#kook

Parts: P1 | P2 I P3 | P4 | P5 | P6 | P7 | P8 | P9 | P10 | P11 | P12 | P13 | P14 | P15 | P16 |

DESCRIPTION:

You never planned on taking in a hybrid. Especially not one like him.

You offer him food. A place to stay. Rules.

He offers you obedience. Tension. Trouble.

Because hybrids like him don't know how to exist without earning their place and you're about to learn that kindness, to someone like Jungkook, can feel just as dangerous as cruelty.

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: : pairing: Bunny Hybrid! Jungkook x reader

: : genre: Hybrid AU, Angst-driven Romance

: : warnings: alcohol use, drug use, mutual pining, violence mentions of abuse, cursing, fluff, angst, smut, jealousy, emotional trauma, hurt/comfort, dehumanisation themes

: : word count: chapter: 5.3k | Total: 111.9k [for now]

ao3 link: Link

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A/N: if you're here for emotional damage, slow-burn tension and a little bit of chaos-then yeah. let's go... this fic is messy in all the ways: hurt, comfort, trust issues, anc a hybrid who doesn't really know how to be safe even when he finally is.

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PART 16

Aspirations are a funny thing, mostly because of how wildly they vary from person to person. Some people dream of climbing Mount Everest, others chase the relentless high of becoming self-made millionaires by the age of 30, some yearn for a sprawling family in a cute house with a little garden that no one ever has the time to take care of, and a rare few just want to perfect the art of the crispiest of crispiest sourdough bread.

​But nobody's aspiration is getting escorted in handcuffs by police to jail.

​Nobody dreams of being led through a metal detector with their wrists bound, their head ducked, and their dignity crumbling. Nobody's childhood vision board includes an ugly mugshot, a mandatory fingerprint scan, and then being thrown into a nasty cell.

​It certainly wasn't yours, yet here you are.

Life locked behind bars is exactly as glamorous as the movies make it out to be; which is to say, not at all. The lighting in here is absolute trash. The flickering, dying bulb in your apartment's broken bathroom provides more actual illumination than this depressing tube.

​There isn't a single window. Not one. The walls are just solid cinderblock, painted a miserable shade of beige that seems specifically designed to drain the last drop of hope from the human soul. To make matters worse, the air smells like a very specific kind of depression: Think of a damp basement packed with sacks of muddy, molding potatoes, a rotting corpse hidden in the corner, and the stale burp of a hungover old uncle. Yup. That is exactly how it smells.

And to really seal the cinematic perfection of the moment, your current view features Danny in the cell directly opposite yours. 

Danny. Of all the people in this city, of all the junkies and drunks and petty criminals who could have ended up in the cell across from yours, it has to be Danny. He is gripping the iron bars, beaming across the corridor at you and flashing a partly toothless grin like he's in a drastically less miserable position than you are.

​All of this was definitely not your ultimate life goal. But given that your life has always been a spectacular, pathetic little circus, you can’t even say you’re surprised.

Disappointed? Highly. Shocked? Not in the slightest.

"Psst, Miss Bartender..."

​"What?" you mumble, your voice straining slightly as you shift your weight. Your ass is already aching terribly from the hard, unforgiving wooden plank they call a bed.

​Danny's grin only widens. Looking him up and down, you notice he isn't just missing a front tooth. He’s also missing an entire shoe. He pushes his dirty hands out between the rusty bars, stretching his arms straight into the corridor, while his forehead presses right back into the metal. The skin there already sports a grid of deep red lines from his earlier sightseeing, but he doesn't seem to care.

​"So–What brings you here into our lovely little corner?" he asks, his voice carrying across the corridor with the casual ease of a man chatting at a local bar rather than someone incarcerated in a government facility. 

You lean the back of your head against the concrete wall, letting the deep chill of the block seep through your hair. Closing your eyes, you let out a long, heavy sigh. 

How did you end up here?

Honestly, you should have predicted this. Your entire day had been a cascading domino effect of absolute back luck, and you really should have known things wouldn't just stop with a bird shitting directly onto your head at nine o'clock in the morning, the exact moment you just stepped out of your apartment building.

You were already running severely late for your shift. That was entirely thanks to Jungkook, who had sneakily turned off your alarm in the desperate hope that you'd skip work and stay home with him all day. You had scolded him thoroughly for being so thoughtless, but the stubborn hybrid simply couldn't reconcile the fact that after a brutal week of you being sick and running a fever, you were actually about to go back to work instead of sitting by his side forever.

​When you finally reached the bar, you were definitely surprised not to see Danny and his usual crew lurking outside waiting for you. There was no Danny, no Trevor, and no nameless third man who had never once offered his name in the two years of daily attendance. Still, you didn’t think too much of it, assuming they’d just given up and wandered off after you failed to show up on time.

​The shift itself was bad. It wasn't catastrophic, just the kind of miserable bad that comes from being sick for a week and trying to pretend your body has fully recovered when it very clearly hasn't. Your hands weren't steady, your coordination was completely off, and your brain felt like it was running through thick mud. By the time you clocked out, you had broken two glasses and managed to spill an entire Sex on the Beach right into a client's lap.

​And the misery didn't stop when your shift ended.

You desperately needed to buy groceries, but of course, the nearest supermarket was completely closed down due to the chaotic hybrid riot that had torn through the neighborhood last week. That forced you to trek to a much farther store; one that was notoriously overcrowded, cursed with endless checkout queues, and completely devoid of any decent sales or promotions.

You had to be really strict with your budget, searching for the absolute cheapest items on the shelves. After looking at your latest stack of bills, you felt like digging your own grave right then and there. The astronomical surge in the water bill alone was enough to induce a panic attack. Keeping a hybrid clean and fed was officially draining your bank account to zero.

​You were standing frozen in the middle of a frantic aisle, reading the ingredient list on the back of a carton box that boldly claimed to be "100% Apple Juice" on the front, only to discover the fine print listed apples as barely making up 50% of the actual liquid,when your phone suddenly vibrated violently in your pocket.

You fished it out with one hand, the juice carton still clutched in the other, and the screen lit up with Jungkook's name. ​You pressed the phone to your ear, stepping to the side of the aisle.

"Kook. I'm at the store —"

"You have to come home."​ His voice cut you off. It was tight, but hushed. 

​Your grip tightened on the phone. "What? Why?"

​A pause stretched over the line. You could hear his breathing; fast, shallow, the unmistakable sound of someone who was frantically pacing the floorboards. 

​"Someone is at the door."

​"What do you mean someone's at the door? Who?"

​The juice carton slipped from your fingers. You caught it against your hip, pressing it back onto the shelf, already moving toward the exit.

​"I don't—" A sound interrupted him. A distant thud that rattled right through the phone speaker. Heavy, echoing, and entirely impatient.

"They keep knocking. I didn't open it. You told me not to open the door."

​"Good. Don't open it." Your feet moved faster now, weaving through the crowded aisles. "Can you see who it is? Through the peephole?"

​Silence fell over the line, save for the faint sound of bare feet shifting on wood. A familiar creak followed—the exact floorboard by the front door that you always stepped over.

Then came his breath, sharp and completely shaky.

​"There are four of them," he whispered, his voice trembling with a primal terror. "They have... they have uniforms. Y/N, it's the police."

​Your feet stopped dead.

In the middle of the crowded grocery store, surrounded by harsh lights, total strangers, and the distant, mechanical beep of checkout scanners, you completely stopped breathing.

​"Y/N?" Jungkook's voice was agonizingly small now, completely stripped of his usual stubborn pride. "Y/N, what do I do?"

​Your brain violently kicked into overdrive. Thoughts fired rapidly, scenarios branching out into terrifying possibilities. You forced yourself to swallow the lump of panic in your throat, desperately trying to calm down. It was the police, yes, but it didn't automatically mean the absolute worst. You didn't even know if they were there for you or for Jungkook. Maybe something happened with the neighbors downstairs and they were just conducting a routine check-in.

​"Listen to me," you said, keeping your voice remarkably steady even though your hands shook so hard you could barely hold the phone. "Go into the bedroom. Close the door. Don't make a single sound. Don't come out no matter what you hear. I'm coming home right now. Do you understand?"

​"Y/N—"

​"Jungkook. Do you understand?"

​"Yes," he whispered.

​"I'm on my way."

You abandoned your basket right by the exit door of the store. You didn’t care about the cashier who called out after you, or the security guard who gave you a passing, suspicious glance. 

The early evening air hit your face the second you burst through the automatic glass doors, sharp and smelling heavily of oncoming rain. Somewhere across the city, in your tiny apartment, a boy with flat ears and dark eyes was pressing himself against your bedroom wall, listening to the knocks at the door, waiting for you to fix this.

You started running.

As you sprinted through the streets, your stamina rapidly died. Your lungs burned, still weak from the week-long fever, and your chest throbbed with a terrifying mix of physical exhaustion and sheer panic You didn't know what to expect. You didn't know what you were running into.

When your apartment building finally came into view, your feet nearly skidded out from under you. You genuinely thought about turning your ass right back around, buying a plane ticket—no, a space rocket ticket—and leaving all the way to Mars. Anything to escape the spectacular, unfolding circus parked right outside your building door.

Four police cruisers were parked haphazardly across the curb, their emergency lights flashing red and blue that painted the dirty brick facade of your building. A small crowd of onlookers had already gathered at a safe distance, whispering behind their hands. Even several of your neighbors (Including old Mr. Henderson from the second floor, who never seemed to emerge into daylight) were leaning so far out of their windows that they risked falling.

To make the nightmare entirely complete, an officer was standing by the hood of the lead cruiser, a megaphone pressed to his lips. His voice boomed disorted through the narrow street:

"All residents, please remain inside your apartments! Keep your doors locked. We are currently investigating a potential high-risk suspect in the building. For your own safety, do not enter the staircase until the scene is secure!"

Your stomach dropped straight through the pavement. You forced your shaking legs to move, pushing past the outer edge of the gathering crowd.  A cold sweat broke out across your forehead, but you walked over and tried to go into the building, even though it was entirely surrounded by men with badges and guns.

"Hey! Miss! Stop right there!"

A heavy hand clamped down on your shoulder, spinning you around. It was a burly officer, his uniform crisp and his expression hard.

"The building is locked down. You can't go in there."

"I live here!" you gasped out, your voice hoarse, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. "What's happening?"

The officer checked a clipboard, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at your disheveled hair, your trembling hands, and the sheer desperation bleeding out of you. 

"Are you the tenant of apartment 3B? Y/N Y/L/N?"

"Yes," you choked out. "Yes, that's me. What... What's going on?"

Before the officer could answer, the second-story window on the staircase banged open. Miss Teresa’s head emerged, her perm entirely disheveled, but her expression practically radiant with malice.

"That's her!" She shrilled, her screeching voice easily carrying over the low, rhythmic hum of the police engines. "That's the girl! I told you, officer! Arrest her—"

Before she could finish her triumphant grand finale, a large hand in a navy uniform reached out from the shadows of the stairwell, grabbed her by the shoulder, and firmly pulled her back inside. The window slammed shut, cutting off the rest of her unhinged rant.

The officer beside you pulled a small black radio up to his mouth, his hard gaze never leaving your panicked face. He pressed the button on the side, a sharp burst of static slicing through the air.

​"Unit four, we have the tenant at the front perimeter," he spoke into the device. "Confirming it's Y/N Y/L/N. What are our orders?"

​A tense second ticked by. Then, a gruff, distorted voice crackled back through the receiver. "Let her in. Bring her up to the third floor."

​The man gave you a grim nod, releasing his grip on your shoulder. "Alright, let her through."

​The officers guarding the doors stepped aside, allowing you to pass. You crossed the threshold into your own building, but any sense of home was completely gone. Another officer immediately fell into step right beside you, his heavy tactical boots thudding as he escorted you up the stairs.

​As you passed the second landing, you glanced toward a particular apartment, knowing with absolute certainty that Miss Teresa was now pressed flat against the wood, straining her ears with a glass to catch every single sound vibrating through the corridor.

But you didn't know that in fact the miserable old lady had been spying on you for over a month now, meticulously cataloging your every move after noticing you weren't actually living alone. At first, her grand plan had been far more petty; she was just planning to tip off your landlord. He was a notoriously stingy man, and in his eyes, more people in a unit meant a higher price tag for rent and utilities. She wanted nothing more than to see you priced out of your home.

​But then, earlier today, Miss Teresa had been sitting comfortably in her rocking chair, sipping tea and watching the afternoon news, when a high-priority segment flashed across the screen. The broadcast warned the public about a dangerous criminal and drug dealer currently on the run, offering a massive financial reward for any information leading to his arrest. Looking at the blurry police sketch on the television, she became entirely convinced it was the exact same boy she had caught you with on the staircase. The temptation of a fat government check was too much to resist, and she had practically tripped over herself rushing to the phone to report you.

With every step you took up the stairwell, you felt as though you were on the verge of fainting​.Your chest was tight, your hands were still clammy, and the weight of the officer's presence behind you made it feel less like you were going home, and more like you were being marched straight to an execution.

Unable to take the suffocating silence anymore, you turned your head slightly, looking back at the uniform behind you. "Please," you pleaded, your voice cracking as you practically begged for someone to finally tell you what was happening. "What is going on? Is all of this necessary?"

The officer didn't look at you, his eyes fixed straight ahead on the landing above. "Ma'am, we received a high-priority report from a resident in this building stating that a dangerous criminal on the run has been hidden in your apartment. The caller claims the suspect has been spotted with you on multiple occasions recently."

"What?" you gasped, nearly tripping over the next step. "That's completely insane. There's no criminal in my apartment!"

The officer didn't offer a rebuttal, his expression remaining entirely stone-faced as he gestured for you to keep moving. By the time you reached the third-floor landing, the atmosphere was thick enough to choke on. Three more officers were stationed directly outside your door, their heavy frames entirely blocking the narrow hallway.

The lead investigator, a tall man with a severe expression and a badge clipped to his belt, stepped forward to intercept you. He didn't waste time with pleasantries. Instead, he pulled a sleek digital tablet from beneath his arm and flipped it toward your face, illuminating a grainy, high-contrast mugshot.

"Do you recognize this individual, Ms. Y/L/N?" he demanded.

You squinted at the screen, your heart hammering against your ribs. The boy in the photo had a sharp jawline, dark, unruly hair, and sleeves of intricate tattoos winding up both of his arms. At a very passing, superficial glance, he did look a bit like Jungkook. But as your eyes traveled up the image, the differences became glaringly obvious. This boy had an entirely different facial structure, an aggressive scowl, and a prominent silver hoop piercing embedded directly into his left eyelid.

"No," you said firmly, shaking your head. "No, I've never seen him before in my life."

The investigator didn't blink. He swiped his thumb across the screen, replacing the mugshot with a different set of files. "Then perhaps you can explain these."

​Your stomach bottomed out. The next images were grainy, low-light photographs taken through what was very clearly a peephole. You recognized the exact angle instantly. It was clearly the view from Miss Teresa’s apartment door.

​There you were on the staircase, desperately trying to haul a completely unconscious Jungkook into your apartment. Beside you, helping to carry his dead weight, was Greg, and right behind you both was a half-naked Krissy mid shouting. Jungkook’s beanie was low, his ears hidden, but the sheer chaos of the scene looked highly incriminating from an outsider's perspective.

​"We have eyewitness testimony and photographic evidence of you and two accomplices dragging a concealed, unresponsive male into your unit after hours," the investigator said, his tone dropping into that flat, unyielding police voice. "Now, open the door."

A dark, vicious plan flashed through your mind: The moment this nightmare was over and the suspicions against you were cleared, you were going to drag that miserable old lady into the stairwell by her gray hair and send her tumbling down the steps. You'd absolutely had enough of Miss Teresa's nosy bullshit.

​But at this exact moment, you were trapped. Your blood ran entirely cold. There was no escaping this. If you refused, they would smash the lock, kick the door down, and swarm the apartment with weapons drawn. They would find a terrified, cornered Jungkook who would instinctively fight to protect himself, using every ounce of his apex predator biology. If he shifted or lashed out at a cop, there would be no trial. They wouldn't hesitate for a fraction of a second to pull the trigger and terminate him on the spot.

​Your hands shook violently as you reached into your bag, your fingers brushing against the cold metal of your keys. They clinked together loudly, echoing like a countdown. 

You had no other choice than to open the damn door.

​"Okay," you whispered, the word scraping past the raw lump of fear in your throat. "Okay. I'll open it."

​You slotted the key into the deadbolt, your trembling hands making it scrape loudly against the brass plate before the mechanism finally turned with a definitive click. The second the latch released, the atmosphere in the hallway shifted into lethal overdrive. The officers immediately drew their weapons, the sharp, metallic sounds of unholstering guns making your heart physically stop.

​"Step back! Step back right now and raise your hands!" the lead investigator barked, grabbing your shoulder and forcefully pulling you away from the threshold, shoving you behind his bulky tactical vest.

You raised your hands into the air, your back pressed hard against the opposite wall of the corridor as the squad flooded through your front door. Their heavy boots slammed against your floor as they screamed in deafening unison:

​"Police! Search warrant! If anyone is in the apartment, step out with your hands above your head! Do it now!"

The apartment erupted into absolute chaos. From the hallway, you could hear the harsh click of lights flicking on, and doors slamming. Your chest heaved as you stared blindly at your open front door. You really prayed that Jungkook had somehow escaped, that he had lied to you and actually turned out to be a pigeon hybrid who could fly right out the bedroom window, or that he had somehow dug a hole in the wall and disappeared into a pipe. Anything but being trapped inside.

"In the bedroom!" an officer yelled from the back of the unit.

The sound broke your paralysis. You couldn't take it anymore. Shoving past the officer guarding the threshold, you pushed yourself into the apartment, completely ignoring their shouted orders to stay back. Three officers stood in a tight semi-circle, their weapons trained directly on your closed bedroom door. 

"Police! Exit the room immediately with your hands where we can see them!" the lead investigator commanded.

"Don't shoot! Please don't shoot him, he's not a criminal!" you screamed, desperately trying to get between them and the door. "He doesn't have a weapon, he's not who you're looking for!"

Cutting through the chaos of the apartment, a muffled sound came from behind the wood.

"Y/N?"

It was Jungkook. His voice was agonizingly small, trembling. You bit your lip hard, the taste of blood grounding you for a split second. The officer closest to you turned his head, raising a brow waitingly, his hand still hovering over his holster as he waited for your confirmation.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Yes, Kook. It's me."

"Tell him to get out, ma'am! Tell him to step out right now!" the investigator ordered.

"Jungkook, come out," you called, keeping your voice as soft as possible despite the terror clawing at your lungs. "They won't hurt you... right?" You aimed the last words directly at the police officers, but they didn't respond, their expressions remaining entirely flat and unreadable.

Suddenly, you heard a shift inside the room. The police stepped back instantly, their guns pointed dead-center at the doorway.  Then the  bedroom door creaked open, and Jungkook finally stepped out. He had the oversized black hood pulled over his head, his face cast entirely in shadow, his chin tucked tightly against his chest.

"Keep your face up! Pull down the hood!" the lead officer barked.

Jungkook didn't move. He just stood there like a statue, completely freezing out the command. He refused to listen to anyone else but you, his shoulders tensing defensively under the heavy cotton fabric.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a rasp. "Pull it down, Kook."

His trembling hands went to the hood, slowly pulling the heavy material back. You wanted to cry right then and there. His large, dark velvet ears appeared, pinned entirely flat against his skull, his eyes glued firmly to the floor. He looked like a sad little bunny, his posture hunched as if he felt he had the right to be ashamed for being discovered.

Everyone went dead silent for a full minute. The aggressive tension in the air instantly evaporated, replaced by absolute confusion. The investigator lowered his weapon slightly, turning a piercing gaze onto you.

 "That’s a hybrid. Is he yours?"

"Yes," you said, forcing your voice not to shake.

"Are you his legal owner?"

You lied without hesitation. "Yes."

Jungkook didn't look up, his eyes remained fixed on the ground, his flat ears twitching slightly at your words.

The investigator adjusted his belt, his eyes narrowing. "You didn't tell us you were housing a hybrid."

"I didn't?" you feigned confusion, trying desperately to scramble for a lie that would get you out of the situation. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought I did. Everything happened so fast... I have... um... his registration documents somewhere, yeah. But it might take me some time to find them... Actually, now that I think about it, they might be down in my storage unit in the basement. It's really just a loss of your time, sir. I can go down and look for them later."

"That’s okay, ma'am, don't worry about the paperwork," the officer interrupted smoothly. "We'll just scan his chip."

Your chest tightened, a cold sweat breaking out across your neck. "His... chip?"

"Obviously, yes," the officer said, looking at you like you were slow. "The identification chip you get when you adopt a hybrid. It's a new law that went into effect at the beginning of this year. It streamlines the entire public safety database, allows for instant biometric verification during routine checks, and significantly reduces administrative processing times. It’s mandatory across the board. Or is he strictly a stay-at-home pet? Even then, the grace period for domestic registration expired three months ago. Did you not get the official letter for the mandatory chip if he didn't already have one at the time of adoption? The department sent them to every registered keeper in the district."

"I—" Your voice died completely.

Before you could say another word, one of the officers pulled a sleek, heavy black device from his tactical vest. The chip detector whirred to life with a low hum.

He stepped toward Jungkook, who instantly panicked. The hybrid’s chest began to heave violently, a dark, primal fear washing over his face, but he didn't look at you. He deliberately avoided your eyes, staring doggedly at the floorboards as if he knew exactly what was about to happen.

The officer stepped behind him, firmly pressing the cold tip of the scanner directly against the back of the hybrids neck. Jungkook flinched hard, his fists clenching at his sides.

A sharp, digital beep echoed through the apartment.

The officer pulled the device back, squinting at the glowing screen as rows of data began to rapidly scroll down. The officer's eyebrows shot up, his expression hardening as he looked up from the screen and stared dead at you.

"Well, his registration isn't empty," the man muttered, his voice dangerously low. "But it surely doesn't say your name, Miss Y/N."

Your breath hitched. "What do you mean?"

"This unit is registered as active private property," the officer stated coldly, turning the tablet screen just enough for you to see a name emblazoned in bold red font. "Registered owner: Christina Morona."

​The words echoed, completely hollow and devastating. You didn't know he had a chip. Neither did you know he was still registered to some woman. But as the initial shock began to numb your mind, it made a sickening sort of sense. If she had just thrown him away on the street like garbage, he would still be registered to her under the federal system anyway.

​Your shoulders dropped, the last of your defensive adrenaline draining out of you. You didn't say anything. What was there left to say? That this was all a giant misunderstanding? That you had suddenly forgotten your own name and you were actually Christina Morona? 

​You desperately wanted Jungkook to look at you, to give you some kind of sign, but he didn't. He kept his head bowed, perhaps not ready to meet your devastated gaze. He probably already knew this might be the last time he would ever see you, and he didn't want a look of utter defeat to be his final memory of your face. Instead, he simply closed his eyes, his long eyelashes casting dark shadows over his pale cheeks as the officer started speaking again.

​"Do you know Christina Morona, ma'am?" the investigator asked, his eyes drilling into yours. "Is she a family member? A close friend?"

​You looked down. "No."

​The officer sighed, a sound completely devoid of sympathy, and tapped the digital screen of his tablet.

"According to Title 4, Section 82 of the Domestic Hybrid Penal Code, the unbonded harboring of an apex-tier asset is strictly prohibited. A registered hybrid may only reside within a designated domicile under the direct supervision of their primary legal owner, or an authorized immediate family member possessing a notarized waiver of custody. Any unauthorized transfer or concealment of such an asset without formal registration updates constitutes unlawful possession."

​He paused, the clinical weight of the law setting into the quiet space like concrete. He looked from you to the silent boy standing between the two guards.

​​"You are not allowed to have this asset under your roof, ma'am," the officer said, pulling a pair of heavy, reinforced titanium cuffs from his utility belt with a sharp, metallic rattle. "You aren't his owner. Which means you're facing a federal grand larceny charge for kidnapping."

And just like that, the trap snapped shut. That was how you ended up in jail. 

Now, hours later, sitting on the hard prison bed, the desperate pleading of Jungkook still echoes in your ears, memorized to your brain like a fresh burn mark. The memory is agonizingly vivid; The moment the officers had moved toward you with the cuffs, the fragile wall of Jungkook's compliance had completely shattered. He had lost his mind. It took three grown officers to hold him back as he violently tried to break free, his claws ripping through his own sleeves as he lunged toward you. He had screamed your name until his voice cracked, pleading, begging you to do something, to tell them he was yours, to save him.

But you had been entirely frozen. You couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak a single word of comfort as the heavy metal clasped around your own wrists. You knew the brutal rules of the system: from that exact moment on, every single tiny word you uttered could and would be used against you in a court of law. So, you chose silence.

​They dragged you down the stairs, past Miss Teresa peeking through the narrow crack of her apartment door, and straight into the sea of flashing blue lights outside. It was a thoroughly humbling experience. Although, if you were being completely honest, it lacked a certain cinematic flair. For a full-on federal grand larceny charge, it sorely lacked a crowd of aggressive news reporters, flashing cameras, and a true-crime documentary crew waiting at the curb. You didn't even get the full experience of a high-profile criminal.

​Instead, you were stuffed into the back of a cramped police cruiser and driven straight to the precinct. The routine that followed was a blur of lights and ink: the clinical humiliation of the mugshots, the rough pressing of your fingers against an electronic scanner for fingerprints, and the stripping of your personal belongings.

​You were supposedly next in line to be dragged into a bleak interrogation room for a formal questioning, but a massive, high-priority case had suddenly broken out somewhere else in town, and the detectives suddenly had absolutely no time for a rabbit kidnapping case. Without a second thought, a guard led you down a narrow corridor and threw you into a temporary holding cell, locking the heavy iron bars behind you right across from the cell of Danny, who had proudly informed you that he had been arrested yesterday for initiating a massive, drunken brawl inside a 24-hour convenience store.

"...So?"

The rough voice yanks you violently out of your thoughts.

You blink, opening your heavy eyes and realizing that Danny is still staring at you, waiting impatiently for your answer.

He presses his face even deeper into the gap between the rusted metal bars, shifting his weight, one bare foot sliding forward across the cold concrete floor as he leans in with dramatic curiosity.

"Don't tell me..." Danny whispers, his eyes widening with theatrical awe as he scans your rumpled clothes and hollow expression. "Did you kill someone? Who was it? A cheating ex? A noisy neighbor?"

You roll your eyes so hard it physically hurts, utterly over the entire day, the police, the law, and the universe in general.

"Fuck off, Danny."

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when his childhood best friend tries to remind you she means more than you.

genre : angst, romance

pairing : jungkook x reader

— requested by a reader