hips again, placed directly on his, he stops you again, despite the rock-hard bulge you feel directly beneath you.
“Nah-ah. Not like that,” he growls softly, twitching his tongue.
You moan in frustration, but let him have his way when he gently grabs one of your legs and swings it over, spreading his own legs so that you’re straddling just one of his thighs.
You glare at him, outraged, just as he says with a smile, “On my thigh, Twinkle.”
You clench your teeth, ignoring your crotch quivering at the sound of his voice, and that stupid nickname that makes you weak.
“Are you kidding me?” You blurt out, sounding a little too whiny for your liking.
“Take your time,” he says softly, nestling his head in your neck and planting little chaste kisses there. “You're way too eager.”
“But I don't want to take my time!” You grumble, but you still cling desperately to his shoulders, tilting your head to make more room for him.
His mouth moves until it's just below your ear. “On my thigh.”
And, putting his words into action, he flexes the muscle, and you feel yourself shudder with pleasure.
Damn it, this idiot is going to kill you.
It's instinctive —almost animalistic— yet neither of you does anything to stop it when your hips start to undulate on his hard thigh, slowly at first, a curse escaping you without your wanting it to.
The muscle is so hard, you could come right now. His hands on your hips guide the movement, slow, deliciously —painfully— slow, his eyes never leaving yours for a second as little by little, as the pace quickens and your core rubs against him a little more each time, meeting only that rigidity that makes you sigh with pleasure, you feel your thighs tremble, your insides tighten, impatient, and the familiar knot forms in your lower abdomen, tightening a little more with each wave of pleasure that rumbles through you.
Your hands grip his shoulders tighter as he speeds up his movements, and you nails would surely leave little crescent moons on them if his sweater wasn't acting as a barrier. And, this simple fact annoying you greatly, you pull on his collar without ever slowing down the back-and-forth movements of your crotch on his thigh.
You swear his muscles tighten even more as he momentarily lets go of your hips to grab his sweater and pull it over his head, sending it flying randomly across the room.
Your eyes wander over his bare chest, his finely defined abs and firm pecs, but as you pretend to reach out to even touch him, he takes you by surprise by grabbing the edge of your sweater, his gaze suddenly deepening as he meets yours, a silent question in his eyes.
You nod your head, chest pounding —and the next second, he sends your top flying across the room, leaving your chest and black lace bra exposed to his view.
You don't notice how he's watching you, too lost in your own contemplation of his muscular chest, his golden skin covered with a thin layer of sweat that makes it shine even more.
You do look up just in time to see him swallow, though, just before he wraps his arms around you again, pulling you back against him. Your breasts pressed against his chest as he now accompanies your movements with small shiftings of his thigh that only drive you crazier, bringing your attention right back to where he wants it.
A moan of pleasure escapes you, and his only response is to speed up the movement even more, nestling his head in your neck to nibble again on that same sensitive spot just below the hollow of your jaw. You can only cling to him, your eyes rolling back, your fingers caressing, grabbing every bit of him they can reach.
Your nails brush his nipples, scratch his abs, sending a wave of shivers through him before moving lower, down to the ring of his belt...
...only for him to grab your wrists with one hand, lifting his head from your neck to give you a gentle glare.
He opens his mouth to say something, but doesn't —and you, driven too impatient by your increasingly close release, barely think before moving your knee, pressing gently against the already prominent bulge in his pants.
“Why are you holding back?” You almost whine, breathless, as he pushes your knee away and presses you harder against his hard thigh, making you gasp in surprise, clearly intending to make you come before getting down to business.
A hint of a smile plays on his lips. “Let's just say that if it's possible, I'd like to last longer than eight seconds,” he sighs, nibbling your ear and drawing another moan from you as his words fly straight into your crotch, making you shiver inside. “I'd rather not make a fool of myself.”
“There's nothing ridiculous about it,” You whisper, and this time he lets you rub the palm of your hand against the bulge in his pants. “It's cute, even. Sexy.”
He stiffens, a curse escaping him again, but no matter how hard he tries to hold back, you’re not fooled —it only takes a few small presses from you before he starts to rub his hips against your hand, almost unconsciously. His dark eyes plunge into yours, darkened by a glint of pure desire as he seems to make a decision.
"You know what ?" he growls. “Fuck it.”
The next moment, he stands up with you still in his arms and almost throws you onto the bed, a cry of surprise escaping you. While the sudden stop of his ministrations leaves your frustrated core on the verge of orgasm, the darken look he gives you, one knee on the edge of the bed and his hair tousled, is enough to make you come right then and there.
He leans down to join you, your legs opening reflexively to welcome him, and he nestles between your thighs to kiss you, impatient.
His tongue teases yours, just as impatient as you are, and the sensation is so good that you could spend the whole night doing this. But it doesn't take long before you both want more, more, always more, and as your hands leave his shoulders and move towards his belt, his are already busy unzipping your fly.
Hands on your hips, ready to remove your clothes, he gives you that questioning look again. His way of silently asking you if you’re sure. Because there's no going back after this.
You just nod, a slight smile on your lips. Everything has always been less scary with Jungkook by your side —whether it's decorating a Christmas tree in secret or something as intimate as love.
In one fluid motion, he pulls off your pants and panties, tossing them randomly behind him. Then he freezes.
His chest rises and falls silently, the only sign that he's still alive, while his eyes remain fixed on your dripping core, on your thighs spread wide just for him...
...and the next moment, he throws himself at you head first, and your orgasm returns with full force.
You don't know where to look —you’re unable to know where to look. One second, his tongue is on your bud, the next it enters you, cold and burning at the same time, and it makes you shiver all over as he happily licks up all the juice that has escaped.
Your back arched, your eyes closed in pleasure, you try to hold on wherever you can, but he quickly detaches your hands from the sheets and shoves them into his hair —and a groan of pleasure escapes him when you slip your fingers in and pull without hesitation.
“If you only knew how long I've been waiting for this, damn it,” he growls against you lips, the vibration making you moan with pleasure and pull harder on his dark locks. “Ever since Mrs Song found us like this...” He kisses the inside of your thigh delicately until he reaches your knee, which he grabs and gently places on his shoulder, before doing the same with the other. Once again, his eyes lose themselves in contemplation. “Damn, I've dreamed about this way too much.”
Then he traps your bud between his lips to suck, and you scream in pleasure.
He enters two fingers without waiting, his other hand firmly gripping your thigh, and when his fingers curve, you see stars, your heels digging into his back as you arch yours, desperately gripping on his hair like your life depends on it.
You can feel the knot in your lower abdomen tightening, again and again, so tight that you think you’re going to come in a second. His name leaves your lips like a plea, and that only encourages his tongue to work even harder.
Your moans grow higher and higher, more and more breathless, and as you try to hide your face in the pillow, your gaze falls on a small detail —a pretty golden star sitting on his bedside table. The star you gave him before you left.
With your eyes closed, you think back to that day not so long ago when he carried you on his shoulders to hang the star in front of the school. To his head, so innocently buried between your thighs, to his hands that held you so tightly that you had to concentrate not to rub against his skull.
That same head that now so proudly kisses your private parts as if it were his sole reason for being.
And at that sight, that of his tousled hair, your fingers tangled in it, falling in front of his face without hiding the fact that it is disappearing into your pussy, his tongue making you squirm and writhe beneath him, you can't take it anymore.
The knot snaps —and it's his name that leaves your lips.
Everything goes white, your thighs tremble around his head, your fingers grip his hair so tightly you'd think you wanted to pull it out, but he accompanies you all the way, licking slowly, almost affectionately.
It's only when you fall back onto the mattress, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you catch your breath, that he sits up, planting little kisses all along your stomach, your chest, your neck, before reaching your mouth. The kiss is languid, soft, lazy —but gosh, it feels good.
“Damn, you're so beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips, sighing when you grab one of his to nibble on it.
“Jungkook ?”
“Hmm-hmm?” He mumbles without stopping kissing you for a second.
You grab his cheeks so he meets your gaze. “I want you.” You try to ignore how your cheeks are burning at these simple words, but it's difficult given the silly smile he immediately flashes. These are words that neither he nor you ever thought you'd hear. Or maybe you did, but were separated too quickly to be sure.
He smiles, caressing your cheek with the tip of his nose. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice no louder than a whisper.
You want to complain, to tell him to take you seriously and not make fun of you. But you know it's just his way of making sure you don't do something you'll regret —so without ever taking your eyes off his, you simply reply, “I’ve never been so sure of anything.”
He mutters under his breath. The next moment, your last layers of clothing are gone, his along with your bra.
Jeon Jungkook moves with you as though you’re old lovers reunited after years apart. His hands are gentle, even when eager, when he reaches for a condom on his bedside table —and even more so when he helps you put it on. Tender, as he moves with you, letting you take all the time you need to adjust.
Tender, when he wraps your ankles around his waist and begins to move slowly, his head resting in the crook of your neck, whispering words that send shivers down your spine.
But loving, when he lifts his gaze to yours, dark eyes locked on you as he quickens his pace, hitting all the right spots, filling you completely with each movement.
Loving, as your breaths mingle, your bodies moving together as one, bound and desperate, shivers overtaking you, you holding him tighter as he grows more insistent.
Yes, loving, as you reach the peak together, each other’s name a whispered prayer on your lips, trembling under him, while he uses every ounce of strength to keep from crushing you.
After a few seconds, he collapses beside you, your ragged breaths the only sound in the quiet room. As you slowly come down from the high, his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close, pressing your chest to his without concern for your sweaty bodies. He buries his head in your neck, sighing with contentment, peppering small kisses across your skin.
The smile on your lips refuses to fade. You play with his hair, stroke his neck. He traces little circles in the hollow of your back, and you remain like that for a long time, simply enjoying the serenity of the moment.
Your eyes drift again to the golden star on his bedside table, and you reach for it. He leans back to watch you, amused. “Thanks for this, by the way.”
You smile, satisfied. “You like it?”
He nods softly, kissing your shoulder. After a moment of silence, he murmurs, “Want to help me decorate my tree tomorrow? You could put it on…”
“Jeon Jungkook, you’re telling me you still haven’t done your tree?!” You exclaim, outraged. He just smiles and shrugs.
“I wanted to do it with you,” he admits softly, and you’re left speechless, your heart warm with a wave of affection that almost brings tears to your eyes.
He kisses your shoulder again, a smile spreading across his lips with a knowing look —as if he understands exactly what’s running through your mind. Then he pulls you close again, nestling your head in his neck this time, resting his cheek on your head like you’re his personal teddy bear.
You let him —partly because his chest is the perfect pillow— but you can’t help murmuring after a few seconds, “I thought you didn’t do Christmas… that you hated it…”
He doesn’t answer —but you can hear him chuckle softly, feeling his smile against your head.
“Hey, Twinkle,” you hear him murmur after a while, and you mumble back to show you’re still awake. He sounds almost solemn as he says, “I think I hate Christmas… except when it’s with you.”
“I told you so,” You whisper with a smile as sleep finally claims you.
His chest vibrates against your cheek as he laughs softly —and that’s the last thing you feel before drifting off.
DECEMBER 25.
Usually, you hate waking up in the morning —often because it also means going to work and resuming that lousy life.
The tree surrounded by gifts, the smell of cookies filling the air, everyone smiling, laughing…
But above all, that smile that comes to you the moment you wake, even before you open your eyes, as you nuzzle your face into the soft pillow beside you, feeling it shift closer, holding you tighter—
Wait. Who’s shifting?
Like a bolt of lightning, you sit up, coming face to chest with a bare-chested Jungkook, a tray of cookies on his stomach, half a pastry in his mouth, his arm wrapped around you. His big doe eyes meet yours, and you remember.
Your argument from the night before. Your return to his place, then the wildly passionate moments that followed…
You feel your cheeks warm, but you don’t move. Jungkook, for his part, slightly widens his eyes, and that alone makes you smile, even just a little —because you know perfectly well that at this moment, he’s afraid you’ll regret what happened and bolt.
If only he knew you have no intention of leaving —his chest is by far the best pillow you’ve ever had.
Slowly, you reach for a cookie, taking a bite without a word. His eyes follow your hand, but he still doesn’t move, as if afraid to scare you. “Did you make these yourself?” You ask after a moment, because the image of Jungkook getting up to make cookies for you makes your heart skip a beat.
He just nods. “I know you love them.” You smile. He smiles too. And in that moment, you truly feel at home.
“I’ve got something for you,” he says after a while, getting up to fetch something from a cupboard. You slip on his t-shirt while he’s gone, and when he returns, he holds a small package wrapped in red paper, tied with a white bow. He hands it to you silently, and you stay there, speechless.
“You got me a gift?!”
Again, he shrugs, but the tops of his cheeks are flushed. “I know how much Christmas and all those silly traditions mean to you. And you’re not with your family this year, so I thought…”
You smile like an idiot, your heart swelling with affection. That fool is really going to kill you one day.
You study the package for a few seconds before lighting up. Jumping up, you push him gently onto the mattress and run off.
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t move !” You order, laughing at his clearly confused expression.
In the living room, you find your suitcase where you left it and open it without hesitation, rummaging until you find what you’re looking for. When your fingers close around it, you glance around the room, spotting an old piece of newspaper that you wrap around your find before heading back to the bedroom.
Jungkook waits on the bed, the package in his hands, and you sit beside him. You exchange gifts, but he nudges you lightly with his elbow.
He chuckles as, like always, you tear the wrapping paper with zero delicacy —you’ve always done it this way as a kid, while he always made sure to keep it intact. You gasp softly when you discover a lovely beige cardigan embroidered with tiny blue and yellow stars. The wool feels so soft under your fingers, just the way you like it, and you melt when you see the small embroidered message on the wrist.
‘Twinkle, Twinkle, little star.’
“It made me think of you. Not in a weird way, okay, just… you know. We can always swap it if you don’t—”
You cut him off by leaning in to kiss his cheek, instantly shutting him up. “I love it,” you smile, and he smiles too, silently proud. You don’t wait another second before trying it on, and you fall instantly for the cardigan, both beautiful and cozy. Only once the garment is carefully folded on your lap do you turn to Jungkook, this time giving him a little nudge. “Your turn,” you say, smiling.
His eyes widen, and he looks at the small newspaper-wrapped package like he’d completely forgotten it. Silently, still so careful in his movements, he removes the paper and lets it fall to the floor.
He freezes as his fingers close around the small golden frame on his lap. Inside, the photo isn’t very large —barely postcard size— but big enough to recognize the faces.
Jungkook and you, maybe seven years old, in front of the town hall’s huge Christmas tree.
It’s easy to see that you forced Jungkook to pose with you, judging by how you’re holding his hand. Mini-you beams, wrapped in that purple coat you adored. Jungkook stands next to you, barely taller than you were back then. Except he’s turned toward you, not the camera.
He looks at you with those big dark eyes that seemed enormous when he was small, a little pout on his face, as if sulking, yet his eyes sparkle with joy —it’s impossible not to see.
He opens his mouth to say something but stays silent, and you rest your chin on his shoulder, prouder than ever as you notice tears starting to form in his eyes.
“I found this on my mom’s desk,” you explain softly, smiling. “I love this photo. I thought I’d take it with me, but actually, I like that it’s you who has it.”
He turns to you, looking as touched as if you’d just offered him a kidney to save his life. You laugh softly, shrugging. “I can always make another print if I want it at home.” He nods, eyes shining with a light you can’t describe, but immediately adore.
“Thanks,” he says simply, caressing the photo with his thumb. “I love it.”
“I know,” you reply, tossing your hair over your shoulder, making him laugh. Then, straightening up, “So, breakfast? I heard we have a tree to decorate too…”
You barely finish when he gently pulls you back by the wrist.
“Hey, before we get up, I was… I mean, I was wondering… Your transfer to Fernsworth. Are you planning to go?”
You stare at him, surprised by the sudden change in topic. “I guess. I don’t know. Why?”
He avoids your gaze, cheeks red. “Well, let’s just say… it’s stupid, I know, but… I’ve been thinking that I’d like to move. For a while, actually.” He meets your eyes, hesitant, as yours widen. “And I was thinking… Well, you know, I wouldn’t have trouble finding a job in a big city like Fernsworth, so... If that’s what you want?” His big dark eyes almost plead, hesitant but full of hope at the same time.
You can’t find a word, too shocked. And moved too. You can’t believe he’s ready to follow you there.
“Well, I’m just suggesting,” he continues after a moment, stammering a bit, and you realize you haven’t answered. “I’d totally understand if you…”
“And your dad’s house?” You cut in.
He raises his eyebrows, surprised —it clearly wasn’t what he expected. He shrugs. “I’ll keep it. I’ll go back from time to time. We can just come back for Christmas.”
He says it almost casually, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world, and it makes something flutter in you —in the delicious sense.
God, you love him so much.
He adds something you barely hear, too busy watching him lovingly, until your lips cut him off, pressing against his. Though surprised, he doesn’t take long to respond, one hand on your waist.
Your noses brush as we finally pull apart. “Okay,” you say simply, smiling.
He nearly chokes. “Okay? I mean, are you serious? I was pretty sure you were going to tell me to piss off…”
You place a hand over your chest, feigning outrage. “As if I’d refuse a personal chef at home!”
He squints, making you laugh. “So you only love me for my cooking, huh? I knew it.”
You laugh harder as he grumbles. “For your big arms too, don’t worry.”
“That, I had guessed, Twinkle,” he chuckles, then uses those same big arms to pull you onto his lap and kiss you again.
Yes, there’s no denying it —you really love Christmas mornings.
Thanks for reading ! Don't hesitate to reblog, like or comment ! I always love to hear 'bout what you guys thought of the chap :) Also don't hesitate to ask if you wanna be tagged in my next posts !
I hope you all have a merry christmas and happy holidays lovelies <3
Six months had passed since you and Jungkook first crossed paths at a music festival. What began as a shared heartbeat to a bassline quickly transformed into a routine of quiet date nights, late-night bike rides, and intimate dinners. He loved you with a gentle ferocity, and you loved him just as deeply.
The morning light filtered softly into the room, but you groaned in your sleep as a dull, familiar ache blossomed in your lower abdomen. Shifting slightly, you looked at Jungkook. He was still deep in slumber, his face pressed into the pillow and his lips slightly pouted in that signature, baby-like way.
Last night had been your first official stayover. Between the marathon of video games and a back-to-back movie lineup, the hour had grown too late for a drive home. You leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek before trying to drift back into dreams.
But peace didn't last. A sharp, localized cramp surged through your abdomen, jolting you upright. Your heart sank. You weren't supposed to start for another week. Why now?
A quick run to the bathroom confirmed your fears. It wasn't just a surprise; it was a mess. Your clothes were ruined, and as you peeked back into the bedroom, your stomach did a nervous flip. A dark, tell-tale stain marred the pristine sheets on your side of the bed.
Despite your six months together, a lingering shyness still colored your relationship. Jungkook was the type to turn a charming shade of crimson before working up the nerve to kiss you. The thought of him seeing this made your face heat up with pure mortification.
After ordering tampons online and retreating to the bathroom to clean up, you emerged dressed in one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants. The pain was intensifying now—a heavy, rhythmic pulsing in your gut and a dull ache radiating down your thighs. It was the kind of pain that usually brought you to tears, and being in an unfamiliar environment only made it feel more overwhelming.
Steeling your nerves, you walked to his side of the bed and gently shook his shoulder. "Kook... Jungkook," you whispered.
He stirred, blinking slowly. Even through your discomfort, you couldn't help but notice how breathtaking he looked with sleep-muddled eyes and messy hair. "What happened?" he rasped, his voice deep and husky.
"Can you... wake up?" you asked, your fingers nervously twisting the hem of his shirt.
Jungkook frowned, his gaze sweeping over you. When he realized you were wearing his clothes, a sleepy, lopsided smile tugged at his lips. "Cute," he murmured.
"Please, get up," you urged, your cheeks burning.
His expression shifted to one of concern as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Why? Is everything okay?"
"I... I got my period," you admitted, looking at the floor.
Jungkook blinked, the gears turning before he sat up abruptly, kicking the duvet aside. "Oh. Do you need me to run out? I can get pads, tampons—whatever you need."
Despite the pain, you let out a small, breathless laugh. "Seriously? You’re going to walk into a store and buy tampons? I can see the headlines now."
He didn't skip a beat. "I would. For you, I’d do it in a heartbeat."
"I already ordered what I need," you said, your voice dropping to a hesitant whisper. "I just need you to get up so I can... change the sheets. I stained them."
Jungkook followed your gaze to the bed. Without a hint of the shyness that usually defined him, he stood up and moved toward the bed. You reached for the linens, but he was faster, stripping the bed with practiced efficiency.
"Wait, I can do that—"
"Give me a second," he interrupted gently. "I’ll get these into the wash and then I’ll—"
"No, Jungkook, please," you stammered, the embarrassment reaching a fever pitch.
He stopped and looked at you, his gaze firm but incredibly kind. "Why are you embarrassed? It’s just blood, baby. I’ve got this. You need to rest."
He moved with purpose, replacing the stained linens with fresh, crisp sheets. Once the bed was remade, he guided you back down, tucking the covers around you with a mock-stern glare that brooked no argument.
"Don't wash them with your other clothes," you trailed off, hiding your face in the pillow. "It's... messy."
Jungkook simply nodded, leaning down to press a firm kiss to your forehead. "Don't worry about it," he promised before disappearing into the bathroom to take care of everything, leaving you to finally sink into the pillows and breathe.
Feeling out of his depth and desperate to ease your suffering, Jungkook slipped out of the room to call the one person he trusted with his heart, Jimin.
"Hyung," he whispered urgently into the receiver.
"What is it, JK? You know it's still so early," Jimin grumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
"Uh so, y/n got her periods. I don't know what to do... I never really had dealed with these things. You have been in relationship for three years. Give me tips," Jungkook pleaded, his voice laced with a raw, protective anxiety.
Jimin sighed, his tone softening with the wisdom of experience. "First, buy a hot bag for her. Give her something warm to eat. Buy her lots of chocolate and her favourite food. Flowers. Soft words. Massage her tummy. Pamper her. It works."
"Thank you hyung!"
Jungkook ended the call and hurried back to the bedroom. His heart wrenched when he saw you curled into a small ball, clutching your stomach, a light sheen of sweat on your brow. He quietly adjusted the AC to a perfect temperature before heading downstairs. He moved with a quiet intensity, ordering a spread of your favorite snacks while personally simmering a pot of savory chicken porridge, pouring all his love into every stir of the spoon.
When the aroma of the fresh food and the fragrance of lilies filled the air, he returned to your side to wake you slowly.
"Hhmmm?" you hummed, blinking your eyes open.
"Wake up baby. I bought some porridge. See? Also chocolates and lilies! Your favourite flowers."
The sight of him standing there, so earnest and devoted, made your breath hitch. Your eyes brimmed with tears—a mix of exhaustion, pain, and the overwhelming rush of hormones.
"You bought for me all these?" you asked, wiping your eyes as a sob threatened to break through.
Jungkook smiled tenderly, having researched the emotional sensitivity of the cycle while the porridge simmered. "Yes." He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, then carefully blew on a spoonful of porridge to cool it before feeding you.
You ate in a comfortable silence, your gaze locked on him. In every careful movement, you saw the man you had chosen—a man who treated your pain as his own. You leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. He smiled and kissed you back with a slow, sweet reverence before gently pulling away.
"Lay back. I will play tangled movie. Eat chocolates and here, the hot bag."
He tucked the heating pad against you and settled you deep into the pillows. As the familiar melodies of Tangled filled the darkened room, Jungkook’s hand slipped beneath your t-shirt, his warm palm finding your skin. "You want to get rid of the pants?" he asked softly.
"No...." you murmured, a flicker of shyness remaining.
"What about t-shirt? So that I can massage your stomach." You nodded and pulled the fabric over your head, though you instantly felt a pang of insecurity as you saw your bloated stomach.
"It's okay," he assured you, leaning over to kiss your cheek. "You are so strong."
His touch was magic. He slowly rubbed your stomach in soothing circles, whispering sweet, lovely words into your ear that made the physical pain feel like a distant memory. You drifted off long before the movie ended, cocooned in his warmth.
When you finally woke, you were still tucked into his side. One of his arms was wrapped firmly around your waist, while the other held his phone. Peeking at the screen, you felt your heart melt.
'How to make my girlfriend feel better on her periods'
The search query was still open. You sat up and hugged him tightly, overwhelmed by his silent efforts. He looked up and smiled. "You up?"
"Yes."
"Want to eat something? Or shower maybe?" he asked, his voice a low, caring rasp.
"No. Just you," you whispered, clinging to him.
"I am all yours," he promised, pulling you back into the safety of his chest.
The rest of the day was a blur of devotion. He was your silent guardian, bringing you water, healthy meals, and every craving that crossed your mind. He wouldn't let your feet touch the floor, treating the bed like a sanctuary. As night fell, he gave you a soothing oil massage, his hands tracing your skin with a gentleness that eventually lulled you into a deep, peaceful sleep.
He was the definition of tenderness.
You loved Jungkook.
He loved you.
---
[Master list]
A/n: here's my first Jungkook one shot!! Soft one!!! Posted this because I got my periods 😭.
Also, I made a post about all my upcoming one shots and series for this month! I have completed writing all of them! I just gotta post them. I completed writing them in April so that I can post in May because I have exams till 29th of this month :(
Posting schedule of May! Post link.
Because of my exams, I am going to post every Wednesday and Sunday! If possible, on Saturday too!
Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse. | 20.1k [f, a]
❖ magic stick — by @badbtssmut
Jungkook is kinda sad because he has never been with a girl who could take him balls deep because of his size, reader doesn't believe him and she wants to see, but he tells her that he can't atm bc he's not hard. She is wearing this kinda halter top style with no bra so she looses the top and shows her tits to him and let's him touch them. After he's hard he shows her his dick and she says she's willing to try to take it all and she rides him into the sunset. | ? [s]
❖ crazy — by @girlygguk
you know it sounds twisted. that most people would see hyungwon as the perfect boyfriend. healthy, balanced, all the things that relationships should be. that’s when you realized... you weren't like most people. but that's okay. because neither is jungkook. | 15.5k [s, f, a]
❖ we are all dreamers — by @yoonia
Jeon Jungkook is a cocky bastard. Not only does he have the pride and insolence twice the size of his head, but he also has an anger that could open up the door to hell on itself. As he continues to refuse to believe on the soulmate system, he keeps on unknowingly hurting you, punishing you for what the universe has thrown at him in the past. Would he change his ways as he finally meets you? Or would you run away, giving him the exit that he had seemed to desire so greatly? | 16.5k [a, s]
❖ comfort inn ending — by @joonbird
“It was you who Jungkook gave his heart to- that is, until the day you broke it. And it is you now, hoping that some faultlines can be repaired, and that some broken hearts can be put back together again.” | series [a, s]
❖ angel’s trumpet — by @hansolmates
one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. | series [ a, f, s]
❖ the habits of a broken heart — by @softykooky
jungkook and you are soulmates. so says the matching crescent moons on both your wrists. however, things are never as easy as they seem, and you are quick to learn that falling in love with someone who does not believe in love is a one-way ticket to heartbreak. | 26.3k [a, f]
❖ animal — by @cutaepatootie
series [a, s]
❖ a fallen bookmark on a thursday afternoon — by @cutaepatootie
He came to you like the air comes into the train station after the fast arriving of the machine. It comes fast and unexpected, making you hoist your head to look at the long vehicle and the people inside. It is so fast you can't even distinguish the different wagons. As the train comes to a stop, the wind that it creates plays with your hair, leaving you breathless. That's how Jeon Jungkook came into your life. | 19k [a, f, s]
❖ scattered stars — by @taegularities
It’s easy to despise Jungkook when your contradicting magic doesn’t allow you to touch each other without fatal consequences - but what if your eternal enemy turns out to be your soulmate with whom you, unfortunately, do fall in love? | 17.9k [f, a, s]
❖ welcome to the heartbreak show — by @numinousher
you’re in love with your partner in class that everyone fears (and loves) due to his stoic facial expression and the way he rejects girls rather harshly. as you get to know him, will he be able to handle your heart that you so willingly gave him to care for or, will he break it due to his hatred for people who are in love with him? | 28k [a, f]
❖ mutt — by @letsbangts
when you realize you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. | 6k [s, a]
❖ answer your phone — by @letsbangts
when the consequences of his actions come calling. — 12.8k [a, s]
❖ the love prognosis — by @awrkive
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. | series [f, a, s]
❖ lie with you — by @girlygguk
in which jungkook doesn't realize what he has until he just about loses it. | 8.4k [a, f]
❖ out of gas? — by @97kuu
It was a setup between Taejoon and Jungkook to get him to hook up with you in the car. However, his guilty heart and physical desire revealed that he wanted more than what he was willing to confess that night.. | 3k [s]
❖ ordinary things — by @lovieku
after a lost match, jeongguk’s only source of comfort is you. | 6.9k [a, f]
❖ cosmic balance — by @explicit-tae
Every universal realm has a positive and negative - good or bad. Jungkook manages to cross the portal from his dystopian world to your utopian one and decides that he'd do anything to stay with you. | 8.7k [a, s, f]
❖ seven storms — by @wintaerbaer
As a young woman of considerable wealth, it has always been your father's expectation that you would marry one of the local aristocrats once you came of age. Your family's stable hand? Certainly not an option. | 9k [a, s, f]
❖ first class— by @girlygguk
in which you are just another spoiled, bitchy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby who has everyone at Yonsei University eating from the palm of your hand. and jeon jungkook, your spoiled, fuck-boy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby best friend, is always first in line to take a bite. | 25k [a, f, s]
❖ when she loved me — by @jungkookstatts
How does one live when life is bound to end? | 11.2k [a, s]
❖ staged for the season — by @voyter
Going back home for the holidays meant facing his ex — the one he still couldn’t let go of. determined to win her back and spark a little jealousy, he brought you along… as his fake girlfriend. — 18.3k [f, s, a]
❖ guilty as sin — by @gldrushh
You are stuck in time, and Jungkook doesn't stop running from it until he eventually does, and you learn that grief doesn’t wait for death, that love isn't all that dignifying. — 17.3k [a, s]
❖ mature — by @jiminrings
The good thing about professing your feelings to jungkook is that it'd be over with, whether or not he likes you back — the bad thing is that he rejects you, even if you haven't confessed. — 8k [f, a]
❖ 6 AM — by @neimaami
Jungkook wakes you up at 6AM for more than just morning cuddles. — 4k [s]
❖ year 22 — @rkived
‘‘I knew you’d be standing in my front porch light, and I knew you’d come back to me.’‘ — 11.5k [a, f, s]
❖ tangled webs — @ughseoks
Soulmates are tricky thing. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their destinies intertwined with their missing piece. Signs come in dreams for those fortunate souls; short bursts that are barely memorable when the sun rises. As for you? Flashes of red and blue are your only indicators to the identity of your other half. — 14.1k [a, f]
❖ fighting hearts — @kooktrash
Never living a life of luxury, Jungkook does what he has to do to make ends-meet. right now that means fighting in underground clubs, getting beat black and blue until he wins. he knows there’s a better life out there for him but he never let himself think about it. until you came along and suddenly a weight is being lifted off his shoulders letting you through his guarded walls. you’re everything he needed and you make him want to fight for more. — 15k [a, s, f]
❖ a thousand reasons why — @taegularities
After leaving to work towards his dream rather than the bonds that shackle him to home, you didn't expect to see Jungkook again years later at your best friend's wedding. And even less, for love to rekindle at second glance. — 43.1k [a, f, s]
❖ can’t be without you — @ahundredtimesover
One night you’re gushing over rom-coms and Jungkook’s cooking; a few nights later you’re tending to his beat-up face. But while it’s his stubbornness that’s saved you countless times before, it’s that same quality that constantly puts him in danger. OR your best friend just can’t let go of underground fighting and so, drama ensues. — 30.4K [f, a, s]
❖ tangled thoughts — @hongcherry
It wasn’t easy to leave your boyfriend of two years, but the constant lies made you question your relationship. You tried to move on, but you were somehow constantly tangled in his web. After being captured by an unknown, yet familiar, enemy, Jungkook wondered if he was doing the right thing by keeping his secret identity from you. Was it too late to come clean? — 10.5k [a, f]
❖ warning signs — by @hongcherry
Spider-Man is a beacon of hope for most residents in Seoul; although, it causes you to feel a little useless to society. With determination to be a change in the world like your masked boyfriend, you find yourself involved in a secluded organization meant to eradicate underground gangs. However, you’re deeper than you expected—leaving Jungkook trying to discover who this ‘new you’ is alone. — series [a, f]
❖ kiss me better — by @jaykaysthicthighs
Jungkook said some really mean things to you when you started coming home so late. when he realizes how horrible he was, he tried making it up to you. — 4k [a, f]
❖ disney+ & blast — by @1kook
There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. — 13k [f, a, s]
❖ blackjack — by @kpopfanfictrash
Bangtan is one of the most vicious mafias on the west coast. Only six members are known by name though, with a mysterious seventh member dubbed only as ‘the shadow.’ When you become indebted to the worst of the worst – how, exactly can you find a way out? — series [s, a, f]
