“Don’t you ever notice how Fred can’t keep his hands off of you?” Luna asks me. Another attempt to distract from the work in front of us. I don’t bother giving her an answer, “Luna, you’ve got to focus on these charms or else you won’t get a good grade tomorrow.” 

“I don’t notice him doing it with anyone else.” She continues, completely ignoring me. If only someone told me at the beginning of the year that tutoring Luna would be this difficult. I say, “Luna, you are very very smart and you’re incredible when it comes to things like herbology or magical creatures, but you could be doing incredible in all your subjects if you would just-” 

“There is my favourite lady!”  

“Oh! Hi Fred.” I say, surprised, looking up seeing Fred grinning with his hand on my shoulder. He hops down on the couch and sits next to me, his arm fully around my shoulder now. Luna raises an eyebrow and looks at me with a soft but pointed smile. I suddenly feel very aware of every part of my body that is touching his. 

“How does the fat lady feel about letting a Ravenclaw enter the lion’s common room?” Fred asks, looking at Luna, shuffling closer to me. Our legs and sides flushed together now. Luna replies, “Oh, she doesn’t mind at all. We sort of got a deal going.” 

“What deal?” I ask, curious. Lifting Fred’s arm from over my shoulder and placing it on his lap as inconspicuously as I possibly can. Luna notices of course and purses her lips before saying, “I have the same deal with all the paintings but I’m afraid I can’t tell you. I was told that if you expose a deal then your head will start growing.” 

“Okay then, we should get back to charms.” I say, leaning forward out of Fred’s touch to reach towards the table to get a textbook. I hope that Fred doesn’t notice that when I settle back down it's inches away from him. I never noticed how physically close Fred and I always are. Does it make people uncomfortable? Is it normal? And is he actually only like that with me like Luna says? 

“Okay so at the rate we are moving at I think it would be best if we also did a quick morning revision-” 

“Hey, are you okay?” Fred whispers in my ear. When he is this close I can’t help but notice all the freckles dotted on his cheeks and nose, does anyone else see these freckles the way I do? Ugh, it’s so stupid to even think about. I answer, quickly, maybe even a little bit too quickly. “Yeah, why?” 

“No reason.” 

***

Breakfast is always hectic at Hogwarts. People falling into their plates of cereal because of a lack of sleep, people earring at a speed that is definitely a choking hazard because they’re late for something, and some people, much like myself right now are cramming for an exam that is in a few minutes, except that it’s not my exam. 

“Remember an invisibility enchantment depends on the type of object as well as the location of the object while a cloaking enchantment depends only on the type of the object.” I repeat out loud from the textbook while Luna eats some fruit rather quickly before the exam. 

Despite her almost always calm demeanor I can tell that she’s feeling a little nervous about the exam, you always notice a little less twinkle in her eyes and a lot more fidgeting with her uniform or the long eccentric earrings. I reassure her, “You’re going to do great, okay? Flitwick’s exams are easy, make sure you keep your eye on the clock.” 

“And remember, when in doubt pick B.” Fred pipes in from beside me just arriving at the Great Hall with George. George waves at me in greeting and sits opposite to me, beside Luna. Fred presses a kiss to my cheek whispering a good morning. He only waves at Luna, but I guess that’s only natural they’re not as close and Luna is much younger. 

“What does that mean?” Luna asks Fred. He answers, “We’ve noticed that our dear Professor Flitwick tends to have the answer be B more often than not.” 

“And how exactly are you sure of that?” I ask the twins and George answers this time. “We’ve tested it out, every year, Professor Flitwick does at least one multiple choice exam and one of us always picks B for all our answers blindly, and I don’t believe either of us has ever gotten a score less than 50% in any of those exams. Have we, Fred?” 

“I don’t believe we have, George.” Fred replies after swallowing down what must be three strawberries at the same time. He moans in delight and raises one up for me, he says, “You have to try these, they’re so good.” 

I feel the urge to eat it from his fingers but then I stop. Was I always so used to eating out of his hands? Isn’t that too intimate for just friends? I pluck it out of his fingers and eat it myself. I don’t miss the frown that quickly covers his face then leaves. 

“What are we discussing this fine morning?” Angelina says, walking closer to where we are sitting and sits beside Fred. All of us wave at her as a good morning, including Fred. Now, Angie has been Fred’s friend for longer than I have and I would argue that they’re even closer than Fred and I, being on the Quidditch team together and everything, so why didn’t she get the greeting that I got?

“Just telling Luna about picking B on her charms exam.” George answers and Angie nods her head while filling up her plate with some bread and cheese. She says, “They’re absolutely wright about that theory, Luna. And you should also start picking D on McGonagall’s exams too.” 

The twins nod along and I fea that Luna is taking their advice to ehart. I reach over the table and grab her hand in mine. I say, “Follow your gut, whether your gut tells you to pick B or any other letter. Now go, wouldn’t want you to be late.” 

“Okay, thank you everyone. Thank you especially y/n.” She says, standing up swinging her decorated satchel over her shoulder. We all wish her luck and say goodbye. A few moments pass and I try to make it obvious that I’m sneaking glances at Fred. I wonder why he’s so close to me. Could it possibly be…no NO! No, no, no, no, no, no, not possible. We’ve been friends for years now. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, it could ruin the wonderful friendship that we’ve built. No, I’m just hallucinating, I’m letting what Luna said bother me, and it shouldn't. I have no proof, noooooo proof. 

“Heyyyy, hey, love!” Fred says, waving his hand in front of my face. I only then notice that I’ve been openly staring at him with a look that can only be described as pure shock and horror. I look away immediately, my mouth turning into a line and my cheeks beet red. George narrows his eyes at me and I look away quickly. 

Why am I acting so awkwardly? This is Fred, and Fred is my friend, unless…no. I’m not even going to entertain that thought, but suddenly, I can’t stand even being around Fred. My face is too red, and my palms are too sweaty and I think I’m actually more nervous than I was before NEWTs last year. I stand up abruptly, pushing the table slightly, and the cutlery smacks against each other creating a small ding. 

“I’m going to go, I wouldn’t want to be late for class.” I explain, I reach out to grab my satchel from beneath the bench. Fred reaches out and steadies me with my hand. He says, “Class isn’t for another twenty minutes. You have plenty of time.” 

“My class is different.” Different, different, everything is so different now. My stomach lurches at the contact of our hands, and when did he even interlace our fingers, has it always been this way? Has he always been this affectionate? And why just with me? 

I leave the Great Hall in a flash. My sneakers squeaking at my quick steps. I could faintly hear Fred say to Angie in confusion, ‘We have the same class.’ I only stop the manic walking once I’m far away enough to catch my breath and sag against my wall. I would be embarrassed about the way I was acting if I could stop having a heart attack. Why does this matter so much? 

“So you know.” 

My head snaps to the back to George standing there with a smug look on his face, and his arms folded in front of his chest. I turn around to face him, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “Know what?” 

“Ohhh, don’t play dumb with me. I could tell.” George says, rolling his eyes ever so slightly. I mirror his stance and fold my arms too. I’m not sure I know anything but charms at this moment. I certainly don’t know anything about anything that George specifically would want me to know, and certainly nothing about his other half. 

“You finally figured out that Fred is miserably in love with you.” He finally admits, and I suck in a deep breath and the confession. Hearing the idea out loud puts a knot in my throat. I shake my head furiously and tighten the fold of my arms, only shuffling slightly on my feet. I say, “He’s not, he can’t, he…he wouldn’t want you saying this to me when it’s not true.” 

George gives me a look, his arms falling to his sides. I may not know George as well as I know Fred but I know enough, I know that look enough to know that he’s saying the truth. I huff a deep breath. How can things change so quickly? I take a few steps to my left and sag against a wall. I’m glad everyone is inside so that they won’t witness this life changing moment of mine. 

George leans against the wall beside me. I can see the way his eyebrows furrow. What’s going to happen now? It can’t go back to the way it was, I can’t ignore the fact that my best friend likes me, or according to George, loves me. He questions, “It can’t be that bad, can it?” 

“It’s just so different now.” I say, and I slide down the wall, all the way to the floor ignoring all the dirt that must be on these floors and the way the fabric of my robe bunches up behind me ever so slightly. George says, “It doesn’t have to be.” 

“It all depends on if you like him back.” He adds. I don’t think I can give him an answer if I tried. I don’t think I’ve ever liked anyone before. I don’t know. I turn my head to the other side. I scoff, “You know I’m not good at this stuff George.” 

“Trust me, I know.” He teases shoving my shoulder playfully. He says probably recalling the Yule Ball when I spent the entire night by their sides because I had failed to get a  date, not because of lack of offers but due to lack of me accepting anyone, I was too busy, stuttering and tripping over my feet. 

“I think you should do what you do best, try to understand it, use facts, maybe even use those lists you like.” He suggests, and I give him a small smile. Maybe I should figure out if I like Fred frist before rejecting even the thought of his feelings. I lean my head against the wall, close my eyes and try to think-

“What are you both doing here?” 

I see Fred jogging up from the Great Hall, he has a wide beaming smile on his face. I sit up straight and George clears his throat before saying, “Just chatting.” 

Fred pretends to check an invisible watch on his wrist that he would have if he cared about being on time for anything. He reaches out his hand for me to take, saying, “I think you’re actually going to be late for class now.” 

I slip my hand into his, and he pulls me up in one quick swift motion, a little bit too swift that I clash into his chest a little. I wonder if he feels the same twists that my stomach makes. I tease, “As if you care about that stuff.” 

He shrugs his shoulders and says as if it’s obvious, “You do.” 

***

I’ve never been much of a person that enjoys Quidditch. I never really enjoyed watching sports and dressing all up in my house colors and cheering the team on while I’m shoved in between two other gryffindors screaming around me. I do make exceptions, and those are the times when Fred and George are playing. 

“WHOOOOO!!! GO GRYFFINDOR, GO FRED! GO GEORGE!” I shout over the crowd and clap my hands hard together, exactly like a sports lover. Hermione sits next to me, clapping but much more gently. Gryffindor are just about to win, only one more goal left to score, or Potter could catch the snitch. 

“HARRY POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH!” Lee shouts from the commentator’s booth. And the Gryffindor team all start high-fiving each other on their brooms. In a whirl of adrenaline and excitement Ron hugs Hermione, and they both proceed to pat each other on the back gently with their cheeks red when they part. 

I see Fred flying over to the stands where I’m sitting. Eyes skimming the crowd until they land on me. His face is red and there are droplets of sweat on his forehead with his hairline just a bit damp. He’s holding his beater’s club in one hand and holding onto the broom with the other. He shouts, “Come on! Let’s celebrate.” 

“I’ll meet you down.” I reply, trying to make it through the people in the stands to meet him down at the pitch. He shakes his head and draws closer, careful not to hit anyone with his broom or his feet. He pulls out a hand, and instinctively, I take it. He says, “There’s no time for that.” 

Before I can process what that meant, I’m pulled upwards towards him. I let out a scream as he held me up with his hands. He places me in front of him, and he starts to fly down. I’ve never been a fan of flying. I shout, “FRED! You idiot, get me down. NOW!” 

People shout congratulations to him as he flies over the crowd and as we land on the ground. As soon as my feet touch the pitch’s grass, I turn around and start smacking Fred’s shoulders. I scream between punches, “I-hate-you.”

He only grins in return. He throws his broom and the beater’s club to the side. He pulls me closer to him and pulls me into a hug. I wrap my arms around his back and he wraps his around my waist. He leans back, lifting my feet off the ground for a second then placing me back on the ground. And then he looks into my eyes, and my stomach flips, has he always looked at me like that? With that glimmer in his eyes? Have I always been this blind? 

He lets go of one hand around my waist, as Lee comes from behind him and slaps his back in congratulations. The grin is wide on his face as members of the team come to celebrate one by one. Alicia, Angie, Potter, Hermione…and others. He high-fives them, some of them receive nods of appreciation but everyone gets that brilliant smile as his hand stays on my lower back. 

They all head out of the pitch to shower and change their clothes and to no doubt get ready for a party in the common room. It’s only us and a few other people when I notice, and then have to ask. I squeeze his hand to grab his attention and say, “Hey Fred, why did you only hug me?” 

He doesn’t expect the question. He looks around us, eyes wondering fumbling for a response, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He says, “You’re my friend.” 

“I mean, why did you only hug me? You didn’t hug any of your other friends like Angie or Lee.” I push, and I can see his cheeks getting red again this time not from the physical exhaustion of the game. He blinks a few times before saying, “You’re just different.” 

My stomach flips again, and I just know that it’ll mean something if he says it. I ask, “Different how?” 

His shoulders fall and he sucks in a deep breath. His mouth left open slightly and I look at him waiting for an answer. I’m so anxious I could break out into a sweat just from the expectation. His eyes turn helpless like he doesn’t know what to say. I add, “Do you like me, Fred?” 

His eyes turn wide just ever so slightly, and he drops his hand from my side, lifting it up, to run his hand through his hair. The sweat made it cling to the rest of his hair, away from his forehead. I feel butterflies when he says, “Yes.” 

The way he said it, so definitive, and so completely obvious like he’s never been sure of anything more in his life makes me feel sick. I have no idea if I want to throw up or if I want to throw my arms around him and pull him closer. ‘I think you should do what you do best, try to understand it.’ I recall George’s words. 

The words come tumbling out of my mouth before I can think about them, “I’ve never been good at this kind of stuff, Fred. I don’t know if I’ve ever liked anyone, and I don’t really understand feelings that well, but I’m going to try to. I think I need time to figure it out, all I know is that I like spending time with you and most times I only want to be around you. That I trust you and that you’re my friend.” 

I wish I could make out the look in his eyes, but I continue, “I sometimes get jealous when you and Angie talk about Quidditch and I can’t join in. And that…being with you scares me, but, I don’t know anyone else I’d want to spend my time with. I like how it feels when you’re around and when you’re touching me. And…I really want to kiss you.” 

Fred doesn’t waste a second before he eliminates the space between us in a single step. Taking all the air from the world, and tipping me only a few centimetres back, placing his lips to mine. I have no idea where to put my hands, but Fred knows, and he slides his hand over my arm and guides my hands to his shoulders. 

I can’t breathe but somehow it would be worse if I pulled away from the kiss as if he was breathing air into me. My chest heaves as Fred pulls away. My eyes are wide and I can’t stop looking at him. I wonder if anyone’s ever seen his freckles the way I am seeing them right now. I ask, “Will you give me time to figure out my feelings?” 

𑣲Love Countdown ᯓᰔ

Y/N had been scrolling on TikTok for the past two hours, thumb numb, eyes dry, brain slowly melting into algorithm soup — all in the name of finding a Valentine’s Day surprise for Jungkook.

Two. Whole. Hours.

She hadn’t even realized how much time had passed until her phone buzzed with the low battery warning, like it was judging her. Girl. Get it together.

They’d been together for four years now. Four solid, stupidly-in-love years. And somehow, Jungkook always — always — outdid her when it came to surprises.

It was actually annoying.

Y/N sighed, rolling onto her side on the couch, phone hovering inches from her face. Her reflection stared back at her in the black screen between videos — hair messy, sweater slipping off one shoulder, the faint crease between her brows that only showed up when she was overthinking.

Which was…now.

She wasn’t bad at gift-giving. Not technically. But compared to Jungkook? She felt like she was bringing a fork to a gunfight.

Her surprises were sweet. Simple. Predictable. Tiger lilies because they were his brith flower. Heart-shaped tarts she’d bake every year, flour everywhere, swearing at the oven like it personally wronged her, the ones that Jungkook would ask for more.

Meanwhile, Jungkook?

Love coupons. Giant balloons floating like idiots in the living room. Plushies stacked on the bed. Rose petals and candles arranged into a heart so perfectly it looked Pinterest-coded. And that one year — fuck — he’d found her childhood stuffed toy. The one she’d lost during a move and cried about like a child when she was drunk. She still didn’t know how he tracked it down.

And the worst part? Even when she felt like her gifts were lame, Jungkook loved them like they were gold. He’d smile that soft, stupid smile and pull her into his chest and say, “You made this? For me?” like she’d handed him the moon.

Which somehow made her feel worse.

So this year was different. New year, new Y/N. Or at least slightly more unhinged Y/N.

She groaned, dropping her head back into her palm, elbow resting against the back of the couch.

“Bro,” she muttered to no one, “why are all the fucking surprises the same?” She kissed her teeth.

Her phone kept playing, relentless. DIY flower bouquets. Luxury presents. Matching couple rings. Hotel staycations with champagne and rose petals — again.

Not that they were bad. They were fine. Cute, even. But they were predictable. Predictable like a rom-com ending you could see from ten minutes in. Jungkook deserved better than that. He deserved something that felt like them.

She glanced at the calendar in her head. Less than two weeks to Valentine’s Day.

“Fuck,” she sighed. “I’m running out of time.”

Another swipe.

Another swipe.

Then — something different.

A boyfriend leaned over, kissed his girlfriend, then wiped her lips dramatically with her sleeve like she was erasing evidence. The boyfriend looked personally offended.

Y/N snorted before she could stop herself. A laugh bubbled up from her chest, light and surprised.

That’s kinda cute.

The video looped. The boyfriend’s dramatic gasp. The girlfriend’s giggle.

Her mind drifted, curiosity creeping in like a cat pushing open a door it wasn’t supposed to.

“Wonder what Kook would do if I did that...”

She imagined it instantly. Jungkook freezing. Blinking. That little frown appearing between his brows before he’d go, “Hey. Why’d you do that?” all wounded and dramatic.

She smiled to herself.

Then it hit her.

It was a full-on lightbulb moment — electricity snapping through her brain, ideas crashing into each other like dominos.

Pranks.

There were so many pranks she could pull on Jungkook. Harmless ones. Dumb ones. Cute ones that would make him groan and chase her around the apartment. And there were still days left.

A countdown.

Her lips parted as the idea settled in, warm and buzzing in her chest.

“One prank a day,” she whispered, sitting up straighter. “Until Valentine’s Day.”

Her heart started racing, excitement blooming like something alive. This wasn’t just a surprise. This was a build-up. Suspense. Misdirection. Jungkook wouldn’t know what was real anymore.

And by the time Valentine’s Day came around? He wouldn’t see it coming at all.

She grinned, sharp and proud, pointing at herself like she’d just solved world hunger.

“Ohhh, Y/N,” she laughed under her breath, already reaching for her notes app.

“You smart, smart girl.”

Day 1.

Jungkook was planted on the couch like he paid rent for that exact spot.

The TV was on—not an Avengers movie this time, but some Switzerland travel vlog he’d found and immediately claimed as background noise. Snow-dusted mountains rolled across the screen. Trains slicing through valleys. Some overly enthusiastic narrator talking about chocolate factories and scenic routes.

And yet. Funny, but not surprising at all, Jungkook was barely watching. His phone had his full attention, thumb scrolling mindlessly like it was muscle memory as if the screen was gonna reveal the meaning of life if he kept going long enough.

Typical.

Y/N stepped out of their shared bedroom a minute later, moving with purpose. Not rushed or casual. Purposeful.

She’d intentionally put on her Calvin Klein boxer shorts — the kind that hugged her ass like they were personally devoted to the job. Paired with a matching black tank top that sat a little too perfectly, the neckline dipping just enough to be dangerous if she bent over.

It wasn’t subtle. It was a loaded weapon.

Jungkook’s eyes flicked up automatically. Actually—his whole soul flicked up.

He paused mid-scroll. Usually, she was in oversized sweats or one of his shirts. Maybe some random shorts that didn’t match anything or just her lace underwear. Comfortable. Cute. Still hot as hell because she was her.

But this? This was a statement. This was intent.

His gaze dragged over her body like gravity had suddenly gotten stronger.

Y/N walked closer, lips twitching like she had a secret. Jungkook sat up a little, interest sparking in his eyes like a match catching.

“Hey, baby,” he said, casual, but sweetness clung to the word.

His eyes didn’t leave her. Y/N just smiled. That slow kind of smile that made his brain start filling in blanks he had no business filling in.

She leaned down, and Jungkook met her halfway, one hand sliding instinctively to her waist, thumb settling there like it belonged. He pressed a kiss to her lips — just two seconds of softness and familiarity, the kind that felt worn-in, like muscle memory rather than effort.

Then she pulled back. Jungkook’s attention dropped to his phone again, assuming she was just passing through, unfortunately for him.

Until she grabbed the pillow next to him.

He looked up, confused. Y/N was standing right in front of him now, tying her hair up. Arms raised. Tank shifting. Jungkook’s thoughts immediately went to hell.

Of course they did.

His dirty mind was already sprinting.

He watched her, silent, hopeful as shit. Y/N had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She could literally see it — that glint in his big, stupid boba eyes.

The ‘please suck my dick’ written all over his face.

“Baby…” he chuckled, voice dipping. “What are you doing?” His tone was trying so hard to be chill. It was failing miserably.

Y/N didn’t answer. Just smiled, stepping closer. Then, she got down on her knees, weight on the cushion.

Jungkook’s grin spread instantly, bright and boyish, like Christmas came early.

“God—seriously?” he laughed, excitement bubbling out of him. “You’re doing this right now?”

He was looking down at her like a man seeing heaven open up in his living room.

Y/N’s hands slid over his thighs, slow, deliberate. Jungkook sucked in a breath, already reaching for the waistband of his sweats.

Ready. So fucking ready.

Then—

She turned around.

Jungkook froze.

Y/N sat back on the pillow between his feet, stretching her neck, rolling her shoulders like she was warming up for yoga or some shit. She groaned dramatically.

“Argh… babe,” she hissed. “Can you give me a massage?”

Silence.

Jungkook blinked. Once. Twice. Fingers paused at his waistband.

“I think I slept wrong. My shoulders are killing me.” She added, like this was normal.

Jungkook just stared at the back of her head. His brain blue-screened. Because unfortunately for him, his body had not gotten the memo.

He could feel it — his dick trying to commit a prison break in his sweats while she sat there all innocent, cross-legged, asking for a shoulder rub.

He blinked again, voice cracking slightly. “…Uh. O-okay.”

His hands landed on her shoulders, fingers working automatically, but his face was still stuck somewhere between betrayal and disbelief.

The atmosphere was ridiculous — like a balloon inflated with anticipation and then stabbed with a needle.

His thumbs pressed into her muscles. Y/N lasted about five seconds before she broke. Her head flopped onto his thigh as laughter burst out of her. Jungkook’s hands lifted into the air.

“B-baby… what the fuck?”

Y/N turned her face, still laughing, cheeks warm.

“I was pranking you!”

Jungkook stared at her, jaw slightly open. Offended. Flustered. Devastated.

Then Y/N clapped once, loud as hell. “Your face—oh my god.”

“Ya! Fuck you!” Jungkook groaned, leaning back. “You got me hard for a shoulder massage?” He grabbed a pillow and smacked her arm, not even gently.

“That’s evil!”

Y/N shrieked, laughing harder.

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t resist!”

“Nah,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. “Now you gotta fix it.”

“Huh—Jungkook—”

Too late. His arms hooked around her, lifting her like she weighed nothing. Y/N squealed.

“Wait, wait—your show’s is still on!”

“I don’t give a shit about Switzerland right now,” he grunted, hauling her toward the bedroom.

Her laughter echoed down the hall like a victory bell.

Day one of the prank countdown and Jungkook was already suffering.

Day 2.

Jungkook adjusted his jacket at the shoulders, eyes flicking over his reflection like he was double-checking he still looked like a functioning adult. He was already done getting ready—hair styled, rings on, cologne lingering faintly in the air like a promise.

Behind him, at the foot of the bed, Y/N was very much not done.

Her clothes were laid out in a messy row across the duvet, casualties of indecision. Red dress. Black top. Jeans she loved but complained about. A silent battlefield.

Jungkook turned, an amused smile already creeping onto his lips. He crossed the room and slid his hands around her waist, fingers disappearing under the hem of the oversized shirt she was wearing—his shirt, obviously.

“Still can’t find an outfit?” he murmured against her neck, voice warm and unhurried. He pressed a slow kiss just beneath her ear, the cool touch of his lip ring grazing her skin like an afterthought, careful and familiar—enough to make her lean into him without even realizing it.

Y/N sighed, dramatic and content, one hand settling over his, thumb rubbing absentmindedly like she was grounding herself there.

“Myeah…”

He chuckled, eyes flicking down at the bed. “Wear this one.” He pointed to the red outfit in the middle. “You know I like you in red.” Another kiss—this one on her shoulder, softer, lingering.

Y/N giggled and bent forward to grab it, her ass brushing his bulge just enough to be intentional.

Jungkook huffed a laugh through his nose. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Mhmm,” she replied. “Red one it is,” she said sweetly, glancing back at him with a grin that definitely meant trouble.

He backed up, flopping onto the bed just as his phone buzzed.

“Oh—Tae texted,” he said, scrolling. “He said don’t be late.” A pause. “Better change quick, love.”

Y/N hummed in response, already turning back toward him.

A knowing smile tugged at her lips.

Next prank.

Her fingers hooked under the hem of Jungkook’s shirt she was wearing—about to pull it over her head—then stopped.

She turned slowly. Jungkook was sitting there, distracted, fidgeting with the matching bracelet on his wrist—the one she’d gotten him, the one he never took off.

“Uh…baby,” she said.

He hummed back immediately, soft and automatic, looking up at her with pursed lips like a question mark.

She hesitated just long enough to sell it.

“Could you…leave?” she said. “I wanna change.”

Silence.

Jungkook’s brows crashed together like two trains colliding, his face screaming ‘that sentence makes no fucking sense’.

His neck glitched forward. Actually glitched.

“W—what?”

“I wanna change,” she repeated, blinking innocently. “And I can’t do it with you in the room.”

He stared at her like she’d just announced the sky was green.

“Y/N,” he said slowly, disbelief dripping from every syllable, “I literally just had you cum on my face an hour ago—what do you mean…you can’t change in front of me?”

She almost lost it right there.

Almost.

His confusion spiraled fast.

“Did—did I do something wrong?” He was already moving, reaching for her hands and pulling her between his legs, worry flashing across his face like a storm cloud rolling in too fast. “Did I make you uncomfortable earlier?”

His hands were warm, steady, thumbs brushing the back of her hands like he was afraid she’d slip away.

“You can tell me,” he added quickly. “You know that, right?”

Her heart fucking swelled. God. He could go from cocky menace to soft, concerned boyfriend in half a second. It was honestly unfair.

“I mean—” he continued, rambling now, shoulders lifting and dropping. “It’s just not like you. We change in front of each other literally every day. Every. Day.”

She broke.

Her grin cracked first. Then her head tipped back, laughter spilling out of her like she couldn’t contain it anymore. Jungkook tightened his grip instinctively so she wouldn’t fall.

“…Baby?” he said, completely lost.

She looked back at him, eyes bright, cheeks warm.

“Aww,” she laughed. “You care!”

“O—of course I care!” he shot back immediately, offended but still worried. “I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable with me! But I wanna respect your privacy too!”

She laughed again, softer this time, and leaned down to kiss him.

“I was just pranking you. You already know I’m yours.”

The realization hit him all at once. His face collapsed into a flat, betrayed stare. ‘You’re fucking kidding me’ written all over his face.

She smiled.

“Argh! Again?” he groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “This is war, you know that, right?”

Y/N just grabbed the hem of the shirt and removed it, laughing.

Day two. And Jungkook was officially on edge.

Day 3.

The fluorescent lights of the supermarket were doing absolutely no favors for anyone’s complexion, but Jungkook still looked like he’d stepped off a damn runway.

He was a few aisles down, struggling with a stack of plastic storage bins like they’d personally wronged him. Brows furrowed, lips pursed, hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms to display a peak of his tattoo sleeve. That focused, slightly clueless look that made Y/N’s brain short-circuit every time.

She leaned against the cart, watching him like a menace.

“Babe,” she called, voice echoing a little too loudly down the sterile aisle. “Can you take a video of me walking? Like a quick fit check.”

Jungkook looked up, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. He wiped his hands on his oversized black hoodie, the fabric stretching over his broad shoulders.

"Really? Right now? We still haven’t found the right size trash bags, baby."

“Just one,” she pleaded, already pouting. “Please? It’ll take like…two seconds.”

He sighed, but his eyes were soft, full of that "I’d follow you into a burning building or a Supermart clearance section" energy.

"Fine, gimme the phone."

He took it, his fingers brushing hers—a quick spark of heat in the air-conditioned chill even after four years of being together.

Jungkook stepped back, framing her carefully, tongue poking into his cheek like he was taking this very seriously.

"Recording."

Y/N turned, her heart thumping with a mix of excitement and mischief.

Prank number three.

She started walking down the aisle, her hips swaying just enough to catch his eye. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy and appreciative, like a physical weight against her back.

Then, she spun around, her face twisting into a mask of pure, simulated terror.

"Why are you recording me?!" she shrieked, the sound slicing through the quiet hum of the store like a jagged blade. "Stop it! Leave me alone!"

Jungkook froze.

His brain stalled for a split second, the gears grinding as he tried to reconcile the playful girl he’d just been filming with the panicked woman screaming at him.

“Babe?” he blurted. “What the fuck—”

"I said stop! Get away from me!" Y/N yelled, backing away, her eyes wide and pleading.

A middle-aged woman nearby gasped, hand flying to her chest like she’d just witnessed a crime documentary unfolding in real time.

"Hey!" the woman barked, her inner mama bear surging to the surface. She stepped forward, glaring at Jungkook with enough vitriol to melt lead.

"You need to leave her alone right now! What is wrong with you?"

Jungkook looked like his soul had exited his body.

He held up his hands, not in surrender but in a falsely accused way, the phone still gripped in one. His face was a masterpiece of confusion and mounting panic.

“No—no, wait, she’s literally my girlfriend,” he rushed out. “Babe, tell her! Please!”

"I don't even know who he is!" Y/N sobbed out, hiding her grinning mouth in her hands, though her shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

"You heard her! Back off before I call security for harassment!" the woman snapped, her voice rising.

Jungkook’s eyes darted between Y/N and the stranger, his pulse racing. He looked like a deer caught in high-beams—vulnerable, beautiful, and utterly lost. "Y/N! Stop playing, please! You're gonna get me arrested, for real!"

Finally, Y/N couldn't hold it in anymore. A snort escaped her, followed by a full-blown, doubled-over cackle. Then she was bent over, clutching a shelf of kitchen organizers like it was the only thing keeping her upright, her face flushed and eyes streaming with tears of pure joy.

"It's a prank! It's a prank, I'm so sorry!" she managed to wheeze out, leaning against a shelf of kitchen organizers for support. "He’s my boyfriend—I swear. Look at him, he’s too pretty to be a pervert."

The woman’s expression shifted from righteous fury to baffled annoyance. She looked at Jungkook, who was now leaning his head against a stack of bins, his chest heaving with a relieved, slightly hysterical sigh.

"You guys are a piece of work," the woman muttered, shaking her head as she pushed her cart away, though a small, begrudging smile played on her lips.

Jungkook finally looked up, his dark eyes burning with a mix of lingering adrenaline and genuine.

The second Y/N stepped closer, his hand shot out, gripping her waist and yanking her into his chest.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” he said, voice low, breathless — the affectionate kind of threat. She grinned up at him.

“You’re a menace,” he continued. “An absolute…chaotic menace.”

“But it was funny,” she said, unapologetic.

He shook his head, still in shock. “Hahaha—I’m baffling so hard right now.”

Then he pulled her into a tight, possessive hug, burying his face in her hair. He smelled like detergent and cologne and home.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he muttered into her shoulder. “I almost had a literal heart attack.”

She smiled against his chest, listening to his heart still racing like it had just run a marathon.

“No promises,” she whispered.

Day three. And Jungkook officially trusted nothing.

Day 4.

The apartment was wrapped in the low, domestic hum of a Wednesday night — the kind of quiet that settles into your bones like a warm blanket you don’t realize you needed. The overhead lights were dimmed to that soft yellow glow that made everything feel gentler than it actually was. Somewhere in the background, the fridge whirred like it was gossiping to itself.

Jungkook was in the kitchen, hovering. Not cooking so much as existing aggressively near the stove—opening the fridge, closing it, opening it again like the answer to life might suddenly rearrange itself between the almond milk and the gochujang.

His phone was propped up against the backsplash, some Switzerland food vlog playing for the third time today, a man enthusiastically talking about cheese melting over potatoes.

“Baby,” Jungkook said suddenly, staring into the fridge like it had personally wronged him, “did you know they eat cheese like it’s a personality trait over there?”

He had that familiar crease between his brows, the one that appeared whenever he was either overthinking a recipe or dissociating completely.

It was peaceful.

It was cozy.

It was the perfect time for Y/n to absolutely ruin his night with today’s prank.

She stood by the counter with a bowl of gummy bears, leaning her hip against the marble like she wasn’t about to commit psychological warfare. She waited until Jungkook’s back was fully turned, shoulders relaxed, guard down — a man who trusted his home, his partner, his evening.

Y/n popped a gummy bear into her mouth, chewed slowly, deliberately. Swallowed. Made sure it went down clean.

Then—

Hack.

It started small. Innocent. A dry little cough, the kind that barely registers. She followed it with another. Then another. She bent forward slightly, fingers curling around the edge of the counter.

And then she went for it.

A sharp, wet, violent sound ripped out of her throat — guttural and ugly, like her lungs had suddenly decided to quit without notice. She wheezed, loud and whistling, like the air itself was fighting her on the way out. She doubled over, knuckles whitening against the granite, shoulders shaking like her body had turned against her.

The sound was horrifying. Oscar-worthy. Absolutely unholy.

Jungkook reacted like a bomb went off.

It wasn’t a casual turn. It was a full-body pivot — muscle memory snapping into place — his face draining of color so fast it was almost impressive. Panic hit him like a freight train, no warning, no brakes.

“Hey—hey, babe?” he barked, already dropping whatever the hell was in his hands. “Y/n—fuck—Y/N!”

He crossed the kitchen in two strides, moving with a terrifying, animal speed. The air around him changed — thick, heavy, charged — like panic had its own weather system and it had decided to rain directly on them.

Before Y/n could even blink, his hands were on her. Big. Calloused. Solid.

They slammed into her waist as he hauled her upright, arms wrapping around her like a vice. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t do the ‘are you okay?’ or ‘this ain’t another prank is it?’ bullshit.

He went straight for the Heimlich.

“I got you—fuck—breathe, baby, breathe!” he shouted, voice cracking like glass under pressure. He was strong — too strong — squeezing like he was trying to force the universe to cooperate. It genuinely felt like he might eject her lungs through her teeth.

His heartbeat was wild against her back, thudding like it was trying to escape his chest with his dick almost slapping her ass with every squeeze.

Y/n lasted exactly three seconds. Because the combination of Jungkook genuinely trying to save her life and the sheer ridiculousness of the situation was too much.

At the right moment, she intentionally let out a loud, obnoxious moan — dramatic as hell — and went limp in his arms.

“AHHU!”

And then—

“AHAHA! Y/n—baby—what the fuck—AHAHAHA!”

His head dropped forward, face pressing into her ass when his knees lost its ability to hold him up as his laughter took over completely, shaking his entire body. He was laughing so hard it sent vibrations straight through her bones, breath hitching, shoulders trembling like he’d just survived a car crash and found out it was filmed.

“It was a joke—Kook—AHAHAH!” she wheezed, tears streaking down her face now from actual laughter.

He jerked back like he’d been electrocuted, staring at her with smiling eyes. His chest was heaving, hair falling into his face, adrenaline still buzzing through him like static.

“You’re a fucking dick!” he shouted, voice cracking as another laugh escaped him against his will. “I thought you were dying! I was this close to performing emergency surgery on the kitchen floor, you psycho!”

“You moved so fast!” she gasped, clutching her stomach. “You were like…fucking…The Flash. I swear—you almost rearranged my organs.”

“Good!” he snapped, pointing at her, still laughing. “You deserve internal injuries for that shit!”

But the anger didn’t stick. It never did.

The fear in his eyes melted away, replaced by that familiar softness — the one that always showed up when he realized she was okay. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, breath still coming in ragged hitches.

“But seriously, baby…” He muttered, laughing under his breath now, exhausted. “Enough with the goddamn pranks. My heart was literally vibrating. If I die of a stroke at twenty-eight, it’s going on your tab.”

She grinned, reaching up to mess with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Yeah, yeah. But admit it. It was funny.”

He sighed, lips twitching despite himself. “It was funny,” he admitted. “Fucking hilarious.”

Then he pulled her into a kiss — tight, grounding, arms wrapped around her like he needed to remind himself she was real and breathing — the kind of embrace that said don’t ever scare me like that again without needing to say it out loud.

“I’d save you,” he murmured against her mouth. She smiled into the kiss.

At least Jungkook liked prank number four.

Day 5.

The afternoon was dragging its feet like a bored toddler. The sunlight was hitting the kitchen floor in long, lazy stripes, illuminating every speck of dust and the faint scuff marks from where Jungkook had been pacing earlier. He was restless—a coiled spring of a man with nothing to do, which was always the perfect opening for Y/N to stir the pot. Day five was going to be her favourite.

"Kook, baby?" Y/n called out, her voice dripping with fake concern. "I think the fridge is leaking."

Jungkook appeared in the doorway instantly, his face a mask of determined competence. He loved being the ‘fix-it’ guy. It was like his love language was written in instruction manuals.

"The fuck? We literally just bought this last month. This is not another one of your fucking pranks, is it?"

Y/n immediately frowned and clapped back, “what—no—I literally came in the kitchen for a drink and already saw the puddle!”

What a great actor Y/n was.

He was already on his knees, a towel in hand, his brow furrowed as he stared at the small puddle on the wood-look tile. He didn't see Y/n leaning against the wall behind the opened fridge door, a glass of water hidden in her palm like a magician's secret.

"Where is it even coming from?" he muttered, his voice muffled as he shoved the towel under the fridge.

He looked like a gorgeous, confused golden retriever trying to find a hidden ball. He pulled out the bottom drawer, muscles tensing beneath his shirt as his tattoo sleeve shifted with the movement, ink stretching over his forearm while the letters on his knuckles flashed briefly as he rummaged. A sight that usually made Y/n’s heart stutter—but right now, she was too busy being a menace.

"I don't know, it's literally everywhere," Y/n said, biting her lip to keep from grinning. "Should I call a repair guy or...?"

Jungkook snapped his head up, his eyes wide with offended pride. "I am the guy, Y/n."

He shoved the drawer back in with a satisfying thud and wiped the floor clean. "Fixed it. Probably just some…condensation buildup."

Y/n let him off for at least ten minutes before, tipping her glass. A slow, steady stream of water splashed onto the floor, right where he’d just dried.

"Oh babe...it's done it again," she chirped.

Jungkook, somewhere in the living room, spun around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. He strutted towards her and stared at the fresh puddle, his jaw dropping.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

The atmosphere in the kitchen was now thick with his mounting frustration, a heavy fog of ‘what the hell is happening’ that you could practically taste.

He was back on the floor, head practically inside the fridge, muttering curses that would make a sailor blush.

"Right, drawers out," he grumbled, his voice strained. He was wrestling with the plastic bins, his large hands fumbling as the adrenaline of a 'technical failure' kicked in. He couldn't even get the damn drawer back in; it kept jamming, mocking his supposed handiness.

Defeated by a piece of plastic, he eventually slumped against the cabinets and pulled out his phone. Y/n watched from the counter as he frantically typed, his thumb scrolling through search results until the tinny sound of a DIY repair video filled the kitchen.

"If your freezer has a buildup of ice..." the voice on the phone droned.

Jungkook leaned his head against his hand, eyes glued to the screen like he was studying for a neurosurgery exam. He looked so genuinely stressed, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, tongue absently nudging the cold metal of his lip ring, that for a split second, Y/n almost felt bad.

Almost.

Halfway through the video, Jungkook’s eyes lit up. "Wait, it might be the drain tube. If I just—"

"Kook?" Y/m called out softly.

"Hold on, babe, I think I found the problem," he muttered, reaching for the fridge again.

"Jungkook," she said, her voice trembling with the effort of holding back a laugh. "It was a prank. Look."

She lifted the glass, tilting it just enough so he could see the remaining water.

Jungkook froze. He looked at the glass, then at the floor, then slowly up at her face.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the quiet hum of the fridge he’d just been ready to dismantle. He let out a groan that sounded like a dying engine, dropping his head onto the cool surface of the kitchen table.

"I hate you," he moaned into his arms. Obviously not meaning it. He could never. "My blood pressure is probably in the triple digits."

"But look on the bright side," she teased, walking over to ruffle his messy hair. "The floor has never been cleaner."

"Get out," he groaned, though he reached out and pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping around her waist like a stubborn anchor. "You're lucky you're my pretty girl…” Jungkook shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips.

Prank five was the best so far.

Day six.

The room smelled like sex, sweat, and that faint trace of the vanilla candle Y/n had insisted on lighting “for ambiance.” Sheets tangled around them like a messy battlefield

Jungkook toppled onto the bed beside Y/n, chest rising and falling like a drum in a slow, steady rhythm. One arm tucked under her head, the other draped lazily across his stomach. Y/n quickly tugged the duvet up to cover them both, warm, sticky skin pressed together, before turning to face her panting boyfriend.

“Sex with you never gets old,” he murmured, voice rough and low, before claiming her lips in a lazy, post-sex makeout. The hand that had been resting on his stomach slid up her cheek, thumb brushing lightly against her jaw.

Y/n melted into the kiss, matching every slow, teasing motion. His lip ring pressed cool against her skin, sending little shivers through her lips. Smacking sounds filled the quiet room, breaking into soft giggles from Y/n as she pulled back just enough to grin at him.

Jungkook’s chest rising and falling against hers. Their lips were still brushing against each other in soft, lazy kisses — teeth grazing, tongues teasing — until he pulled back just enough to speak.

“Mm…maybe I should take a nap before we head out later,” he murmured, voice low and satisfied, hands still tracing patterns over her skin. His lips brushed her jaw as he spoke, eyes half-lidded and dark with lingering lust.

Y/n hummed softly, fingers threading through his damp hair. “Mm, okay… nap it is,” she murmured, nuzzling into him.

He flopped forward onto her chest, tattooed arm winding tightly around her waist like decoration, legs tangled together like two messy noodles under the duvet. The heat of him pressed against her like gravity, warm and heavy and impossible to resist.

Y/n’s eyes drifted to the ceiling for a second, a little sad.

Prank number six.

The countdown was almost over.

The past five days had flown by — each little chaos, each little scream and blush and laugh — and soon she’d have to go back to normal, which was boring as hell. She brushed her hand through his hair again, feeling that ridiculous, perfect weight of him.

Then she smirked.

Fuck it. last two pranks.

She grabbed her phone and pulled up a TikTok audio — a guy talking on FaceTime.

Slowly, she held the phone up to his snoring face, careful not to disturb the perfect, vulnerable rhythm of him resting against her chest.

The audio played:

“Yo, did you leave your bag over here? Oh…and, uh, I stocked up on condoms. Haha!”

Jungkook stirred. Five seconds later, one dark eye cracked open. Only then did he realise he was being recorded — entire face filling up the screen.

That’s when it hit him. The smell of betrayal, the betrayal of a girlfriend that just refused to quit.

Jungkook instantly lifted his head from her chest. The tangled limbs didn’t stop him as he pushed upright, hair mussed, chest heaving — and found her laughing hysterically, face flushed, hand over her mouth.

“Baby!” he whined, eyes wide and dark, and playfully slapped her belly. “Baby—ugh—not again!”

Y/n doubled over, tears of laughter streaking down her cheeks. “It’s hilarious!” she wheezed. “You’re so easy to prank, Kook!”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head, trying to look exasperated while laughter still broke through every time he caught her smirking face. “Bro—ugh—enough with the fuck ass pranks!”

She leaned down to kiss his temple, murmuring, “Relax, baby. It’s just a joke.”

He froze. Eyes wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Then, comprehension hit, and the tension melted — replaced by that familiar laugh, low and throaty, shaking through his chest and rolling off her skin.

“You little—fucking—little shit!” he growled, laughter mixing with mock anger. “I swear, you’re going to make me punch something, but I can’t even be mad because…holy fuck, you’re insane!”

Y/n laughed, full-bodied, gripping his sides as he wiggled under her hands, still laughing and muttering curses and adoring threats. “I mean… c’mon, you have to admit it’s hilarious. I even got it on video.”

He huffed a laugh, finally lying back into her chest, shaking his head.

“Fucking hilarious,” he admitted, voice low, dark, and warm against her skin. “But my heart? Holy shit. It’s still racing, and you almost killed me in our own bed. Fucking thought you were calling an actual dude or some shit! I—ugh—god, you’re lucky I love you.”

She smirked, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, murmuring against his skin, “lucky you…or unlucky?”

“Both,” he said, arms tightening around her, tugging her closer, stealing all her warmth and claiming it for himself. “Both are accurate.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, tangled in sheets and laughter, chestbeats syncing like some ridiculous, perfect metronome, the prank lingering in the air like perfume.

And somewhere between her snickers and his grumbling laughter, Jungkook made a mental note: he was going to need a new heart — or at least a warning label — for this woman

Day seven.

Last day.

Last prank.

Valentines day.

Y/n couldn’t even put into words the storm of nerves and excitement boiling in her chest. Yes, she was buzzing for Jungkook’s actual surprise — the one she’d spent weeks planning — but the prank? The prank she had to pull first… that’s what made her stomach twist into a knot.

It was a popular one, something that could go sideways in a heartbeat. She just hoped — prayed, begged the universe on her knees — that Jungkook wouldn’t lose his shit. Though, let’s be honest, who wouldn’t when their partner did what she had in store?

Y/n didn’t receive any calls or texts from Jungkook when he was coming back. It’d be stupid if he did — that’s what he said himself — or Y/n would know a surprise was waiting for her.

Oh little did Jungkook know…

Y/n planted herself in front of the main living bathroom, body tense, muscles coiled like springs. The second the apartment door clicked, she’d slam the bathroom door shut and spring the trap.

Like she asked for it, Y/n heard the main door open.

Show time.

Last one.

Her pulse skyrocketed.

“Fuck—hide! He’s back!” she whispered into the empty hallway, and though it was quiet, the echo of her voice bounced off the walls and reached Jungkook like a warhorn.

From the doorway, his smile was tired but genuine, ready to surprise her right back. But the smile died instantly. The second he heard her, brows collided like two tectonic plates, twisting his face into a masterpiece of fury and confusion.

His boots scuffed across the hardwood — not caring to remove them — as he came closer, peonies clutched in one hand, veins and knuckles standing out like jagged cliffs. The bouquet, meant to be a love offering, suddenly felt like a goddamn weapon.

Y/n’s face went pale. Her movements were jittery, frantic — a marionette of nervous energy — slamming the bathroom door shut just as his gaze landed on her.

They froze, meters apart. Silence filled the apartment, alive and jagged, like shards of glass littering the floor. Y/n forced a tight, suspicious smile.

“Kook? You’re back. Thought you’d be home later,” she said, laugh trembling on the edge of hysteria.

He didn’t answer. His eyes were dark, sharp, dangerous — the peonies slipping from casual charm into lethal metaphor.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice deceptively calm, but the calm was like lava over ice.

“I…” Her eyes darted around, pretending to be casual. “I was just…using the bathroom? W-why?” Her hand hovered over the doorknob like it was a lifeline.

“Then why were you whispering to someone to hide?” His voice was low, dangerous, but steady. Not calm. Not safe. “Saying I’m back…”

Y/N twitched. “N-no…I wasn’t whispering.” Slow, deliberate shake of the head. “You…you were hearing things, baby.”

Jungkook took in a sharp breath. “Don't you dare play with me right now—if this is another one of your goddamn pranks, I swear to God, I’m done. I'm fucking done, Y/n."

“It’s not a prank!” she laughed nervously, voice cracking with effort. “I told you! I wasn’t whispering, I swear.”

“Then why’s your hand still on the fucking doorknob?” He jabbed the bouquet in her direction like it was a spear.

Y/N froze. The tiny movement of her hand betrayed her.

The peonies quivered in his grip, petals already bruised, the fragile beauty of them crushed under the weight of his fury. His gut twisted, hot and acidic, every prank from the past week flashing behind his eyes — supermarket humiliation, kitchen heart attacks, grocery store screams — a powder keg ready to explode.

“Open the door,” he growled, voice dropping, gravelly and jagged, like stones grinding together.

“N-no, it’s messy in there…”

“I said open the fucking door!” His roar shook the walls. The hallway vibrated. The air felt alive with his rage, a predator’s storm in a human body. He stepped toward the door, his shadow stretching long and menacing in the dim hallway.

Before Jungkook could reach for the doorknob, Y/n braced herself, leaning back against the door, hand frozen under his hovering ones. Their fingers brushed — hers grasping to keep him out, his to claim access. A violent dance of wills, hearts, and adrenaline.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Y/n! I come home to give you a surprise, and you’re…you’re hiding some goddamn man in our apartment?!” Jungkook bellowed, jaw tight. “Is that it? Are you ruining us for some random guy?”

“Ju—ah—Jungkook, stop! You’re hurting me!” she shouted, panic and laughter mingling in her voice.

He slammed his fist against the door. Wood groaned like it was screaming in protest. Every nerve in his body was electricity, every thought jagged with suspicion and jealousy.

“I lost it the second you slammed that door!” he screamed. “I there an actual guy in there? Open it!”

Y/n finally let herself go. He pulled her away from the door with the strength of a man who thought the world was burning. She didn’t resist. Not really.

He hurled his shoulder against the wood, splintering the frame, and the hallway shook. A small cry left her lips, but it was swallowed by the chaos.

He barreled through. Eyes wide, searching for a phantom threat, chest heaving, hands shaking.

It was empty.

Silent white tile, air freshener faintly clinging to the corners, and the soft hum of the fan — nothing else.

Jungkook froze, chest heaving, heart hammering like it was trying to break free. The silence was a living thing, mocking him, sharpening every nerve until he felt raw. The peonies, now mangled in his hand, fell with a pathetic thud onto the floor. He didn't look back at Y/n, who was playing with the hem of her hoodie, her eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears.

Without a word, he turned and stormed toward their bedroom, his footsteps heavy and rhythmic, like a funeral march. He was still clutching the mangled remains of the bouquet, the stems snapped, the beauty of the day utterly destroyed. He reached the bedroom door and kicked it open, ready to find whatever secret she was keeping, ready to end the agony once and for all.

He stopped dead.

The room wasn't a crime scene. It was a sanctuary.

The bed was a sea of deep red rose petals, arranged into a perfect, sprawling heart. Dozens of candles flickered on every available surface, their golden light dancing in the dark like tiny, trapped stars. Pink and red balloons bobbed against the ceiling, their ribbons trailing down like soft vines.

In the center of the bed sat a massive wicker basket, overflowing with everything he loved—his favorite valentines day tarts she makes every year, the rare whiskey he’d mentioned once months ago, and more things piled on more things.

Jungkook let the ruined peonies fall. His fingers, still trembling, barely touched the floor before he closed them into fists again. Rage evaporated instantly, replaced by awe, embarrassment, and the aching, slow burn of love so sharp it hurt.

He felt Y/n approach from behind, her footsteps silent on the carpet. She didn't touch him, just stood in the doorway, her presence a soft, grounding force in the aftermath of his storm.

"Surprise, Jungkook," she whispered, her voice a mix of exhaustion and a love that was far more resilient than he deserved.

Jungkook didn't turn around.

He couldn't.

He just stood there, staring at the heart made of petals, a man completely and utterly defeated by his own heart. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Only the sound of his ragged breath filled the room, a man utterly defeated by the woman he loved and the perfection of her chaos.

“Y—Y/n…what is this…” His voice came out low, rough, like it had scraped its way up from his chest.

“Your Valentine’s Day surprise,” she said softly. She chose her tone carefully, like one wrong note would shatter him into porcelain dust right there on the floor.

Jungkook finally looked down at her. Y/n blinked, her gaze dropping instinctively to his chest, rising and falling too fast. She took a breath through her mouth, steadying herself, then looked back up at his eyes — hopeful, wrecked, still trying to trust her.

“There’s no man, Kook,” she said gently. “It was just a prank. A distraction from…this.” She turned slightly, nodding toward the bedroom behind him.

His face crumpled just a little, like he was holding himself together with tape and prayer. His lashes fluttered.

“Bu—but why that?” he sniffed, embarrassed and raw all at once. “Why scare me like that, baby?”

Y/n let out a sad little chuckle. She stepped closer, finally lifting her hands to his cheeks, thumbs brushing the skin she loved like muscle memory.

“Because you always outdo me,” she admitted quietly. “Every Valentine’s Day, every birthday, every…random Tuesday. You love so loudly, Jungkook. I just…wanted to give you something you deserve. So this year, I did a prank every day counting down to Valentines to give you the greatest gift I can.”

“And…you think pranks were the way to go.”

He laughed softly, disbelief threading through it, his hands sliding to her waist like they belonged there — because they did. His eyes searched hers, bouncing back and forth like he was trying to read her soul.

“But, baby,” he said, voice breaking into a smile that was sad and beautiful all at once. “You already gave me the greatest gift.”

She frowned slightly.

“You,” he finished, nodding at her like it was obvious. Like she was gravity itself.

She choked out a laugh. He laughed too, breathy and relieved, before pulling her into him — not fast, not desperate, just sure. He buried his face into her neck, inhaling her like she was home. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers tangled in her loose hair, the other firm at the small of her back. Y/N clutched onto him just as tightly, eyes squeezing shut.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook-ah,” she whispered into his skin.

He pulled back just enough to look at her. “Don’t.” A beat. Then a laugh burst out of him. “Don’t ever—ever—pull that shit on me again.”

They both snorted, tension breaking like glass underfoot. Y/N shook her head, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt.

He exhaled, long and heavy, like he’d been holding it for years. “Fuck,” he said quietly. “I love you so much, Y/n.”

Then he kissed her — not rushed, not frantic — a deep, consuming kiss that tasted like forgiveness, devotion, and four years of choosing each other. Their lips moved together slowly, reverently, like a promise being rewritten with every breath.

When they pulled back, foreheads resting together, both smiling, Y/N whispered, “Wanna see your gift?”

He glanced around the room again, amused. “What, is this not the gift?” he chuckled.

She shook her head. “Not necessarily.”

She slipped out of his arms and crossed to the basket, fingers trembling just a little as she pulled out an envelope. She handed it to him.

“Open it.”

He smirked — that knowing smirk — before tearing it open.

His eyes widened.

“Tickets to fucking Switzerland? You’re kidding!”

She nodded furiously, biting her lip, already bracing herself—because she knew.

She knew about the way he’d been spiraling over Switzerland vlogs at 2 a.m., rewinding clips of snowy mountains and cheese pulls like they were holy scripture. Knew about the offhand comments he’d make—one day, baby…—like it wasn’t a place but a promise he was scared to want too badly.

Jungkook let out a shout that cracked the air open. He lifted her by the armpits like she weighed nothing, spun her around the room, laughing like a kid who’d just been told Christmas was real, then kissed her breathless before setting her down—hands still shaking, smile too big for his face.

“See? Try topping that,” she teased.

She shouldn’t have.

(omg play carried away by madison beer here. TRUST ME!!)

Because the moment she saw that look — that soft, dangerous glint — she knew she’d fucked up.

“Shit…Kook. Don’t,” she whined. “Don’t ruin this win for me.”

He just laughed, shaking his head at her like she was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

“Y/n,” he started, suddenly serious. “These four — soon to be five — years have been the most unreal, dream-like years of my life.”

A quiet laugh. Nervous. Real.

“I’ve loved a lot of things in my life. Dreams. Music. Success. But loving you? That shit ruined me—in the best way. I don’t think there’s ever been a day where you weren’t already part of my plans. Even before I knew it. You’re in the way I wake up, the way I come home, the way the room feels warmer just because you’re in it. And…I know we moved in together two years ago, but that’s not enough for me anymore.”

Y/n stilled.

“I love coming home to you. Eating your tarts. Waking up next to you. Finding your underwear stuck in my pants after laundry day,” he added, grinning when she giggled. “All those stupid little things…they only matter because they’re you.”

He took a breath.

“But I don’t want you to be my girlfriend anymore.”

Her heart slammed.

He dropped to one knee.

What the fuck.

“Y/n Y/L/N,” he said, pulling out a small box and opening it, eyes shining. “Would you make me the happiest being on earth and marry me? Please?”

Her world stopped.

Tears welled instantly, blurring everything. This couldn’t be real. Not today. Not like this.

She laughed, breathless, nodding through tears. “Yes,” she whispered. Then louder, shaking. “Yes!”

He stood and kissed her like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it. Their foreheads touched again, breaths mingling, slipping the ring onto her finger with hands that trembled just as much as hers.

“So,” he grinned, smug and glowing. “I think I still outdid Valentine’s Day this year.”

She groaned, rolling her eyes. “I hate you.”

He laughed, kissing her once more.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/n.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jungkook.”