jeonette

[jeonette]

better for you — yoongi

In which you and Yoongi were inseparable—until he cut you off without a word. Now, the time for your annual lake house trip with the friend group arrives, and you’re forced to face the boy who used to know you better than anyone.

genre: : close friends to enemies to lovers

content : a classic 90s au! lots of cliché, high school friend group style, he’s lowkey a brat for ghosting her but he makes up for it anyways— safe to read for minors.

“You’re quiet today,” Jimin says, nudging your leg with his foot.

You look up from your phone. “Am I?”

“Suspiciously,” Hobi adds from the other end of the couch, mouth half full of chips. “Like you’re thinking about ghosting the lake trip this year.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not ghosting anything.”

Jimin leans forward, eyes narrowed. “Then why haven’t you said yes?”

“I didn’t say no either.”

“Exactly,” Hobi grins. “That’s what ghosters say.”

You sigh, tossing your phone onto the cushion beside you. The ceiling fan hums above you, lazy and slow — like summer itself is stretching out, waiting for something to happen.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “It’s just… different now.”

Jimin gives you a look — the soft kind that says he knows exactly what “different” means.

“Yoongi’s going,” he says, not unkindly.

“I figured.”

And there it is. The name that still makes your stomach pull, for reasons you’d rather not untangle.

It wasn’t one moment that broke things between you and Yoongi — no fight, no cruel words. Just time. Puberty. The way he changed when everyone started growing up, when you stopped playing video games on his bedroom floor and started caring about things he didn’t know how to talk about.

He got meaner, or maybe just quieter. Teasing turned into coldness. Conversations turned into awkward silences. Eventually, it felt like you were the only one trying.

So you stopped trying.

“Six months,” you murmur, more to yourself than them.

Jimin glances at you. “What?”

“That’s how long it’s been. Since we really talked.”

“Still counts,” Hobi says. “That’s like… a decade in friendship time.”

You look at them.

“You think it’ll be weird?” you ask, voice low.

“No,” Jimin says gently. “But even if it is — it’s still ours. One last trip. One last summer.”

“You’re coming,” Hobi says confidently. “We already packed an extra floatie for you.”

“Without asking?”

“We live on the edge.”

You smile despite yourself, leaning your head back against the couch.

Maybe it would be weird. But it would also be… them. The lake. The cabin. Laughter echoing off the dock, sticky marshmallows, late-night dares, tangled limbs on the floor when everyone falls asleep too close.

Maybe Yoongi would be there. Maybe it would hurt a little.

But maybe something good could come out of that.

-

yoongi's pov

The call comes just as Yoongi’s about to replay a beat he’s been stuck on for two hours. He glares at the screen — Hobi — and considers ignoring it.

Then sighs and answers with a lazy, “What.”

“Hey, sunshine,” Hobi says, voice way too chipper. “Are you still alive or have you melted into a greasy puddle in your room?”

Yoongi leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. “What do you want.”

“Wow. That’s the enthusiasm I crave.”

“I’m working.”

“You’re sulking.”

“Same thing.”

There’s a pause on the line, and Yoongi knows it’s coming — something annoying, something nosy, something… Hobi.

“You’re coming to the lake trip, right?”

Yoongi exhales through his nose. “Yeah. You already asked me.”

“Just making sure. Because, uh…” Another pause. “She’s coming.”

The silence that follows is short — but heavy. The kind that hits like a punch you saw coming and still didn’t block.

Yoongi doesn’t ask who she is. He doesn’t have to.

His throat feels tight. Stupid, really, because he knew she’d probably come. It’s their tradition. It's always been the six of them. But some pathetic part of him — the part that still remembers what her laugh used to sound like when it was just for him — had hoped she wouldn’t.

Not because he didn’t want to see her.

But because he didn’t know if he could take it.

“She say that?” he asks eventually, voice flat.

“Jimin and I were with her earlier,” Hobi says, quieter now. “She was hesitant, but she’s in.”

Yoongi spins a pencil between his fingers. It falls. He doesn’t pick it up.

“You okay?” Hobi asks.

“I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

Another beat. Yoongi stares at the ceiling like it might have answers.

“I was a dick to her,” he says. “I know that.”

“She knows it too.”

Yoongi flinches.

“But,” Hobi continues gently, “you weren’t a bad person. Just a stupid one. There’s still a difference.”

Yoongi doesn’t reply.

“Don’t waste this, hyung. Seriously. If you keep acting like nothing happened, you’re gonna lose your shot.”

“I already did.”

“Then un-lose it.”

There’s a rustle on Hobi’s end — probably him pacing like he always does when he gets into his motivational therapist mode.

“She didn’t write you off completely,” Hobi says. “If she had, she wouldn’t have agreed to come.”

Yoongi closes his eyes.

He wants to believe that.

He wants to believe that maybe — maybe — six years of friendship doesn’t disappear just because he couldn’t figure out how to talk about his feelings without ruining everything.

“She still doesn’t know,” he says quietly.

“Then maybe it’s time she did.”

-

The breeze dances through the open window, lifting your hair just enough to make it annoying. You shove it behind your ear and glance at Mina, who’s got one hand on the wheel and the other outstretched in the wind like she’s flying.

Fuck. Is it too late to tell Mina you're car sick so that she'll drive you home? You genuinely start to question whether you should.

“You nervous?” she asks, eyes on the road but voice casual.

You blink. “About what?”

Mina shoots you a look. “Don’t even try it.”

You stare ahead, watching the trees blur past, their shadows flashing across the dashboard.

“It’s been a while,” you admit.

“You mean since he started being a dumbass?”

You laugh. “Since we were close.”

Mina hums, not saying anything for a moment. The music playing is some dreamy indie track she always puts on for drives like this — the kind that makes everything feel like a scene from a movie.

“You miss him?” she asks eventually.

The answer bubbles up so fast it catches you off guard.

“…Yeah. I do.”

The quiet hangs there for a second.

“Maybe this weekend’s a chance,” Mina says softly. “For something. Closure, or… something else.”

You don’t reply, but your fingers tighten around the seatbelt.

The lake sign appears just up ahead. You roll the window up halfway, suddenly aware of the way your heart’s picking up.

Yoongi leans his head against the window, watching the trees roll by in streaks of green and gold. Jungkook’s humming along to whatever’s playing on the radio, tapping the steering wheel like he’s onstage. Hobi’s in the passenger seat, sunglasses on, one leg up on the dash like he owns the world.

“We’re ten minutes out,” Jungkook says, glancing at the rearview mirror. “Excited, hyung?”

Yoongi grunts.

Jimin twists around from the back seat. “He’s been silently freaking out since we passed the gas station. That little temple on the hill? That’s where his soul left his body.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“You shut up,” Jimin says, grinning. “Before I say something real.”

“Say it,” Yoongi challenges — but his voice doesn’t have bite. It’s tired. Nervous.

Jimin studies him for a moment. Then, softer: “She’s gonna be happy to see you, you know. Even if she doesn’t show it right away.”

Yoongi swallows. Looks away.

Mina’s car pulls in first.

The house is the same — weather-worn, white paint peeling at the edges, the dock stretching out into the glittering lake. A stack of old canoes lean against the fence, and the air smells like pine and sunscreen.

You step out, stretching your arms above your head. Mina’s already filming the view on her phone.

Then you hear the second engine rumble up the driveway behind you.

You freeze, turning halfway.

Their car doors open one by one.

Jimin. Hobi. Jungkook.

And then — Yoongi.

He steps out like he doesn’t notice you yet. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair a little messy from the wind, earbuds still tangled in one hand. He looks taller. Sharper. Same mouth. Same eyes.

And then he sees you.

There’s a beat.

He doesn’t smile. You don’t either.

Not yet.

But you look at each other like something is unraveling and knotting itself back together all at once.

Mina elbows you. “Don’t just stand there like you saw a ghost.”

You take a breath. Step forward.

“Hey,” you say.

Yoongi blinks. Swallows. Then: “Hey.”

His voice is hoarse. Like it’s been waiting months for this exact word.

Behind him, the others are unloading bags and shouting about who gets the best bed. Jungkook’s already sprinting toward the lake with his shoes still on.

The tension is far too obvious. Both of you say nothing more, you watch him follow the guys upstairs.

You let out a sigh. Way too loud.

Mentally face-palming yourself.

Mina's already staring at you with a cheeky smile on her face.

You sigh once again. "I'm car sick." You let out.

"What?"

-

Just like every year, the first night at the lake house will always begin with a scary movie. It’s tradition.

By the time you and Mina come downstairs, the smell of microwave popcorn fills the air and Hobi’s voice echoes from the living room.

“I’m telling you,” he says dramatically, “it’s not a proper lake trip until someone screams and drops a bowl of snacks because of a jump scare.”

“You mean like last year?” Jungkook calls from the kitchen. “When you elbowed Jimin in the face during Scream?”

“I was being attacked!” Hobi yells.

“By Drew Barrymore’s haircut,” Jimin deadpans, entering the room with a bag of sour candy and a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape.

Mina drops onto the couch like she owns the place, tugging you down beside her.

“We’re watching The Blair Witch Project,” she informs you.

You freeze mid-sit. “I hate horror movies.”

“You hate clowns,” Hobi corrects. “This is witches. Different trauma.”

“Still trauma.”

“I’m proud of you already,” Jimin says, plopping down on your other side. “You can hide behind me when it gets creepy.”

“You’re the one who screams first.”

“And you’ll feel safe knowing where the danger is.”

Mina cackles.

The room is dim except for the glow from the TV and a crooked floor lamp in the corner. Someone’s found a blanket pile from the storage closet. Everyone’s slowly sinking into the furniture — bodies stretched out over each other, blankets, snacks, legs tangled across couch cushions.

It smells like butter, mint gum, and citronella from the candle someone left burning on the table.

You’re barely settled when the door creaks again.

Footsteps. Slower. Heavier.

You don’t have to look.

Yoongi walks in like he wasn’t sure if he should.

His hair is still damp from his post-drive shower, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, one hand tugging at the collar of his hoodie like it doesn’t sit right. His eyes scan the room — brief, unreadable — until they land on you.

And then Jimin.

Who immediately springs to his feet.

“Oh — actually, I, uh, forgot I left… something… on the porch.”

Mina groans. “You left your dignity out there?”

Jimin doesn’t even pretend. He flashes you a wink as he saunters off toward the back door.

“Jimin,” you hiss.

He just smirks, tosses you a thumbs-up, and disappears.

You turn forward again, heart climbing slightly — and find Yoongi standing there, awkward and still, staring at the now-open space beside you on the two-seater couch.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

He moves.

And sits.

Carefully. Like you might flinch. You don’t. But you can feel the shape of him — all elbows and nervous breath — close beside you.

The room moves on without noticing.

He shifts slightly, eyes flicking to the screen as the static-filled intro of the movie begins.

After a moment, his voice cuts through the sound — low and careful.

“You still hate horror movies?”

You glance at him, surprised. “You remember that?”

“You made me pause The Ring thirteen times freshman year because you kept covering your eyes with a pillow.”

“I stand by that decision. That movie ruined TVs for me.”

He huffs out a soft laugh. You catch the corner of it — the curve of his lip, the shadow of a dimple that used to show up every time he teased you about something.

“I didn’t think you’d still come this year,” he says after a pause.

Your gaze drops to the hem of the blanket twisted in your lap. “I almost didn’t.”

Silence.

You hear it — the sharp cry of someone in the movie, the sudden swell of eerie music. But all you feel is the space between your shoulders and his.

“…Why’d you change your mind?” he asks.

You glance at him. He’s not looking at you, but his jaw’s tight. His hands are clasped loosely between his knees, fingers twitching with quiet energy.

“I didn’t want to regret it,” you say.

A beat.

His voice is barely above a whisper. “Me either.”

You don’t look at him — not yet — but your stomach flips.

On screen, someone is crying in a forest. Mina throws popcorn at Jungkook for making fun of it. Jimin reappears dramatically from the kitchen and flops onto the floor with Hobi. The room buzzes with energy again.

But here, in this little corner of the couch, there’s a different kind of tension. Slow and aching. Familiar.

A part of you wants to lean away.

But another part — the part that remembers Yoongi’s old laugh, the way he used to hand you gummy worms during movies, the way he used to look at you like you were the only person in the room — wants to stay right here.

You peek over at him.

He’s already looking at you again.

Not too long. Not too hard. But just enough to make your pulse thrum.

“…Wanna trade spots?” he says suddenly. “You can sit on the end, in case you wanna escape.”

You blink. “That’s… weirdly thoughtful.”

“I’m trying,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck.

You smile — small. Surprised.

“I’ll survive,” you say. “As long as no one jumps out of a tree or something.”

Yoongi leans back slightly, voice barely a murmur.

“I won’t let them.”

You turn your head.

He’s looking forward again.

But he’s close enough that you can feel his pinky brush yours.

And he doesn’t pull away this time.

-

“That was so dumb,” Mina declares, standing up and nearly stepping on Jimin’s arm.

“You screamed,” Jungkook says, not even looking up from the Twizzlers he’s peeling apart.

“I gasped.”

“Like four times,” Hobi adds. “You almost spilled the popcorn.”

“You flinched when the camera hit the floor!” Mina accuses.

“That was an artistic choice,” Jungkook defends. “Symbolic. Raw.”

Yoongi snorts beside you, under his breath.

You turn to him with a tiny grin. “Art school critiques now?”

He shrugs, glancing sideways. “It was better than you covering your eyes the whole time.”

You narrow your eyes. “I saw more than enough, thank you.”

“Sure,” he murmurs. “Very brave.”

The smile lingers on your lips longer than you expect. And he notices. You know he does.

Jimin stands up and stretches with a dramatic groan. “Alright, children. Time to clean up the battlefield.”

There’s collective groaning. Hobi rolls off the armchair like a pancake hitting the floor. Mina starts gathering empty cups. Jungkook’s still eating candy.

You and Yoongi both stand at the same time — and awkwardly pause.

“I’ll get the bowls,” he says.

“I’ve got the blankets,” you reply, moving around him, the space between you charged, but unspoken.

-

You need fresh air.

The screen door creaks behind you as you step onto the porch. Yoongi’s a step behind, hands full of cans and snack wrappers.

Out here, it’s quieter. The porch light buzzes faintly overhead. The lake is a flat mirror under the moon.

You glance at him. He’s leaning against the railing, the orange light catching the sharp line of his jaw.

“I forgot how quiet it gets out here,” you murmur.

Yoongi hums in agreement. “We used to sit out here for hours.”

You nod. “Talking about nothing. Making fun of Jungkook’s haircut.”

He lets out a short laugh. “To be fair, he did look like a mushroom.”

Silence falls between you again. Not heavy. Just… waiting.

“I was surprised you came tonight,” he says suddenly.

You shift your weight. “You already said that.”

“I know,” he says. Then, more carefully: “I just… thought maybe you wouldn’t want to be around me.”

You glance at him. “Why? Because you stopped talking to me for six months without explaining anything?”

His jaw tenses. “Yeah. That.”

The wind rustles the trees. You don’t answer right away.

Eventually, you say, “I’m still mad, you know.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t hate you.”

Yoongi’s head turns slightly. He doesn’t look at you — just gazes out toward the dock, his voice quieter than the wind.

“I’m trying to be better at this.”

You don’t say anything.

But you don’t walk away either.

That feels like something.

-

Mina’s brushing her teeth loudly in the bathroom. You’re leaning against the wall with your arms crossed, waiting for her to finish.

Yoongi passes by with a towel slung over his shoulder.

You glance at him. “You get the room with the creaky floor?”

He nods. “Creakiest.”

“You deserve it.”

He smirks. “What for?”

“For disappearing. Being annoying. Growing out of your nice phase.”

He stops in the hallway, backlit by the warm glow of his room.

“You think I grew out of it?”

You blink. “Didn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer for a second. Then:

“I think I just got worse at showing it.”

Before you can say anything, Jimin walks by in boxers and socks, tossing a towel at Yoongi’s head.

“Less eye contact, more deodorant, lovebirds,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “Night, Jimin.”

Yoongi turns back toward his room.

Just before disappearing inside, he glances at you again.

“You still talk in your sleep?” he says, teasing but soft.

You arch a brow. “Only when someone snores next door.”

He gives you a lazy, genuine grin. “I’ll try to be quiet, then.”

You watch him close the door behind him.

And feel something tug.

-

Jimin flops dramatically onto the spare bed in Yoongi’s room, hugging a throw pillow like it insulted him personally.

“I can’t believe I let you trick me into watching Blair Witch again,” he groans. “I’ll be hearing those twig snapping sounds in my sleep.”

“Good,” Jungkook mutters, kicking off his socks near the doorway. “Maybe next time you won’t bail on your spot next to Y/N like a little matchmaking gremlin.”

Hobi snorts, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “Nah, he did that on purpose. Don’t act innocent.”

Yoongi, who’s been pretending to look for something in his backpack, sighs loudly.

“Are we doing this?”

“Doing what?” Jimin asks innocently, bouncing once on the mattress.

“The thing where you all pretend I’m emotionally stunted and try to fix my life in one night.”

Jungkook shrugs. “I mean… if the emotionally stunted shoe fits.”

Yoongi straightens, glaring. “You guys always talk this much?”

“Only when it’s fun,” Hobi says, sitting on the edge of the desk. “And this? Is fun.”

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair. It’s damp again from sweat or nerves — he’s not sure which.

“Seriously,” he mutters. “Can we not talk about her?”

“Her?” Jimin echoes. “Who’s her?”

Jungkook gasps. “Wait — do you mean… Y/N?”

Yoongi grabs a pillow and hurls it across the room. It hits Hobi in the chest. He doesn’t flinch.

“Okay, okay,” Hobi says, lifting his hands. “But like. Real talk? You need to stop acting like she’s just… some girl you grew up next to. Everyone sees through it. Even she probably sees through it.”

Yoongi sinks down onto the edge of his bed. Elbows on knees. Shoulders tight.

“I don’t treat her like that,” he mutters.

“Bro,” Jungkook says gently. “You treat her like you’re trying not to feel something.”

The room goes quiet for a second.

Yoongi doesn’t look up.

“I don’t know how else to treat her,” he finally says, voice low. “I didn’t mean to screw it up. I just… I didn’t know how to say any of it when we were younger. And then I got weird, and everything got awkward, and…”

He trails off.

Jimin shifts upright now, serious for once. “And you still haven’t told her.”

Yoongi’s voice drops to almost a whisper.

“I’ve been in love with her for years.”

There it is. Finally spoken aloud. And it sounds just like it feels — too big, too heavy, too impossible.

“I thought maybe it would go away,” Yoongi continues. “Like, maybe I’d grow out of it, or stop thinking about her every time something good or bad happens, or… whatever. But it didn’t. And now we’re here, and she’s still everything.”

He swallows hard. Doesn’t dare look at any of them.

“But she doesn’t feel the same. Not anymore. We’re not even close like we used to be.”

There’s a beat of silence.

And then Jungkook snorts.

Yoongi finally looks up. “What?”

Jungkook raises his eyebrows. “Dude. You really think she doesn’t like you?”

“Bro,” Hobi says, “she could’ve sat next to literally anyone tonight, and she still sat next to you.”

“That was Jimin’s fault—”

“—And she didn’t move.” Jimin grins. “And she laughed at your jokes, even when they were mid.”

Yoongi shakes his head. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Everything means something,” Hobi says. “You think we don’t know you? You’re not exactly subtle.”

Yoongi glares. “I literally don’t talk to her.”

“Exactly,” Jungkook points. “You like her so much you don’t talk to her like a human being.”

“She makes you short-circuit,” Jimin adds. “Which is hilarious. But also kind of sad.”

“I don’t want to ruin it,” Yoongi mutters. “If I say something and I’m wrong…”

“You already are ruining it,” Hobi says, voice softer now. “By pretending you don’t care when it’s so obvious you do.”

Yoongi leans back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer him a way out.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits.

“No one is,” Jimin says. “But you’re good at her. You always were. Even when you were annoying.”

“She made you better,” Jungkook says quietly. “You said that once. That you wanted to be someone she could be proud of.”

Yoongi closes his eyes.

“Then stop making her think she was wrong about you,” Hobi says.

Silence.

Then Yoongi exhales. Deep. Shaky. Like he’s been holding it in for too long.

“I don’t know if I can fix it.”

“You can,” Jimin says. “Just don’t wait too long.”

“You’ve got this trip,” Jungkook adds. “That’s a start.”

Yoongi nods once.

It’s not everything.

But maybe it’s enough.

-

It's finally morning. And surprisingly, you're starting to feel less car sick.

The smell of burnt toast mingles with the sharp tang of instant coffee. Plates clatter softly as everyone moves around the kitchen like well-oiled chaos.

Jimin is fiddling with the toaster, eyes squinting at the little blinking lights. “I swear this thing’s broken. How do you burn toast this badly?”

Yoongi leans against the doorframe, arms folded, watching the others with a quiet, easy smile. His hair’s still damp, and his sleeves are rolled up like yesterday never ended.

You sit at the table, spooning cereal with an exaggerated care, stealing glances at Yoongi whenever he’s not looking.

Hobi strolls in, stretching. “Looks like a heatwave’s rolling in.”

“Perfect day to cool off in the lake,” Jungkook adds, cracking an egg over the frying pan.

Jimin shoots Yoongi a look. “So, Yoongi, you gonna try not to mess things up today?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I’m just here for the cereal.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop a small smile. Jimin’s not subtle, but that’s why you like him.

Mina leans in conspiratorially. “You two were basically glued together last night. Took you long enough.”

You catch Yoongi’s eye, and he smirks—a little bashful, a little proud.

The cassette player switches to a new track, something upbeat and nostalgic. The kind of song that makes you want to dance around the kitchen, even if everyone’s still half asleep.

Jungkook finishes flipping an omelet and looks around. “Alright, anyone up for a swim? It’s gonna be hotter than hell today.”

Mina hops off the counter. “Finally, some fresh air.”

Jimin claps his hands. “Lake trip tradition. Swim, scream, repeat.”

You glance at Yoongi. He catches your gaze and nods.

“Count me in,” you say.

Yoongi grins, just a flicker of that old confidence returning.

-

Jimin had already commandeered the biggest sun-bleached plank as his throne, plopping down with the kind of exaggerated sigh that suggested he hadn’t yet fully given himself permission to relax.

“This is the life,” he announced, stretching his arms wide. “No math tests, no lectures, no Yoongi brooding in the corner.”

You smirked, shooting a glance at Yoongi, who was trailing a few steps behind, hoodie half-unzipped, hands buried deep in his pockets like he was trying to disappear into the summer haze.

Hobi nudged him lightly. “Hey man, no brooding allowed today. You’re part of the fun squad.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes but didn’t reply.

You moved toward the water’s edge with Mina, the cool lake teasing your toes as you tentatively dipped them in.

“Come on,” Mina urged, splashing water at you with a mischievous grin. “The water’s perfect. You can’t just sit there being all cautious.”

You bit your lip, scanning the group. Jungkook was already tossing an inflatable ring between his hands, eyes bright.

“Only if Yoongi jumps in first,” you called out, more a challenge than a request.

Heads turned, and you caught Yoongi’s gaze. He blinked, surprised, then raised an eyebrow as if to say, Really?

“Fine,” he muttered, stepping off the dock without any grand flourish. His feet hit the water with a quiet splash, sending droplets glinting in the sun.

He surfaced quickly, water slicking back his dark hair, and for a moment, you could almost forget how awkward everything still felt between you.

“Your turn,” he called, voice low but teasing.

You swallowed your nerves and stepped in after him. The cold water wrapped around your legs, sending a sharp, invigorating shock through you.

Jimin yelled from his spot, “Hey! No drowning, Y/N! We’re not calling the coast guard today!”

You rolled your eyes, launching a splash toward him.

Yoongi moved closer beside you, and as you stepped on a slippery rock, he reached out instinctively, his hand brushing your waist to steady you. The contact was electric, but just as quickly, he pulled away, looking anywhere but at you.

You swallowed a smile, heart thudding, while he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Careful,” he said, voice low. “Wouldn’t want you falling.”

“I can manage,” you said, though your voice wavered just a little.

The group broke into laughter as Jungkook challenged Jimin to swim out to the buoy. Jimin accepted with mock bravado, flailing spectacularly as he struggled to keep up.

Mina leaned in close to you, whispering, “You two are like a rom-com waiting to happen.”

You snorted, just as Yoongi shot you a sideways glance—half amusement, half something softer.

The afternoon wore on with playful splashes, light teasing, and stolen glances. You noticed Yoongi’s protective instincts in little ways—the way he subtly stayed near when the current tugged at you, how he helped pull you out when you stumbled on a submerged rock.

Once, when you reached for a floating ball, your hands brushed, and you both froze for a second too long, a shy grin tugging at your lips.

“You’re getting better at this,” you teased quietly.

Yoongi smirked, though his eyes stayed on the water. “I’m trying not to screw it up.”

“Progress,” you said, and for a moment, the past awkwardness felt like it might just melt away.

From the dock, Jimin’s voice rang out, “Hey, you two! Stop stealing all the screen time—save some drama for the rest of us!”

Hobi laughed. “Seriously, keep it PG, lovebirds.”

You exchanged a glance with Yoongi, who shook his head with a small, reluctant smile.

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “Maybe this summer won’t be such a disaster after all.”

The sun began to dip lower, casting golden light across the water. The group gathered towels and drifted back toward the cabin, the tension between you and Yoongi softening, like the first warm rays of dawn after a long, cold night.

Well, you're definitely not car sick now.

-

There’s only three showers in the lakehouse, and of course, Mina, Jungkook, and Hobi call dibs first, rushing inside with playful shouts and damp towels slapping the floorboards.

Jimin stretches, yawns, and disappears with Yoongi into their shared room.

You don’t follow. Not yet.

Still damp from the lake and too warm from everything—the water, the teasing, the closeness—you quietly grab your pink towel and slip out the back door, barefoot on the old wooden porch.

The stars are ridiculous tonight.

Spilled milk and diamonds, scattered like a secret just for you. You walk a little farther down the dock until you’re near the edge of the lake, where it’s quiet enough to hear the soft splash of water licking against the rocks.

You sit.

And breathe.

Wrapped in pink, hair still dripping, skin warm, heart confused. You hug your knees to your chest, the cool night brushing gently against your back.

Footsteps.

You don’t have to look to know who it is.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything at first. He walks quietly, barefoot too, and stops a few steps behind you like he’s unsure he should be there.

You glance over your shoulder.

“You following me now?”

He exhales a breath of a smile. “No. I just—couldn’t sleep.”

You pat the space beside you without thinking.

He hesitates for a second.

Then he sits.

And you both stare at the water, the moon, the endless black sky.

It’s quiet for a long moment.

Then, softly:

“I missed this,” Yoongi says.

You glance at him. His hair is still damp too, curling slightly at the edges. He’s in a loose t-shirt and shorts, like he threw them on in a rush. His hands are clasped in front of him, elbows resting on his knees.

“I missed... just sitting next to you.”

Your throat tightens. You look back at the stars.

“You didn’t act like you missed anything,” you say. “You acted like I didn’t exist anymore.”

He flinches. Just a little. But it’s enough.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of saying the wrong thing. Of saying too much.”

You turn toward him, finally. “Yoongi, you stopped talking to me. That was saying too much.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“I didn’t mean to shut you out. I just… everything changed so fast. You got prettier. Smarter. Everyone loved you. And I—”

He laughs once, dry and self-deprecating.

“I didn’t know how to be near you without ruining everything.”

Your chest aches.

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Because I was a coward,” he says. “Because every time I looked at you, I wanted to say too much. And you were always so... good. So kind. I thought if I stayed close, I’d ruin that for you.”

You shake your head, blinking fast.

“You idiot.”

He looks up at you.

Your voice breaks, just a little.

“You’re such an idiot.”

He exhales a shaky laugh. “I know.”

You scoot a little closer, heart pounding.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” you say. “You just... left me guessing.”

He nods slowly, lips parted like he wants to say more.

And then he does.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I tried to wait it out. Grow out of it. Get over it. But I couldn’t. I don’t think I ever will.”

The breeze tugs your towel gently.

You stare at him, the words sinking in.

“I’ve wanted to tell you,” he continues, “a thousand times. But I always thought... you’d never feel the same.”

“I do,” you whisper.

He stills.

Your voice is small, but clear. “I do, Yoongi.”

There’s a breath between you.

A moment that stretches and stretches and then finally—

He leans in slowly, watching your eyes the whole time, giving you every chance to pull away.

You don’t.

Your lips meet softly, like they’re remembering something that never quite began.

It’s slow. Warm. A little awkward. A little perfect.

And when you pull apart, his forehead rests gently against yours, both of you breathless.

“God,” he murmurs, smiling against your skin. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You laugh—just once, soft and dizzy—and then—

“What. the. fuck. is. this?!”

Jimin’s voice cuts through the stillness like a car crash in a library.

You and Yoongi freeze.

Jimin stands at the hallway window, towel around his neck, eyes wide as dinner plates.

“I KNEW IT!” he screams. “GUYS! I TOLD YOU! I KNEW IT!”

Yoongi lets out a low groan and gets up slowly, flexing his neck like a tired boxer.

“Don’t,” you whisper, grabbing his wrist, giggling.

But it’s too late.

“Too late, he's a dead man.”

Yoongi breaks into a run across the porch, aiming to chase after him.

“Oh shit.” Jimin practically leaps out from the spot he was in.

Their voices echo into the trees, drowned out by your laughter.

And under the stars, wrapped in your towel, knees still tucked to your chest, you smile.

Because finally, you know.

And so does he.

-

You stir awake before the others, blinking slowly against the morning light streaming through your window. It’s quiet, still—the kind of peace that only exists when the world hasn’t quite opened its eyes yet.

You roll over, hair tousled, limbs sore from swimming and laughing and—everything else.

Everything that changed last night.

You smile.

A knock, soft and careful, sounds at your door.

You pause. Then rise, wrapping your blanket around your shoulders, still warm from sleep, and pad across the room barefoot.

When you open the door, Yoongi is already there—hoodie pulled halfway on, hair messy, face flushed like he ran a hand through it too many times trying to work up the nerve.

“Hey,” he says, a little breathless.

You blink at him. “Hey.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Wanna go out to the dock? It’s stupid early, but I couldn’t sleep.”

You smile gently. “Let me grab a sweater.”

A few minutes later, the two of you sit side by side at the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the glass-still water. Mist curls off the lake in slow spirals, the world glowing gold and blue around you.

You feel him watching you before he says anything.

“You look beautiful like this,” he murmurs, voice quiet like the morning.

You glance at him, caught off guard.

“Like what?”

He shrugs, but his eyes never leave your face.

“Sleepy. Soft. Happy.”

You look away, trying to hide the way your smile grows.

Yoongi nudges your knee with his. “Hey.”

“Hm?”

“You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Try to hide when you’re flustered.”

You scoff, but he leans in anyway, brushing your hair gently off your shoulder. His fingers linger, featherlight.

And then his hand settles at your back, warm through the fabric of your sweater, like he needs to be touching you now just to breathe properly.

“I meant it,” he says. “What I said last night.”

You glance up at him.

“I’ve loved you for years,” he repeats. “But I never let myself show it. I didn’t know how. And now I—” He breaks into a small, breathy laugh, rubbing at his brow. “Now I can’t seem to stop.”

You try to reply, but the words are stuck somewhere in your chest.

Yoongi moves closer, gently tilting your chin toward him with his fingers. His thumb brushes your cheek, and his gaze softens completely.

“I’m gonna make up for it. All of it,” he murmurs. “I swear.”

And then—another kiss.

Slower than last night.

Deeper.

Full of every unsaid thing.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. He stays right there, forehead pressed to yours, smiling like you just saved him.

“You really can’t keep your hands off me now, huh?” you tease, breathless.

He grins, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“Not even a little.”

-

The smell of burnt toast and frying eggs drifts through the cabin as Mina pads into the kitchen, hair wild and eyes still sleepy.

“Morning, everyone,” she mumbles, pouring coffee for herself.

Jimin strolls in moments later, rubbing sleep out of his eyes but already wearing that mischievous grin.

“You guys look different,” he says, glancing knowingly at Yoongi, who’s helping himself to the syrup.

Yoongi freezes mid-pour, a slow smile creeping across his face.

“What?” you ask, already suspicious.

Jungkook appears in the doorway, holding a plate of pancakes like a peace offering.

“Someone’s been getting all cozy,” he teases, setting the plate down in front of you.

Hobi laughs from the counter, flipping a pancake expertly.

“Finally! Took you two long enough.”

You exchange a glance with Yoongi, who shrugs but can’t hide his smile.

Mina sidles up next to you, elbowing you gently. “We all saw you two sneaking out last night.”

Your cheeks flush.

Jimin raises his coffee mug. “To Yoongi and Y/N: may your slow burn never burn out.”

Everyone cheers, clinking mugs and plates.

Yoongi leans close, voice low. “You ready for round two today?”

You grin. “Only if you promise to keep your hands to yourself until then.”

He laughs, but there’s a sparkle in his eyes.

“Deal. For now.”

-

The fire popped and hissed, sending sparks spiraling up into the night sky as laughter echoed through the crisp air. Everyone had gathered close, faces glowing in the warm firelight, voices carrying the familiar rhythm of shared stories and easy camaraderie.

Jimin was in full storyteller mode, animatedly recounting a particularly wild night from their senior year.

“Remember that time when all of us got caught sneaking out?” he said, shaking his head with mock disbelief. “What were we thinking?”

Hobi chuckled, tossing a small stick into the flames. “Thinking we were invincible, apparently.”

Mina shook her head, smiling softly. “I think that night’s what really bonded us. Getting in trouble together somehow made us... stronger.”

Jungkook nodded. “It was our rebellion, our last stand before everything changed.”

The group grew quiet for a moment, the weight of those words settling in the space between them.

You nestled closer to Yoongi, who draped an arm gently around your shoulders. His touch was featherlight but unmistakable, grounding.

“I can’t believe this is our last summer before college,” you whispered.

He tightened his hold just a little, voice low and steady. “We’ll make it count.”

Your hands found each other’s in the firelight, fingers weaving together naturally.

Jimin, ever the observant one, smirked. “Looks like someone’s already making it count.”

You flushed, stealing a glance at Yoongi, whose cheeky grin lit up even in the fire’s glow.

As the night stretched on, stories flowed—old high school antics, secret crushes, moments they wished they could relive.

Between bursts of laughter, Yoongi leaned close and whispered, “I promise I’ll change for you. Not just because I have to, but because I want to.”

You squeezed his hand, heart full. “I know.”

The fire’s warmth mingled with the quiet beat of your joined hands and the unspoken promises held between you two.

As the embers dimmed, Yoongi smirked playfully. “So, what’s my chore for tomorrow?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Keeping your hands to yourself before breakfast.”

He laughed softly. “You’re impossible.”

You smiled back. “Only for you.”

The night wound down with soft banter and shared smiles, the kind that linger long after the fire has burned out—an echo of youth, love, and the promise of whatever comes next.

-

Two years later :

The city skyline stretched endlessly beneath the velvet sky, twinkling like stars scattered across glass. But Yoongi’s world had shrunk to just one presence—your silhouette framed by the warm glow of the streetlamp.

It was late—far past the hour when most couples had long since drifted to sleep—but you and Yoongi were wide awake, wrapped around each other on the rooftop terrace of your small apartment, the soft hum of the city below a gentle soundtrack to the night.

Two years ago, you had sat by a crackling bonfire at a lakeside cabin, wrapped in a pink towel, tangled in tentative feelings that had slowly bloomed into something unbreakable.

Now, here you were, breathless from laughter and stolen kisses, the years etched only in the depth of your connection.

Yoongi’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare shoulder, his touch light yet electrifying.

“You know,” he said, voice thick with emotion, “I still get butterflies when I look at you.”

You leaned your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “Are you trying to make me melt?”

He laughed softly, a sound you had memorized and treasured. “Maybe.”

Your eyes fluttered closed as his hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips gently.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice trembling with sincerity.

You smiled, your fingers tangling in his soft hair. “You’ve never been subtle.”

“Subtlety died the moment I realized you were mine,” he teased, pulling you into a kiss that was tender and fierce all at once.

Time stretched thin as the world fell away. Your lips moved together with a rhythm all your own—soft sighs, small gasps, and the sweet pressure of love made physical.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, Yoongi rested his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he murmured like it was the only truth that mattered.

You smiled, heart soaring. “I love you too. More than words.”

For a while, you just sat there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the cool night air brushing over your skin.

Then, Yoongi shifted, playful glint returning to his eyes.

“You remember how awkward I was back then?”

You laughed, the memory vivid. “Like a teenage puppy chasing its tail.”

He grinned, mock offended. “Hey! I was a disaster.”

“Still are,” you teased, poking his ribs.

He squirmed, laughing, then pulled you closer. “But I’m your disaster.”

The two of you sank into comfortable silence, hearts full and spirits light.

As the stars wheeled overhead, you traced patterns on his chest, feeling the steady beat of a love that had grown through every laugh, every tear, every stolen moment.

Yoongi kissed your temple softly.

“Promise me,” he said, “no matter what happens, we keep this. Keep us.”

You squeezed his hand firmly. “Always. Through everything.”

Just then, Yoongi’s phone buzzed quietly against the wood beneath you. He glanced at the screen and smiled, a familiar warmth in his eyes.

“Guess who,” he said, answering.

"Jimin, what's up?" Yoongi puts the phone on speaker, tilting it to you a little.

You smile, "Hi, chim."

"There's my favourite couple! —how about we drag you two out for another lake trip? The gang’s missing you guys. I mean, Mina’s already started packing, so no backing out now.”

You laughed softly, nudging Yoongi.

He grinned, fingers intertwining with yours. “Sounds like trouble.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” you said with a smile.

Jimin’s voice came through again, joking, “Get ready to relive your teenage disasters—same place, same chaos.”

Yoongi chuckled. “Guess we’ll have to keep the tradition alive.”

You leaned into him, whispering, “And maybe keep your hands to yourself a little more this time.”

He laughed quietly. “No promises.”

The night wrapped around you both like a cozy blanket, and for a moment, the world was exactly right.

a/n : Alright…. I enjoy making Jimin the matchmaker a little too much— is it getting obvious? lol. But anywayyyyy…. FIRSTT Yoongi storyyy! This was requested by @rpwprpwprpwprw <3 I do really really hope that it lived up to what you were imagining. You gave me such a great set up and vibe to worth with. Thank you for choosing me to help bring this story to life <3 To say I’m grateful is an understatement 🤍 I hope you had a wonderful time reading xx

— and thank you to @/yooqseok & @/starmon ( my lovely friends ) for proof reading 💕

[jeonette]

hi there lovelies <3 Soooo, your girl is currently in a writers block and I genuinely have no ideas left in me 😓— which is absurd because I literally MAJOR in literature & law LMAOOO… but it would be so great if you guys could drop suggestions for oneshots/drabbles so that my mind will start to get back to work again…. I’ve been staring at my laptop for the past two weeks trying to come up with something from scratch or re-write some of my work from years ago but nothing is hitting atm 😭 LOLLL but anywayyyyyy if there’s something specific you have in mind let me knowwwww <3 🤍

( NOTE : oneshot/fics take longer as they need to be written, proof read & edited before publication BUT I’m so down to write mini drabbles if you guys wish for something a little more speedy <3 )

[jeonette]

oh my godddddd😭 this is genuinely one of the sweetest things ever😭 You’re actually the sweetest little thing ever 🥹. To be so honest, I never knew if I was actually ever going to post this because these type of stories are usually super cliché and I had this thought lingering at the back of my head on whether people would actually find this enjoyable to read since I didn’t know if many people were drawn towards the 80s/90s vibe. I personally thought this was too basic and cliche, but godddd it feels so refreshing to hear that some of you actually like it. Means so so much to me you think this way xx 🥹🤍

( and you’re actually not far from being wrong, I wrote this around a year and a half ago back when I was still in high school, except yoongi was the male lead & it was originally about him being in a band and he confessed his love for her during a high school performance hahaha 😭 I pulled it out from my drafts and decided to re-write it! Thought it’d be fun to share hehe xx )

after school hours - jjk

A classic 90's enemies to lovers skit. Mixtapes, rooftop hangouts, and harmless bickering between classes. But somewhere between hallway glances, stolen car rides, and one kiss under the stars, everything changed.

pairing : jungkook x reader

genre : enemies to lovers ( my favv )

The classroom buzzed faintly with low chatter and the soft hum of the overhead fan, lazily spinning in the warm air. Pages rustled. A pencil rolled off a desk and clattered to the floor. Somewhere in the back, someone was half-asleep with their head against the window.

And in the middle of it all, Y/N was glaring at Jungkook.

"That’s not even the right metaphor," she muttered under her breath.

Jungkook didn’t look up from his notebook. “It is if you actually understood the poem.”

She scoffed. “I understood it fine. You just love the sound of your own voice.”

“Good thing it’s a nice voice, then.”

Jimin, sitting between them like some long-suffering referee, groaned softly. “You two are like divorced parents. I’m begging you—let me get through one class without a custody battle over Shakespeare.”

Y/N leaned over Jimin to poke Jungkook in the arm with her pen. “You think you’re so smart just because Mr. Kim actually likes your essays.”

“He likes them because they’re good. Unlike your tragic five-paragraph breakdown of 'Romeo + Juliet' where you called Romeo a walking red flag.”

“Am I wrong?”

Jimin stifled a laugh. Jungkook rolled his eyes but the corner of his mouth twitched.

The bell rang before Y/N could get another jab in.

Outside the classroom, muffled voices were already echoing down the hallway.

“Lunchtime!” Hoseok’s voice cut through the noise like a trumpet. “Let’s goooo, I’m starving.”

As students poured out into the corridor, Y/N grabbed her things and slung her denim jacket over one arm. Jimin stuck close by her side, nudging her playfully.

“You’re gonna marry him one day, y’know,” he whispered.

She scoffed. “I’d rather marry my Walkman.”

Jungkook, just ahead, turned slightly like he’d heard—but didn’t say anything. Just that little smirk again.

Outside the classroom, the rest of the crew was already waiting — Hoseok with a candy bar halfway to his mouth, Mina reapplying her lip gloss using the reflection in the vending machine, Jiwoo balancing her textbook on her head like a crown, and Yoongi leaning against the wall with his headphones in, pretending not to care.

“There they are,” Mina sang. “Finally. What took you so long—fighting again?”

“No,” Jimin said. “Just academic foreplay.”

Y/N elbowed him.

They all fell into step down the hallway, laughing, bumping shoulders, voices rising and falling in that chaotic harmony only best friends could make.

-

The cafeteria was full, so the group had claimed their usual spot — a half-shaded corner of the courtyard, where Hoseok’s guitar case was used as a bench and someone had definitely carved “KIM WAS HERE” into the picnic table.

Y/N popped a fry into her mouth while Jiwoo dramatically told the story of how she tripped over her own shoelaces that morning and almost took Mina down with her.

“It was like watching a slow-motion disaster,” Mina said between bites of her sandwich. “I literally felt my life flash before my eyes.”

“Don’t blame me!” Jiwoo whined. “These are the school’s floors, not mine. Slippery as hell.”

“Or maybe your boots are just for fashion, not function,” Yoongi muttered, eyes behind his sunglasses, sipping his iced tea.

Everyone laughed.

Jimin stole a grape off Y/N’s tray; she slapped his hand but offered him another anyway. Jungkook leaned back on his elbows beside her, legs stretched out in front of him, chewing gum and watching the clouds like he couldn’t care less about anything — except he kept glancing her way every now and then.

That was when Mark, Dongyeon, and Chanyeol strolled over, reeking of too much cologne and fake confidence.

Mark leaned against the end of the table. “Ladies.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Gentlemen. Or… whatever you are.”

Jiwoo choked on her drink.

Mina looked amused. “What’s up?”

“There’s a party at mine tonight,” Mark said. “Figured we’d invite the pretty half of this table.”

Chanyeol winked. “You girls should come. Bring that chaotic energy. We like that.”

Dongyeon added, “It’ll be fun. No parents, music, drinks... all the things good girls need to loosen up.”

The air shifted.

Yoongi pushed his sunglasses down, eyes sharp now. “You done?”

Mark blinked. “What?”

Jungkook sat up straighter. His gum hit the ground. “They said no.”

“No one actually said no,” Dongyeon muttered.

“They don’t have to,” Jimin said, voice light but eyes hard. “But since you’re not picking up on social cues, let me translate: no means no. Leave.”

Mark snorted. “Damn, relax. Didn't know they came with bodyguards.”

Hoseok stood. “And you didn’t come with manners.”

The courtyard quieted around them — not enough for teachers to notice, but enough for a few heads to turn.

Mark raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Message received.”

As the trio walked off, Chanyeol threw one last wink at Y/N. “Offer still stands.”

Before Y/N could respond, Jungkook said flatly, “She’s not interested.”

The second they were gone, Jiwoo broke the silence. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

“Ugh,” Mina rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t gonna go anyway. Their parties are just cheap beer and bad flirting.”

Y/N glanced at Jungkook, whose jaw was still tight. “You alright there, hero?”

He shrugged, not looking at her. “They’re just idiots. Doesn’t mean you have to listen to them.”

She smirked. “Aw, was that you caring?”

He gave her a look. “Don’t get used to it.”

“You so totally care,” Jimin said, grinning.

Jungkook kicked his shin under the table.

-

Mina’s place was their go-to hangout spot — big enough to fit the chaos of seven teenagers and loud enough that no one cared if someone accidentally knocked over a lamp during charades.

By the time they got there, shoes were already piled by the door and someone had claimed the remote. Jungkook tossed his backpack in the corner, flopped on the bean bag, and declared he wasn’t moving unless someone bribed him with snacks.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re already eating my chips.”

“Exactly. You bribed me without knowing.”

Mina and Jiwoo were arguing over which CD to play next — Backstreet Boys or Nirvana — while Hoseok tried to convince Yoongi to play a stupid card game he swore he wasn’t rigging.

Then the door creaked open.

Mina’s mom peeked in, smiling warmly. “Well, well, the usual suspects.”

“Hi, Mrs. Lee,” the chorus chimed.

She looked around the room like it brought her joy to see her daughter’s life laid out in laughter and tangled limbs.

“You all staying for dinner?” she asked.

“Only if you’re making your kimchi stew,” Jimin said brightly.

“Oh, I might be persuaded,” she teased — then turned to Mina, voice shifting.

“By the way, I ran into Mark’s mom at the store. She said Mark’s throwing a pre-end-of-semester party tonight. Apparently you girls turned down his invite?”

Mina froze halfway through detangling her hair. “Yeah, uh… wasn’t really our scene.”

Mrs. Lee gave her a pointed look. “Well, she seemed really disappointed. Said Mark had been looking forward to you girls coming. Poor thing, probably nervous about throwing a party.”

Jiwoo muttered, “Yeah, nervous is one word for it.”

But Mina’s mom had already decided. “You should go. Be polite. Just for a little while.”

The boys all exchanged looks. Jungkook’s eyebrows raised. “Did she just guilt-trip you into partying?”

“Apparently so,” Mina sighed.

“We’ll go,” Y/N said with a shrug. “We’ll make an appearance, sip some soda, judge his music choices, and dip.”

“You guys should come too,” Mina said, turning to the boys.

Jimin raised a brow. “You just assumed we’d follow you into social hell?”

“Yes,” Mina deadpanned. “Because you’re whipped for us.”

Hoseok clapped his hands together. “Alright, alright. One hour. That’s it. We go, we dance ironically, we leave.”

-

“No, you can’t wear that,” Jiwoo said, snatching a sparkly crop top out of Y/N’s hands.

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted it.”

The girls raided Mina’s closet like they were prepping for a concert instead of a high school party thrown by a boy who once got suspended for graffitiing his own locker.

Meanwhile, in the living room:

Jimin sprawled on the couch. “Should I change or do I already look too good for this party?”

“You wore that to biology,” Jungkook said.

“And still looked better than you,” Jimin replied.

Yoongi didn’t bother changing — he just swapped his hoodie for a leather jacket and called it a day.

By the time the girls came out — Mina in platform heels, Jiwoo in glitter, Y/N in a cropped tee and low-rise jeans — the boys actually stopped talking for a beat.

Hoseok let out a whistle. “Damn. Okay, maybe we do stay longer than an hour.”

Y/N looked at Jungkook. He looked… unreadable for half a second. And then he tossed her his car keys.

“You call shotgun.”

She caught them. “Why me?”

“Because if I have to suffer through Mark’s voice for an hour, at least I should have decent company.”

-

They stood outside Mina’s driveway, debating the car situation.

“Yoongi’s driving me,” Jimin said, already sliding into the passenger seat.

“Obviously,” Yoongi muttered.

Hoseok gestured to his car. “Girls, hop in.”

Mina paused. “Wait — where’s Y/N going?”

“I’ll take her,” Jungkook said before anyone else answered.

Y/N blinked. “You sure?”

He shrugged. “My car’s quieter.”

Mina raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t say anything.

Y/N slipped into Jungkook’s passenger seat, tossing the keys back to him. “You always this generous with rides?”

He smirked. “Only with people who argue about Shakespeare like it’s a sport.”

The others pulled away, leaving just the two of them under the soft pink glow of the sunset.

The car doors shut.

The music turned low.

And for the first time all day — it was just the two of them.

Jungkook had one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose on the gearshift. The windows were cracked, letting in the breeze, and the stereo played something mellow — probably one of Yoongi’s burned CDs. Lo-fi with a bit of a grunge edge.

“You don’t mind giving me a ride?” Y/N asked casually.

He shrugged, eyes on the road. “Wouldn’t have offered if I did.”

“Could’ve made Jiwoo sit on Mina’s lap in Hoseok’s car.”

“I could’ve,” he said, smirking faintly. “But then you’d be stuck in a car with Dongyeon’s house in your future.”

She laughed. “God, imagine.”

“Don’t even joke about it.”

Y/N nudged his arm lightly. “What, jealous?”

Jungkook glanced at her, jaw twitching ever so slightly. “Of Dongyeon?”

“Of anyone,” she teased.

“Why would I be jealous?”

She tilted her head. “I dunno. You were awfully quick to shut them down earlier. Kind of heroic. Hot, even.”

He rolled his eyes, but she didn’t miss the way his grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

“They’re not good guys,” he said, quieter. “Not the kind who look at you the way they should.”

“And what’s the right way to look at me, Jeon?”

This time he glanced at her — really looked. And for a moment, his voice dropped, softer, less guarded.

“Like you’re not just something to win.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

The car settled into silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It was thick with all the things they weren’t saying.

Then she smiled, leaning back again, breaking the tension. “So philosophical all of a sudden. You trying to win me over with depth now?”

He scoffed. “Nah. Just tired of guys who think throwing parties gives them the right to hit on whoever they want.”

“Sounds like someone’s taking this personally.”

He didn’t answer at first. Then:

“Maybe I am.”

That hung in the air.

She looked over at him again, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re being weird today.”

He glanced at her again, his voice low. “You make me weird.”

Her heart did a little stutter-step.

Before she could say anything, his phone buzzed in the console. He ignored it. Then it buzzed again. And again.

Y/N peeked over. “Someone’s popular.”

He glanced, saw the name, and rolled his eyes before flipping the phone facedown. “Just Hana. From science. She’s been weird lately.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Weird how?”

“She asked if I wanted to go to the party with her,” he said, casually, like it meant nothing. “I said no.”

“Oh?” Her tone was too light.

“Yeah.” A beat. “Didn’t want to go with anyone else.”

She looked out the window, hiding the tiny smile tugging at her lips. “You’re really laying it on thick tonight.”

He shrugged, a little smirk forming. “Maybe I’m finally done pretending I don’t mean it.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away. But when they pulled up to the party house, music thumping faintly in the distance, she turned to him.

“I like this version of you.”

“What version?”

“The one that’s just a little jealous. And not afraid to show it.”

He glanced at her, cocky smirk replaced by something gentler.

“Stick around tonight,” he said, voice low. “You might like what else you find.”

-

The bass was already thumping by the time Jungkook pulled up along the curb, headlights washing over a line of cars crammed into Mark’s street. Multicolored lights leaked out through the living room windows. People milled around on the lawn, red solo cups in hand, yelling over music and laughter.

He killed the engine and looked over at Y/N. “You sure you wanna do this?”

She leaned forward, peering at the scene. “Not even a little.”

“Wanna ditch and hit the convenience store instead? Instant ramen and peach soda?”

She smiled, tempted. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Just then, Yoongi’s car pulled up behind them. Hobi’s headlights followed seconds later.

The gang regrouped on the sidewalk, dressed like a band of misfits forced into a high school teen drama.

“I already regret this,” Jiwoo muttered, tugging her jacket tighter around her.

“You and me both,” Yoongi sighed.

Mina groaned. “Let’s just go in, make a loop, and get out.”

As they approached the porch, the music grew louder—fast-paced 90s hip hop, all bass and no taste. Jungkook lingered close to Y/N, his shoulder brushing hers as they climbed the steps.

One of them knocked.

A beat passed.

Then the door cracked open—and there stood Mark, frozen mid-sip of his drink.

“Oh.” His eyes trailed over the girls first. “Didn’t think you were coming.”

Mina crossed her arms. “Yeah, well, my mom ran into your mom.”

Mark blinked. “Seriously?”

“She made us come,” Jiwoo added flatly. “So say thank you to Mrs. Lee.”

His gaze flicked to the boys. “Didn’t know this was a plus-one situation.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

Jungkook stepped forward, calm but unreadable. “We’ll only be here a bit. We won’t get in your way.”

Mark hesitated—clearly annoyed, but too proud to say no. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

He stepped aside, letting them in.

The second the door opened fully, music hit them like a wave. The living room was packed—kids dancing, some standing around the kitchen shouting over each other, the lights dimmed and replaced by neon strips and someone’s terrible strobe setup. A couple was already making out near the coat rack.

“Classy,” Yoongi muttered.

They filed in, awkwardly scanning the room.

“I need a drink,” Jimin said immediately.

“Peach soda doesn’t sound so bad now, huh?” Jungkook said to Y/N under his breath.

She grinned. “We’re committed. Let’s suffer.”

Hoseok motioned toward the kitchen. “We’ll do a lap. Grab snacks. Scout the exits in case we need to make a dramatic escape.”

As they moved deeper into the house, Mark disappeared into the crowd—but not before throwing one last look at Y/N.

Jungkook noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He didn’t say anything, but his hand brushed the small of her back, gently guiding her away from the doorway, his voice low in her ear.

“Stay close, yeah?”

-

The house was packed.

It smelled like cheap cologne, orange soda, and someone’s burned popcorn. The music bounced off the walls, some mixtape of late-90s bangers that had been left on loop. Every conversation was a shout, every hallway a squeeze.

Y/N stuck close to Jungkook’s side as they moved through the crowd, shoulder-to-shoulder in the worst way. Not that she minded. He was warm and familiar, even in the chaos.

He leaned in toward her, voice low in her ear. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, tugging on the hem of her borrowed top. “Just don’t feel like being here.”

He nodded. “Then don’t leave my side.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

They found the rest of the group gathered near the kitchen counter, already mid-debate about whether or not the red punch had alcohol in it.

Jiwoo took a cautious sip and cringed. “That’s a no from me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hoseok said, dramatically wiping down the countertop with a napkin. “The vibe here is sticky.”

Suddenly, a too-familiar voice rang out across the kitchen.

“Well, look who finally showed up.”

They turned just in time to see Chanyeol, drink in hand, flashing his signature too-wide smile.

He approached the girls first, eyes blatantly scanning Y/N, Mina, and Jiwoo.

“Thought you three were too good for this party,” he said, stopping a little too close. “Changed your minds?”

“Nope,” Mina replied. “Our moms did.”

Chanyeol smirked. “Lucky for me, then.”

Jungkook was beside Y/N in half a second, body angling slightly in front of hers.

Chanyeol noticed. Smirked wider.

“Relax, Jeon,” he said lazily. “Just saying hi to our guests.”

Jimin cut in with a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “And now you’ve said hi. Congrats.”

Chanyeol shrugged and moved off, disappearing into the crowd with a wink Y/N pretended not to see.

Once he was gone, Jungkook exhaled slowly.

“You okay?” he asked her again, voice softer.

She nodded, but tucked herself just a little closer to his side.

“You’re sticking to me like glue tonight,” he teased gently.

Y/N gave a half-smile. “That a problem?”

“No,” he said quickly, eyes flicking to her mouth for a second too long. “It’s not.”

They stood like that for a moment—too close to be casual, too quiet to be normal.

Then Jimin appeared beside Y/N with a can of soda in hand.

“For you, m’lady,” he said with a mock bow.

She laughed and took it. “You’re too good to me.”

Jimin bumped her shoulder with his. “You doing okay?”

She gave him a small smile. “Better now.”

He looked at her knowingly, then at Jungkook. “He hasn’t left your side.”

“I haven’t let him,” she said, a little too honest.

Jimin’s expression softened. “That’s how it should be.”

Across the room, Chanyeol was watching again.

And Jungkook noticed.

He reached for Y/N’s hand without a word—just laced their fingers together like it had always been that way.

She looked down at their hands, then up at him, heart beating louder than the bass.

“Just so he gets the message,” Jungkook said, voice low.

She nodded. But they both knew it wasn’t really about Chanyeol anymore.

-

The party continued to pulse around them, but Y/N was only half-aware of it. She could feel Jungkook’s hand still wrapped around hers, thumb brushing gently across her knuckles like he was grounding himself with the contact.

His touch was calm. His energy? Not so much.

Across the room, Chanyeol was still watching — too casual, too smug — while Mark had reappeared, chatting up two girls from their chemistry class and throwing occasional glances in Y/N’s direction.

Jungkook noticed every single one.

“You alright?” she whispered to him, tilting her head just enough so only he could hear.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Just leaned a little closer, his breath brushing her ear as he murmured, “They keep looking at you like they’re waiting for me to slip up.”

She blinked. “Well, you haven’t.”

He gave a soft huff of amusement. “Don’t plan to.”

Just then, Mark sauntered over — red cup in hand, grin a little too practiced.

“Didn’t think you guys would last this long,” he said, eyes sweeping over their intertwined hands.

Jungkook didn’t let go.

“We were about to bounce, actually,” Jiwoo said flatly, already reaching for her bag.

But Mark was quick. “Wait, hold up—me, Dongyeon, and Chanyeol were gonna head upstairs. Start a game.”

Y/N’s brow lifted. “A game?”

“Truth or dare,” he said smoothly. “Classic. Stupid. Fun.”

Jiwoo crossed her arms. “Sounds more like a setup.”

“C’mon,” Chanyeol chimed in, appearing behind him with that lopsided grin. “Just the group of us. Old-school. Like spin-the-bottle but less gross.”

“Can’t promise that,” Dongyeon added, smirking.

The girls exchanged a glance.

Mina rolled her eyes but smiled. “We’ll come only if the boys come too.”

Mark laughed. “Wasn’t gonna exclude them. Especially not Jungkook.”

He clapped Jungkook’s shoulder — a little too hard, a little too familiar.

Jungkook didn’t even blink. Just smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Lead the way.”

Y/N squeezed his hand once.

“Are we seriously doing this?” she whispered as they followed the group toward the stairs.

“Apparently.”

“You’re not gonna kiss Chanyeol if the bottle lands on him, right?”

He looked over at her, deadpan. “Only if you kiss Dongyeon.”

She burst into laughter, leaning into his arm, and just like that — the air between them was warmer again. But something electric hummed underneath.

Because they were heading upstairs.

And if there’s one thing high school parties in the 90s were famous for…

It was what happened when the dares got too real.

-

The group slowly filed in, forming a lopsided circle on the carpet. Jiwoo and Mina plopped down first. Yoongi settled beside Hobi near the corner, arms crossed and expression unreadable as always.

Y/N went to sit in the space between Jimin and an empty spot—clearly left for Jungkook.

Jungkook followed right after her.

But just as he stepped forward—

Chanyeol slid right in, shoulder bumping Jungkook’s arm as he casually dropped down next to Y/N.

“Oops,” Chanyeol said with a smirk, not even looking up. “This spot taken?”

Y/N blinked, startled. “Oh—uh—”

Jungkook froze.

For half a second, his jaw clenched. His eyes dropped to Chanyeol’s hand, which had conveniently braced itself on the carpet a little too close to Y/N’s leg.

But Jungkook said nothing. Just exhaled through his nose and moved to sit on the other side of Jimin, opposite her now.

Jimin noticed everything.

He leaned slightly toward Y/N and gave her arm a gentle nudge. “Don’t worry. He’s fine. He just doesn’t want to ruin the game by launching Chanyeol through a wall.”

Y/N tried not to laugh—but it bubbled out anyway.

Chanyeol didn’t notice. Or pretended not to.

Instead, he turned to her, lowering his voice with faux sincerity. “Haven’t seen you around much this semester. You good?”

She gave a polite nod. “Yeah. Just been busy.”

“With Jungkook?” he asked, with that too-sweet tone.

She tilted her head, answering without hesitation. “Yeah. With Jungkook.”

Across the circle, Jungkook smirked quietly to himself.

“Alright!” Hoseok clapped his hands, grabbing a battered glass soda bottle from the shelf. “Shall we get this 90s cliché started?”

“Let’s,” Yoongi muttered.

Mina spun first. It landed on Jiwoo, who ended up doing a silly dance move in the middle of the circle.

Then Jiwoo spun. “Truth or dare, Dongyeon?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to compliment Mark. With genuine emotion.”

The room howled.

It was lighthearted. Silly. And for a moment, everyone relaxed.

The bottle moved again. Jimin took a truth and admitted he once got detention for dancing too hard in gym class.

Then it was Chanyeol’s spin.

It stopped on Y/N.

“Oh boy,” Mina murmured under her breath.

Chanyeol leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Truth or dare?”

Y/N hesitated for half a beat. “Truth.”

“Alright,” he said, grin stretching. “Who in this room do you think has the biggest crush on you?”

Jungkook’s eyes snapped up.

The room went quiet for a second, the energy shifting ever so slightly.

Y/N stared at Chanyeol. He was enjoying this.

Jimin, beside her, muttered under his breath, “You can say ‘pass’ if he keeps being weird.”

But Y/N just smiled sweetly and turned to glance at Jungkook across the circle.

Then, calmly, she looked back at Chanyeol.

“Easy,” she said. “The guy who knows not to ask questions just to prove a point.”

Oof.

Yoongi gave a short, quiet laugh.

Even Hoseok raised his brows. “Damn.”

Jungkook’s mouth tugged into a grin — small but real.

And for the first time all night, Chanyeol looked caught off guard.

The game continued, but now there was a silent undercurrent flowing between Y/N and Jungkook. Every glance, every brush of eye contact held more weight.

-

The game kept going, the circle relaxing again after the slight spike in tension.

Mark got dared to sing a random love ballad with his eyes closed. (He chose the cheesiest one possible — everyone regretted it.)

Yoongi, when asked for a truth, revealed he once broke a vending machine at school and walked away pretending nothing happened. (“We knew it was you,” Hoseok said flatly.)

Then Mina spun the bottle, and it landed on Hoseok.

“Truth or dare, dance captain?” she asked with a grin.

Hoseok dramatically sighed. “Dare.”

“I dare you to text your crush right now and say ‘I’m thinking about you.’ No context.”

Half the room screamed.

“Do I have to send it?” he groaned.

“Yes!” Mina shouted.

He pulled out his phone, muttering, “I swear, if this ruins my life…”

They watched as he typed and hit send, dramatically flinging his phone face down on the floor.

“That’s tomorrow’s problem,” Jimin said, high-fiving him.

The laughter continued. Y/N started to genuinely relax, resting her arm against Jimin’s and occasionally glancing at Jungkook, who caught her eye more than once from across the circle. Every time, it felt like their own private thread pulling tighter.

Then it was Jimin’s turn.

He spun the bottle with too much flair. It rattled, clinked, and landed…

…on Jungkook.

“Ohhh,” Mina teased. “Finally.”

“Truth,” Jungkook said coolly, brushing a hand through his hair.

Jimin grinned like he’d been waiting.

“Alright, be honest. When was the exact moment you realized you liked someone in this room?”

The group immediately ooooooh’d like a sitcom audience.

Y/N tried not to freeze.

Jungkook didn’t blink. He leaned back slightly, one arm draped over his knee, expression unreadable but eyes locked on Jimin’s.

“You’re assuming I like someone in this room.”

“You didn’t say no,” Jimin replied, smug.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Jungkook shrugged. “Okay. It was the second week of school last year.”

Y/N blinked.

“That’s… weirdly specific,” Jiwoo said.

Jungkook didn’t elaborate.

He just looked briefly—so briefly—at Y/N.

And her heart stuttered.

Mina leaned over to Jimin, whispering behind her hand, “We are SO steering the next one.”

Jimin nodded solemnly. “Let’s make history.”

Next spin landed on Jiwoo, who had to wear a kitchen glove on her head for the next five minutes. (“This is bullying,” she said while posing like a queen.)

Then Mina took her turn.

The bottle spun.

And it landed between Y/N and Jungkook.

The group paused. So did Y/N’s breath.

Mina tilted her head dramatically. “Hmmm… we’ll let fate decide.”

She reached over, adjusted the bottle slightly (not subtly), and smiled.

“Looks like it’s Y/N.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “That bottle didn’t even stop moving yet.”

“It did emotionally,” Jimin added, nodding.

Mina smirked. “Truth or dare, sweetheart?”

Y/N glanced across the circle. Jungkook wasn’t smirking like the others. He was just watching her—quietly.

“Truth,” she said.

Mina didn’t miss a beat.

“If you could kiss someone in this room tonight... would you?”

Another beat of silence.

Jiwoo gasped. “That’s not even fair!”

“It’s just a question,” Mina said innocently.

Jimin, beside Y/N, leaned in. “Be brave.”

Y/N looked down, fiddling with the hem of her jeans.

Then she glanced up—only at Jungkook—and said:

“Yes.”

Not loud. Not bold.

But sure.

And just like that, the room seemed to still for a second too long.

Someone cleared their throat. Mark started laughing awkwardly. Jiwoo broke the tension with a joke about wanting another soda.

But Jungkook?

Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver.

-

The room hadn’t quite recovered from Y/N’s answer.

The air felt heavier now — not uncomfortable, just charged.

Y/N could feel Jungkook’s stare, even when she looked away.

Mina tried to act casual. “Okay. Who’s next?”

Jungkook leaned forward, grabbed the bottle without a word, and spun it with two fingers — smooth, controlled, almost lazy.

It clinked around the circle once… twice…

Then landed on Mina.

“Ugh,” she groaned dramatically. “Knew I shouldn’t have interfered with fate.”

“Truth or dare?” Jungkook asked, calm as ever.

She narrowed her eyes. “Dare.”

Jungkook tilted his head slightly. “I dare you… to pick two people in this room to switch seats.”

Mina blinked. “That’s your dare?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Use it wisely.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Mina took about two seconds to think before pointing between Chanyeol and Jungkook.

“Switch.”

Chanyeol groaned. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” she said sweetly. “You’re in Jungkook’s seat.”

Jungkook didn’t wait for permission. He stood, walked back across the circle, and this time, dropped down right beside Y/N.

No one said anything, but they didn’t have to.

Y/N could feel the heat of him now — how close he was, the subtle way his knee brushed hers as he leaned back on one arm, gaze forward but attention on her.

The game went on — more spins, more laughs, more noise — but none of it registered.

Because now it was Y/N and Jungkook.

Side by side.

His voice dropped near her ear when the others were distracted by Mark doing a handstand.

“Was your answer earlier for real?” he asked quietly.

Y/N turned slightly, just enough to meet his gaze.

“You asking because you want to dare me to prove it?”

His lips twitched. “Maybe.”

She raised a brow, whispering, “Then ask.”

A long pause.

Then—

“Mina,” Jungkook called across the circle, voice casual. “Dare for Y/N.”

Mina looked up from where she was watching Hoseok try to chug orange soda. “What?”

“She said truth before. I’m saying dare now.”

The group oooh’d again.

Y/N felt her pulse in her throat.

Mina, grinning like the chaos fairy she was, nodded. “Alright. Dare it is.”

Jungkook turned to Y/N — slowly, deliberately.

“I dare you to kiss someone in this room.”

Everything stopped.

The music downstairs. The laughter. Even the buzz of cheap light bulbs overhead seemed to fade into static.

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

She leaned forward, caught Jungkook’s collar between her fingers, and kissed him.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t overdone.

But it was real.

Too real for a party game.

His hand came up to her jaw, warm and steady, holding her like he’d wanted to for ages.

No one spoke. No one dared to.

Because even if it was just a dare…

Everyone in the room knew:

That kiss wasn’t part of the game.

-

The party buzzed on without them.

Laughter still echoed down the hall, muffled behind closed doors. Music thumped faintly beneath their feet. But none of it mattered anymore.

Because Y/N was slipping on her jacket, and Jungkook was already holding the door open for her.

They didn’t say anything as they stepped out into the cool night air.

Just moved together — side by side, like muscle memory — until they reached his car parked on the street out front, quiet under a flickering streetlamp.

Jungkook opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

She did.

He walked around, climbed into the driver’s seat, but didn’t turn the key.

Instead, he leaned back, exhaled slowly, and tilted his head up toward the sky.

“Look,” he said softly. “You can actually see stars tonight.”

Y/N followed his gaze.

The sky above was velvet-dark, scattered with tiny pinpricks of light — rare for their town, rare for nights like this.

“You ever think about how crazy that is?” she murmured. “That those stars are millions of years old? And we’re just… here. Existing beneath them for a second.”

Jungkook looked at her. Not the stars.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think about that every time I’m near you.”

She turned to him, breath catching.

“I’m serious,” he added, quieter now. “You walk into a room, and everything slows down. Like the universe forgot what it was doing and just… paused.”

Y/N blinked. “That’s… kind of the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

He gave a lopsided smile. “Well, I don’t say it to just anyone.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. The kind only possible between two people who’ve known each other too long to pretend. The kind that held a weight — not of pressure, but of possibility.

Jungkook leaned forward, resting his arms on the steering wheel.

“You meant it, didn’t you?” he asked. “During the game.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Did you?”

He smiled again. “You kissed me first.”

She laughed softly, turning toward him. “Only because you dared me to.”

“Only because I wanted you to,” he said.

Her heart fluttered. Like it used to when she was younger. Like it always did around him.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers on the center console.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low, “I don’t know what this is. I don’t even know when it started. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since… forever.”

Her fingers turned and laced through his.

“You don’t have to,” she said gently. “I don’t want you to.”

The silence returned — this time warmer, wrapped in headlights and starlight and soft glances that said everything words couldn’t.

Neither of them said “I like you” or “let’s make this official”.

They didn’t need to.

Because right then, in the quiet hum of Jungkook’s car, watching the sky that had seen them grow up…

They knew something had changed.

And neither of them wanted to go back.

-

The drive home was quiet — but in the best way.

Jungkook had the windows rolled down halfway. The cool night breeze slipped in, playing with strands of Y/N’s hair as she leaned back in her seat, half-smiling to herself.

He glanced at her when they stopped at a red light. “What?”

She shrugged, barely looking over. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

She turned to him with a lazy grin. “Okay. Maybe I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

She hesitated. Then, softly: “About how weird it is that… tonight felt kind of perfect.”

His grip on the steering wheel relaxed.

“Yeah,” he said. “It really did.”

They pulled up in front of her house a few minutes later.

The porch light was still on — a warm, yellow glow washing over the front steps. The rest of the house looked dark.

Jungkook stepped out first, rounding the car to open her door without even thinking.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “You know I’m capable of doing that myself.”

“I know,” he said. “Still wanted to.”

She stepped out, and for a second, they just stood there on the path, their arms brushing.

The energy between them had changed since the party — softer now, but still buzzing underneath their skin.

At the doorstep, they slowed.

Neither made a move to unlock the door just yet.

“So…” she murmured.

“So…” he echoed.

They both laughed quietly. The air smelled like summer grass and sleep.

“I had fun,” she said.

“I had more.”

She raised a brow. “Competitive even now?”

“Only when it comes to you.”

She rolled her eyes again — but this time, she was smiling too wide to hide.

He stepped a little closer.

The space between them was so small now.

“I’m really glad you kissed me,” he said softly.

Y/N’s breath caught. “I’m really glad you dared me to.”

And then, finally—

A kiss.

Not like the one at the party.

This one was gentle. Slow. The kind of kiss that said we don’t have to rush anything — we’re here now.

It lingered for a moment, both of them quietly afraid to pull away.

But then—

A small voice from behind the screen door broke the silence.

“Oooohh I am so telling Mom.”

Y/N jumped, nearly stumbling back as the porch light flickered behind the front window.

Her seven-year-old sister stood there with a juice box in her hand and the smuggest look in the universe.

“Mina!” Y/N gasped. “What are you—why are you awake?!”

Mina just blinked innocently. “I was getting apple juice. And then I saw you kissing a boy.”

Jungkook awkwardly cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous laugh.

Mina pointed straight at him. “You’re really handsome.”

Y/N groaned. “Oh my god.”

“Are you her boyfriend?” Mina asked, eyes wide.

“Uhhh…” Jungkook looked like he was about to melt into the ground. “Something like that?”

“Cool,” she said, then turned to Y/N. “Can I be the flower girl at your wedding?”

“Mina, GO TO BED!”

Still grinning, Mina turned and walked back inside, mumbling something about “diaries” and “blackmail.”

Y/N covered her face with both hands.

“I swear, she’s not usually like that.”

Jungkook just laughed, eyes crinkling as he stepped backward down the porch steps.

“I like her. She’s chaotic. Like you.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Goodnight, Jungkook.”

He smiled. “Night, Y/N.”

And with one last look — the kind that held way too much affection for a single glance — he turned and headed for his car, disappearing down the street as the porch light flickered softly behind her.

-

The morning sun was lazy, bleeding gold across the sidewalk as Y/N walked beside Jimin on their usual route to school.

He was sipping iced coffee from a cup twice the size of his hand, eyebrows raised as he watched her try (and fail) to hide a very suspicious smile.

“…So,” he said, drawing it out.

“So,” she replied.

“You’ve been quiet for approximately two and a half blocks, and you never shut up in the morning. Something’s up.”

She side-eyed him. “I don’t always talk.”

“You once recited your entire math homework aloud just to ‘hear how stupid it sounded.’”

Y/N tried not to laugh. “Okay, fair.”

“So…” Jimin bumped her arm lightly. “You and Jungkook.”

She blinked. “What about us?”

He gave her a deadpan look.

“Y/N, please. You sat next to each other at lunch yesterday like two magnets that just learned what touch was. And you haven’t stopped smiling since we left your house.”

She hesitated, cheeks warming.

“We kissed,” she said quietly.

Jimin nearly tripped on the curb. “I knew it! I knew there was weird tension at that party!”

“He kissed me back,” she added.

Jimin beamed. “You say that like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world that he’s obsessed with you.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, swatting him, but she was grinning now.

They reached the school gates, voices blending into the morning rush. Students poured in from all sides, some dragging feet, others already cracking jokes and chasing each other up the stairs.

But before they could even reach the front steps—

“Y/N!”

Chanyeol’s voice cut across the crowd like a bad ringtone.

She winced. Jimin rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn’t see the future.

Chanyeol jogged up beside them, brushing his messy hair out of his face.

“Hey,” he said, giving Y/N a grin. “You left early last night.”

“Yeah, just got tired,” she said, keeping it short.

Chanyeol leaned a little too close. “We didn’t even get to finish talking.”

“We didn’t start talking,” Jimin muttered.

Chanyeol ignored him. “Anyway, I was thinking maybe we could hang out this weekend? Just us. Something chill—”

“She’s busy,” Jimin cut in flatly.

Chanyeol blinked. “How would you know?”

“Because she has better taste.”

Y/N sighed, already inching toward the doors, but Chanyeol wasn’t done yet.

“I don’t get it,” he said, louder now. “We’ve known each other forever—why are you acting like I’m some creep?”

“Because you are,” Jimin said, smile sharp.

“Dude, back off.”

Chanyeol glared, but Jimin stood his ground, and after a tense pause, Chanyeol scoffed and walked off, shaking his head.

Y/N sighed in relief. “Thanks.”

Jimin just gave a tiny smirk, tapping his coffee cup like he’d just come up with something evil.

“…What?” she asked warily.

“Oh, nothing,” he said sweetly. “I just had an idea.”

-

The courtyard was packed during lunch — bright sun, open tables, and every group claiming their territory across the grass.

Jimin sat beside Jungkook, chewing on his straw, leaning in like he was sharing state secrets.

“You want me to what?” Jungkook said, blinking.

“Just one kiss. Quick. Soft. Maybe a little showy,” Jimin said. “You don’t even have to dip her dramatically, though that would be iconic.”

“Hyung…”

“Chanyeol won’t stop pestering her,” Jimin said seriously. “And Y/N doesn’t like confrontation. But you? You’re the statement.”

Jungkook glanced across the courtyard. Y/N was sitting with Jiwoo and Mina under the big tree, legs crossed, laughing at something.

And Chanyeol was, not so subtly, hovering nearby.

Jaw tightening, Jungkook stood.

Jimin grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

Across the grass, Y/N looked up just as Jungkook approached — hands in his pockets, jaw sharp under the sun, confidence in every step.

He didn’t say anything.

Just walked up.

She stood instinctively, confused. “Jungkook—?”

Before she could finish, he gently cupped her face, leaned down, and kissed her.

Right there.

In front of half the school.

It wasn’t aggressive. Wasn’t rushed.

Just a kiss that said she’s mine. This is real. We’re done playing around.

When he pulled back, her eyes were wide — stunned, heart thudding, hands still frozen midair like she forgot how to move.

And then he smiled — really smiled — and turned, walking back to his table without a word.

Around them, the courtyard exploded.

“OHHHHHHH!”

“WHAT?!”

“HOLY—”

Jiwoo screamed. Mina screamed. Someone from the basketball team yelled, “FINALLY.”

And off to the side…

Chanyeol stood completely still.

Mouth slightly open.

Then he turned and walked away without another word.

Defeated.

Jimin leaned back with his arms crossed, sunglasses on indoors, sipping from his straw like a smug villain.

"Park jimin you wizard. How'd you pull this off?" Hoseok gasped next to him, seeing the look on Jimin's face was enough to tell he was behind this.

He simply smirked. "I did nothing really, they did this to themselves."

"Chanyeol's probably pissed." Yoongi says with a pleased smile, eyes looking back down at his ukulele from the newly announced couple.

Y/N turned slowly back to her seat, dazed.

“Are you okay?” Mina asked between gasps of laughter.

“I… I think I just got publicly claimed,” Y/N whispered.

And somewhere in the distance, Jungkook smiled.

-

Later that night, the sky over town stretched wide and quiet. The streets had gone still. The party echoes and school gossip had long since faded.

But up on Jungkook’s rooftop — a little above it all — two people sat side by side on a blanket, legs dangling over the edge, the night humming gently around them.

The stars were scattered like salt, and the air was cool enough to press them closer.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Y/N murmured, nudging him with her shoulder.

He looked over, grinning. “Did what?”

“You know what.”

“Oh, you mean the epic, public, once-in-a-lifetime kiss in front of the entire school?”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “You’re so annoying.”

“You kissed me back,” he said.

“You kissed me first.”

They both laughed quietly.

The kind of laugh that felt like something new beginning.

“Was it too much?” he asked after a pause. “Too showy?”

Y/N looked at him for a long moment.

And then, simply: “No. It was perfect.”

A breeze drifted between them, and she leaned into his side, head on his shoulder.

They sat like that for a while. No rush. No pressure.

Just two people who had always almost been something… now finally were.

“You know,” she said after a while, voice soft, “I used to think we were just too different.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Different how?”

“I don’t know. You’re loud, I’m quiet. You’re chaos, I’m… slightly less chaos.”

He smirked. “You’re a different kind of chaos.”

She giggled, then went quiet again.

“But then,” she added, “I realized maybe that’s the point. We balance each other out.”

He looked down at her, warmth in his eyes.

“You’re my favorite balance,” he whispered.

She smiled.

“You’re my favorite everything.”

And then he kissed her again.

Not like the one from earlier — not to prove anything, not to claim or perform or make a scene.

Just to feel her smile against his lips.

And when they pulled apart, the stars still above them and the town still asleep below—

“You used to fight me over grammar, you know?” Y/N said, bumping her shoulder against his.

Jungkook smirked. “Only so I could talk to you without sounding obvious.”

She laughed. “Obvious about what?”

He looked at her — soft, a little smug. “Liking you.”

Her breath caught just slightly, but she covered it with a playful eye roll. “Still never beat me in English though.”

He shrugged, that same boyish grin tugging at his lips. “Maybe not. But I did get the girl.”

a/n : btw if you can't already tell, I loved writing this and am currently kicking my feet over my own story and I usually NEVER re-read my stories after it's posted. hehehehe, like, reblog and lmk what you lovelies think below mwahh

[jeonette]

claimed — jjk 18+

In which Jungkook isn’t a fan of the pictures y/n keeps posting on Instagram, so she posts even more to tease him — but it quickly turns into a steamy situation.

genre : possessive love, social media au

ratings : angst, smut 18+

a/n : there is a story continuation after the LAST text scene between jungkook and y/n so make sure to click out! The social media au idea was inspired by @girlygguk! <33

---

Heavy footsteps echo down the hallway. Your breath catches.

He’s here.

“Take that fucking story down,” Jungkook growls as he storms into the room, jaw tight, black hoodie slightly unzipped and hanging off his shoulders like a warning.

You blink, playing dumb. “What story?”

His eyes are molten.

“The one with my shirt… your rules? You knew exactly what you were doing.”

You shrug. “They liked it.”

“They?” he hisses, stepping closer. “You mean your little followers? Guys thirsting in your DMs thinking they have a chance with what’s mine?”

You stay silent. It drives him insane.

“You think this is a joke?”

And suddenly his hand is around your jaw — not harsh, but firm, thumb dragging slowly across your cheek.

“You wanna act like you forgot who you belong to?”

Your voice is quiet. “Remind me.”

That’s all it takes.

He crashes into you like a storm, mouth bruising yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and fury and want. You stumble back into the wall, gasping as his fingers grip your hips, pulling you against him like it’s the only way he can breathe.

“You do shit like that, and then look at me like you don’t know what you started,” he mutters against your neck, biting down just enough to make you arch.

Your hands slide under his hoodie, tugging at his shirt. He rips it off without hesitation, and then he’s hoisting you up with ease. Your legs wrap around his waist like muscle memory.

“Didn’t like seeing the comments, huh?” you whisper against his ear.

He growls low in his throat. “I don’t give a fuck about the comments. I care about how every guy now thinks they’ve seen what’s mine.”

“And have they?”

“No,” he says darkly, carrying you into the bedroom. “But they’re about to know they never will.”

He throws you on the bed and peels off the rest of your clothes like he owns your skin — because he does, doesn’t he? At least in this moment.

“You do this to me on purpose,” he mutters, crawling over you, inked hand trailing up your bare thigh. “Make me jealous. Make me crazy.”

Your smirk disappears as he pushes your knees apart. “I like you crazy.”

He leans in, breath hot against your mouth. “Careful, baby. I’ll ruin you.”

“Then do it.”

And he does — with everything in him.

There’s nothing gentle about it. The way he kisses you like he’s trying to brand you. The way he talks while he moves inside you, calling you his, making sure you hear it, feel it, know it.

“You like this? Like knowing you’re the only one I lose my fucking mind over?”

“Yes, Jungkook—”

“That’s right. Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Jungkook!”

He doesn’t let up until your voice is hoarse, until your fingers claw down his back, until there’s no doubt left in either of you that you belong to each other — messily, toxically, undeniably.

Later, tangled in sheets and the remnants of obsession, he kisses your shoulder softly. Whispered words replacing growls.

“I hate how much I love you,” he murmurs.

You turn to face him, exhausted and flushed. “Then keep hating me, baby.”

He smirks. “Not a chance.”

He strips off the last of his clothes, all smooth inked muscle and heat, eyes dragging down your body like you’re something forbidden he’s about to devour. His gaze darkens as it settles on your thighs, your chest, your flushed lips — like he’s already planning what he’s going to do to every part of you.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs, crawling over you with a slow, sinful smirk. “You know that?”

Your heart pounds. “And yet here you are.”

His fingers trace the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate, before he grabs your chin again — tilting your face up to meet his eyes.

“I should be mad at you.”

“You are mad at me.”

He leans in, voice a rasp. “Not mad enough to stop.”

Then he kisses you — deep and punishing, all teeth and tongue, like he’s angry and in love and addicted to you all at once.

His hand slides down your body, fingers brushing along your bare hip before gripping your thigh and pulling you closer until you feel the hard press of him against your core.

“You’re already wet,” he mutters in disbelief, dragging the head of his cock against your entrance. “Is this what teasing me gets you?”

You whimper. “Jungkook—”

“I saw the way you looked in that post. All soft and ruined in my shirt. You knew what it’d do to me.”

He slides in all at once, and your head falls back with a gasp — body arching, hands clutching at his arms, nails digging into the taut lines of muscle.

“F-Fuck—”

“I want you to remember this,” he growls. “Next time you think about tempting me like that.”

Then he starts moving — slow at first, grinding deep, each thrust possessive and punishing, his hands pinning your wrists above your head.

“You belong to me,” he says between thrusts, voice low and lethal. “Say it.”

“I do—” you pant.

“Say it louder.”

“I belong to you, Jungkook—fuck—only you.”

His grip tightens, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, soft and reverent — a contrast to the way he’s completely unraveling you.

You’re already close, your body wound tight, and he knows. He always knows.

“Come for me,” he whispers against your throat, teeth scraping skin. “Let me feel how mine you are.”

And when you do — shaking, crying out his name, clenching around him like your whole world is splintering apart — he doesn’t stop.

Not even after.

He flips you, presses your chest down into the sheets and drags you back against him, filling you up again. You’re wrecked, overstimulated, but he needs more — needs to make sure you feel it tomorrow, every step you take.

“Too much—” you whimper, breath hitching.

“No such thing, baby,” he pants, hair messy, sweat beading along his brow. “You made me crazy — now take it.”

His hand slips under your waist to hold you up for him, and he keeps going, pushing you past every edge, until you’re sobbing his name into the pillows.

He finally comes with a low growl of your name, hips stuttering as he spills inside you, burying himself deep with a final, broken thrust.

Then silence.

Just heavy breathing. Tangled limbs. The scent of sex and sweat and whatever love smells like when it’s wrapped in obsession.

He collapses beside you, chest rising and falling.

You blink through the haze. “You… you’re insane.”

His laugh is hoarse and wrecked. “You made me this way.”

You grin, dazed. “That’s toxic.”

He pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your hair. “No, baby. That’s love.”

[jeonette]

marked by you — jjk

In which jungkook watches as your ex gets a little too close to you for his liking at a party, so he take’s you upstairs to show you who you belong to.

genre : possessive love, party au!

rating : angst, smut MINORS DNI

The music’s too loud.

Bass thumps through the floor of the crowded house, beer-slick and buzzing with end-of-semester chaos. Somewhere in the blur of bodies, someone’s doing a keg stand. Someone’s making out in the hallway. And someone — apparently — is trying to flirt with you.

You’re not drunk, not even close. But tipsy enough to laugh, just a little too sweet, when the guy leans closer and says something about your smile.

Jungkook sees it from across the room.

You catch his stare — dark, unreadable — over the rim of your cup. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. You give him nothing. Not yet. You’re not even sure what game you’re playing. You only know it started when he showed up late and didn’t kiss you hello.

Now someone else is standing too close.

“Y/N, right?” the guy — Jisoo? Jinseok? you don’t care — says, stepping into your space.

You step back. “Right.”

“You dance?”

You’re about to answer when heat curls behind you. Familiar. Dangerous. Jungkook’s voice dips low at your shoulder.

“She’s taken.”

You freeze.

The guy turns — startled, then wary when he sees who it is.

Jungkook doesn’t blink. Doesn’t even look at him. His hand slides around your waist like a brand, pulling you against his chest with slow, deliberate pressure.

“She didn’t mention a boyfriend,” the guy says.

Jungkook tilts his head, eyes still on you. “She doesn’t have to.” Then finally — calmly, coldly — to him: “Back off.”

It’s not a threat.

It’s a fact.

The guy doesn’t back off right away.

Even after Jungkook’s hand slides around your waist. Even after the warning laced in his voice.

You feel Jungkook’s body tighten behind you, tension radiating off him like heat. But instead of dragging you off immediately like he wants to, he pauses.

And smirks.

You don’t know what he’s about to do — until his hands start to move.

He brushes your hair to the side. Exposes your shoulder. Then leans in.

Kisses it.

Slowly.

A soft gasp catches in your throat.

But he doesn’t stop.

One hand holds your hip in place, the other slides up your side — over the fabric of your dress — until his palm is resting, warm and wide, just beneath your chest. Not quite inappropriate. But close enough that your breath hitches.

The guy still hasn’t walked away.

And Jungkook knows it.

His mouth is now just below your ear, voice rough and low — only for you.

“Still think he didn’t know?”

You can’t answer.

Not when his thumb strokes slowly over your ribcage. Not when the hand at your hip slides lower, gripping.

“I want him to see,” Jungkook murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. “Let him see exactly who you belong to.”

Your knees weaken.

He doesn’t care.

His lips find the curve of your throat again, this time biting — just hard enough. Marking.

You exhale shakily, chest rising.

And then — finally — Jungkook turns his head to face the guy.

He smiles.

A slow, taunting thing that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Enjoy the show?” he asks casually.

The guy — red-faced, flustered — mutters something and walks away without another word.

Jungkook doesn’t even watch him leave.

He turns you fully toward him instead. Catches your face in his hands. Looks at you like you’re already undone.

“You think that was cute?”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“You smiled at him.”

“I smile at everyone.”

His fingers press into your side. “Not like that.”

You turn your face to him, defiant. “Maybe if you’d kissed me when you walked in, he wouldn’t have thought I was single.”

His eyes narrow. “So this is my fault?”

You shrug. “You didn’t claim me.”

That’s the last straw.

“You’re mine,” he whispers again, lips ghosting over yours. “Let them all see.”

And this time, when he kisses you —

It’s not soft.

It’s hungry.

It’s a warning. A promise. A claim.

And by the time he pulls away, you’re breathless. Your lipstick is smeared. Your heartbeat is a riot.

Then and only then does he pull you by the wrist, out of the room, away from the party.

He grabs your hand, dragging you through the crowd before you can protest. Down the hallway, up the stairs, past rooms full of drunk bodies and into a dim, empty bedroom. The door slams behind you.

You don’t even have time to speak.

“Strip.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

His stare doesn’t waver. “Now.”

Your pulse kicks.

“Jungkook—”

He steps forward, voice low and dark. “I’m going to fuck the attitude out of you.”

You gasp.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” he breathes, hand slipping beneath your shirt, “you’ll forget anyone else exists.”

Your shirt comes off. His hands are already on your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, pushing you toward the bed.

“You’re mine,” he growls, mouth on your throat, teeth dragging. “Say it.”

You arch into him, breathless. “I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Jungkook.”

His hands slide down, lifting you onto the edge of the bed. He kisses you like he’s punishing you for making him jealous — rough, hot, desperate. Tongue sliding over yours, hand already pushing your legs apart.

And then he pulls back.

He stares at you, eyes wild, jaw tight.

“No one touches you,” he rasps. “No one looks at you. Not when I’m the one you come home to.”

You smile — smug, sweet — even as you’re panting. “Then remind me, Kook.”

He does.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until the walls are shaking. Until your legs are trembling. Until you’re crying his name and his only response is a growl against your skin and the slap of skin against skin and—

“Tell me who you belong to,” he pants, fucking into you harder.

“You,” you sob. “Only you.”

He kisses your collarbone, worshipping and wild.

And in the soft, ruined aftermath, when your limbs are tangled and his lips are pressed to your shoulder, he whispers against your skin.

“I meant it, you know.”

You tilt your head, eyes barely open. “What?”

“You’re mine. Always.”

You smile, half-asleep. “Then don’t be late next time.”

He laughs, pulling you closer. “Deal.”

a/n : ehehe just a short little drabble! lmk what you lovelies think! 🤍

[jeonette]

loving you is war — jjk 18+

A love too toxic to stay in, but too painful to walk away from. He ruins her, and she knows but she falls for it anyway.

genre : toxic love, dark romance.

rating : MINORS DNI! 18+

It started on a day that should’ve meant nothing.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not behind the grimy old convenience store where the school’s worst behaved kids hung around after the bell.

But you were looking for your brother’s bike — he’d left it out, again — and wandered into the alley on a shortcut, hoping no one would notice.

That’s when you saw him.

Leaning against the wall like sin incarnate, cigarette tucked between his lips, blood on his knuckles like it was nothing. Like it belonged there.

Jeon Jungkook.

Black hoodie. Torn jeans. Tattoo ink peeking beneath his sleeve.

He looked up the moment your shadow crossed the corner, smoke curling from his lips like a threat or a prayer.

You froze.

“Lost, princess?” he asked, voice low and rough. Not mocking. Just… curious.

Your eyes dropped to his hand. Split knuckles. Dried red. The metallic scent of it caught in your nose.

“You’re bleeding,” you said before you could stop yourself. “Are you okay?”

His brows lifted slightly. “Didn’t think you were the type to care.”

“I’m not,” you lied. “It just looks infected.”

He smirked. “You saying I’m dirty?”

You shrugged. “You said it, not me.”

For a second, something flickered across his face — interest, maybe. Amusement.

You stepped closer, pulling a tiny hand sanitizer bottle from your bag, the kind your mom always forced you to carry. You also had tissues. Bandaids. You were always prepared. You were the good girl.

Jungkook didn’t move when you reached out. Just watched you. Smoke still curling between you both like some kind of fragile veil.

“This might sting,” you said, gently wiping at the blood. You didn’t know what shocked you more — the gash or the fact that he let you touch him without flinching.

“You always carry first-aid in your bag?” he asked, gaze fixed on you now.

“Only when I plan to run into street thugs,” you replied without looking up.

He chuckled. “Thug, huh?”

“If the shoe fits.”

The cigarette burned down between his fingers. He dropped it, crushing it under his boot.

Then his voice lowered.

“So… what are you doing behind a place like this, princess?”

“None of your business.”

“You know your shoes are way too clean to be standing in alleyway muck?”

You looked down. Your white sneakers were already speckled with dirt.

“Damn it,” you muttered.

He grinned. “Told you.”

You sighed. “This was a mistake.”

“You saying I was a mistake?”

You hesitated — not because you didn’t want to answer, but because something about the way he said it made your stomach flutter.

You glanced up at him, close enough now to see the golden rim around his irises. Close enough to smell the faintest hint of mint gum beneath the smoke. He was beautiful in the kind of way your mom warned you about. Dangerous in the kind of way that didn’t show up until it was too late.

“I didn’t say that either,” you whispered.

He leaned in just a little. Just enough. The space between you humming with something hot and electric.

Then suddenly, he stepped back.

The moment shattered like glass — quiet, but sharp.

“You should go, Y/N,” he said, voice unreadable now. “Places like this — people like me — we ruin girls like you.”

You blinked, startled.

“How do you know my name?”

He smiled — soft, but nothing sweet about it.

“I’ve always known your name.”

And with that, he turned, hoodie pulled over his head, disappearing around the corner.

You stood there for a full minute, sneakers planted, heart doing that stupid, wild thing in your chest.

And when you finally walked away, you didn’t realize it then, but something had already started.

Something you wouldn’t be able to stop.

—

It started with a note.

Folded once, slipped through the slats of your locker door. No name. Just messy, slanted handwriting that said:

Tonight. 9PM. That abandoned parking lot behind the arcade. Come if you want.

— JJK

You stared at it too long.

You knew what this was. Knew what he was.

Everything about Jungkook was heat and warning signs.

But something about him also felt like gravity.

So you went.

You told yourself you wouldn’t. That you’d just walk past.

But at 8:56, you were lacing your sneakers with shaking fingers.

At 9:03, you were standing in that cracked lot, heart thudding loud enough to hear.

He was already there.

Perched on the hood of a beat-up black car, hoodie half-zipped, chain glinting in the streetlight. Music played low from the radio — an old song, something lazy and slow, all drums and longing.

When he saw you, he smiled — not cocky, not smug.

Just… real.

“You came,” he said softly, hopping off the hood.

You folded your arms, nerves tingling. “Barely.”

“Thought you might be scared of me.”

You met his gaze. “Maybe I am.”

He looked at you like he could see through your skin. Like he liked that you were scared.

“Then why’d you show up, Bun?”

Your breath caught.

“Did you just call me—”

“It fits, doesn’t it?” he interrupted, stepping closer. “Cute. Soft. Too good for this kind of night.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Not when he was standing this close.

“Relax,” he added, stepping past you, popping open the passenger door. “Wasn’t planning to kill you or anything.”

“How reassuring.”

“You hungry?”

You blinked. “What?”

“There’s a 24/7 diner down by the highway. Best fries in town.”

You stared at him.

“You brought me out here to buy me fries?”

He smirked. “Wanted to see if you’d come. Guess I needed to know if I’d already started ruining you.”

Your heart thudded too hard in your chest. He said it like a joke, but it didn’t feel like one.

Still — you climbed into the passenger seat.

You didn’t know why. Maybe it was the way he looked at you. Maybe it was the way you felt seen — not like the good girl everyone assumed you were, but like someone who might want more.

More danger. More risk. More him.

The car ride was quiet. Not awkward — just easy. The hum of the engine, your knees almost touching, his fingers tapping the wheel in rhythm to a song you didn’t recognize.

At the diner, he ordered for both of you without asking. And somehow — you liked it. The confidence. The casualness. Like he already knew what you’d want.

You ended up laughing more than you expected. Sharing fries. Teasing each other over milkshake flavors. He had stories — reckless ones. Dumb ones. Sad ones. But all real.

It wasn’t until the food was gone and the lights started to dim that the shift happened.

You were sitting in the back of the car now. Windows cracked, night air cool against your skin. The radio played a slower song this time — something breathy and low.

Jungkook was stretched beside you, arm thrown across the backrest, head tilted toward you.

“You always this good at pretending?” he asked suddenly.

You frowned. “Pretending what?”

“That you’re fine.”

Your throat tightened. “I am fine.”

He didn’t call you out on the lie. Just let it hang there.

“I see you at school,” he said after a beat. “You’re always surrounded, always smiling. But it never touches your eyes.”

You looked away.

“Why do you care?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I shouldn’t. But I do.”

You turned back to him.

He was so close. His face half-shadowed, lips parted just slightly. He wasn’t touching you — not yet — but you could feel the static buzzing between you like a live wire.

“You scare me,” you whispered.

He leaned in, voice dark and velvet-smooth. “Good.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was want and heat and fire, like he’d been holding it back for far too long. His hand curled behind your neck, his other slipping around your waist, and the second your mouth parted beneath his, he made a sound — low and desperate — that made your whole body shiver.

You kissed him back. You weren’t supposed to, but you did. Clutching the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer like he was the only thing keeping you upright.

When you finally broke apart, your breath came in short gasps.

“What are we doing?” you asked, voice shaking.

Jungkook’s thumb brushed your bottom lip, his eyes dark and serious.

“Falling,” he said. “Hard.”

—

You woke up to the smell of waffles.

And Jungkook — in your kitchen.

You blinked hard, still tangled in sleep and memories of his mouth on yours in the backseat of his car the night before. For a moment, you weren’t sure it was real.

Until he appeared in your doorway.

“Morning, Bun.”

His voice was low, raspy, warm.

You sat up in bed, heart lurching. “You stayed?”

He lifted two plates with one hand and a mug in the other, grinning. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“You broke in?”

“You gave me your spare key, remember? For emergencies. And I decided waking up without waffles was an emergency.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out.

He placed the plate in front of you, then crawled onto your bed, sitting cross-legged across from you like he belonged there. Like he’d always belonged there.

The moment was quiet, filled with the soft clinks of cutlery and the occasional amused snort when he made a face at the syrup.

“Do you regret it?” he asked suddenly.

Your eyes flicked up. “Regret what?”

“Last night.”

You swallowed. “No.”

He looked at you for a long moment — the kind of look that peeled back layers without needing to ask more.

“I meant it, you know,” he said quietly. “About you not pretending with me.”

You looked down at your plate.

“Sometimes it’s easier,” you murmured.

His fingers brushed over yours — gentle, warm.

“You don’t have to be easy with me, Bun. You just have to be real.”

And somehow, in that moment, you believed him.

The first few months with Jungkook were magic.

He picked you up from school, leaning against his car like a scene out of a 90s movie. He left notes in your locker that ranged from sweet to downright filthy — always signed with a little bunny doodle.

He bought your favorite snacks before you even asked. Learned your music taste like a religion. Let you wear his rings, his hoodie, his scent like armor.

You fought — but in a playful way. The kind of bickering that ended in kisses. The kind of teasing that made your stomach flip.

He made you feel wanted. Chosen. Like no one had ever looked at you the way he did — like you were something wild and holy.

For a while, it was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

At first, it was little things. Him going quiet when you mentioned someone else texting you. The way his jaw ticked when you talked to certain classmates. His fingers tightening just a little too hard when someone looked at you too long in the hallway.

He never said anything. But it was in his eyes.

Possession. Fear. Want.

You didn’t mind. Not really.

Because truth be told, you kind of liked it.

No one had ever wanted you that fiercely before. It felt intoxicating — like being his meant you mattered in a way that was louder than the world.

But slowly, things shifted.

The fights weren’t playful anymore.

And the way he kissed you after? It started to feel like apology and punishment all at once.

—

Jungkook had been quiet the whole drive.

Not the usual kind of quiet either — not the one laced with teasing or smirking glances from the driver’s seat. This one sat cold between you both, stretched like a taut string.

You watched him from the corner of your eye as he gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles pale.

“You’re mad,” you said finally.

He didn’t look at you.

“I’m not.”

“Jungkook,” you pressed, voice low. “You haven’t said a single thing since lunch.”

He parked abruptly in your usual spot near the school lot and leaned back in the seat, hands gripping his jaw. Still silent.

You shifted in your seat to face him.

“Is it because I talked to Minjae?”

There it was — the spark. His eyes snapped to yours, something sharp and dangerous glinting just beneath the surface.

“You didn’t just talk, Bun. You laughed. You touched his arm. You let him stand that close to you.”

You blinked. “He asked for my notes.”

“He asked for an excuse to stare at your mouth while you smiled.”

You stared at him. “That’s insane.”

“Is it?” he bit out. “Because I’ve seen that look. I know what it means.”

You scoffed. “I was being nice. God, Jungkook — you really think I’d flirt with someone else? While you were right there?”

He looked at you then — not angry, but wounded. Like it physically hurt him to even think about it.

And then, softly: “I think I’m scared you’ll realize someone else is easier to love than me.”

The air left your lungs.

Your heart squeezed — because underneath the fight, there he was. The boy who left waffles on your pillow and made playlists for every mood you had. The one who kissed you like you were air and he was drowning.

You hated how much you still loved him in that moment.

You reached for his hand. “Jungkook—”

But he pulled it back.

“Do you even want this anymore?” he asked, eyes wild now. “Or are you just staying out of guilt because I give you everything and you feel too bad to leave?”

That cracked something open.

“Are you serious right now?” Your voice rose. “You think I don’t want you? That I’m staying because I pity you?”

“I don’t know, Y/N. Do you?”

You stared at him like he’d just punched you in the chest.

And then you laughed — bitter and broken. “You know what, maybe I do need space. Because this version of you? The one who twists everything good into something ugly? That’s not the boy I fell for.”

His jaw clenched. “So go.”

“I will.”

You flung the door open, stepping out with tears already blurring your vision. You didn’t want to cry. Not in front of him. Not like this.

But before you could walk away, his voice stopped you.

“Bun—wait.”

You froze.

Silence stretched again, but this one felt different. Heavy.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I just— I see you with other people and I get scared you’ll realize I’m too much. That someone else could give you something easier, something cleaner.”

You turned back slowly, your eyes glassy but fierce.

“I never wanted easy, Jungkook. I wanted you. But if you keep pushing me away every time you get scared, you’re gonna lose me.”

He stepped forward, then cupped your face gently, almost hesitantly.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered. “Even when I’m angry, even when I’m a mess… I still want to be yours. I just don’t know how to stop ruining it.”

You rested your forehead against his, eyes closed.

“Then learn. Because I’m not going to keep reminding you that I chose you.”

He nodded slowly, and kissed you — this time like he was afraid it’d be the last time.

It wasn’t.

But it would be the first of many fights.

Fights that burned too hot.

Fights that always ended in his hands on your skin and your voice saying, “Okay, we’re okay now.”

And so the pattern began.

Love. Bruise. Apology. Repeat.

—

The door slammed behind you.

“I can’t with you sometimes,” you said, your voice sharp, trembling with the rage you’d been biting back the entire ride home.

Jungkook turned, jaw tight, eyes blazing. “Then don’t, Bun. No one’s forcing you to stay.”

The nickname fell like an insult tonight.

You dropped your bag to the floor, stepping forward. “You really wanna say that? After everything?”

“You think I don’t know the way you look at me lately? Like you’re already gone?”

Your chest rose with each breath. “I look at you like I’m tired, Jungkook. Like I’m exhausted trying to love someone who doesn’t know how to stop starting fires.”

He laughed bitterly. “Yeah? Maybe I start them so you won’t leave. Maybe I’d rather burn the house down with us in it than watch you walk away.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “That’s not love.”

He stepped closer, voice low. “Isn’t it?”

A beat. You swallowed hard, pain rising in your throat. “You always go too far.”

“And you always stay.”

You hated that he was right.

You hated even more how much you wanted to stay.

“You’re not healthy for me,” you whispered, half a sob.

“And yet,” he murmured, stepping into you, “you keep coming back.”

Your chest brushed his. Thunder cracked somewhere above the city.

“You make me insane,” you said, tears brimming now.

“I am insane,” he growled. “About you.”

You slapped your hands against his chest, but he caught your wrists gently, held them there between you.

“You’re such an asshole,” you whispered, face tilting up.

“I know.”

His mouth was on yours before you could breathe.

It wasn’t soft.

It was fire and salt, fury and apology — all the things neither of you knew how to say out loud. Teeth clashed, hands gripped too tight, mouths moved like it was the last time. You shoved his jacket off. He tugged your shirt up. Breathless, desperate — like this would fix it.

Like this was the apology.

He lifted you up against the nearest wall, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. The coldness of the surface behind you grounded you for a moment — but only just.

“Tell me you hate me,” he whispered into your skin, voice shaking.

You moaned as he bit down on your collarbone, marking you like he always did. “I do.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“Then why do you sound like this when I touch you?”

He dragged his hand down your body, slow and deliberate. You gasped, fingers in his hair, dragging his mouth back to yours.

“I hate you,” you breathed against his lips.

He kissed you harder. “Say it again.”

“I hate you,” you repeated, legs trembling.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and wild and completely wrecked.

“No, you don’t,” he said again. “You love me. Just like I fucking love you.”

That broke something in you. You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you alive.

The rest was messy.

The couch, the floor, his bed — you don’t remember where it ended or began. Just mouths and sweat and gasps and his voice in your ear saying, “Mine. Mine. Only mine.”

And yours, whispering back, “Yours. I’m yours.”

It wasn’t perfect.

It never was.

But in the way he touched you, the way your bodies moved together like magnets too powerful to pull apart — you understood something unspoken.

This was love, too.

The kind that left marks.

The kind that felt like drowning and air all at once.

The kind you weren’t sure was good for you.

But it was yours.

And in his arms that night, wrecked and ruined, you let yourself believe that maybe… just maybe, love could survive like this.

—

The sunlight spilled gently through the curtains, painting soft gold across the rumpled sheets. You woke first, tangled in the warmth of Jungkook’s arms, his steady breath against your neck a soothing rhythm. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist — just the two of you, wrapped up in this fragile peace.

He stirred beside you, eyes fluttering open, a slow smile curving on his lips when he saw you.

“Morning, Bun,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

You smiled back, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Morning.”

Neither of you mentioned last night’s storm — the words unsaid hanging between you like an unspoken agreement. Instead, you moved with quiet tenderness, a soft dance of familiarity and comfort.

“Coffee?” he asked after a while, voice low.

“Yes, please,” you replied, your fingers tracing small circles on his arm.

He slipped out of bed with a careful grace, and soon the aroma of fresh coffee filled the apartment. When he returned, he handed you a steaming mug, and you caught his gaze, a question lingering there.

He smiled gently, as if to say ‘we’ll get there.’ And maybe you believed him.

In this stillness, this fragile morning, the fierce chaos of last night felt distant. But deep down, you knew the fire was never far — just waiting for the right moment to flare again.

For now, though, you held onto the quiet — the rare moments when love felt simple, even if just for a while.

—

The days after that morning slipped by like a fragile glass, beautiful but dangerously close to shattering. You and Jungkook tried to hold onto the tenderness, but the edges were rougher now — sharp words hidden beneath smiles, silences heavier than before.

One afternoon, you sat side by side on the couch, the TV murmuring in the background, but neither of you really watching. Your fingers nervously fiddled with the hem of your shirt while he stared at the floor, jaw clenched.

“Bun,” Jungkook’s voice broke the quiet, soft but tense. “I don’t want to fight like that again. Not with you.”

You looked up, meeting his eyes — vulnerability swimming there. “Me neither. But sometimes… it just happens. We’re both too stubborn.”

He reached out, fingers brushing your hand, a silent apology and plea. “I hate the distance. The space when you pull away.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “I’m scared sometimes. That love like ours can burn us both down.”

He swallowed hard, nodding. “Maybe we need to learn how to breathe without setting fire to everything.”

You smiled, a small fragile hope. “Maybe.”

The moment held, quiet and tentative — the beginning of something new, or the pause before the storm.

—

It wasn’t a loud fight. No slammed doors or shouted accusations. Instead, it was the quiet unraveling — the small cracks that grew with each unspoken word and every hesitant glance.

You caught him watching you one evening, eyes heavy with something you couldn’t name. When you finally spoke, your voice barely above a whisper, the dam broke.

“Why do we keep doing this, Koo? Fighting, breaking each other down, then pretending it’s okay?”

He looked away, jaw tight. “Because I can’t lose you. But sometimes, it feels like we’re tearing ourselves apart.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, frustration and love tangled in the same breath. “Then what are we even doing?”

He reached for you, pulling you close. “Holding on, even if it’s messy. Because I love you — more than I can explain.”

You leaned into him, your tears mingling with his whispered apologies. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real.

—

The room was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of a muted TV. You sat curled up on the bed, knees hugged close, while Jungkook paced slowly, his voice cracking as he tried to find the words.

“Bun, I’ve been holding this in for too long… I don’t want to just survive this—our fights, our mess—I want to be better. For you. For us.”

You looked up, heart pounding, as he finally stopped and sat beside you, hands trembling slightly.

“I’m scared. Scared I’ll lose you, scared I’m not enough when I’m not perfect. But maybe perfection isn’t what we need. Maybe we just need… honesty.”

You reached out, taking his hands in yours. “I love you, Koo. Not the perfect version, not the calm— I love the real you, the angry, the soft, the stubborn. Even when it hurts.”

He smiled through tears, pulling you into a fierce hug. “Then let’s stop hiding behind walls. Let’s tear them down — together.”

—

The air between you crackled with a dangerous energy, thick and suffocating. You could taste the bitterness on your tongue before you even opened your mouth.

“You think I’m the one ruining this?” you snapped, voice trembling with the storm inside. “Do you even hear yourself, Koo? You’re the only one I ever wanted, the only one who made me feel like I mattered. And now—now it’s all falling apart.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his eyes dark with a mix of anger, guilt, and something rawer — desperation. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, trembling as if fighting the urge to either pull you close or push you away.

“You don’t get to say that,” he shot back, voice low but intense. “You don’t get to blame me for every scar, every tear, every night you cried yourself to sleep.”

“Because it’s true,” you whispered, stepping forward despite the chaos in your chest. “We’re breaking each other, Koo. But I’m still here. I’m still standing because of you, not because of you.”

His breath hitched. He reached out slowly, trembling fingers brushing your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw like he was trying to memorize you all over again. “I never wanted this — to be the storm that tears you apart.”

Your eyes stung, but you refused to back away. “Neither did I.”

A silence fell, thick and heavy. Then without warning, his lips were on yours — fierce, urgent, desperate. The kiss was a collision of anger and need, of regret and possession. His hands gripped your waist tightly, pulling you closer until there was no space between you.

You kissed him back with equal fire, fingers digging into his hair, mouth trembling as the raw emotion poured between you. The world around you dissolved until there was nothing but the heat of his body, the taste of him, and the ache of everything you both had lost — and maybe, in this moment, everything you could still have.

But just as quickly, the storm turned.

His hand cracked sharply against your cheek.

Shock exploded through you like lightning. You stumbled back, hand flying to your burning skin, eyes wide with hurt and disbelief.

“Jungkook…” you whispered, voice breaking.

His face twisted with immediate regret, but also something darker, more chaotic. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m so sorry, Bun. I never meant to—”

“You can’t hurt me like this,” you said fiercely, stepping forward again, trembling but unyielding. “Not like this. Not ever.”

His hands shook as he caught yours, holding them as if they might shatter. “I’m ruined, Y/N. I’m the one who’s broken, not you. You deserve so much better than me.”

You shook your head, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. “No. We’re both ruined. Together.”

His forehead pressed against yours, breath mingling, hearts pounding a jagged rhythm. “I hate that I’m the cause of your pain.”

“You’re the cause of my hope, too,” you whispered. “Don’t forget that.”

He pulled you into a fragile, trembling embrace — holding you like you might vanish if he let go.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. You were tangled in the wreckage of your love, raw and exposed, but unwilling to let go.

“I can’t leave,” you confessed softly.

“Neither can I,” he breathed.

And in that heavy silence, broken only by your shared breaths, you both understood something painful and true: love this fierce was never gentle, never easy.

His fingers tangled in your hair as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his voice barely more than a broken whisper.

“Maybe we’re fire and gasoline — meant to burn, not to save.”

You swallowed the ache in your chest and met his gaze, steady and aching.

“But even if we burn, Koo… I’d rather go up in flames with you than live without the heat of us.”

He smiled, a shadow of both pain and longing.

“Then let’s burn together. Let the world watch us fall — but never forget how brightly we shone.”

Your breath caught, heart pounding as the last embers of doubt flickered away.

“Because in this chaos, in this madness… we found something no one else ever will.”

His lips brushed yours one last time — a kiss that tasted like forever, fierce and fragile.

“And that,” he said softly, “is love.”

a/n DISCLAIMER : this was kind of rushed but nevertheless I do hope you guys loveeee this. I’m going through a similar situation right now and I just want to let you guys know, if this is what your relationship looks like, please leave my love. You deserve way better and you deserve to be loved without breaking and falling apart. THIS IS NOT LOVE. I repeat. THIS IS NOT LOVE. it’s obsession. It’s attraction. It’s dangerous. Please allow yourself to be free and actually learn what love feels like because everybody DOES deserve to be loved. You’re not alone. This is a topic that speaks heavily to me so I do hope you guys enjoyed reading this draft and learn from it. Mwah mwah xx

[jeonette]

knockout love — jjk

“I promise I’ll make it out alive, princess.”

pairing : jungkook x reader

genre : boxer!best friend, best friends to lovers au, literally felt like I was in a kdrama while writing this.

• also highly recommend you guys to put on ‘so far away’ by agustd during the final fight scene and loop it until the end hehe… trust me xx

The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and dust, papers scattered like fallen leaves across the table. Bills. Tuition reminders. Rent notices. You rubbed your temple, staring at the numbers like they’d magically shrink if you glared hard enough.

The door clicked open behind you.

“Princess,” a familiar voice called — low, warm, teasing. “Still fighting with those bills? Or are they winning again?”

You glanced over your shoulder. Jeon Jungkook stood in the doorway, hair messy from training, hoodie half-zipped, gym bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. His knuckles were still wrapped in tape, fresh bruises blooming beneath the skin.

“Depends. Are you gonna spot me a billion dollars so I can wipe them all away?” you muttered, tossing your pen down with a sigh.

He grinned and stepped inside, kicking off his shoes. “A billion huh? You aiming low tonight.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the soft smile tugging at your lips. “What are you doing here so late? Shouldn’t you be home icing those hands of yours?”

He dropped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, sprawling like he owned the place — like he always did. “Maybe I like being here better.”

That made your stomach twist in that stupid familiar way. You shoved the feeling down.

But then he looked at you — really looked — and the playful spark in his eyes dimmed.

“Y/N… I need to tell you something,” he said, sitting up, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice dropped low. Serious. “And you have to promise to let me finish. No interrupting.”

The shift in his tone made your heart skip. “Jungkook… what is it?”

“Promise me first.”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the table. Something cold settled in your chest. “Fine. I promise.”

He inhaled slowly. “I’ve been offered a fight.”

You blinked. Relief flickered for half a second. “That’s it? Kook, you fight all the time—”

“Not like this.” His gaze locked with yours, no teasing now. “It’s underground. The kind they don’t talk about. No rounds. No rules. No time limit. No referee. You fight until one guy can’t stand. Or until he doesn’t get up at all.”

Your blood ran cold. The pen slipped from your fingers, clattering onto the bills.

“What…?” you breathed.

“The payout is fifty million.” His voice was soft. Almost careful. “That’s enough to wipe everything. Your tuition. Your rent. You wouldn’t have to worry anymore. You could finish school. Get out of this crappy apartment. Start over.”

Your heart pounded painfully hard against your ribs. “And what about you? What happens to you if this goes wrong? If you lose—”

“I won’t.” His jaw tensed. “I can win this. You know I can.”

“You could die, Jungkook.” The words cracked from your throat before you could stop them. “Or end up broken. For what — me? You’re gonna risk your life because I can’t pay my bills?”

His brows drew together. Hurt flickered in his eyes. “It’s not because you can’t. It’s because you shouldn’t have to. You work two jobs, go to class all day, come home to this stress every night… alone.” His voice dropped to a rough whisper. “I can’t stand watching you wear yourself down like this. I can fix it.”

You blinked hard, heat stinging behind your eyes. “I don’t care about money, you idiot. I care about you.”

A tear slipped free. Before you could wipe it away, his hand was there — warm, gentle — cupping your cheek like you’d break if he touched too hard.

“Hey…” His thumb brushed the tear, gaze softening. “Don’t cry. Not for me.”

“Then don’t go,” you whispered. “Promise me you won’t do this.”

His lips curved, a small, sad smile. The kind he only ever showed you.

“I promise.” His forehead touched yours, breath warm on your skin. “I won’t do it. Not if it makes you hurt like this.”

You shut your eyes, breathing shaky, letting yourself believe him.

For a moment, the weight in your chest eased. Like the world was right again. Safe.

But deep down, something still twisted. Something unsettled. Like the calm before a storm.

—

It had been two weeks since Jungkook promised you he’d drop the underground fight.

And yet… something felt off.

“Late again, boxer boy?” you called as he stumbled through your apartment door, hoodie soaked with sweat, hair sticking to his forehead. “What’d you do — wrestle a bear on the way home?”

Jungkook grinned, tossing his bag onto the floor. “Please. The bear would’ve tapped out in the first round.”

You crossed your arms. “Seriously though… why so late? The gym closes at ten.”

He bent down to unlace his shoes, voice light. “Coach kept me back for extra work. Said I needed to tighten my form.”

“Uh-huh.” You squinted, walking over and grabbing his wrist gently. His knuckles were raw — scraped fresh, bleeding slightly.

“Looks like you tightened your face into someone’s fist.” You held his hand up. “Who did this?”

“Calm down, princess.” He smirked. “Just sparring. You know I can take a punch.”

“Yeah, but can your face?” you muttered, inspecting the bruise forming under his jaw. “If you get any uglier, I’m gonna have to find a new best friend.”

“Ouch.” He pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. “Betrayed by the only girl I trust.”

You snorted. “Like I’d trade you. Who else would carry my groceries and open every jar I own?”

He grinned. “Exactly. I’m irreplaceable.”

You fell quiet, eyes scanning his face — the sweat, the busted lip, the bruises that hadn’t been there this morning.

“Kook… You sure you’re not… training for something else?” you asked softly.

His smile flickered — just for a split second. But you caught it.

“Why would I lie to you?” he said easily, ruffling your hair like always. “I told you. I dropped that fight.”

“Mhm. You better have,” you muttered, swatting his hand away. “I swear, if I find out you’re doing something stupid—”

“You’ll what?” he grinned, inching closer. “Yell at me? Cry again? Guilt trip me with those sad pretty eyes?”

You glared, cheeks heating. “I’ll throw this entire shoe rack at your head.”

“Oooh. Scary.” He leaned down, eyes twinkling. “You’re cute when you’re threatening murder, princess.”

“Stop calling me that,” you grumbled, heart thudding.

“Why?” He smirked. “It suits you. My little princess.”

You shoved him lightly, trying not to smile. “Go shower. You smell like a wrestling mat.”

He laughed, grabbing his bag. “Anything for you, your highness.”

But as he disappeared into the bathroom, the knot in your chest tightened.

Because no matter how good his smile was… something in his eyes was hiding something.

And you weren’t stupid.

Something was coming.

—

“Don’t forget,” you called from the couch, flipping a page in your textbook, “you promised to be back by eight.”

Jungkook grinned, crouched by the door tying his laces. “Eight sharp. Swear on my life.”

“You better,” you muttered, glancing at him. “If you show up past eight I’m locking the door and you can sleep outside.”

He laughed under his breath but didn’t stand right away. Instead, he sat back on his heels, staring at the floor for a second too long.

You frowned. “Kook?”

He looked up fast — forcing that familiar crooked grin. “Nothing. Just tired.”

You eyed him suspiciously as he grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder like usual… but his hand lingered on the doorknob.

He didn’t open it.

“Why are you just standing there like a weirdo?” you teased lightly, trying to ease the strange knot forming in your chest.

He turned to you, soft eyes flickering — the way they always did when he didn’t want to say something.

“You sure you’ll be okay here alone tonight?” he asked quietly.

You blinked. “What’s with you? You leave for practice all the time. Since when do you care if I’m fine for two hours?”

He chuckled — but it was hollow, forced. “Just asking, princess. You get lonely without me, don’t you?”

“In your dreams,” you muttered, cheeks warming. “Besides, you said you’d be back by eight. So no time for lonely.”

“Right…” His fingers curled slightly on the door handle. Still not opening it.

“Jungkook.” You sat up straight, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you acting so weird?”

He glanced at you — and for a flicker of a moment, you saw it. The doubt. The fear.

Then it was gone — buried under that usual teasing smirk.

“Guess I just don’t wanna leave my favourite girl yet.” He crossed the room, crouching beside the couch, resting his chin on your knee — like he used to when he wanted you to forgive him for something dumb.

“Stop looking at me like that, you idiot,” you grumbled, but your heart squeezed painfully tight. “You’ll miss practice if you keep wasting time here.”

“Maybe I don’t care.” His voice was soft.

You looked down at him. He stared up, gaze warm but strange — like he was memorising you.

“Jungkook…” you whispered.

He stood slowly. Ruffled your hair like always.

“Eight o’clock,” he said gently. “I’ll be back before you miss me.”

“You better,” you muttered. “Or I’m stealing your favourite hoodie and burning your stupid boxing gloves.”

He laughed, soft and quiet.

And finally — finally — he turned and left.

The door clicked shut.

The apartment was too quiet after that.

You tried reading. Couldn’t focus. Tried scrolling on your phone. Nothing stuck. Even Netflix couldn’t hold your attention — every few minutes your eyes flicked to the clock on the wall.

7:45pm.

7:58pm.

You smiled to yourself. “He’ll walk in any second now.”

But eight came and went.

8:15.

8:30.

You texted him: Still alive, boxer boy?

No reply.

You frowned, chewing your lip. Maybe coach kept him again.

9:00.

Still nothing.

A cold knot twisted in your stomach.

9:30.

You called.

No answer.

Okay… maybe he’s showering. Maybe he forgot his phone. Maybe—

9:45.

Panic now. Full-blown.

You called again. Voicemail.

“Jungkook, where the hell are you? You said eight. Call me back.”

You gripped your phone so tightly your knuckles ached. Something was wrong. You felt it — the way your skin prickled, your heartbeat kicked up, like some terrible storm was creeping close.

You bit your lip. One last call.

Jimin.

The phone rang. And rang.

Then, finally — “Hello?”

“Jimin.” Your voice cracked. “Where’s Jungkook? He’s not home. He’s not answering. You know where he is, right?”

Silence.

You swallowed. “Jimin, please. Tell me.”

A shaky breath on the other end.

“…Y/N.” He hesitated. “I thought… I thought he told you. The big fight’s tonight. The underground one. Warehouse 17. Outskirts. Nine p.m.”

The world stilled.

“No…” you whispered, vision blurring. “No, he promised. He said he wasn’t doing it…”

“I thought you knew. I thought he told you—”

The phone nearly slipped from your hand.

Jungkook. You liar. You promised.

You shot up, grabbing your coat, bag — hands shaking, breath short.

“Jimin—” your voice broke. “I’m coming. Stay there. Don’t let him start—”

“He’s already in the ring, Y/N.”

You didn’t wait. The door slammed behind you as you ran — heart hammering, throat tight — sprinting down the hall into the night.

—

The cold night air bit through your thin jacket as you stumbled toward the warehouse entrance. Your eyes were red and puffy from crying, cheeks stained with tears you hadn’t been strong enough to hold back.

“Y/N.” A steady voice caught your attention.

You looked up to see Jimin waiting patiently by the entrance, arms crossed, his usual calm presence anchoring the chaos inside you. To you, he was more than a friend — a brother who’d always been there when things got tough.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You shook your head, voice barely above a whisper. “No. I’m not. He shouldn’t be here.”

Jimin sighed but didn’t argue. Instead, he gently rested a hand on your shoulder. “I know. But he’s here. And I know he needs you.”

You let out a shaky breath and tried to pull yourself together, leaning on him as he guided you inside.

The warehouse was thick with tension — the smell of sweat, metal, and adrenaline hung heavy. The crowd roared in the distance, but your eyes locked on the center of the chaos.

There he was.

Jungkook, standing in the ring with his coach, his fists wrapped and bruised, eyes sharp but flickering with exhaustion.

Without hesitation, you pushed past the crowd and climbed up to the edge of the ring.

“Kook!” you shouted, voice breaking but fierce.

He looked up, startled, then relief and guilt washed over his face.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered, but you didn’t care.

“You promised,” you scolded softly, stepping closer so only he could hear. “You promised you wouldn’t do this.”

He swallowed hard, eyes darkening. “I had to. For you.”

Your heart clenched.

“You idiot,” you breathed.

Before you could say more, Jungkook reached up, fingers tracing your cheek with surprising tenderness. “I’m sorry. But I’m here now. And I’m not leaving until I win.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, eyes locked on his.

Then, with a playful smirk, he whispered, “Now, come on — if you want me to win, you better cheer louder than anyone out there.”

You laughed through your tears, heart pounding.

“I’m not letting you off the hook, princess.”

He winked.

And for that moment, surrounded by the roaring crowd and the flashing lights, the world narrowed down to just the two of you — fierce, tangled, and full of everything you’d never dared to say out loud.

—

The backstage corridor was quiet except for the faint hum of the crowd beyond the walls. Flickering lights cast a soft glow, making everything feel fragile and suspended in time. You stood close to Jungkook, your fingers still trembling slightly from the rush of emotions by the ring.

He leaned casually against the wall, but you could see the tension in his jaw and the way his eyes darted away every time they met yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“So,” you said softly, breaking the silence, “you picked a hell of a night to get all mysterious on me.”

He cracked a small smile, one eyebrow quirking up. “You know me — I like to keep you guessing, princess.”

You rolled your eyes but your lips twitched. “That nickname again?”

“Can’t help it,” he teased, stepping closer, voice low. “You’re the only one who gets it.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, but you fought the urge to lean in. Instead, you kept your voice steady. “Why now, Jungkook? After all this time… why wait until right before you jump into something this dangerous to tell me?”

He looked down for a beat, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt, then back up, eyes soft but full of something like vulnerability. “Maybe I was scared. Scared I’d lose my nerve, or that telling you would change the easy way we have—”

“—The way we don’t have to say things out loud?” you finished for him, stepping closer. “Yeah, I get it.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “But sitting here, with you standing right in front of me, knowing this might be the last time for a while… I couldn’t keep it in.”

Your breath caught. “And what exactly couldn’t you keep in?”

He took a shaky breath, voice barely above a whisper as he stepped closer, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart seize.

“Y/N… I’ve been carrying this inside me for so long… pretending it was just friendship, pretending I was fine with that.” His voice cracked, vulnerability breaking through the usual calm. “But every time I saw you, every time I heard your laugh, felt your hand brush mine… it wasn’t enough. It never was.”

He swallowed hard, pain flickering behind his eyes. “I’ve been scared—scared to admit it, scared of what it would mean if I said it out loud. But I can’t hide it anymore.”

A pause. His breath hitched.

“I like you. More than a friend. More than I ever dared to hope. I’ve been falling for you — every single day — and it terrifies me how much I want you to feel the same.”

The silence hung thick, your breath catching in your throat.

Your hands trembled as you reached up, cupping his face. Tears spilled down your cheeks, but a shaky smile broke through your fear.

“You idiot,” you whispered, voice cracking. “You really are… but I’ve waited for you to say that for so long.”

You laughed softly through your tears, the tension in your chest melting just a little.

“I thought you’d never say it. I thought you were scared too.”

He brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his own eyes glistening now. “I was. Still am. But I needed you to know — before I walked into that fight.”

You leaned in, your forehead resting against his, breath mingling.

“You promise you’ll come back?” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” he said, playful light returning. “Hey, if I make it out alive, let me take you out on a proper date.”

You smiled through your tears, poking his chest lightly. “You better win. Or I’m crashing that fight myself.”

He laughed, pulling you into a gentle hug. “Deal. And princess?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not just fighting for the money anymore.”

Your heart squeezed tight as he pulled back, eyes shining with quiet determination.

“For you.”

—

The warehouse vibrated with noise — stomping feet, wild cheers, curses echoing off the iron walls. Smoke curled through the air, and the lights above the cage flickered harsh and cold.

You stood frozen near the edge of the ring, knuckles white around the metal bars, your heart hammering so loud it drowned out the crowd.

Jimin was right behind you, quiet but firm, his hand on your arm. “Stay still,” he murmured. “Watch him. He can handle this.”

But your eyes never left Jungkook.

He stood in the cage — alone — his fists clenched, his chest rising and falling slow, steady.

Across from him was a mountain of a man, bigger, heavier, brutal looking, grinning like he’d already won.

Jungkook licked his cracked lip, shaking out his arms, gaze steady, jaw tight.

I have to win. For her.

The bell clanged.

The crowd exploded.

They circled each other — slow at first, tension stretching tight as a wire. Jungkook feinted left, testing, dodging the first wild swing.

He’s fast… but that guy’s heavy. One wrong step…

A swing missed. Another grazed his arm. Jungkook ducked, countered — sharp jab to the ribs — the man grunted but grinned wider.

The crowd roared.

Suddenly — too fast — the fighter lunged, driving his shoulder into Jungkook’s chest.

The air cracked.

Jungkook staggered back, ribs screaming, the cage rattling behind him. But before he could recover—

BAM.

A brutal hook crashed into his jaw.

His head snapped sideways, sweat flying. His vision exploded in white.

BAM. Another punch — this time to the gut — folding him like paper.

“Jungkook!” you screamed, panic raw in your throat.

He stumbled, legs buckling — and then fell.

Face down. Hard.

The crowd gasped… then cheered wildly.

“STAY DOWN!” they chanted.

“STAY DOWN!”

Your body lunged forward, but Jimin caught you, wrapping both arms around your waist, holding you tight. “No — no, Y/N — wait. He’s not done. He’s not out. Watch.”

Your hands trembled violently. Your vision blurred. “Jimin — he’s not moving—”

“He’s got this,” Jimin said fiercely. “Just watch him.”

On the mat, Jungkook groaned, chest heaving, head spinning. Blood in his mouth. Lights flickering. His body screamed at him to stay down.

But then…

Through the haze — he saw you.

Your face — beautiful, tear-streaked, full of fear — pressed to the cage, crying his name.

His heart clenched so tight it burned.

No. Not in front of her. Not like this.

He pushed against the mat. Trembling. Slow.

Up to his knees. Then one foot. Then the other.

The crowd roared again — shock, excitement, disbelief.

His vision swam, blurry and broken — until he focused.

On you.

And only you.

A shadow moved beside him. The fighter.

The man chuckled darkly, leaning in close, sneering in his ear.

“That little princess yours?” the man mocked lowly. “Sweet. Maybe I’ll take her out when you’re done here. Maybe I’ll show her what a real man—”

Something in Jungkook snapped.

He turned — slow, dangerous — eyes dark as midnight.

And he smiled.

A low, wicked smile.

The fighter barely had time to flinch.

Jungkook exploded forward.

Fist to his jaw — CRACK.

Knee to the gut — THUD.

Left hook — blood sprayed.

The man stumbled, stunned — but Jungkook was already on him.

For her.

Another punch — vicious, wild, merciless.

For every tear she cried.

A jab to the face — teeth breaking.

For every night she struggled alone.

A savage blow to the temple — the man dropped to one knee.

And then — the last punch — an earth-shattering uppercut that lifted the man clean off the ground before he crashed down, flat, unmoving.

The crowd froze — silent.

Then a thunderous, deafening roar.

But Jungkook didn’t hear it.

He stood over the broken man, chest heaving, eyes blazing — staring straight at you.

At his girl.

The reason he rose. The reason he fought.

And the reason he would never lose.

“AND THE WINNER… BLUE CORNER!!”

The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, barely heard over the eruption of the crowd — a thunderous wave of cheers that shook the metal beams of the warehouse.

Jungkook stood in the center of the ring — chest rising and falling in deep, ragged pulls, sweat and blood dripping from his jaw, fists still clenched by his sides.

But his eyes — God, his eyes — were on you.

Locked. Unmoving. Like the crowd, the lights, the screaming world around him didn’t even exist.

The referee grabbed his wrist and yanked it up high.

“BLUE WINS!!!”

The crowd roared even louder. Stomping feet. Fists pounding the rails. Cameras flashing in frantic bursts.

You gasped, a messy sound of relief and joy breaking from your throat as your knees gave out — but Jimin caught you, holding you steady.

“He did it,” Jimin breathed beside you, grinning wide. “He really did it.”

You shook him off, stumbling toward the ring. “Jimin — boost me — I have to—”

He laughed softly and gave you a lift up onto the apron, pushing you gently under the ropes. “Go get him, princess.”

You scrambled inside — breathless, wild — heart hammering against your ribs.

And then… you froze.

The noise faded into a dull hum.

The air thickened — slow, heavy — like every second was stretching into eternity.

There he was.

Jungkook.

Standing tall under the harsh lights, battered, bruised — beautiful. His chest rose slow, steady. His hair damp, clinging to his forehead. Blood on his lip. But his gaze — soft and burning — was only for you.

Neither of you moved.

Just staring.

Drinking each other in.

Like a scene pulled straight from a movie — pure, slow, fragile.

A corner of his bruised mouth lifted.

“See, princess?” His voice was rough, broken, but teasing. “Told you I’d make it out alive.”

Your breath hitched.

Tears filled your eyes — falling warm and fast — and before another word could escape him, you ran.

Straight into his arms.

He caught you instantly, strong and trembling, pulling you tight against his chest as your arms flew around his neck.

You clung to him like life itself, sobbing into his shoulder — messy, gasping, relieved sobs. Your whole body shook.

“You stupid—stupid—idiot!” you cried into his neck. “Why did you do this to me?! You scared the hell out of me— I thought— I thought I’d lose you—”

His arms tightened around you, hard and warm. He dropped his head into your hair, breathing in like he needed you to stay upright.

“Shhh… I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”

And slowly, knees weak, the two of you sank — collapsed — onto the mat, tangled together in the middle of the ring, the roar of the crowd swelling all around.

Your faces stayed close — breathing, shaking — forehead to forehead.

Jungkook cupped your cheek gently, brushing away your tears with the softest touch.

“I love you,” he breathed, voice trembling, eyes wet. “I love you, Y/N. I fought for you. I lived for you.”

Your chest broke open with a shaky, laughing sob. “You absolute idiot… you could’ve told me that before nearly dying, you know…”

He smiled, soft and ruined. “Would’ve been less dramatic.”

And before you could say more, he kissed you — hard, slow, desperate — like this was the only moment in the world that mattered.

The crowd exploded into wild cheers.

Cameras flashed.

Jimin whistled from the side, grinning wide as he cupped his hands around his mouth:

“YEAH! ABOUT TIME! LET’S HEAR IT FOR THEM!!”

The warehouse shook with the sound — whistles, shouts, stomping feet — but none of it touched you.

Only him.

Jungkook pulled back, panting softly, thumb tracing your jaw, eyes drinking you in like he was afraid to blink.

“Hey…” he whispered, teasing, raw. “Told you I’d win. For you.”

You laughed through your tears, leaning in, pressing your nose to his.

“I hate you,” you murmured, breathless. “But I love you more.”

His smile was crooked, beautiful, full of every unspoken promise.

The world spun — lights, sound, chaos — but here, in the center of the storm, it was just you.

Just him.

And finally… everything was exactly where it belonged.

—

“…and that was the first time your dad ever kissed me. Right there. In the middle of the ring, bruised, bloody, and grinning like the world was ours,” you finished softly, eyes warm with the weight of old memories.

Your sixteen-year-old daughter sat cross-legged beside you on the couch, hands clutching a cushion to her chest, wide-eyed and grinning.

“No way,” she gasped. “You’re telling me Dad actually confessed in the middle of a fight? Like in some K-drama?!”

You laughed gently. “Exactly like a K-drama. Lights. Cameras. The whole crowd cheering. He waited until the most dangerous, ridiculous moment to tell me he loved me. Typical Jungkook.”

She groaned dramatically. “Ugh… so extra. I can’t believe you fell for that.”

“I couldn’t help it,” you teased, ruffling her hair. “He was impossible not to love.”

She giggled but hugged the cushion tighter, suddenly shy. “…He’s gonna do the same to Jae when he gets here, isn’t he?”

“Oh definitely.”

As if on cue — the sound of keys at the front door.

“I’m home, princesses!” Jungkook’s familiar, deep voice called as the door opened. He stepped inside, pulling off his work jacket, shaking his slightly messy hair. “Did I miss the storytelling session?”

“Just finished telling her about the ring kiss,” you smiled, tilting your head. “You drama king.”

Jungkook smirked, walking over to drop a kiss on your cheek. “Best confession ever, no regrets.”

“Gross,” your daughter muttered, face burning. “Please don’t start kissing again—”

The doorbell rang.

Jungkook’s brows lifted. “Is that him?”

Your daughter leapt to her feet. “Don’t—! Don’t be weird, Dad—please—”

Jungkook grinned wide and opened the door.

Standing awkwardly on the porch was Jae — hair neatly combed, holding a small bouquet of baby’s breath flowers.

“Uh… h-hi, Mr. Jeon. I’m Jae. N-Nice to meet you, sir,” he stammered, bowing politely.

Jungkook eyed him slowly, arms crossing. “Hmm. So you’re the one taking my daughter out tonight.”

Jae swallowed hard. “Y-Yes, sir.”

Your daughter tugged Jae’s arm with a groan. “Dad… stop. You’re scaring him—”

Jungkook leaned forward, eyes narrowing teasingly.

“You know the rules, right? Home by nine. No funny business. And if you make her cry—” he flashed a slow, dangerous grin— “I still remember how to throw a punch.”

Jae paled. “Yes sir! No funny business! Nine o’clock, sir!”

You bit your lip, smiling behind your hand as your daughter smacked Jungkook’s arm. “You’re embarrassing me to death—”

Jungkook chuckled, ruffling her hair. “Can’t help it, baby. First dates are serious.”

He looked over at the trembling kid in front of him, lightly chuckling before patting his shoulder.

“I’m just playing, kid. You guys have a good time tonight yeah? Take care of her.”

He chuckles, fist bumping the boy, now with a more relaxed look on his face.

“Have a good night princess, I love you, text me if you need anything.”

You watch your husband kiss your daughter on the head softly, your heart melting at the sight.

They headed out the door, Jae nervously glancing back until they were gone, the soft click of the door behind them.

Silence settled.

Warm. Familiar.

Jungkook sighed, sliding an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him as you leaned into his chest.

“First date already…” he murmured, pressing his lips into your hair. “Feels like yesterday I was dragging you into underground fights and confessing in the stupidest way possible.”

You chuckled, turning to look up at him. “Still the best confession I ever heard.”

“Still the best fight I ever won,” he whispered, eyes soft.

His thumb brushed gently along your jaw — and he leaned in, pressing a slow, quiet kiss to your lips.

“Worth every bruise,” he breathed against you.

“Worth every scar,” you whispered back, smiling.

And just like in the ring all those years ago…

Neither of you ever planned to stop fighting.

For this life.

For this love.

For each other.

a/n : okay highkey- why am I proud of myself for this…. also is it obvious I LOVEEEEE making jimin the matchmaker/the one that’s always their #1 supporter 😐 Anyways I hope you loved this one lovelies mwah mwah xx lmk what you think! 🥹

[jeonette]

say you're mine - jjk 18+

in which Jungkook sees Y/n's ex getting a little too touchy and talkative for his liking. And he's not having any of it. So he takes her home and fucks her silly.

pairing : jungkook x reader

genre : possesive romance. jealous!koo

The bass thumped through the floor, vibrating up your legs as you stood near the drink table, laughing politely at something your ex just said.

He was too close. Leaning in like he used to. Fingers brushing your arm casually. Like he hadn’t completely fumbled you months ago.

You stepped back slightly—subtle, but enough.

But not enough for Jungkook.

He was across the room, drink in hand, eyes locked on the two of you. And he wasn’t smiling.

Jaw clenched. Chest rising slow and heavy. That unreadable look he always got when something inside him was burning. You knew it too well by now.

You offered a small smile when you caught his eye—trying to silently say It’s fine, I’m okay. But he was already moving.

He stalked across the room like gravity didn’t touch him, like the air parted just for his rage. You felt it before you saw it—his hand around your waist, pulling you close.

“Time to go,” he murmured against your ear, voice low and sharp. “Now.”

“Jungkook—”

“Not here. Don’t argue.”

You barely had time to register anything before he was steering you out the door, his grip never loosening. As soon as you hit the cold night air, he walked you straight to the car, opening the door like a gentleman—if only his fingers weren’t so tight on the handle.

The second he slid in beside you and shut the door, silence filled the space like smoke.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t even start the car. His hands were on the wheel, knuckles white.

You shifted in your seat. “Koo—”

He turned to you slowly, and that was worse than yelling.

“You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?” His voice was soft. Controlled. But his eyes were wild.

“I didn’t—”

“You let him touch you,” he muttered, biting the inside of his cheek. “You laughed.”

“He was being friendly,” you said gently. “That’s all.”

“Too friendly.”

You reached for his hand. “Are you jealous?”

He finally looked at you—and fuck, that look. He wasn’t just jealous. He was seething.

“No,” he said. “I’m pissed. And I’m hard.”

That shut you up.

“You’re mine,” he added quietly. “You let him talk to you like that, touch you like that? I don’t care if he’s your ex. I should remind you who you belong to.”

He started the car.

And you didn’t say a word the whole way home.

-

You didn’t even remember getting inside.

One moment he was slamming the door to the apartment shut behind you.

The next—your back hit the wall, hard, but safe. His hands everywhere.

“You don’t get it,” he breathed between kisses. “That fucking look on his face when he touched you? Like he still had something over me?”

He pulled back just enough to yank your top over your head, tossing it aside.

“He doesn’t know a goddamn thing about you. He didn’t even deserve to look at you.”

You gasped when his hands slipped under your skirt, dragging your panties down in one swift motion.

“He didn’t deserve to breathe next to you.”

His voice cracked as he dropped to his knees.

“But I do.”

And then he devoured you.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was punishment—for every second that man got to stand next to you. For every look. Every word. Every breath he dared to take in your space.

You cried out his name—again and again—and each time only made him hungrier.

“Jungkook, please—”

He stood so fast it made your head spin. His lips shiny, chin slick. He wiped it with the back of his hand, staring down at you like he wanted to ruin you for good.

“Bed. Now.”

You scrambled backward, legs shaky, heart pounding.

He was already unbuttoning his jeans as he stalked after you.

When your back hit the mattress, he was on top of you in seconds.

“This body,” he whispered, pressing his mouth to your throat. “This mouth. These fucking eyes. They’re all mine.”

His cock quickly being set free, slamming in hard, and you gasped—nails raking down his back.

“Tell me.”

You could barely breathe. “I’m—fuck, I’m yours, Koo.”

“That’s right.” He slammed into you again. “No one else gets you.”

“I didn’t want him—only you—”

His hand wrapped around your throat, not tight—just enough to make your pulse race.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

“Again.”

You moaned. “I’m yours, Koo. Only yours.”

He growled against your skin, snapping his hips harder, deeper.

“You’re the only thing I care about,” he panted. “The only thing I’ll ever fucking protect like this. You don’t get it, baby. I’d burn the world down for you.”

Your vision blurred.

"Thought you were all giggly with him an hour ago, what happened now?" He slowed down, only to snap his hips harder into you without warning.

"Ohhhh my godddd, shit koo." You were starting to see stars at this point.

"Yeah? Right there? C'mon tell me. Does he fuck you like I do?" He practically growls.

"Nghh- Noo! S-hit soo big in me koo." Your words started to slur.

"Fucckk, yeah? Too big for you mama?" He teases.

"N-no, can take it."

He quickly stops and flips you over before you can comprehend what's happening.

Plunging into you again, this time he's animalistic.

"Shit, such a good girl, taking my dick like it's nothing." He groans out.

"Koo, so- close." You were able to make out.

"Yeah? Gonna cream my cock right now? Fucckkk- if you keep clenching like that I'm gonna nut in you princess." He picks up his pace, feeling you clench every milisecond.

"Wanna- Want youu to fill me up- ohh goddd."

"Yeah? Shit gonna give you want you want princess."

He kissed your tears away as he fucked you into the mattress, every movement raw and unrelenting.

“Shit kook—I’m gonna—”

“Let go,” he whispered. “Right here. While you’re mine.”

You shattered around him, moaning his name like a plea.

And when he followed—deep, hard, possessive—he wrapped both arms around you like a shield.

You were trembling when it was over.

Not from fear.

From everything he made you feel.

He pulled you close, chest to chest, and kissed your temple so softly it made your eyes sting.

“I love you,” he whispered. “So much it scares me.”

You buried your face in his neck.

“I love you too.”

His arms tightened.

“He won’t ever come near you again,” he murmured. “I promise.”

You smiled.

Because in Jungkook’s world— His promises were war.

a/n : low-key wayyy too terrified about posting this. I have not written a smut in a whileeeeee. Butttt lowkey fuckin w it?? [ insert laughing emoji cus my fuckass computer doesn't have one ] anywayyyy....hope you lovelies fuck w it as well! mwah mwah lmk what you guys thought hehe xx

[jeonette]

after school hours - jjk

A classic 90's enemies to lovers skit. Mixtapes, rooftop hangouts, and harmless bickering between classes. But somewhere between hallway glances, stolen car rides, and one kiss under the stars, everything changed.

pairing : jungkook x reader

genre : enemies to lovers ( my favv )

The classroom buzzed faintly with low chatter and the soft hum of the overhead fan, lazily spinning in the warm air. Pages rustled. A pencil rolled off a desk and clattered to the floor. Somewhere in the back, someone was half-asleep with their head against the window.

And in the middle of it all, Y/N was glaring at Jungkook.

"That’s not even the right metaphor," she muttered under her breath.

Jungkook didn’t look up from his notebook. “It is if you actually understood the poem.”

She scoffed. “I understood it fine. You just love the sound of your own voice.”

“Good thing it’s a nice voice, then.”

Jimin, sitting between them like some long-suffering referee, groaned softly. “You two are like divorced parents. I’m begging you—let me get through one class without a custody battle over Shakespeare.”

Y/N leaned over Jimin to poke Jungkook in the arm with her pen. “You think you’re so smart just because Mr. Kim actually likes your essays.”

“He likes them because they’re good. Unlike your tragic five-paragraph breakdown of 'Romeo + Juliet' where you called Romeo a walking red flag.”

“Am I wrong?”

Jimin stifled a laugh. Jungkook rolled his eyes but the corner of his mouth twitched.

The bell rang before Y/N could get another jab in.

Outside the classroom, muffled voices were already echoing down the hallway.

“Lunchtime!” Hoseok’s voice cut through the noise like a trumpet. “Let’s goooo, I’m starving.”

As students poured out into the corridor, Y/N grabbed her things and slung her denim jacket over one arm. Jimin stuck close by her side, nudging her playfully.

“You’re gonna marry him one day, y’know,” he whispered.

She scoffed. “I’d rather marry my Walkman.”

Jungkook, just ahead, turned slightly like he’d heard—but didn’t say anything. Just that little smirk again.

Outside the classroom, the rest of the crew was already waiting — Hoseok with a candy bar halfway to his mouth, Mina reapplying her lip gloss using the reflection in the vending machine, Jiwoo balancing her textbook on her head like a crown, and Yoongi leaning against the wall with his headphones in, pretending not to care.

“There they are,” Mina sang. “Finally. What took you so long—fighting again?”

“No,” Jimin said. “Just academic foreplay.”

Y/N elbowed him.

They all fell into step down the hallway, laughing, bumping shoulders, voices rising and falling in that chaotic harmony only best friends could make.

-

The cafeteria was full, so the group had claimed their usual spot — a half-shaded corner of the courtyard, where Hoseok’s guitar case was used as a bench and someone had definitely carved “KIM WAS HERE” into the picnic table.

Y/N popped a fry into her mouth while Jiwoo dramatically told the story of how she tripped over her own shoelaces that morning and almost took Mina down with her.

“It was like watching a slow-motion disaster,” Mina said between bites of her sandwich. “I literally felt my life flash before my eyes.”

“Don’t blame me!” Jiwoo whined. “These are the school’s floors, not mine. Slippery as hell.”

“Or maybe your boots are just for fashion, not function,” Yoongi muttered, eyes behind his sunglasses, sipping his iced tea.

Everyone laughed.

Jimin stole a grape off Y/N’s tray; she slapped his hand but offered him another anyway. Jungkook leaned back on his elbows beside her, legs stretched out in front of him, chewing gum and watching the clouds like he couldn’t care less about anything — except he kept glancing her way every now and then.

That was when Mark, Dongyeon, and Chanyeol strolled over, reeking of too much cologne and fake confidence.

Mark leaned against the end of the table. “Ladies.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Gentlemen. Or… whatever you are.”

Jiwoo choked on her drink.

Mina looked amused. “What’s up?”

“There’s a party at mine tonight,” Mark said. “Figured we’d invite the pretty half of this table.”

Chanyeol winked. “You girls should come. Bring that chaotic energy. We like that.”

Dongyeon added, “It’ll be fun. No parents, music, drinks... all the things good girls need to loosen up.”

The air shifted.

Yoongi pushed his sunglasses down, eyes sharp now. “You done?”

Mark blinked. “What?”

Jungkook sat up straighter. His gum hit the ground. “They said no.”

“No one actually said no,” Dongyeon muttered.

“They don’t have to,” Jimin said, voice light but eyes hard. “But since you’re not picking up on social cues, let me translate: no means no. Leave.”

Mark snorted. “Damn, relax. Didn't know they came with bodyguards.”

Hoseok stood. “And you didn’t come with manners.”

The courtyard quieted around them — not enough for teachers to notice, but enough for a few heads to turn.

Mark raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Message received.”

As the trio walked off, Chanyeol threw one last wink at Y/N. “Offer still stands.”

Before Y/N could respond, Jungkook said flatly, “She’s not interested.”

The second they were gone, Jiwoo broke the silence. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

“Ugh,” Mina rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t gonna go anyway. Their parties are just cheap beer and bad flirting.”

Y/N glanced at Jungkook, whose jaw was still tight. “You alright there, hero?”

He shrugged, not looking at her. “They’re just idiots. Doesn’t mean you have to listen to them.”

She smirked. “Aw, was that you caring?”

He gave her a look. “Don’t get used to it.”

“You so totally care,” Jimin said, grinning.

Jungkook kicked his shin under the table.

-

Mina’s place was their go-to hangout spot — big enough to fit the chaos of seven teenagers and loud enough that no one cared if someone accidentally knocked over a lamp during charades.

By the time they got there, shoes were already piled by the door and someone had claimed the remote. Jungkook tossed his backpack in the corner, flopped on the bean bag, and declared he wasn’t moving unless someone bribed him with snacks.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re already eating my chips.”

“Exactly. You bribed me without knowing.”

Mina and Jiwoo were arguing over which CD to play next — Backstreet Boys or Nirvana — while Hoseok tried to convince Yoongi to play a stupid card game he swore he wasn’t rigging.

Then the door creaked open.

Mina’s mom peeked in, smiling warmly. “Well, well, the usual suspects.”

“Hi, Mrs. Lee,” the chorus chimed.

She looked around the room like it brought her joy to see her daughter’s life laid out in laughter and tangled limbs.

“You all staying for dinner?” she asked.

“Only if you’re making your kimchi stew,” Jimin said brightly.

“Oh, I might be persuaded,” she teased — then turned to Mina, voice shifting.

“By the way, I ran into Mark’s mom at the store. She said Mark’s throwing a pre-end-of-semester party tonight. Apparently you girls turned down his invite?”

Mina froze halfway through detangling her hair. “Yeah, uh… wasn’t really our scene.”

Mrs. Lee gave her a pointed look. “Well, she seemed really disappointed. Said Mark had been looking forward to you girls coming. Poor thing, probably nervous about throwing a party.”

Jiwoo muttered, “Yeah, nervous is one word for it.”

But Mina’s mom had already decided. “You should go. Be polite. Just for a little while.”

The boys all exchanged looks. Jungkook’s eyebrows raised. “Did she just guilt-trip you into partying?”

“Apparently so,” Mina sighed.

“We’ll go,” Y/N said with a shrug. “We’ll make an appearance, sip some soda, judge his music choices, and dip.”

“You guys should come too,” Mina said, turning to the boys.

Jimin raised a brow. “You just assumed we’d follow you into social hell?”

“Yes,” Mina deadpanned. “Because you’re whipped for us.”

Hoseok clapped his hands together. “Alright, alright. One hour. That’s it. We go, we dance ironically, we leave.”

-

“No, you can’t wear that,” Jiwoo said, snatching a sparkly crop top out of Y/N’s hands.

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted it.”

The girls raided Mina’s closet like they were prepping for a concert instead of a high school party thrown by a boy who once got suspended for graffitiing his own locker.

Meanwhile, in the living room:

Jimin sprawled on the couch. “Should I change or do I already look too good for this party?”

“You wore that to biology,” Jungkook said.

“And still looked better than you,” Jimin replied.

Yoongi didn’t bother changing — he just swapped his hoodie for a leather jacket and called it a day.

By the time the girls came out — Mina in platform heels, Jiwoo in glitter, Y/N in a cropped tee and low-rise jeans — the boys actually stopped talking for a beat.

Hoseok let out a whistle. “Damn. Okay, maybe we do stay longer than an hour.”

Y/N looked at Jungkook. He looked… unreadable for half a second. And then he tossed her his car keys.

“You call shotgun.”

She caught them. “Why me?”

“Because if I have to suffer through Mark’s voice for an hour, at least I should have decent company.”

-

They stood outside Mina’s driveway, debating the car situation.

“Yoongi’s driving me,” Jimin said, already sliding into the passenger seat.

“Obviously,” Yoongi muttered.

Hoseok gestured to his car. “Girls, hop in.”

Mina paused. “Wait — where’s Y/N going?”

“I’ll take her,” Jungkook said before anyone else answered.

Y/N blinked. “You sure?”

He shrugged. “My car’s quieter.”

Mina raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t say anything.

Y/N slipped into Jungkook’s passenger seat, tossing the keys back to him. “You always this generous with rides?”

He smirked. “Only with people who argue about Shakespeare like it’s a sport.”

The others pulled away, leaving just the two of them under the soft pink glow of the sunset.

The car doors shut.

The music turned low.

And for the first time all day — it was just the two of them.

Jungkook had one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose on the gearshift. The windows were cracked, letting in the breeze, and the stereo played something mellow — probably one of Yoongi’s burned CDs. Lo-fi with a bit of a grunge edge.

“You don’t mind giving me a ride?” Y/N asked casually.

He shrugged, eyes on the road. “Wouldn’t have offered if I did.”

“Could’ve made Jiwoo sit on Mina’s lap in Hoseok’s car.”

“I could’ve,” he said, smirking faintly. “But then you’d be stuck in a car with Dongyeon’s house in your future.”

She laughed. “God, imagine.”

“Don’t even joke about it.”

Y/N nudged his arm lightly. “What, jealous?”

Jungkook glanced at her, jaw twitching ever so slightly. “Of Dongyeon?”

“Of anyone,” she teased.

“Why would I be jealous?”

She tilted her head. “I dunno. You were awfully quick to shut them down earlier. Kind of heroic. Hot, even.”

He rolled his eyes, but she didn’t miss the way his grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

“They’re not good guys,” he said, quieter. “Not the kind who look at you the way they should.”

“And what’s the right way to look at me, Jeon?”

This time he glanced at her — really looked. And for a moment, his voice dropped, softer, less guarded.

“Like you’re not just something to win.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

The car settled into silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It was thick with all the things they weren’t saying.

Then she smiled, leaning back again, breaking the tension. “So philosophical all of a sudden. You trying to win me over with depth now?”

He scoffed. “Nah. Just tired of guys who think throwing parties gives them the right to hit on whoever they want.”

“Sounds like someone’s taking this personally.”

He didn’t answer at first. Then:

“Maybe I am.”

That hung in the air.

She looked over at him again, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re being weird today.”

He glanced at her again, his voice low. “You make me weird.”

Her heart did a little stutter-step.

Before she could say anything, his phone buzzed in the console. He ignored it. Then it buzzed again. And again.

Y/N peeked over. “Someone’s popular.”

He glanced, saw the name, and rolled his eyes before flipping the phone facedown. “Just Hana. From science. She’s been weird lately.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Weird how?”

“She asked if I wanted to go to the party with her,” he said, casually, like it meant nothing. “I said no.”

“Oh?” Her tone was too light.

“Yeah.” A beat. “Didn’t want to go with anyone else.”

She looked out the window, hiding the tiny smile tugging at her lips. “You’re really laying it on thick tonight.”

He shrugged, a little smirk forming. “Maybe I’m finally done pretending I don’t mean it.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away. But when they pulled up to the party house, music thumping faintly in the distance, she turned to him.

“I like this version of you.”

“What version?”

“The one that’s just a little jealous. And not afraid to show it.”

He glanced at her, cocky smirk replaced by something gentler.

“Stick around tonight,” he said, voice low. “You might like what else you find.”

-

The bass was already thumping by the time Jungkook pulled up along the curb, headlights washing over a line of cars crammed into Mark’s street. Multicolored lights leaked out through the living room windows. People milled around on the lawn, red solo cups in hand, yelling over music and laughter.

He killed the engine and looked over at Y/N. “You sure you wanna do this?”

She leaned forward, peering at the scene. “Not even a little.”

“Wanna ditch and hit the convenience store instead? Instant ramen and peach soda?”

She smiled, tempted. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Just then, Yoongi’s car pulled up behind them. Hobi’s headlights followed seconds later.

The gang regrouped on the sidewalk, dressed like a band of misfits forced into a high school teen drama.

“I already regret this,” Jiwoo muttered, tugging her jacket tighter around her.

“You and me both,” Yoongi sighed.

Mina groaned. “Let’s just go in, make a loop, and get out.”

As they approached the porch, the music grew louder—fast-paced 90s hip hop, all bass and no taste. Jungkook lingered close to Y/N, his shoulder brushing hers as they climbed the steps.

One of them knocked.

A beat passed.

Then the door cracked open—and there stood Mark, frozen mid-sip of his drink.

“Oh.” His eyes trailed over the girls first. “Didn’t think you were coming.”

Mina crossed her arms. “Yeah, well, my mom ran into your mom.”

Mark blinked. “Seriously?”

“She made us come,” Jiwoo added flatly. “So say thank you to Mrs. Lee.”

His gaze flicked to the boys. “Didn’t know this was a plus-one situation.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

Jungkook stepped forward, calm but unreadable. “We’ll only be here a bit. We won’t get in your way.”

Mark hesitated—clearly annoyed, but too proud to say no. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

He stepped aside, letting them in.

The second the door opened fully, music hit them like a wave. The living room was packed—kids dancing, some standing around the kitchen shouting over each other, the lights dimmed and replaced by neon strips and someone’s terrible strobe setup. A couple was already making out near the coat rack.

“Classy,” Yoongi muttered.

They filed in, awkwardly scanning the room.

“I need a drink,” Jimin said immediately.

“Peach soda doesn’t sound so bad now, huh?” Jungkook said to Y/N under his breath.

She grinned. “We’re committed. Let’s suffer.”

Hoseok motioned toward the kitchen. “We’ll do a lap. Grab snacks. Scout the exits in case we need to make a dramatic escape.”

As they moved deeper into the house, Mark disappeared into the crowd—but not before throwing one last look at Y/N.

Jungkook noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He didn’t say anything, but his hand brushed the small of her back, gently guiding her away from the doorway, his voice low in her ear.

“Stay close, yeah?”

-

The house was packed.

It smelled like cheap cologne, orange soda, and someone’s burned popcorn. The music bounced off the walls, some mixtape of late-90s bangers that had been left on loop. Every conversation was a shout, every hallway a squeeze.

Y/N stuck close to Jungkook’s side as they moved through the crowd, shoulder-to-shoulder in the worst way. Not that she minded. He was warm and familiar, even in the chaos.

He leaned in toward her, voice low in her ear. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, tugging on the hem of her borrowed top. “Just don’t feel like being here.”

He nodded. “Then don’t leave my side.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

They found the rest of the group gathered near the kitchen counter, already mid-debate about whether or not the red punch had alcohol in it.

Jiwoo took a cautious sip and cringed. “That’s a no from me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hoseok said, dramatically wiping down the countertop with a napkin. “The vibe here is sticky.”

Suddenly, a too-familiar voice rang out across the kitchen.

“Well, look who finally showed up.”

They turned just in time to see Chanyeol, drink in hand, flashing his signature too-wide smile.

He approached the girls first, eyes blatantly scanning Y/N, Mina, and Jiwoo.

“Thought you three were too good for this party,” he said, stopping a little too close. “Changed your minds?”

“Nope,” Mina replied. “Our moms did.”

Chanyeol smirked. “Lucky for me, then.”

Jungkook was beside Y/N in half a second, body angling slightly in front of hers.

Chanyeol noticed. Smirked wider.

“Relax, Jeon,” he said lazily. “Just saying hi to our guests.”

Jimin cut in with a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “And now you’ve said hi. Congrats.”

Chanyeol shrugged and moved off, disappearing into the crowd with a wink Y/N pretended not to see.

Once he was gone, Jungkook exhaled slowly.

“You okay?” he asked her again, voice softer.

She nodded, but tucked herself just a little closer to his side.

“You’re sticking to me like glue tonight,” he teased gently.

Y/N gave a half-smile. “That a problem?”

“No,” he said quickly, eyes flicking to her mouth for a second too long. “It’s not.”

They stood like that for a moment—too close to be casual, too quiet to be normal.

Then Jimin appeared beside Y/N with a can of soda in hand.

“For you, m’lady,” he said with a mock bow.

She laughed and took it. “You’re too good to me.”

Jimin bumped her shoulder with his. “You doing okay?”

She gave him a small smile. “Better now.”

He looked at her knowingly, then at Jungkook. “He hasn’t left your side.”

“I haven’t let him,” she said, a little too honest.

Jimin’s expression softened. “That’s how it should be.”

Across the room, Chanyeol was watching again.

And Jungkook noticed.

He reached for Y/N’s hand without a word—just laced their fingers together like it had always been that way.

She looked down at their hands, then up at him, heart beating louder than the bass.

“Just so he gets the message,” Jungkook said, voice low.

She nodded. But they both knew it wasn’t really about Chanyeol anymore.

-

The party continued to pulse around them, but Y/N was only half-aware of it. She could feel Jungkook’s hand still wrapped around hers, thumb brushing gently across her knuckles like he was grounding himself with the contact.

His touch was calm. His energy? Not so much.

Across the room, Chanyeol was still watching — too casual, too smug — while Mark had reappeared, chatting up two girls from their chemistry class and throwing occasional glances in Y/N’s direction.

Jungkook noticed every single one.

“You alright?” she whispered to him, tilting her head just enough so only he could hear.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Just leaned a little closer, his breath brushing her ear as he murmured, “They keep looking at you like they’re waiting for me to slip up.”

She blinked. “Well, you haven’t.”

He gave a soft huff of amusement. “Don’t plan to.”

Just then, Mark sauntered over — red cup in hand, grin a little too practiced.

“Didn’t think you guys would last this long,” he said, eyes sweeping over their intertwined hands.

Jungkook didn’t let go.

“We were about to bounce, actually,” Jiwoo said flatly, already reaching for her bag.

But Mark was quick. “Wait, hold up—me, Dongyeon, and Chanyeol were gonna head upstairs. Start a game.”

Y/N’s brow lifted. “A game?”

“Truth or dare,” he said smoothly. “Classic. Stupid. Fun.”

Jiwoo crossed her arms. “Sounds more like a setup.”

“C’mon,” Chanyeol chimed in, appearing behind him with that lopsided grin. “Just the group of us. Old-school. Like spin-the-bottle but less gross.”

“Can’t promise that,” Dongyeon added, smirking.

The girls exchanged a glance.

Mina rolled her eyes but smiled. “We’ll come only if the boys come too.”

Mark laughed. “Wasn’t gonna exclude them. Especially not Jungkook.”

He clapped Jungkook’s shoulder — a little too hard, a little too familiar.

Jungkook didn’t even blink. Just smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Lead the way.”

Y/N squeezed his hand once.

“Are we seriously doing this?” she whispered as they followed the group toward the stairs.

“Apparently.”

“You’re not gonna kiss Chanyeol if the bottle lands on him, right?”

He looked over at her, deadpan. “Only if you kiss Dongyeon.”

She burst into laughter, leaning into his arm, and just like that — the air between them was warmer again. But something electric hummed underneath.

Because they were heading upstairs.

And if there’s one thing high school parties in the 90s were famous for…

It was what happened when the dares got too real.

-

The group slowly filed in, forming a lopsided circle on the carpet. Jiwoo and Mina plopped down first. Yoongi settled beside Hobi near the corner, arms crossed and expression unreadable as always.

Y/N went to sit in the space between Jimin and an empty spot—clearly left for Jungkook.

Jungkook followed right after her.

But just as he stepped forward—

Chanyeol slid right in, shoulder bumping Jungkook’s arm as he casually dropped down next to Y/N.

“Oops,” Chanyeol said with a smirk, not even looking up. “This spot taken?”

Y/N blinked, startled. “Oh—uh—”

Jungkook froze.

For half a second, his jaw clenched. His eyes dropped to Chanyeol’s hand, which had conveniently braced itself on the carpet a little too close to Y/N’s leg.

But Jungkook said nothing. Just exhaled through his nose and moved to sit on the other side of Jimin, opposite her now.

Jimin noticed everything.

He leaned slightly toward Y/N and gave her arm a gentle nudge. “Don’t worry. He’s fine. He just doesn’t want to ruin the game by launching Chanyeol through a wall.”

Y/N tried not to laugh—but it bubbled out anyway.

Chanyeol didn’t notice. Or pretended not to.

Instead, he turned to her, lowering his voice with faux sincerity. “Haven’t seen you around much this semester. You good?”

She gave a polite nod. “Yeah. Just been busy.”

“With Jungkook?” he asked, with that too-sweet tone.

She tilted her head, answering without hesitation. “Yeah. With Jungkook.”

Across the circle, Jungkook smirked quietly to himself.

“Alright!” Hoseok clapped his hands, grabbing a battered glass soda bottle from the shelf. “Shall we get this 90s cliché started?”

“Let’s,” Yoongi muttered.

Mina spun first. It landed on Jiwoo, who ended up doing a silly dance move in the middle of the circle.

Then Jiwoo spun. “Truth or dare, Dongyeon?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to compliment Mark. With genuine emotion.”

The room howled.

It was lighthearted. Silly. And for a moment, everyone relaxed.

The bottle moved again. Jimin took a truth and admitted he once got detention for dancing too hard in gym class.

Then it was Chanyeol’s spin.

It stopped on Y/N.

“Oh boy,” Mina murmured under her breath.

Chanyeol leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Truth or dare?”

Y/N hesitated for half a beat. “Truth.”

“Alright,” he said, grin stretching. “Who in this room do you think has the biggest crush on you?”

Jungkook’s eyes snapped up.

The room went quiet for a second, the energy shifting ever so slightly.

Y/N stared at Chanyeol. He was enjoying this.

Jimin, beside her, muttered under his breath, “You can say ‘pass’ if he keeps being weird.”

But Y/N just smiled sweetly and turned to glance at Jungkook across the circle.

Then, calmly, she looked back at Chanyeol.

“Easy,” she said. “The guy who knows not to ask questions just to prove a point.”

Oof.

Yoongi gave a short, quiet laugh.

Even Hoseok raised his brows. “Damn.”

Jungkook’s mouth tugged into a grin — small but real.

And for the first time all night, Chanyeol looked caught off guard.

The game continued, but now there was a silent undercurrent flowing between Y/N and Jungkook. Every glance, every brush of eye contact held more weight.

-

The game kept going, the circle relaxing again after the slight spike in tension.

Mark got dared to sing a random love ballad with his eyes closed. (He chose the cheesiest one possible — everyone regretted it.)

Yoongi, when asked for a truth, revealed he once broke a vending machine at school and walked away pretending nothing happened. (“We knew it was you,” Hoseok said flatly.)

Then Mina spun the bottle, and it landed on Hoseok.

“Truth or dare, dance captain?” she asked with a grin.

Hoseok dramatically sighed. “Dare.”

“I dare you to text your crush right now and say ‘I’m thinking about you.’ No context.”

Half the room screamed.

“Do I have to send it?” he groaned.

“Yes!” Mina shouted.

He pulled out his phone, muttering, “I swear, if this ruins my life…”

They watched as he typed and hit send, dramatically flinging his phone face down on the floor.

“That’s tomorrow’s problem,” Jimin said, high-fiving him.

The laughter continued. Y/N started to genuinely relax, resting her arm against Jimin’s and occasionally glancing at Jungkook, who caught her eye more than once from across the circle. Every time, it felt like their own private thread pulling tighter.

Then it was Jimin’s turn.

He spun the bottle with too much flair. It rattled, clinked, and landed…

…on Jungkook.

“Ohhh,” Mina teased. “Finally.”

“Truth,” Jungkook said coolly, brushing a hand through his hair.

Jimin grinned like he’d been waiting.

“Alright, be honest. When was the exact moment you realized you liked someone in this room?”

The group immediately ooooooh’d like a sitcom audience.

Y/N tried not to freeze.

Jungkook didn’t blink. He leaned back slightly, one arm draped over his knee, expression unreadable but eyes locked on Jimin’s.

“You’re assuming I like someone in this room.”

“You didn’t say no,” Jimin replied, smug.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Jungkook shrugged. “Okay. It was the second week of school last year.”

Y/N blinked.

“That’s… weirdly specific,” Jiwoo said.

Jungkook didn’t elaborate.

He just looked briefly—so briefly—at Y/N.

And her heart stuttered.

Mina leaned over to Jimin, whispering behind her hand, “We are SO steering the next one.”

Jimin nodded solemnly. “Let’s make history.”

Next spin landed on Jiwoo, who had to wear a kitchen glove on her head for the next five minutes. (“This is bullying,” she said while posing like a queen.)

Then Mina took her turn.

The bottle spun.

And it landed between Y/N and Jungkook.

The group paused. So did Y/N’s breath.

Mina tilted her head dramatically. “Hmmm… we’ll let fate decide.”

She reached over, adjusted the bottle slightly (not subtly), and smiled.

“Looks like it’s Y/N.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “That bottle didn’t even stop moving yet.”

“It did emotionally,” Jimin added, nodding.

Mina smirked. “Truth or dare, sweetheart?”

Y/N glanced across the circle. Jungkook wasn’t smirking like the others. He was just watching her—quietly.

“Truth,” she said.

Mina didn’t miss a beat.

“If you could kiss someone in this room tonight... would you?”

Another beat of silence.

Jiwoo gasped. “That’s not even fair!”

“It’s just a question,” Mina said innocently.

Jimin, beside Y/N, leaned in. “Be brave.”

Y/N looked down, fiddling with the hem of her jeans.

Then she glanced up—only at Jungkook—and said:

“Yes.”

Not loud. Not bold.

But sure.

And just like that, the room seemed to still for a second too long.

Someone cleared their throat. Mark started laughing awkwardly. Jiwoo broke the tension with a joke about wanting another soda.

But Jungkook?

Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver.

-

The room hadn’t quite recovered from Y/N’s answer.

The air felt heavier now — not uncomfortable, just charged.

Y/N could feel Jungkook’s stare, even when she looked away.

Mina tried to act casual. “Okay. Who’s next?”

Jungkook leaned forward, grabbed the bottle without a word, and spun it with two fingers — smooth, controlled, almost lazy.

It clinked around the circle once… twice…

Then landed on Mina.

“Ugh,” she groaned dramatically. “Knew I shouldn’t have interfered with fate.”

“Truth or dare?” Jungkook asked, calm as ever.

She narrowed her eyes. “Dare.”

Jungkook tilted his head slightly. “I dare you… to pick two people in this room to switch seats.”

Mina blinked. “That’s your dare?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Use it wisely.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Mina took about two seconds to think before pointing between Chanyeol and Jungkook.

“Switch.”

Chanyeol groaned. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” she said sweetly. “You’re in Jungkook’s seat.”

Jungkook didn’t wait for permission. He stood, walked back across the circle, and this time, dropped down right beside Y/N.

No one said anything, but they didn’t have to.

Y/N could feel the heat of him now — how close he was, the subtle way his knee brushed hers as he leaned back on one arm, gaze forward but attention on her.

The game went on — more spins, more laughs, more noise — but none of it registered.

Because now it was Y/N and Jungkook.

Side by side.

His voice dropped near her ear when the others were distracted by Mark doing a handstand.

“Was your answer earlier for real?” he asked quietly.

Y/N turned slightly, just enough to meet his gaze.

“You asking because you want to dare me to prove it?”

His lips twitched. “Maybe.”

She raised a brow, whispering, “Then ask.”

A long pause.

Then—

“Mina,” Jungkook called across the circle, voice casual. “Dare for Y/N.”

Mina looked up from where she was watching Hoseok try to chug orange soda. “What?”

“She said truth before. I’m saying dare now.”

The group oooh’d again.

Y/N felt her pulse in her throat.

Mina, grinning like the chaos fairy she was, nodded. “Alright. Dare it is.”

Jungkook turned to Y/N — slowly, deliberately.

“I dare you to kiss someone in this room.”

Everything stopped.

The music downstairs. The laughter. Even the buzz of cheap light bulbs overhead seemed to fade into static.

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

She leaned forward, caught Jungkook’s collar between her fingers, and kissed him.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t overdone.

But it was real.

Too real for a party game.

His hand came up to her jaw, warm and steady, holding her like he’d wanted to for ages.

No one spoke. No one dared to.

Because even if it was just a dare…

Everyone in the room knew:

That kiss wasn’t part of the game.

-

The party buzzed on without them.

Laughter still echoed down the hall, muffled behind closed doors. Music thumped faintly beneath their feet. But none of it mattered anymore.

Because Y/N was slipping on her jacket, and Jungkook was already holding the door open for her.

They didn’t say anything as they stepped out into the cool night air.

Just moved together — side by side, like muscle memory — until they reached his car parked on the street out front, quiet under a flickering streetlamp.

Jungkook opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

She did.

He walked around, climbed into the driver’s seat, but didn’t turn the key.

Instead, he leaned back, exhaled slowly, and tilted his head up toward the sky.

“Look,” he said softly. “You can actually see stars tonight.”

Y/N followed his gaze.

The sky above was velvet-dark, scattered with tiny pinpricks of light — rare for their town, rare for nights like this.

“You ever think about how crazy that is?” she murmured. “That those stars are millions of years old? And we’re just… here. Existing beneath them for a second.”

Jungkook looked at her. Not the stars.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think about that every time I’m near you.”

She turned to him, breath catching.

“I’m serious,” he added, quieter now. “You walk into a room, and everything slows down. Like the universe forgot what it was doing and just… paused.”

Y/N blinked. “That’s… kind of the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

He gave a lopsided smile. “Well, I don’t say it to just anyone.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. The kind only possible between two people who’ve known each other too long to pretend. The kind that held a weight — not of pressure, but of possibility.

Jungkook leaned forward, resting his arms on the steering wheel.

“You meant it, didn’t you?” he asked. “During the game.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Did you?”

He smiled again. “You kissed me first.”

She laughed softly, turning toward him. “Only because you dared me to.”

“Only because I wanted you to,” he said.

Her heart fluttered. Like it used to when she was younger. Like it always did around him.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers on the center console.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low, “I don’t know what this is. I don’t even know when it started. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since… forever.”

Her fingers turned and laced through his.

“You don’t have to,” she said gently. “I don’t want you to.”

The silence returned — this time warmer, wrapped in headlights and starlight and soft glances that said everything words couldn’t.

Neither of them said “I like you” or “let’s make this official”.

They didn’t need to.

Because right then, in the quiet hum of Jungkook’s car, watching the sky that had seen them grow up…

They knew something had changed.

And neither of them wanted to go back.

-

The drive home was quiet — but in the best way.

Jungkook had the windows rolled down halfway. The cool night breeze slipped in, playing with strands of Y/N’s hair as she leaned back in her seat, half-smiling to herself.

He glanced at her when they stopped at a red light. “What?”

She shrugged, barely looking over. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

She turned to him with a lazy grin. “Okay. Maybe I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

She hesitated. Then, softly: “About how weird it is that… tonight felt kind of perfect.”

His grip on the steering wheel relaxed.

“Yeah,” he said. “It really did.”

They pulled up in front of her house a few minutes later.

The porch light was still on — a warm, yellow glow washing over the front steps. The rest of the house looked dark.

Jungkook stepped out first, rounding the car to open her door without even thinking.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “You know I’m capable of doing that myself.”

“I know,” he said. “Still wanted to.”

She stepped out, and for a second, they just stood there on the path, their arms brushing.

The energy between them had changed since the party — softer now, but still buzzing underneath their skin.

At the doorstep, they slowed.

Neither made a move to unlock the door just yet.

“So…” she murmured.

“So…” he echoed.

They both laughed quietly. The air smelled like summer grass and sleep.

“I had fun,” she said.

“I had more.”

She raised a brow. “Competitive even now?”

“Only when it comes to you.”

She rolled her eyes again — but this time, she was smiling too wide to hide.

He stepped a little closer.

The space between them was so small now.

“I’m really glad you kissed me,” he said softly.

Y/N’s breath caught. “I’m really glad you dared me to.”

And then, finally—

A kiss.

Not like the one at the party.

This one was gentle. Slow. The kind of kiss that said we don’t have to rush anything — we’re here now.

It lingered for a moment, both of them quietly afraid to pull away.

But then—

A small voice from behind the screen door broke the silence.

“Oooohh I am so telling Mom.”

Y/N jumped, nearly stumbling back as the porch light flickered behind the front window.

Her seven-year-old sister stood there with a juice box in her hand and the smuggest look in the universe.

“Mina!” Y/N gasped. “What are you—why are you awake?!”

Mina just blinked innocently. “I was getting apple juice. And then I saw you kissing a boy.”

Jungkook awkwardly cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous laugh.

Mina pointed straight at him. “You’re really handsome.”

Y/N groaned. “Oh my god.”

“Are you her boyfriend?” Mina asked, eyes wide.

“Uhhh…” Jungkook looked like he was about to melt into the ground. “Something like that?”

“Cool,” she said, then turned to Y/N. “Can I be the flower girl at your wedding?”

“Mina, GO TO BED!”

Still grinning, Mina turned and walked back inside, mumbling something about “diaries” and “blackmail.”

Y/N covered her face with both hands.

“I swear, she’s not usually like that.”

Jungkook just laughed, eyes crinkling as he stepped backward down the porch steps.

“I like her. She’s chaotic. Like you.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Goodnight, Jungkook.”

He smiled. “Night, Y/N.”

And with one last look — the kind that held way too much affection for a single glance — he turned and headed for his car, disappearing down the street as the porch light flickered softly behind her.

-

The morning sun was lazy, bleeding gold across the sidewalk as Y/N walked beside Jimin on their usual route to school.

He was sipping iced coffee from a cup twice the size of his hand, eyebrows raised as he watched her try (and fail) to hide a very suspicious smile.

“…So,” he said, drawing it out.

“So,” she replied.

“You’ve been quiet for approximately two and a half blocks, and you never shut up in the morning. Something’s up.”

She side-eyed him. “I don’t always talk.”

“You once recited your entire math homework aloud just to ‘hear how stupid it sounded.’”

Y/N tried not to laugh. “Okay, fair.”

“So…” Jimin bumped her arm lightly. “You and Jungkook.”

She blinked. “What about us?”

He gave her a deadpan look.

“Y/N, please. You sat next to each other at lunch yesterday like two magnets that just learned what touch was. And you haven’t stopped smiling since we left your house.”

She hesitated, cheeks warming.

“We kissed,” she said quietly.

Jimin nearly tripped on the curb. “I knew it! I knew there was weird tension at that party!”

“He kissed me back,” she added.

Jimin beamed. “You say that like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world that he’s obsessed with you.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, swatting him, but she was grinning now.

They reached the school gates, voices blending into the morning rush. Students poured in from all sides, some dragging feet, others already cracking jokes and chasing each other up the stairs.

But before they could even reach the front steps—

“Y/N!”

Chanyeol’s voice cut across the crowd like a bad ringtone.

She winced. Jimin rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn’t see the future.

Chanyeol jogged up beside them, brushing his messy hair out of his face.

“Hey,” he said, giving Y/N a grin. “You left early last night.”

“Yeah, just got tired,” she said, keeping it short.

Chanyeol leaned a little too close. “We didn’t even get to finish talking.”

“We didn’t start talking,” Jimin muttered.

Chanyeol ignored him. “Anyway, I was thinking maybe we could hang out this weekend? Just us. Something chill—”

“She’s busy,” Jimin cut in flatly.

Chanyeol blinked. “How would you know?”

“Because she has better taste.”

Y/N sighed, already inching toward the doors, but Chanyeol wasn’t done yet.

“I don’t get it,” he said, louder now. “We’ve known each other forever—why are you acting like I’m some creep?”

“Because you are,” Jimin said, smile sharp.

“Dude, back off.”

Chanyeol glared, but Jimin stood his ground, and after a tense pause, Chanyeol scoffed and walked off, shaking his head.

Y/N sighed in relief. “Thanks.”

Jimin just gave a tiny smirk, tapping his coffee cup like he’d just come up with something evil.

“…What?” she asked warily.

“Oh, nothing,” he said sweetly. “I just had an idea.”

-

The courtyard was packed during lunch — bright sun, open tables, and every group claiming their territory across the grass.

Jimin sat beside Jungkook, chewing on his straw, leaning in like he was sharing state secrets.

“You want me to what?” Jungkook said, blinking.

“Just one kiss. Quick. Soft. Maybe a little showy,” Jimin said. “You don’t even have to dip her dramatically, though that would be iconic.”

“Hyung…”

“Chanyeol won’t stop pestering her,” Jimin said seriously. “And Y/N doesn’t like confrontation. But you? You’re the statement.”

Jungkook glanced across the courtyard. Y/N was sitting with Jiwoo and Mina under the big tree, legs crossed, laughing at something.

And Chanyeol was, not so subtly, hovering nearby.

Jaw tightening, Jungkook stood.

Jimin grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

Across the grass, Y/N looked up just as Jungkook approached — hands in his pockets, jaw sharp under the sun, confidence in every step.

He didn’t say anything.

Just walked up.

She stood instinctively, confused. “Jungkook—?”

Before she could finish, he gently cupped her face, leaned down, and kissed her.

Right there.

In front of half the school.

It wasn’t aggressive. Wasn’t rushed.

Just a kiss that said she’s mine. This is real. We’re done playing around.

When he pulled back, her eyes were wide — stunned, heart thudding, hands still frozen midair like she forgot how to move.

And then he smiled — really smiled — and turned, walking back to his table without a word.

Around them, the courtyard exploded.

“OHHHHHHH!”

“WHAT?!”

“HOLY—”

Jiwoo screamed. Mina screamed. Someone from the basketball team yelled, “FINALLY.”

And off to the side…

Chanyeol stood completely still.

Mouth slightly open.

Then he turned and walked away without another word.

Defeated.

Jimin leaned back with his arms crossed, sunglasses on indoors, sipping from his straw like a smug villain.

"Park jimin you wizard. How'd you pull this off?" Hoseok gasped next to him, seeing the look on Jimin's face was enough to tell he was behind this.

He simply smirked. "I did nothing really, they did this to themselves."

"Chanyeol's probably pissed." Yoongi says with a pleased smile, eyes looking back down at his ukulele from the newly announced couple.

Y/N turned slowly back to her seat, dazed.

“Are you okay?” Mina asked between gasps of laughter.

“I… I think I just got publicly claimed,” Y/N whispered.

And somewhere in the distance, Jungkook smiled.

-

Later that night, the sky over town stretched wide and quiet. The streets had gone still. The party echoes and school gossip had long since faded.

But up on Jungkook’s rooftop — a little above it all — two people sat side by side on a blanket, legs dangling over the edge, the night humming gently around them.

The stars were scattered like salt, and the air was cool enough to press them closer.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Y/N murmured, nudging him with her shoulder.

He looked over, grinning. “Did what?”

“You know what.”

“Oh, you mean the epic, public, once-in-a-lifetime kiss in front of the entire school?”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “You’re so annoying.”

“You kissed me back,” he said.

“You kissed me first.”

They both laughed quietly.

The kind of laugh that felt like something new beginning.

“Was it too much?” he asked after a pause. “Too showy?”

Y/N looked at him for a long moment.

And then, simply: “No. It was perfect.”

A breeze drifted between them, and she leaned into his side, head on his shoulder.

They sat like that for a while. No rush. No pressure.

Just two people who had always almost been something… now finally were.

“You know,” she said after a while, voice soft, “I used to think we were just too different.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Different how?”

“I don’t know. You’re loud, I’m quiet. You’re chaos, I’m… slightly less chaos.”

He smirked. “You’re a different kind of chaos.”

She giggled, then went quiet again.

“But then,” she added, “I realized maybe that’s the point. We balance each other out.”

He looked down at her, warmth in his eyes.

“You’re my favorite balance,” he whispered.

She smiled.

“You’re my favorite everything.”

And then he kissed her again.

Not like the one from earlier — not to prove anything, not to claim or perform or make a scene.

Just to feel her smile against his lips.

And when they pulled apart, the stars still above them and the town still asleep below—

“You used to fight me over grammar, you know?” Y/N said, bumping her shoulder against his.

Jungkook smirked. “Only so I could talk to you without sounding obvious.”

She laughed. “Obvious about what?”

He looked at her — soft, a little smug. “Liking you.”

Her breath caught just slightly, but she covered it with a playful eye roll. “Still never beat me in English though.”

He shrugged, that same boyish grin tugging at his lips. “Maybe not. But I did get the girl.”

a/n : btw if you can't already tell, I loved writing this and am currently kicking my feet over my own story and I usually NEVER re-read my stories after it's posted. hehehehe, like, reblog and lmk what you lovelies think below mwahh

[jeonette]

my favourite chapter - jjk

Jungkook and Y/n were each other’s first everything. But the world asked them to choose between love and growth. They didn't want to stop loving each other, but then again, isn't loving someone, letting them go?

pairing : jungkook x reader

genre : ride or die love trope. Bittersweet.

The glow from the TV cast flickers across the apartment walls, soft and lazy, the volume a low hum beneath the quiet. A forgotten movie played — something romantic and slow, the kind of film Y/N always said she liked but never finished watching.

She was curled beneath Jungkook’s arm, her head tucked into the slope of his shoulder, one leg draped across his lap. She wore his hoodie, sleeves long enough to swallow her hands, and she smelled like laundry and jasmine and sleep.

Jungkook didn’t move much, but his thumb kept tracing the same circle against her thigh, over and over again.

His eyes were half on the screen, half on her — like he couldn’t decide which was more comforting.

“You’re warm,” she mumbled, voice thick with drowsiness.

He smirked. “I know. That’s why you’re always stealing my hoodies.”

“And your socks. And your pillows.”

“You’re literally turning into me.”

Y/N tilted her head up, smiling sleepily. “That’s the goal.”

Jungkook leaned in and kissed her nose — slow, soft, lingering. “If we’re both you, we’ll never argue again.”

She laughed — that sound he loved so much it hurt sometimes. But the moment passed too fast, and the quiet settled again.

Jungkook looked at his phone. A few unread messages from the group chat. A reminder for tomorrow’s shoot. A text from his manager about a last-minute meeting in the morning.

He clicked the screen off. Turned his face back toward her.

“Sorry I couldn’t call last night,” he said gently. “I didn’t finish filming until three.”

She shrugged, but the movement was too casual. “It’s okay. I figured you were busy.”

That was always the word. Busy.

She meant it — she understood. But the way her voice softened around it made his chest ache.

“I missed you,” he said anyway.

“I know.” Her fingers slipped under his shirt, just to feel his skin. “I missed you too.”

They sat like that for a while — quiet, close. Not speaking, but not disconnected. It was the kind of silence built between people who knew each other too well to need words.

But even then, there were small fractures.

She was leaving in two days to visit her parents. He had rehearsals every night that week. They hadn’t shared breakfast in almost two weeks. And the last time he’d asked how school was going, she’d said, “It’s fine,” then changed the subject.

Neither of them mentioned any of it now.

Instead, he shifted so he could cradle her more fully in his lap, hands on her back beneath the hoodie, his lips brushing her forehead.

“Can I ask you something?” he said quietly.

She nodded against his chest.

“If I weren’t… this,” he murmured, “If I weren’t always traveling or gone or… just too much sometimes—do you think it’d be easier?”

Y/N blinked up at him, frowning.

“Easier?” she echoed. “Maybe. But I didn’t fall in love with easy, Jungkook.”

He looked at her for a long moment. And then — slowly, like she was glass — he kissed her. Deep, aching, reverent.

Her hands curled into his shirt. She kissed him back with the same quiet desperation — like they were both afraid to let the moment slip.

And for a while, neither of them spoke.

_

Hobi’s apartment smelled like instant ramen, candle wax, and coffee — chaotic, lived-in, and somehow always comforting.

Jimin had his feet kicked up on the coffee table, laptop balanced on his thighs as he clicked furiously through their shared presentation slides. Hobi was cross-legged on the floor, a highlighter clenched between his teeth as he sifted through printouts like he was on a mission.

Y/N sat at the dining table, surrounded by open notebooks, empty mugs, and the crumbled remains of snacks they had no intention of cleaning up until absolutely necessary.

“This slide looks like it was made by a sleep-deprived pigeon,” Jimin muttered, squinting at the screen.

“That’s because you made it,” Hobi said flatly.

“Okay, rude—”

“I’m just saying, if we crash and burn during this presentation, I’m blaming you and your aesthetic choices.”

Y/N snorted, eyes still fixed on her own laptop. “Guys, it’s literally a group project. If we crash and burn, we all go down together.”

“I’m not going down for him,” Hobi said dramatically, pointing at Jimin with the highlighter like it was a dagger.

“Excuse me,” Jimin said, affronted. “I bring 'charm' to this team.”

“You bring barely cited sources and too many transitions.”

Their bickering continued, but it was all light — the kind of banter only born from years of friendship and caffeine-fueled all-nighters. Y/N just smiled and tuned them out as she refreshed her email out of habit.

It was meant to be mindless.

A reflex.

But then her screen blinked.

Subject: Full-Time London Scholarship Confirmation — International Academic Award Recipient

Y/N blinked. Once. Twice.

Her heart did a weird little flip.

“…Y/N?”

Jimin’s voice barely cut through the sudden fog in her head.

She stared at the subject line again, then opened the email.

Congratulations. You’ve been awarded a full academic scholarship to continue your graduate studies in London. Program starts this September. Full relocation support included. We hope to see you soon.

Her stomach dropped — not in panic, but in shock. Like the ground had suddenly tilted beneath her chair.

“Y/N?” Hobi leaned over from the floor, frowning. “You good?”

She finally looked up. “Holy shit.” She managed to choke out.

Jimin and Hobi both give each other a look, before approaching her to see what she was staring at.

She swallowed and turned the screen toward them.

The silence that followed was almost reverent.

Hobi’s eyes widened. “Whoa, wait is this? Oh my god."”

“Holy shit,” Jimin breathed. “This is huge.”

“I didn’t even think I’d get it,” she whispered. Her voice sounded far away.

"I'm so happy for you dude, oh my god this is actually insane." Jimin breathes out, instantly pulling her in a side hug, eyes still reading the screen in front of them.

"Yeah, congratulations y/n." Hobi smiled gently, also giving her a side hug.

They both knew that even though this confirmation was highly anticipated, she had always said that she never knew if she was actually going to be able to go.

It was her dream, but this was her home.

“How long is the program?” Hobi asked gently.

Y/N scanned the message again. “Two years. With possible job placement after.”

“Damn.” Jimin sat back, whistling. “That’s not just school. That’s, like… life-changing.”

“London, though…” Hobi glanced at her carefully. “That’s far.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

The words sat heavy in the room. She wasn’t sure why.

Maybe because the moment she read that email, one thought had carved itself deep into the back of her mind — unspoken but immediate.

All she could think about is,

What about Jungkook?

He wasn’t just a boyfriend. He was her person. But he was also… busy. Always moving. Always working. And she had her own future now, too — one that suddenly had a very real, very wide door standing open in front of it.

“You okay?” Jimin asked.

She gave him a small, uncertain smile.

“I don’t know yet.”

"Let it rest, you'll figure it out."

-

The night was quiet, the city wrapped in that late-hour hush where even the neon felt softer.

Y/N stepped into the building with her hood up, the weight of two takeout bags warming her hands. She waved at a staff member she vaguely recognized, offering a polite smile as she slipped past cables, lights, and faint echoes of music still hanging in the air.

Jungkook was still filming, as expected — in the corner of the studio under soft lighting, looking unfairly beautiful even in exhaustion. His hair was damp from sweat, shirt clinging to his back, silver chain glinting beneath the lights.

She didn’t say anything, just watched for a few seconds. He moved like he always did — with focus, precision, intensity. The kind of devotion he never quite knew how to switch off.

Her heart tugged.

Even after everything — even with the email still burning in her inbox — he was still her person.

“Y/N?” one of the stylists spotted her. “He’s almost done. You can wait in the corner.”

She smiled. “I brought food. Thought I’d take him home after.”

“Thank god. He hasn’t eaten since, like, five.”

Y/N quietly set the food down on a side table and took a seat in the shadows, just watching him work.

Ten minutes later, the director called, “Cut!” and Jungkook rolled his shoulders out with a groan, flexing the tension from his arms.

When he spotted her, his whole expression changed.

His tired eyes lit up.

“Hey, baby" His voice came out rough, surprised, almost like he didn’t believe she was real.

Y/N stood and smiled. “I figured you’d forget to eat.”

He didn’t reply at first. Just walked over and pulled her into a hug that lasted a little too long, arms tight around her waist like he needed to hold onto something solid.

“I missed you,” he mumbled into her hair.

“I saw you yesterday,” she whispered, grinning.

“Not the point.” He placed light kisses on her face, causing her to giggle.

They sat together on the little couch tucked beside the set, sharing bites of rice and grilled meat from the containers. His legs brushed against hers. Every now and then, she’d steal a piece of meat off his chopsticks and he’d fake-annoyedly swat at her hand, even though he smiled every time.

It was warm. Familiar. Normal.

But even now, it was there — the unspoken thing between them.

He kept checking his phone. She kept zoning out. Both of them noticed, but said nothing.

“Can you go home after this?” she asked, curling into his side.

Jungkook looked at the time. “Yeah. Should be done soon.”

She nodded, fingers fiddling with the drawstring of his hoodie.

They stayed like that for a while — quiet, gentle, almost pretending the real world didn’t exist.

Until the studio door opened.

“Jungkook,” his manager called, walking over quickly. “Sorry — we need you for a few more shot. Lighting wasn’t right in scene four, eight and nine, and the director wants a backup take.”

Jungkook blinked. “Right now?”

“Yeah, sorry. We know its pretty late, but you're already behind on schedule. This shoot with YSL needs to finish by today.”

“Yeah, i'll be out in a few.” He replies. The man walking away.

Y/N tried to keep her face neutral. She really did.

But something flickered. A twitch of the mouth. The shift of her eyes.

And then, under her breath — barely audible — she murmured:

"Of course, again."

It was soft.

But he heard it.

Jungkook froze, then slowly turned to face her.

“What?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Did you just say ‘of course’?”

“I didn’t mean anything.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

She sat up straighter. “Jungkook. It’s fine. Just go finish your shot.”

“No,” he said firmly. “Say what you meant.”

And just like that, the air tightened.

Y/N looked away. “I didn’t mean anything. I’m just… tired.”

Jungkook exhaled sharply, standing up. “No, this is about more than tonight. You’ve been distant for weeks.”

“I haven’t—”

“You have.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Y/N, I’m doing my best. I’m showing up when I can. I thought—”

“I know you’re doing your best,” she cut in, voice rising. “I’m not blaming you, Jungkook. But this is what it always is. Plans pushed back. Dinners rescheduled. One more shoot. One more meeting.”

He went quiet.

Y/N stood slowly, wrapping her arms around herself. Her voice cracked a little when she spoke again.

“I didn’t come tonight to fight. I just wanted to be with you. Like we used to be.”

Jungkook looked at her for a long, silent moment. Then:

“So what? You’re giving up?”

The words hit like a slap.

And maybe he didn’t mean it that way. But it landed hard, anyway.

Y/N's chest tightened.

“No,” she said softly. “But I think… I think I have to tell you something.”

He swallowed. “What?”

She hesitated. Just for a second.

Then — all in one breath:

“I got offered a full scholarship. For grad school. In London. Starting this September.”

Jungkook’s face blanked.

“What?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything yet,” she whispered, eyes wide, vulnerable. “I just found out. I didn’t know how. I didn’t know when. I didn’t want to add to your stress or make you feel like I was—”

“You’re moving to London?”

His voice wasn’t angry. Just hollow.

She nodded once.

“I don’t know if I’ll go. I haven’t decided. I just… I needed time to think.”

He sat down again, slowly, like the floor beneath him had vanished.

“You weren’t going to tell me.”

“I was, Jungkook. I just…” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t want this moment to feel like this.”

He said nothing.

The silence stretched.

And then, softer than anything that came before it:

“Do you want to go?”

Y/N stared at him.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “It’s everything I’ve worked for. But you’re— You’re…”

"B-ut, you can't just drop a bomb on me like this. What- what is even going to happen?" He stutters.

Barely tearing, but only because he was holding it in.

He met her eyes, and for once, they didn’t have answers for each other. Just pain.

-

It had rained earlier.

Now, the apartment smelled like wet pavement, jasmine tea, and the faint trace of his cologne clinging to the hoodie draped over the chair.

Y/N was seated on the floor, back against the edge of the couch, papers spread around her like a broken halo — scholarship documents, flight options, apartment listings in London she wasn’t even sure she wanted to look at yet.

Jungkook watched her from the doorway of the kitchen, silent, holding a half-full mug he hadn’t touched in twenty minutes.

She didn’t look up, but she knew he was there. She could feel it — the weight of him in the room, the tension like static in the air.

He finally broke the silence.

“What if I went with you?”

She froze.

Very slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet his.

“What?”

He stepped forward, setting the mug on the table with more force than necessary. “To London. For two years. What if I just… went with you?”

Her breath caught.

“Jungkook…”

“I’ve been thinking about it. Really thinking,” he said, crouching in front of her. His eyes were shining, but his voice was steady — too steady. Like he was holding something back. “I could take time off. Pull back from the industry. Just for a while. Just to be with you.”

Her hands gripped the edge of the paper in her lap. “You’re serious?”

“I’m dead serious,” he said, eyes never leaving hers. “Y/N, I don’t want to be without you. Not for two years. Not for one. If it means giving this a real shot — just us — then I’ll do it.”

Her eyes filled, throat burning. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is your dream,” she whispered. “You’ve wanted this since before I even knew you. You fought so hard to get here. You’re selling out shows, your name’s everywhere, your music’s finally reaching the world—”

“And none of it means anything without you.” His voice cracked.

Y/N shook her head. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“No, Jungkook.” She reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. “You love music. You love being on that stage. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

“I do,” he whispered. “But I love you more.”

"You know this is hard for me too. I can't imagine being without you. Four years of our relationship is not something I want to let go of kook, you know that."

Silence.

Heavy. Sharp.

The kind of silence that shakes foundations.

Y/N pulled her hand away and stood, pacing now, her voice trembling. “But kook, you can’t give everything up for me.”

“I’m not giving it up,” he argued, rising too. “Just putting it on hold.”

“And what happens after two years? What if I choose to stay in London? You and your music might be forgotten. Two years is no joke jungkook. Do you really want that?”

“I want you.”

“And I want you! So much.” she snapped, turning on him. Her eyes were glassy now, her fists clenched at her sides. “But not like this. Not if it means you resenting me every time someone asks why you disappeared. Not if it means you wake up one day and wonder what the hell you gave everything up for.”

“I’d never resent you.”

“You say that now.” Her voice was quiet. “But one day… maybe not.”

He stepped forward, close enough to touch, but didn’t.

"If i cant be apart of your life, I'm going to make sure you don't give up yours before I leave."

Tears slipped down her cheeks, and this time he reached up, wiping them away with the gentlest touch.

“I love you,” he whispered. “So much it makes everything else feel small.”

“I know,” she choked. “But that’s why I can’t let you come with me.”

His hand dropped slowly.

And then they stood there, in the middle of a quiet apartment that had seen so much laughter, so many kisses, so many whispered promises.

All of it now unraveling.

“Y/N…” he said, barely able to get the word out. “Are we really going to do this?”

She nodded.

“We have to, baby."

He sat down on the edge of the couch like someone had punched the air out of him.

And she stood there, papers rustling at her feet, trying not to collapse.

“I thought love was supposed to be enough,” he said after a moment.

“It is,” she whispered. “But so is purpose. So is growth. So is you, Jungkook.”

He looked up.

“You’re everything to me,” she said. “But whatever we both worked hard for, is as well."

The quiet that followed was thick with everything they hadn’t said — all the words they could’ve used to convince each other, all the little ways they’d both tried to delay the inevitable.

But love wasn’t always about holding on.

Sometimes, it was about knowing when to let go.

-

The silence that followed their fight wasn’t heavy.

It was soft. Tired. Like an exhale after holding your breath too long.

Y/N sat down slowly beside Jungkook, their knees touching. Neither of them said anything for a while. Just breathing in sync. Letting the dust settle.

Jungkook turned his head to look at her — really look.

She was still teary-eyed, but her face was calm now. Braver than he felt.

“You really are going,” he murmured.

Y/N nodded once. “I have to, and you have to continue with music. You have to."

He looked down at his hands.

“But we still have four months,” she said quietly.

Jungkook’s eyes flicked up, sharp. Hopeful.

“I don’t want to spend those four months grieving something we haven’t lost yet,” she whispered. “I don’t want to spend them fighting, or avoiding each other, or pretending this doesn’t hurt.”

Her fingers reached for his — tentative, then firm. “I want to love you. Every day. As much as I can, while I still can.”

He stared at her like she’d just pulled him out of a storm.

“Let’s make the time count,” she said, voice steady now. “Let’s do everything. Late night walks. Falling asleep on the couch. Going out to eat, even when we're tired. Holding hands under the table. Kissing in elevators. Let’s not waste a second.”

Jungkook blinked hard.

Then leaned forward and kissed her — slowly, like he was anchoring himself to the moment. Her hand curled behind his neck. He tasted like tears and something aching and sweet.

When they pulled back, foreheads resting together, she said it again:

“I love you.”

He smiled through the ache in his chest.

“I love you more.”

Y/N laughed, even though it trembled. “That’s not possible.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to find out.”

And they did.

In the days that followed, their apartment came alive again. Music at breakfast. Polaroids taped to the fridge. Shoes by the door tangled together.

They didn’t talk about London much. They didn’t talk about the goodbye.

But they held each other closer. And kissed each other a little longer.

-

The four months passed in a blur of laughter, small moments, and quiet intimacy.

In between work and late-night study sessions, between Jungkook’s rehearsals and Y/N’s growing list of things to pack, they carved out a world just for them.

They slow danced in the living room with no music, the hum of the city their only soundtrack.

They burned toast trying to make breakfast together, and laughed until they cried.

He left sticky notes on her mirror every morning: “You’re beautiful.” “I’m proud of you.” “Don’t forget your charger.”

She made playlists for every mood and sent them to him mid-shoot: “For when you miss me.”

They slept wrapped around each other like the world might take one away in the middle of the night.

Some nights, they cried quietly after making love, tangled in each other, knowing that time was slipping through their fingers.

But they also lived loudly — movie nights with friends, a weekend trip to the coast, getting caught in the rain and laughing as they ran barefoot through the streets.

They didn't talk about London anymore.

They just loved.

Completely.

One week before her flight.

The night was cool and quiet, the sky inked in navy and stars.

Jungkook parked the car at the edge of the park and turned to her with a small smile. “One last secret date?”

Y/N’s eyes softened. “You remembered.”

“How could I forget?” he said, reaching to brush a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “This is where you ruined me forever.”

She laughed softly, heart aching already. “You kissed me first.”

“And you kissed me back like you meant it.”

They walked slowly, hand in hand, through the familiar gravel paths, the trees casting soft shadows under the moonlight. The same bench was still there — the one they sat on that first night, knees brushing, too shy to speak for a while.

They sat down again, this time leaning into each other without hesitation.

“It feels smaller,” Y/N murmured.

“You just got taller.”

“I did not.”

“You did. Your confidence did, at least.”

She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “That first night, I was terrified.”

“Same.” He reached for her hand. “I thought I was going to say something stupid and scare you off.”

“You did say something stupid.”

He gasped. “What?!”

“You told me you were going to marry me.”

He blinked, then laughed under his breath. “I was bold back then.”

“You were right back then,” she whispered.

The quiet held them again — soft and deep and sacred.

“I still would,” he murmured, voice cracking. “If things were different. I’d marry you in a second.”

Y/N turned to him, eyes shining. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll say yes.”

He looked at her, really looked — and for a second, time folded. It was them again. That first night. That first kiss. All the maybes, all the ifs, all the could-have-beens.

“I wish I could freeze this,” he whispered. “Right now. Just this.”

Y/N nodded, tears welling. “I’ll remember it. I promise. Every time I close my eyes.”

He pulled her close, lips brushing hers — a kiss so slow, so aching, it felt like a goodbye even though they didn’t say the word.

And then, she whispered:

“Let’s stay a little longer.”

So they did. Until the stars faded. Until their breaths turned to mist. Until they were the only two people in the world.

Because this was their place.

Where it began. Where they fell. And now, where they would hold on one last time.

-

The airport was quieter than usual.

A soft hum of wheels dragging across tiles. Muffled voices behind glass walls. An endless stream of departures and goodbyes — like the air itself was made of endings.

Y/N stood at the gate entrance with Jungkook’s hoodie draped over her shoulders, passport clutched in one hand, the other buried in his.

Neither had said much since arriving. The drive had been quiet — not heavy, just full. Every glance, every touch said more than words could.

Now, with the final call approaching, they stood frozen in the last minutes of their forever.

Jungkook looked at her like he was trying to memorize every detail — the curve of her lips, the light in her eyes, the scar near her brow he always kissed without thinking.

“Four months felt too short,” he said, voice rough.

“I know,” she whispered.

“You were right,” he continued, forcing a small smile. “We shouldn’t have wasted a second.”

“And we didn’t.”

He pulled her into his arms then — not carefully, not cautiously. Like he couldn’t hold her close enough.

Her face buried in his shoulder, his scent already imprinting itself into memory.

“I’m going to miss this,” she whispered. “Miss you.”

His breath hitched, lips pressing into her hair. “Don’t say it like it’s the end.”

“It’s not,” she said, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “It’s just... the in-between.”

Jungkook cupped her face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away a tear before it could fall.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said. “You’re going to change the world, Y/N.”

"And so are you, your music. It's going to save people. People that weren't as lucky as me to have a you in their life to save it for them."

His smile was soft, gentle, aching. He pressed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"We'll make each other proud, it's you and me against the world remember?" He recited a soft inside joke you made on your first date back when you were 16.

She laughed softly through her tears. “You always say the right thing.”

“That’s because it's you.”

Her eyes closed. Her heart cracked and bloomed at once.

Then, he leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed.

It was final.

A kiss made of every morning spent tangled in sheets. Every late-night whisper. Every shared breath and soft laugh and quiet, wordless promise.

He kissed her like she was the only thing that had ever made sense.

And when they parted, their foreheads pressed together.

“I’ll wait for you,” he whispered.

She shook her head, gently.

“Don’t wait,” she said. “Live. Be everything you were meant to be. And if life brings us back together…”

“Then I’ll fall in love with you all over again,” he finished.

Another final call echoed across the terminal.

This time, she nodded.

Time was up.

She took a shaky step back, fingers slipping from his like threads unraveling.

“I love you,” she said, voice breaking.

“I love you more.”

Her last smile was soft — a quiet kind of brave.

Then she turned and walked toward the gate.

Jungkook didn’t move. But called out to her one last time.

"Love?"

She turned.

Jungkook’s voice was soft — steady, but full of everything he was holding back. “You still owe me that rematch from the claw machine.”

Despite the tears in her eyes, she smiled, and looked down at the keychain jungkook won for her, because she kept on losing.

“Next time, i'm winning that game.”

They both paused — one last breath shared between them.

“Promise you’ll be okay?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

Her smile faltered, but she nodded. “I will be. Because we were real.”

-

One month later London, 9:43 PM

Y/N dropped her bag by the door and kicked off her shoes, exhaustion pooling in her bones. Her day had stretched longer than it should have — lectures, meetings, cold rain. She still had laundry to fold, assignments to finish, dishes to wash.

But the apartment was hers. The silence felt new, unfamiliar, but safe.

She microwaved leftover curry, tossed on Jungkook’s hoodie — the one he insisted she keep — and sank onto the couch, remote in hand.

She didn’t mean to land on the music channel.

But fate had a habit of timing things perfectly.

The crowd was roaring on screen. Bright lights swept across thousands of fans. A spotlight cut through the dark — and there he was.

Jungkook.

Standing at the edge of the stage in black, silver glinting on his fingers, hair tousled, chest rising and falling with the weight of everything unsaid.

Y/N froze.

She hadn’t seen him since the airport.

She hadn’t let herself watch anything. Not until now.

He stepped up to the mic, one hand gripping it gently, the other resting over his heart.

“Hey everyone, i know you came for the songs,” he said with a soft smile. “But can I talk about something for a second?”

The crowd cheered.

His smile faltered, just slightly — eyes shining beneath the lights.

“There’s someone I wish was here tonight.”

A hush fell.

“She’s the reason I’m standing here. The reason I didn’t give up. A lot of you don’t know this, but I almost took a break from music earlier this year. Almost walked away.”

Y/N sat forward slowly, food forgotten.

“But she wouldn’t let me. She said I was meant for this. Even though it meant letting go.” He paused. Swallowed. “She chose my dream… over our future. And I think that’s the kind of love that doesn’t disappear. That kind of love stays with you forever.”

The camera caught his eyes — glassy, open, full of something so real.

“So this song… is for her.” He looked up. “If you’re watching… I hope London’s treating you well.”

Y/N’s hand flew to her mouth.

He knew.

The first notes of the song began.

A slow, aching piano. Soft strings rising in the background. And then his voice — low, gentle, like a prayer.

“We laugh together, we cry together. These simple feelings were everything I had When will it be? If I see you again, I will look into your eyes And say, "I missed you".

Y/N’s tears spilled silently.

Not because it hurt.

But because it meant something.

She watched him sing — the boy she loved, the man he was becoming — pouring everything into every lyric. Not for the world. Not for the cameras.

For her.

And in that small apartment, miles away from him, she whispered through a smile,

“I love you too.”

She didn’t know when they’d meet again. Or if they ever would. But she would still love him, no matter what.

-

7 years later A quiet coffee shop, Busan

“You still drink your coffee black?” Jimin squinted, wrinkling his nose as he slid into the booth across from Y/N.

“I’ve evolved,” she replied with a grin. “Now I add oat milk.”

Hobi let out a dramatic gasp. “The most London thing I’ve ever heard.”

“What’s next? Earl Grey and scones?” Jimin added, stirring sugar into his iced latte.

“Don’t tempt me. I brought a whole suitcase of Yorkshire tea with me.”

The three of them burst into laughter, the kind that came easy even after years apart. Sunlight streamed through the windows of the cozy Busan café, catching dust motes in its path. The walls were lined with books, mismatched chairs, and the smell of fresh bread and espresso clung to the air like comfort.

Y/N leaned back in her seat, still smiling. “I missed this.”

“We missed you more,” Hobi said, nudging her ankle under the table. “I still remember our dumb group chats. Jimin kept trying to send you memes at 3 a.m. Korea time like you weren’t asleep in another country.”

“I was never asleep,” she chuckled. “I just didn’t reply because they were terrible memes.”

“They were hilarious,” Jimin defended, feigning offense.

Y/N looked between them and softened. “Seriously, though. Thank you for today. I’ve been back for a few weeks, but this is the first time it’s really felt like… home.”

Jimin raised his glass. “To not waiting another seven years.”

“Cheers to that,” Hobi said, clinking glasses with both of them.

They lingered over their drinks, catching up on everything — Y/N’s tiny apartment near the Han River, Hobi’s art residency, Jimin’s half-serious plan to quit and open a bakery.

“You say that every year,” Y/N teased.

“This time I mean it.”

“You also said that last year,” Hobi added dryly.

“Okay, rude.”

Their laughter rolled on until the clock nudged past sunset. Hobi stretched with a yawn. “I’ll grab the bill.”

“Me too,” Jimin said, standing. “Y/N, don’t move. You’re the guest of honor.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Hobi pointed at her. “Sit.”

She lifted her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.”

As they moved toward the counter, Y/N stayed back, sipping the last of her drink, eyes drifting to the soft rustle of leaves outside the window.

Then — the bell above the door chimed.

She glanced up out of habit, then froze.

Jungkook.

He stepped into the café with a friend beside him, mid-conversation, head tilted slightly back in laughter. He looked the same and different — lean, sharp around the edges, still dressed in black, silver glinting from his rings. There was something quieter about him now. Less fire, more warmth.

He turned — and his eyes met hers.

Everything stilled.

His lips parted. “...Y/N?”

She stood slowly, blinking once. “Hey.”

The friend glanced between them, eyes catching something unspoken, and gently excused himself with a nod, heading to the far end of the shop.

Jungkook took a cautious step closer, voice softer. “I wasn’t expecting…”

“I know,” she said. “Me either.”

They stood for a moment just looking at each other. Seven years of distance, of growing into different lives, and somehow… this still felt familiar.

“You look good,” he said finally.

“So do you.”

“London treated you well?”

“It did.” She smiled gently. “You’ve been doing amazing, I've seen."

He gave a modest shrug. “Still figuring it out.”

A pause.

“Want to sit?” she asked, gesturing to the booth.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

They sat opposite each other, and the silence wasn’t awkward — just full. Full of history. Of the version of themselves that only existed when they were nineteen.

“So,” she said, “what brings you to Busan?”

“Just needed to get out of Seoul for a bit, visit mum and dad." he said. “You?”

“Same. Meeting up with Jimin and Hobi. Haven’t seen them in forever.”

“I figured,” he smiled. “Saw them paying at the counter just now. Jimin dropped his card twice.”

She laughed. “Some things don’t change.”

“And some things do.”

Another pause — heavier now.

“You still writing?” he asked.

“Sometimes. Not as much. You?”

“Every day. But not all of it’s for release.” He hesitated. “Some things are just for me now.”

She nodded. “That makes sense.”

He glanced down at the table, then back at her.

“I saw your interview last year,” she said softly. “When you mentioned your girlfriend.”

A flicker of something passed through his gaze, then softened. “Yeah… she’s great. Grounded. Quiet in the best way.”

“I’m happy for you.”

He smiled, and for a second, he looked nineteen again. “I heard you’re with someone too. Jimin mentioned it in passing.”

She nodded. “His name’s Minjae. We met in a used bookstore — he was holding the last copy of a book I wanted.”

“Let me guess… you charmed it out of him.”

“Obviously.”

They both laughed again, quietly this time.

A breath.

Then, Jungkook leaned back, folding his arms on the table. His voice was careful.

“Do you ever… think about it? What we were?”

Y/N’s gaze didn’t waver. “All the time.”

“Me too.”

“I don’t regret it,” she said.

He shook his head. “Never.”

“It was real,” she added. “Even if it didn’t last.”

He looked down, his thumb absentmindedly tracing a faint ring mark on the wood grain.

“Sometimes I wonder how different everything would’ve been if we hadn’t let go,” he said.

“And sometimes,” she whispered, “I think it was the only reason we became who we were meant to be.”

He looked at her then — really looked.

“I still love you,” he said. “Not the way I used to. But… it’s there. It always will be.”

She smiled, eyes soft and damp. “I know. I feel the same. I love you too. I think i always will.”

They sat in silence, letting the moment settle. No tension. No longing.

Just two people who had loved each other deeply. Who had let go, not because they stopped loving — but because they loved each other enough to do it.

A bell chimed again — Jimin and Hobi returned with cups in hand, freezing mid-step when they saw who sat across from Y/N.

“Uh…” Jimin blinked. “Is this a ghost sighting or…”

“Hi, Jimin,” Jungkook grinned. “Still dropping your card everywhere?”

“Wow. Rude. Nice to see you too.”

“Hi, Jungkook, it's been too long.” Hobi said, grinning. “You want to join us? Catch up a little?”

Jungkook glanced at Y/N, smiled, and stood. “Rain check. I’ve got someone waiting for me.”

“I’m glad I saw you today.” He says, standing up slowly.

“Me too.”

He paused before leaving, hands tucked into his coat pockets.

“So… still stealing books from bookstores?”

Y/N scoffed. “It was one book. And I left money in the sleeve.”

“You left coins, Y/N.”

“Still legal tender.”

He laughed — low and warm, and for a second, it was like nothing had changed.

“I missed this,” he said softly. “Us.”

“Me too.”

He looked at her for a moment. Really looked. Then, quieter, “You’re happy, right?”

“I am,” she said. “Are you?”

“I am.”

A small silence.

He smiled gently. “I always thought we’d meet again someday.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I just didn’t think it would feel so… soft.”

Her eyes softened. “We were never really hard, Jungkook. Just… young.”

He nodded slowly.

Then, with a flicker of something tender, “Do you still carry that dumb keychain I won you?”

“I told you it wasn’t dumb.”

“That’s not a no.”

She smiled. “It’s still on my desk.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, like it landed somewhere deep.

Then he stepped back, just slightly.

“I should go."

"Okay." You nod, saying goodbye before he turned.

But you stop him. You had to. One last time.

"Kook?" The old nickname rolling off your tongue so easily.

He turns.

"You still owe me a rematch from that claw machine."

He smiles, genuinely.

"I'll still win you, you know that." He replies, with a soft laugh.

A pause. One final glance.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N.”

She nodded. “You too, Jungkook.”

He hesitated, then added, soft as breath, “You were my favorite chapter.”

Her voice barely held. “And you were mine.”

Then he turned and walked away — no turning back, no regrets.

Just two hearts, quietly full.

[jeonette]

eternal obsession - jjk 18+

genre : obsessive, angst, dark romance [ one shot ]

warnings : description of slight gore scenes but nothing bad at all, obsessive stalker plot ( koo is not the stalker, he's her boyfriend ) , passionate sex.

sypnosis : Jungkook is everything Y/N ever wanted — tender, protective, utterly devoted. But behind his love lies a trail of secrets, blood, and bodies no one was ever meant to find. As the truth begins to unravel, Y/N is forced to confront a terrifying question... What if the man who would kill for her… already has?

The city outside blurred into streaks of neon and shadow, every passing car smearing red and gold across the glass. Inside the little bookstore café, it was warm—almost too warm. The scent of old pages and cinnamon steeped the air, and Y/N’s cup of lavender tea steamed gently beneath her fingers.

“God, it’s pouring,” Mina said, brushing rain from her coat as she slid into the seat across from her. “I swear the sky’s been crying all week.”

Y/N smiled faintly, swirling her tea. “Maybe the city needed a cleanse.”

Mina scoffed. “Or maybe it’s just cursed.” She leaned in. “So… are you seeing him tonight?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. Her gaze flickered toward the window, where shadows moved past in soft blurs. “Probably. He said he might come by to walk me home.”

“‘Might’? Girl, that man would burn the world to walk you across the street.”

She gave a quiet laugh. “He’s just… attentive.”

“Attentive?” Mina raised an eyebrow. “You told me he showed up outside your work at midnight. You weren’t even on shift.”

Y/N shrugged, feeling a sudden warmth rise to her cheeks. “He said he just wanted to make sure I got home safe. He’s sweet, Mina. Intense, yeah—but sweet.”

“Sweet is flowers. A little clingy. Not ‘I tracked your phone just to see your smile’ sweet.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but something shifted behind the glass.

Mina stopped talking.

He was already inside.

Dressed in black from collar to cuff, damp hair curling softly where it brushed his cheekbones. Jungkook walked with quiet purpose, like the world moved for him. His eyes, impossibly dark, locked on Y/N like she was the only thing keeping him breathing.

He didn’t even glance at Mina.

“You’re late,” Y/N teased gently as he reached their table.

“I’m never late to you,” Jungkook said, voice low and warm, wrapping around her like silk. He leaned down, brushing his lips over her temple. “You looked so pretty sitting here, I almost didn’t want to interrupt.”

Y/N smiled. “It’s okay. We were just talking—”

He finally looked at Mina. The smile in his eyes vanished.

Mina shifted under his stare. “Hey.”

Jungkook nodded once. Nothing more.

“I should go,” Mina muttered, grabbing her umbrella. “Call me later, okay?”

Y/N blinked. “You just got here—”

“I forgot I had something. Sorry.” She was already walking away.

Jungkook watched her go until the door swung closed behind her. Then, like a switch flipped, he turned back to Y/N with a softness that made her chest ache.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

He took her hand across the table, fingers cold from the rain. “Now that I’m here, yeah. Everything’s perfect.”

Y/N took another sip of tea, trying not to let the awkwardness with Mina settle in her chest. “Today was kind of slow,” she said, gently twirling the spoon between her fingers. “We had this customer come in and ask if we sold perfume. At a bookstore. Can you believe that?”

Jungkook gave a soft laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Did you talk to him for long?”

She blinked. “The customer?”

“Yeah.” His thumb rubbed small circles into the back of her hand, perfectly casual if not for the slight pressure behind it.

“Not really,” she said with a little frown. “I just pointed him to the shop down the street. Why?”

“No reason.” He smiled, that dimpled grin that always made her stomach flip. “I just like hearing about your day.”

“Well, I also alphabetized the horror section again,” she continued, trying to lighten the mood. “Someone keeps putting Stephen King under ‘S.’ I think it’s an act of rebellion at this point.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Maybe they’re just trying to get your attention.”

“Good luck to them, then,” she said, grinning. “My attention span ends at the letter ‘H’.”

His smile lingered, but his grip on her hand didn’t loosen.

“Did anyone else try to get your attention today?”

She gave him a puzzled look. “You mean like… flirt with me?”

“Maybe.”

She snorted. “Jungkook, I’m wearing a cardigan with moths on it. I think I’m safe.”

“You’re not,” he said so softly it was almost lost under the hum of the café.

“What?”

“You’re never safe,” he repeated, eyes darkening slightly as he leaned in. “Not out there. Not without me.”

The words should have chilled her. But the way he said them—with such devotion, such certainty—it sent a strange heat curling down her spine.

“I’m fine, though,” she said gently. “I made it here on my own, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t see the man who followed you three blocks.”

She froze.

“…What?”

Jungkook’s smile returned, slow and calm. “He stopped when I got close. I don't think he’ll be a problem anymore.”

She stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Would I let anyone hurt you?”

His voice was low. Intimate. Possessive.

Something about the way he said it made her breath catch—somewhere between fear and fascination.

“…Jungkook, how do you even know he was following me?”

He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

“I always know where you are."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook had always had eyes on his girl. He refused to let her out of his sight even when she wasn't physically with him.

Camera. Bugs. Wires. Location trackers. Anything so he knew she was safe.

He was watching. Her chest rose and fell softly beneath his sheets, one hand curled by her face like she was protecting a secret even in her dreams. She didn’t know, of course. She never stirred when he slipped out of bed and stood there, bare-chested in the dark, just… watching.

Whenever a man dared to look at her in the wrong way, he'd take action.

He moved to the window and opened it an inch. Cold air slipped in, but he liked it that way. It helped him think. Helped him stay in control.

He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, eyes flicking to the building across the street. Fourth floor. Left window. Lights off now.

Good.

That bastard had finally learned.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched as he exhaled. Just two nights ago, he’d seen the man watching her—watching her from that window like he had the right.

Jungkook had knocked on his door half an hour later. Calm. Smiling. Friendly.

The man hadn’t answered at first.

So Jungkook waited. And waited.

When the door creaked open, he hadn’t said a word.

Just smiled.

And then he’d stepped inside.

He’d returned to Y/N’s apartment an hour later, hands clean, smile easy. She was asleep by then, soft music playing from her phone. She’d left a blanket out for him.

She always did. Even when she didn’t know where he went.

That was love. Trust.

And he would do anything to protect it.

Earlier that day, she had smiled at a cashier. Nothing unusual. Just a polite, passing smile.

But Jungkook had memorized the way the boy’s eyes followed her as she left. He always memorized the faces. The gestures. The threats, even if they never knew they were one.

He didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not really. But they didn’t stop. They never stopped.

Once, she had brushed past a man in the subway. Her bare shoulder had touched his jacket. The man had turned, seen her face, and smiled.

It had taken Jungkook six hours to find out who he was. His address. His routine.

He hadn’t hurt him. Not then.

He’d just… waited outside his building the next morning.

One glimpse of Jungkook’s face, and the man never looked at Y/N again.

He didn’t always need violence. Just presence. Just pressure. Like a hand around a throat that hadn’t started squeezing yet.

But some people needed to be reminded what pain felt like.

Jungkook looked down at his knuckles, the skin still pink from the last time.

A man at the bar last week had grabbed her arm. Just playfully. Just drunk.

Y/N had laughed it off, pulled away.

Jungkook hadn’t.

He’d smiled the rest of the night. Held her like she was glass. Kissed her like nothing was wrong.

The man’s teeth were still scattered in the alley behind the bar.

He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray and turned back to her.

She murmured something in her sleep, soft and delicate. His chest ached.

He loved her so much it made his hands shake sometimes. She didn’t understand what it cost to keep her safe. What kind of world she really lived in.

But that was fine.

He would carry the weight. He would do the ugly things. The things that made her world beautiful.

Even if she never thanked him.

Even if she never knew.

As long as she was his.

Forever.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rain had returned, misting the windows in soft gray streaks, but inside the apartment, it was all warmth and comfort. The overhead lights were off—only the low flicker of candles lit the room, casting a golden glow over blankets, pillows, and tangled limbs on the couch.

Y/N was curled into Jungkook’s lap like she belonged there.

Which she did.

Her head rested against his chest, ear pressed right over his heartbeat. The rhythm was steady, comforting, and so very his. She wore one of his old hoodies—oversized and worn soft, smelling like detergent and something darker, something undeniably him. Her bare legs tangled with his as she reached blindly for a piece of popcorn from the bowl resting near his thigh.

“You keep eating all the caramel ones,” Jungkook murmured against her hair.

She smiled without looking up. “Maybe you’re too slow.”

“I’m just letting you win.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No,” he agreed, amused. “I’m not.”

She looked up at him, eyes sparkling from the TV’s glow, and tilted her face toward his. “You love me anyway, though.”

His hand slid up her thigh in a lazy, lingering caress. “I do,” he said, voice low and rough. “More than anything. You know that.”

Y/N shifted, climbing into his lap more fully now, straddling him. She pressed her forehead against his, her smile softening. “Sometimes I think you love me too much.”

His fingers dug gently into her hips. “Impossible.”

She kissed him then—slow and unhurried. Familiar. Addictive.

He responded in kind, arms winding around her waist, pulling her tighter. Her hands found his jaw, then slid into his hair, curling into the soft strands at the nape of his neck.

His lips parted for hers, deepening the kiss, tongue meeting hers with a hunger that always lingered just below the surface of him. He tasted like cinnamon and need. She felt his fingers flex on her thighs, holding her still even as she shifted closer, needing more, needing all of him.

The movie kept playing in the background, forgotten.

Her breath hitched when he tilted her back slightly, his mouth trailing from her lips to her jaw, then down her neck, grazing just above her collarbone. His voice, breathless now, came in a murmur against her skin: “Tell me what you want, angel.”

She opened her mouth—but then—

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Y/N stilled.

The phone on the coffee table lit up again.

Ding.

Jungkook sighed, pulling back slightly, visibly irritated by the interruption. Y/N blinked herself out of the haze and reached for her phone.

Her brow furrowed. “…That’s weird.”

He watched her carefully. “What is it?”

She opened her messages.

Unknown number:

You looked so pretty tonight. That hoodie doesn’t hide much. I saw you laughing. He doesn’t deserve you. Why don’t you smile like that when you’re alone?

Her stomach dropped.

She froze, reading each line again like it would change the meaning. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Y/N?” Jungkook’s voice was sharper now, on edge. He sat up straighter beneath her. “What is it?”

She slowly handed him the phone, fingers shaking. “I—I don’t know who that is. I’ve never—Jungkook, someone’s watching me.”

His eyes scanned the messages. Stillness overtook him, a terrifying, glacial kind. His hand tightened around the phone.

“How long has this been happening?” he asked, too calm.

“This is the first time. I swear. I don’t—how would they know I was wearing your hoodie? We didn’t even go out today, I just—” Her voice cracked. She looked around, suddenly paranoid. The windows. The blinds. “Is someone outside? Is someone watching right now?”

Jungkook gently lifted her off his lap, stood, and set the phone down.

“Jungkook—wait, where are you going?”

He didn’t answer.

He crossed the room in three long strides, closed the blinds, and checked the front door’s lock—twice. Then he moved to the bedroom, returned with something she couldn’t see in his hand, and walked quietly to the kitchen window.

Y/N stood there, frozen, arms hugging herself tightly.

When he finally came back, he didn’t speak right away. He walked straight to her and wrapped her in his arms.

His heart was racing. Really racing now.

She pressed her face into his chest. “Who would—why would someone—?”

“Shh,” he whispered into her hair. “Don’t cry, angel. I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“But they saw me,” she whispered. “They said you don’t deserve me. They’ve been watching.”

“They’re wrong.” His voice was steel now. “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Touch you like this. They know it. That’s why they’re hiding.”

“What if they come here?”

“They won’t.” A pause. Then he murmured so quietly, she almost didn’t hear it: “They wouldn’t dare.”

She looked up at him, eyes wet. “How can you be so sure?”

Jungkook held her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away her tears. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Gentle. Reassuring.

“I know how to make people disappear,” he said, smiling softly.

She blinked.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, and she didn’t ask what he meant.

She didn’t want to.

She just held onto him tighter.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning after didn’t feel like morning.

It was gray and muted, the kind of day that dragged like wet clothes—heavy, slow, and cold beneath the skin. The candles had long since burned out. The half-watched movie still sat paused on the screen.

Y/N hadn’t touched her phone again.

She sat curled on the edge of the couch, sleeves pulled over her hands, eyes staring blankly at nothing. Jungkook stood across the room, his broad back to her as he adjusted something beneath the kitchen sink. The apartment felt too quiet. Like it was holding its breath.

She hated it.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said softly.

Jungkook turned immediately. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed rest too.”

He crossed the space and knelt in front of her. His hands found hers, gently tugging the sleeves down. “Angel,” he murmured, eyes searching her face. “You don’t need to be brave right now.”

Y/N looked down. “I keep thinking someone’s out there. Watching. I keep checking the windows and listening for things. I—I know it sounds crazy.”

“It doesn’t.”

“You believe me?”

“I always believe you.”

He kissed her knuckles, holding them to his lips for a long moment.

She closed her eyes. Breathed him in.

But something in his posture had shifted. His shoulders were tighter today. His eyes sharper, more alert. He was still her Jungkook—warm, loving—but a colder energy hummed beneath the surface.

“I have to go out for a few hours,” he said, too casually.

Y/N’s eyes shot open. “What? No.”

“I just need to take care of a few things, baby. I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone.”

Her fingers curled around his tighter. “No. Please, don’t. Not now.”

He hesitated.

She reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt, holding on like he might disappear if she let go. “Jungkook, please don’t leave me alone. I can’t—what if they come back? What if they’re watching again?”

He cupped her cheek. “They won’t get to you. I promise.”

“That’s not enough,” she whispered. “You’re the only reason I feel safe.”

His throat worked, jaw tight.

Then he exhaled. “Alright. I’ll stay.”

Relief bloomed in her chest, and she practically melted into his arms. He caught her easily, pulling her into his lap as she pressed her face into his neck. His hands roamed her back in slow, calming circles.

“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he murmured. “I’m here.”

She nodded against him, body sinking deeper into the comfort only he could offer.

The hours passed in a haze. She tried to eat, tried to watch something with him—but her mind wandered constantly. The blinds stayed shut. The door remained bolted. Every little sound outside made her jump.

Eventually, Jungkook coaxed her into the bedroom.

“You need rest,” he said softly, brushing her hair from her face as she lay beneath the sheets. “Just a little. I’ll be right here, okay?”

“You promise?”

“Of course,” he whispered, kissing her forehead. “Sleep, angel.”

She fell asleep with her hand wrapped around his wrist.

He waited until her breathing evened out—then stayed still a little longer, just watching her. Listening. Letting himself feel everything.

Then, slowly, carefully, he slid his hand free.

In the dark, he moved like a ghost.

First: the front door. He knelt, installing a reinforced deadbolt he’d brought from his apartment. Not the basic kind. This one required biometric input. No one would open it from the outside.

Second: the windows. He reinforced the latches. Taped the blinds shut with black electrical tape. Not a sliver of light—or vision—would leak in or out.

He checked the fire escape. Quietly unscrewed a vital rung from the ladder.

Just in case.

He moved like this for nearly an hour, careful not to make a sound. Methodical. Obsessive. Every lock was tested. Every blind double-checked.

When he was satisfied, he returned to the bedroom.

Y/N hadn’t moved.

She looked so small in his bed. So trusting.

He crouched beside her, watching her sleep the way he always did—like she was his favorite sin. His most fragile treasure. A candle flame he’d kill to keep burning.

He pressed one last kiss to her temple.

Then slipped out the door without a sound.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The warehouse smelled like rust and oil and old violence.

Rain hammered the tin roof above, and fluorescent lights flickered across a long table cluttered with screens. Grainy surveillance footage looped across the monitors—angles from traffic cams, store security, and footage pulled from obscure forums. Some showed city sidewalks. Others, darker and closer, showed her.

The same ones Jungkook had already seen. The ones that had made his jaw lock and his vision go red.

Jimin leaned against the table, arms crossed, mouth set in a hard line. Taehyung was seated nearby, tapping a switchblade against his thigh in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

They looked up the moment Jungkook entered.

He said nothing at first. Just stepped into the room like a storm given shape, black hoodie soaked through, eyes darker than night.

Jimin handed him a tablet. “That’s him. Name’s Ryu. Mid-thirties. Tech background. Obsessive online presence. Started tracking her a few months ago through her social profiles.”

“Worked at a security firm,” Taehyung added, gaze sharp and lazy at once. “Had access to CCTV networks. Wired her apartment building, probably planted something physical too.”

Jungkook stared at the image on the screen—an unremarkable man with pale skin, dark circles, and a faint smirk. One of those forgettable types who passed through crowds unnoticed.

“Where is he now?” Jungkook asked, voice dead calm.

“Southside,” Jimin said. “Abandoned unit near the freight line. We traced his last login through a burner.”

Jungkook handed back the tablet and rolled up his sleeves. His hands were steady.

Taehyung watched him with a knowing grin. “You want him alive, or...?”

“Alive for now.”

“Copy that.”

Twenty minutes later.

The door crashed open with the force of a thunderclap.

Ryu didn’t even have time to scream before he was hauled from his chair, the desk and monitors toppling beside him. Jungkook didn’t say a word. Just dragged him by the collar into the concrete room beyond, flanked by Jimin and Taehyung like wolves on either side.

They tied him to a chair. Fastened the rope tight.

Blood from a split lip already trickled down Ryu’s chin. His breath stuttered when Jungkook knelt in front of him.

“Do you know who she is to me?”

Ryu didn’t answer.

Jungkook backhanded him hard enough to send spit flying.

“Answer.”

“I—I didn’t touch her, I swear—”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I just watched. I was just watching. I didn’t mean anything by it, I was just—just curious—”

Jungkook smiled.

It was worse than a snarl.

“Let me tell you what I see,” he whispered, leaning closer. “You watched her like she was prey. You messaged her, tried to scare her. You thought she was alone. You thought she was yours to study. Like she wasn’t mine.”

“Please—”

“But she’s not alone,” Jungkook continued, tone so gentle it sent chills down Jimin’s spine. “She has me. And I will tear the world apart before I let someone like you breathe in her direction again.”

Ryu began to cry.

It didn’t matter.

Jungkook stood. “Break his fingers.”

Taehyung obeyed.

The scream echoed loud and long across the empty corridors of the building.

Two hours later.

Ryu was no longer crying. He wasn’t speaking at all. Just slumped in the chair, breathing shallowly, broken in a dozen places.

Jungkook stood in the center of the room, hands bloodstained, eyes unreadable.

“He’s not going to walk out of here, is he?” Jimin asked quietly, watching his friend with measured calm.

Jungkook shook his head once. “No.”

“Want us to finish it?”

“No,” Jungkook said. He walked to the far wall, picked up a small flash drive from the desk, and pocketed it. “Make it look like an overdose. Clean. Quiet. No noise.”

Taehyung cracked his neck. “I’ll handle it.”

Jungkook turned to the door but paused. “I don’t want this traced. Not a whisper. Not a rumor. If anyone else so much as thinks about her—”

“They won’t,” Jimin said firmly. “We’ll make sure of it.”

There was no satisfaction on Jungkook’s face. Just cold, lethal calm.

“She can’t know,” he said finally.

“She won’t,” Jimin promised.

Jungkook left without another word.

The rain was still falling when he stepped out into the night—but the storm behind him was already over.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing she noticed was the cold.

Not just the sheets — but the air. The emptiness.

Y/N sat bolt upright in bed, her heart racing.

The other side of the bed was empty. Flattened, but cooling fast. No warmth. No sign he’d only just stepped out. She scanned the room, eyes wide, breath catching in her throat.

“Jungkook?”

Nothing.

She threw the blankets back and stumbled out of bed, toes hitting the cold floor. Her fingers trembled as she pulled open the bedroom door and stepped into the living room.

It was silent. Still. Wrong.

The curtains — taped shut.

A new lock glinting on the door.

Her stomach flipped.

“Jungkook,” she called again, louder this time. Her voice cracked.

Still no answer.

She checked the kitchen. The bathroom. The hallway.

Nothing.

Panic gripped her chest like a fist. She picked up her phone — hands shaking — and dialed his number.

Voicemail.

Again. Straight to voicemail.

Her knees hit the couch and she clutched the throw pillow like a life raft. Her thoughts spiraled fast and brutal.

What if he left? What if he lied? What if he’s not who you think he is?

Tears pricked her eyes. Her body was tight with anxiety, breath shallow, heart galloping.

He’d promised.

You’re not alone. I’ll be right here. Sleep, angel.

She curled into herself, breath hitching, waiting, hoping—

Until—

The lock turned.

Her head shot up.

The door opened with a slow, soft creak.

And there he was.

Jungkook stepped inside, hoodie damp with morning drizzle, dark hair curled at the edges, his expression calm — like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t just been breaking in his absence.

“Y/N?” he blinked, clearly surprised. “You’re up.”

She was already off the couch and running into his arms.

“Where the hell were you?!” she cried, voice shaking as she collided with him. “You said you wouldn’t leave—I woke up and you were just—gone!”

Jungkook staggered slightly at the force of her, but his arms wrapped around her immediately, protectively, pulling her tight against his chest.

“Hey, hey, angel, shhh—” he murmured, one hand stroking her hair, the other clutching her back. “I’m here. I’m right here. I’m sorry.”

She gripped his hoodie like it was all that tethered her to the ground.

“I thought—I thought something happened. Or—or that you—” she couldn’t even say it. Her voice cracked and crumpled against him.

Jungkook held her tighter, rocking her slightly. “I just stepped out to grab breakfast. You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to wake you. I didn’t think you’d panic like that—I’m sorry, baby.”

She buried her face in his chest. The scent of rain clung to him, earthy and clean. Familiar. Reassuring.

And yet…

Her tears slowed. Her breathing evened. But her mind didn’t quiet.

She pulled back slightly and looked up at him — eyes still glassy but sharp now. Searching.

“You taped the blinds.”

His hand stilled on her back.

“I noticed them gapping last night,” he said smoothly. “Didn’t want you waking up anxious again. Figured this would help.”

“And the lock?”

“Extra precaution. Just something to help you sleep better.” He smiled softly. “I want you to feel safe, that’s all.”

Her brow furrowed. “But… you didn’t mention it before.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he said gently, brushing a tear from her cheek. “I had the tools with me. It took five minutes.”

It all made sense. His voice was soft. Steady. He looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

So why did her skin still prickle?

Why did her gut whisper, He’s hiding something?

She didn’t pull away from him.

She clung tighter.

Because love and fear were tangled things. Because despite the doubt, she needed him.

Needed him so badly it made her bones ache.

“I was really scared,” she whispered.

“I know,” he replied, lips brushing her temple. “And I’ll never let you feel that way again. Ever.”

She nodded slowly. Let herself believe him.

But as he kissed her cheek and guided her gently to sit down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment she’d woken up alone… the world had shifted slightly off-center.

And nothing had quite clicked back into place.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Day by day passed. And by each day, the atmosphere turned more intense. Y/n had already developed a suspicion, but the acts done by the day only made them grow more.

Day One She wakes with him beside her.

His arm is tight around her waist, his face buried in her neck. He smells like sleep and sugar. His grip doesn’t loosen — not even when she tries to roll over.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs into her skin. “I won’t let anyone near you.”

She smiles, but her chest tightens. The apartment is spotless again, unnaturally so. Like no one actually lives here.

The front door has three new locks.

Day Two She texts her best friend. Twice.

No reply.

She checks again. The messages show as sent, but… not delivered?

“Something’s wrong with my phone,” she says absently at breakfast.

Jungkook doesn’t look up from the stove. “I can check it later for you.”

That night, her phone sits charging on the kitchen counter.

She finds it off.

Day Three He insists she stays inside.

“Just until the police sort out the stalker thing,” he says, brushing her hair. “You know I’m just being careful.”

She nods.

But when she cracks open the window for air, she finds bars installed on the frame.

They weren’t there yesterday.

Day Four He draws her a bath. Candles. Her favorite bath salts. Music.

“I don’t deserve you,” she says softly, leaning back into his hands as he massages shampoo into her scalp.

“Yes, you do,” he whispers. “You deserve everything.”

She melts under his touch — but when she looks up at the ceiling, she spots a tiny black speck behind the smoke detector’s cover. A red light blinking once. Then gone.

Day Five She wakes in the middle of the night.

Thirsty.

The apartment is dark and silent, but as she walks to the kitchen, she notices the guest room door — usually closed — is cracked open.

She pushes it gently.

Inside: a computer setup she’s never seen before. Monitors. Files. Surveillance footage.

And photos of her.

Hundreds. Candid. Some from years ago. Some from last week.

She hears a sound — and freezes.

“Baby?” Jungkook’s voice calls from behind her. Sleepy. Innocent.

She turns, heart jackhammering in her chest.

“I thought I heard something,” she lies.

He tilts his head. Then smiles softly. “Come back to bed.”

She does.

But she doesn’t sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was setting, but she hadn’t noticed.

She’d been sitting in the living room for hours, curled into a blanket with her legs tucked to her chest, a cup of untouched tea in her hands. The silence felt different now—no longer safe. Just... loud.

Her eyes kept drifting toward the guest room door. Closed again. Locked.

She knew what she saw.

She wasn’t crazy.

All day, she’d been quietly piecing it together. The missed messages. The camera. The triple locks. The lies spun gently between soft kisses and sugar-sweet reassurances.

And those photos. Her face. Over and over again. His private shrine.

Her fingers tightened around the mug.

The door creaked open behind her.

“Hey, angel,” Jungkook’s voice was soft, like velvet behind her. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

She swallowed. Her pulse spiked.

He walked into the room and sat beside her on the couch. His warmth bled into her immediately.

“You okay?” he asked, brushing hair behind her ear. “Still shaken from the other night?”

Y/N turned to face him slowly. Her expression wasn’t cold—but it wasn’t blind either.

She set the mug down on the coffee table with trembling hands. “I want to ask you something.”

Jungkook’s eyes didn’t blink. “Okay.”

“I’m not… accusing you. I’m not upset. I just…” Her voice dropped. “I need you to tell me the truth. Please.”

He stared at her for a beat too long. Then smiled—gently. Like she’d told a joke. “The truth about what, baby?”

She hesitated. Her throat felt tight. “About… everything. The locks. The cameras. The guest room. My phone not working. Jungkook—why are you watching me?”

His smile faded, just slightly.

Her heart beat faster. She pressed on, soft and shaking. “If something’s wrong… If there’s something you’re protecting me from… I deserve to know. I’m not mad. I just—” she inhaled shakily. “I love you. And I’m scared. I want you to talk to me.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reached for her hand, lifting it slowly and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“You’re scared?” he murmured, dark lashes lowering. “Of me?”

Her breath caught. “I’m scared because I don’t understand. And I want to.”

He turned her hand in his, studying the shape of her fingers like they were scripture.

“You said you love me,” he said.

She nodded slowly. “I do.”

“Then trust me.”

She tried to keep her voice steady. “I’m trying. That’s why I’m asking.”

Jungkook finally looked up. His eyes were deep and unreadable. “You don’t need to worry about what’s in the guest room. Or the cameras. Or anything else.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve taken care of it.”

She froze. “Taken care of what?”

“The man who was texting you. The one who thought he could follow you home. He won’t be a problem anymore.”

Her lips parted. “Jungkook…”

“I told you,” he said, quiet and firm, “I would never let anyone hurt you.”

She was trembling now. But not pulling away.

“And the cameras?” she asked. “The locks? The phone?”

His thumb stroked her palm. “I need to protect you.”

“But you didn’t tell me.”

“Because you’d be scared. Like you are now.”

There was no apology in his voice. Just calm certainty.

“You don’t need to know everything, Y/N,” he said gently. “You just need to be safe. And with me? You always will be.”

Silence.

She stared at him, heart breaking open in her chest.

Because somewhere deep down… she believed him.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

-------

Y/N sat curled on the bedroom floor, her back against the bedframe, knees hugged tight to her chest. The lights were off. Just the amber glow from the hallway leaking in beneath the door.

She wasn’t crying. Not really.

But her eyes burned.

Her thoughts looped endlessly: He did it for you. He lied to protect you. He’d kill for you. He already has.

She didn’t know how long she sat there. Maybe an hour. Maybe three.

The house was silent. But she felt him on the other side of the door.

Waiting.

When it finally opened, she didn’t flinch.

Jungkook stood there, barefoot, shirtless, drenched in moonlight. He looked like a sinner at confession. Or a boy trying not to lose the only thing that’s ever mattered.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked.

She looked up at him, eyes rimmed red but dry.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “The silence. The waiting. I need to tell you everything. No more half-truths. No more keeping you in the dark.”

She didn’t speak.

So he sank to his knees in front of her.

His hands found hers, gently, like she might vanish if he moved too fast.

“I love you.” His voice trembled. “I know that sounds twisted coming from me right now, but I swear—I have never loved anyone like I love you.”

She kept staring. Listening.

“When we met, I thought I was just lucky. That somehow, I’d stumbled into something pure. But the more I got to know you, the more I realized—I couldn’t lose you. I couldn’t let the world touch you. Not the way it touched me.”

A breath.

“I watched you. I memorized you. And yeah—maybe that was wrong. I know it was wrong. But it didn’t feel that way. It felt like devotion.”

She blinked slowly.

“You didn’t see the messages he sent you. You didn’t see the photos he took of you from across the street. I did. I saw it all. And I handled it. Because no one—no one—gets to make you feel unsafe. Not while I’m breathing.”

Her lip quivered slightly.

“I never meant to scare you,” he whispered. “But I’d burn the world to the ground if it meant you’d never have to be afraid again.”

Silence bloomed between them.

He looked at her like he was preparing to be shattered.

And then—

She leaned forward.

Pressed her mouth to his.

It wasn’t rushed. Or messy. It was quiet and soft and aching.

When she finally pulled away, her voice was barely a whisper. “I understand.”

His eyes widened.

“I don’t agree with everything,” she continued, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “And I need time to figure out what this means for us. But right now... all I feel is how much I love you.”

Jungkook let out a breath like he’d been drowning.

“You’re mine,” he whispered.

“I’ve always been yours.”

That broke something in him.

And then he kissed her like he’d been starved for centuries.

Their bodies tangled fast—his hands roaming her waist, lifting her into his lap as he pressed her back against the edge of the bed. Her breath hitched, soft moans escaping between kisses. Fingers tugging hair, skin burning where their mouths touched, their clothes pulled away slowly like reverent offerings.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered against her throat. “So fucking perfect.”

“Then show me,” she whispered back.

And he did.

All night.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was supposed to be a simple outing.

Their first time outside together in days. Y/N had insisted—something small, something normal. Just the two of them. No secrets, no cameras. Just breathing the same air as the rest of the world for a few hours.

So they went to a corner bookstore tucked off a sleepy street. It smelled like old paper and vanilla beans, and the shelves were taller than her head. Jungkook had barely let go of her hand since they left the apartment. His thumb rubbed circles against her palm like he needed to feel her pulse—needed to know she was real.

And Y/N… she was watching him just as closely.

He wasn’t smiling. Not really. His eyes scanned everything. Everyone. Every movement in the corner of the shop. Every man who even glanced her way. His jaw flexed each time someone walked too close.

But for a while, things felt peaceful.

Until they weren’t.

It happened in seconds.

They were leaving the store, her clutching a poetry book to her chest, his hand warm on her lower back. The sidewalk was tight with people. A man in a grey jacket brushed past—too fast, too close.

His arm smacked against her shoulder hard enough to make her stumble.

“Ah—!” Y/N gasped.

Jungkook caught her instantly.

And then he was gone from her side.

She turned in confusion—just in time to see him slam the man back against the brick wall of the alley beside the bookstore.

“You think you can touch her?” Jungkook’s voice was low. Dangerous. “You even know who she is?”

The man struggled, cursing. “Back off, psycho—!”

Jungkook’s fist connected with his jaw before he finished the sentence. Bone crunched. The man’s head hit the wall again, dazed.

Y/N stood frozen, heart thundering. Her book slipped from her hand.

Blood.

Not much, but enough to stain the man’s collar.

“Jungkook—” she whispered, stepping forward.

He didn’t turn.

He pressed his forearm to the man’s throat. “If you ever touch her again—if you breathe near her—I will gut you like a pig.”

Y/N swallowed hard. She should’ve pulled him off. She should’ve screamed. She should’ve done something.

But instead...

She stepped closer.

Her hand slid onto his arm. Gentle.

“Baby,” she said softly. “It’s enough.”

His breathing was ragged. His pulse throbbed beneath her fingers.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then slowly—slowly—he stepped back.

The man collapsed, coughing, blood dripping from his lip.

Jungkook turned to her, eyes wild.

“You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.

She nodded, numb. “Yes.”

A pause.

Police sirens whined faintly in the distance—someone must’ve called it in.

Jungkook cursed under his breath, grabbed her hand. “We need to go.”

They ducked into a back alley. She clutched his jacket like a lifeline. Her mind was spinning—but not in fear. In something hotter. Darker.

She’d never seen anyone look at her like that before.

Like she was his entire reason for breathing.

Like he’d destroy the universe just to keep her from flinching.

And when the police finally found them five minutes later, she stepped in before Jungkook could even speak.

“He saved me,” she said, voice steady. “That man grabbed me. Jungkook only defended me. It was self-defense.”

The officer raised a brow. “Did you see him attack you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I was scared. I still am.”

Jungkook stared at her like she’d hung the moon.

—

Back home, the apartment was quiet again.

Y/N sat on the kitchen counter, still in the clothes from earlier, hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Jungkook stood across from her, leaning against the wall like he didn’t trust himself to get too close.

“You didn’t have to lie for me,” he murmured.

She tilted her head. “I didn’t lie.”

He laughed under his breath. “He barely touched you.”

“He made you angry,” she replied, gaze unwavering. “That’s enough for me.”

His eyes darkened.

She slipped down from the counter and crossed the room slowly.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered, pressing a hand to his chest. “You think I don’t see you? I do. I see the way you look at me. The way you shake when someone else even tries to be near me.”

Jungkook swallowed hard. “Y/N…”

“I should be scared,” she said, leaning in until her lips ghosted over his jaw. “But I’m not. Because I feel the same way.”

He froze.

Her voice dropped. “I want you obsessed. I want you burning for me. Because I’m burning for you too.”

That was all it took.

"Fuck."

His hands gripped her waist hard, lips crashing into hers with the kind of desperation that had nothing to do with control—just need. She moaned into his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist as he lifted her back onto the counter, teeth scraping, fingers tugging her shirt up and over.

“Mine,” he breathed against her throat. “Say it.”

“Yours,” she gasped. “Always.”

"Yeah? Let me prove it to you, my love."

And when they came together again—skin to skin, breath tangled—it wasn’t just sex. It was surrender.

It was destruction disguised as love.

And neither of them wanted to be saved.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook lay half-sprawled on the couch, his arm lazily curled around Y/N’s shoulders. She was curled against his chest, her fingertips tracing faint patterns across the black ink running up his forearm. The apartment smelled like sandalwood and mint. Soft movie light flickered against the walls, casting slow-moving shadows.

Her body was draped over his like she belonged there.

Because she did.

“You’re warm,” she murmured, cheek pressed to his shirt. “And distracting. I can’t even follow the movie.”

He chuckled softly, brushing his lips against the crown of her head. “Wasn’t watching it anyway.”

His phone buzzed.

Once.

Then again.

And again.

A pause.

Jungkook shifted slightly and reached for it with a grunt, but didn’t move Y/N. He kept her on top of him, screen tilted toward the arm of the couch as he checked the notifications.

Y/N didn’t even look up—at first.

Until she felt the subtle shift in his breathing.

“Who is it?” she asked casually.

“Mm,” he replied, distracted. “Some girl. Liked a bunch of my old posts. Commented too.”

Y/N’s fingers stopped their lazy trail. She lifted her head slightly, gaze dipping to the edge of the screen.

The girl’s profile picture was visible. Pretty. Flawless makeup. A bit too smiley.

Her comment sat under a photo from nearly a year ago—Jungkook on a rooftop, messy hair, lip ring, eyes like sin.

"God you’re unreal 😍"

Y/N’s body tensed ever so slightly.

Jungkook didn’t react. He barely blinked.

But Y/N tilted her head, eyes still on the phone.

“Is she someone you know?” she asked lightly.

Jungkook’s arm squeezed her just a little tighter. “No. Just some random girl. Probably saw the post from Explore or something.”

“She liked a lot of your photos.”

His thumb moved over the screen — slow, casual. Then, without hesitation, he tapped Block.

Y/N blinked. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he said simply. “I don’t want her looking at me like that. Especially not when I’ve already found everything I need.”

She turned slightly, just enough to look at him over her shoulder.

His eyes were warm but dark. Focused completely on her.

“I don’t care about anyone else,” he said. “Not when I have you like this.”

Y/N felt something strange stir in her chest.

Relief. Satisfaction. Something sharp, but beautiful.

It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t madness.

But it was a new kind of knowing.

That she wanted him like this forever.

Wanted his attention like oxygen. His devotion like a promise tattooed into bone.

“I didn’t like her comment,” Y/N admitted softly, lips brushing the edge of his jaw. “Didn’t like her calling you hot. Not when you’re mine.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened just slightly.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” he murmured.

“I’m not jealous,” she said, but her fingers were curling around his shirt now, tugging him closer. “I just don’t want to share.”

His hand slid along her waist, gripping her tighter, pulling her back into his chest.

“Good,” he breathed. “Don’t.”

She turned fully now, straddling his lap in one smooth motion, hands cupping his jaw. Their noses brushed. His hands slid instinctively down to her hips.

“I don’t need to be reminded who you belong to,” she whispered. “But sometimes… I think I like doing it anyway.”

He groaned softly as she leaned in, lips brushing his, not quite kissing yet.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he murmured.

Y/N smiled. “I know.”

Her lips finally met his. Slow. Hot. The kind of kiss that built in heat, not fire — smoldering in soft whimpers and tongue, fingers threading into hair, clothing shifting as their bodies pressed tighter. Jungkook tilted his head and deepened it, one hand splayed on her lower back, the other curling possessively around her thigh.

The movie flickered.

Rain tapped.

The rest of the world blurred into silence.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The world outside their apartment was a slow blur of gold and grey.

Rain still clung to the windows, but the storm had softened overnight, retreating into a lazy drizzle that made the light spill gentle and slow into the room.

Y/N stirred first.

She blinked up at the ceiling, breath still slow, body warm under the weight of the duvet — and him.

Jungkook’s arm was wrapped around her waist, his hand resting protectively against her stomach. His legs were tangled with hers, face pressed to the crook of her neck. His breath was warm and even. Still asleep.

Y/N didn’t move.

She didn’t want to.

Instead, she turned just enough to look at him.

He looked... different in the morning.

Younger. Softer. As if sleep peeled back the armor he wore in the daylight and left her with the raw, boyish version of him. Tousled hair. Lips parted just slightly. Thick lashes resting on skin still flushed from last night.

And God — he was beautiful.

Her fingers moved before she could stop them, reaching to trace the edge of his jaw. She felt the faint scrape of stubble. The delicate slope of his cheekbone. The tattooed vines that wrapped around his arm, stark against her bare skin.

She remembered the way he had looked at her.

The way he had blocked that girl without blinking.

The way he had said, “I don’t want her looking at me like that. Not when I’ve already found everything I need.”

Y/N bit her lip.

Her heart ached — not from pain.

From possession.

It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t dramatic.

It was quiet.

A pulse under her skin. A whisper at the back of her mind.

Mine.

She kissed his forehead gently, nose brushing his temple.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she whispered. “I won’t let you.”

And then—

A smile.

Jungkook’s.

His voice, still rough from sleep: “Didn’t plan to.”

Y/N jumped a little. “You’re awake?”

“Wasn’t,” he said, blinking open one eye. “But your voice... kinda made it hard to stay asleep.”

She flushed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He stretched, groaning softly, before dragging her closer.

“Best way to wake up,” he murmured. “With you right here. Watching me like I’m your favorite thing in the world.”

Y/N swallowed.

“Maybe you are.”

He paused at that — just for a second. Something flickered behind his eyes. Not shock. Not fear.

Something darker.

Something hungry.

“You’re dangerous when you say things like that,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She smiled. “You like it.”

“I do.”

Their foreheads pressed together.

“Stay with me today?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he said instantly. “You don’t even have to ask.”

He leaned in and kissed her. Softly. Deeply. Like a man completely smitten, completely ruined.

And as the rain whispered against the glass and the sun bled in between the blinds, Jungkook realized something he hadn’t before:

She wasn’t just falling for him.

She was beginning to mirror him.

Not in cruelty. Not yet.

But in devotion.

And that?

That was more dangerous than anything.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The kitchen was filled with soft sounds — the clink of mugs, the low hum of the coffee machine, the rustle of Y/N’s oversized sweater as she padded barefoot across the tiles.

She liked mornings like this.

The kind that felt domestic. Soft. Intimate.

Jungkook had gone into the bedroom a few minutes ago, muttering something about changing into a clean shirt. She hadn’t followed — mostly because she loved watching the rain from the window, fingers curled around warm ceramic, his scent still lingering on her skin.

But when she walked past the half-open bedroom door a moment later, she paused.

A drawer was pulled out from the dresser — not wide, but just enough.

She shouldn’t have looked.

She knew she shouldn’t have looked.

But her eyes flicked down anyway.

Black gloves. A sleek folding knife. A phone — not his regular one — face down, scratched at the edges. And something else. A photo. Just the corner of it peeking out from beneath a black hoodie.

It was her face.

Y/N froze.

Only for a breath.

Only for a second.

Then she took a slow step back. Reached for the edge of the drawer. And gently — without a sound — pushed it shut.

When Jungkook came back, towel slung around his neck, she was leaning against the kitchen counter with two mugs waiting.

He paused, taking her in. “You okay?”

Y/N smiled softly. “Yeah. Just missed you.”

She handed him the coffee. Their fingers brushed. He watched her for a moment — too long.

Something in his gaze darkened, flickered.

“You sure?” he asked again.

“Mhm.” She sipped her drink. “Why?”

He shook his head. Smiled.

“No reason.”

But his eyes lingered on her lips. Her throat. Her pulse.

Because he knew.

She had seen. She had definitely seen.

And she hadn’t said a word.

Later, when they curled back into the couch, Jungkook couldn’t stop touching her.

Not out of lust — not just.

Out of awe.

Because she didn’t scream. Didn’t demand answers. Didn’t even ask who the phone belonged to, or why he had a drawer full of things that didn’t belong in the life they pretended to lead.

Instead, she reached for him.

And he realized:

She had chosen him.

Not in spite of the shadows — but because of them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook sat on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, palms resting on his knees. He hadn’t looked at her in ten minutes.

Y/N stood across the room, barefoot in one of his shirts, watching him silently. The storm outside flickered lightning through the blinds, flashing across the lines of his body, the tattoos that wrapped around his arms like smoke.

“I need to tell you something,” he said finally, voice rough.

She didn’t speak. Just nodded once.

His eyes didn’t meet hers.

“I didn’t fall in love with you when we met.” A breath. “I already loved you. Before that. Long before.”

Her breath caught — not from surprise. From the weight of it.

“I saw you on the train,” he said. “You were smiling at someone. Just a stranger. And it ruined me.”

He looked up, slowly. There was a storm in his eyes — deeper than the one outside.

“I followed you. Watched you. Found where you worked, where you lived. I memorized the way you walked, the way you laughed, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were focused.”

Y/N’s heart thundered in her chest. Still, she didn’t move.

“I thought it would fade,” he whispered. “But it didn’t. It only got worse. I started getting rid of anything that could hurt you. Anyone.”

She swallowed. “Who?”

Jungkook hesitated — then exhaled like it hurt.

“Mark.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “From my job?”

He nodded once. “I saw the way he looked at you. Touched your arm when you passed. You didn’t see it — but I did. Every time.”

A long pause.

“I waited outside his building. He never made it home.”

Y/N’s lips parted. Her hands curled into the hem of his shirt. Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

“You killed him… for me?”

Jungkook stood then. Slowly. Like a man coming undone.

“I would do it again,” he said. “I would burn down cities for you. Cut through the world just to make sure you never had to flinch. I know it’s sick. I know it’s twisted. But I can’t help it. I love you in a way that doesn’t have brakes.”

He stepped closer.

“I love you in a way that ruins things.”

She let the silence hang for a beat.

Then two.

Then, with eyes glassy, voice trembling, she said:

“Then ruin me.”

Jungkook froze.

Her eyes burned into his.

“I don’t care what you’ve done,” she whispered. “I don’t care how it started. I just care that you’re mine.”

She walked to him — slowly, deliberately — until their chests touched. Her hands slid to his jaw. Her voice was breathless, desperate.

“I want you. All of you. I want to be tangled in your mess. Your violence. Your obsession. I want you to lose your mind over me. Because I’m already losing mine over you.”

He groaned softly — then kissed her.

Not gently.

Not slowly.

He kissed her like a man at the edge of a cliff, like he’d die if he didn’t take her with him.

"Youre driving me crazy." He groaned into her mouth.

Y/N clung to him, moaning into his mouth, fingers tugging his shirt over his head. His hands were already at her thighs, lifting her, gripping like he needed bruises as proof she was real.

She wrapped her legs around him, and he carried her to the bed like she weighed nothing.

His body against hers, his mouth trailing over her neck, her chest, her stomach — worshipping like she was holy. Her fingers tangled in his hair, back arching as he slid down and took his time, tasting, devouring her like she was the only salvation he knew.

She cried out his name — desperate, broken — and he murmured, “That’s it, baby. Let me have all of it.”

When he finally moved over her again, kissing her like he’d never tasted air before, he whispered,

“You’re mine. Every part. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped. “No one else. Only you.”

When he pushed inside, she felt everything — the way his hands trembled, the way his breath stuttered against her skin, the way his eyes locked onto hers like she was the last light in the world.

They moved together, slow at first — then faster, harder, more desperate.

"No one else gets to have you like this, no one gets to look, touch, breathe or fuck you like I do"

"F-uck, koo please."

It wasn’t just sex.

It was claiming.

It was obsession turned sacred.

“You ruin me,” he groaned into her mouth.

“Then let me,” she moaned back, kissing him until their lungs burned.

"Let go, cum for me." He groans.

They came together in a tangle of limbs and cries, hearts pounding against each other’s ribs, lips still clinging, hands still gripping — like even in release, they couldn’t let go.

When it was over, he held her tight, face buried in her neck, chest rising and falling like he’d survived war.

“I’m scared of how much I love you,” he whispered.

Y/N pulled his face up, kissed his lips softly.

“Then don’t fight it,” she whispered. “Let it consume us.”

He smiled — dazed, wrecked.

And she smiled back.

Because there was no going back now.

They were each other’s poison.

And neither wanted the cure.

-----------

A few months later.

An abandoned church just outside the city. Overgrown. Forgotten. There are no guests. No music. Just crumbling stone, shattered stained glass, and a full moon pouring through broken beams.

Y/N stood in front of the cracked mirror in the chapel’s apse, brushing a finger down the curve of her lip.

The reflection looking back at her didn’t belong to the girl who once flinched at shadows.

She wore white — not pure white, but off-cream silk, frayed slightly at the hem. Her hair was pinned back with gold pins. Her skin still bore faint bruises from Jungkook’s hands — not marks of pain, but proof. That she was wanted. Loved. Claimed.

Behind her, footsteps echoed softly against the stone.

Jungkook appeared in the mirror, dressed in black from collar to boots. A knife was strapped to his thigh. His hand carried a simple ring — thin, silver, elegant. She didn’t know where he got it. She didn’t ask.

He stopped behind her.

Neither of them spoke.

Instead, he reached around her waist and pulled her back against him. His chin rested on her shoulder, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“You look like mine,” he whispered.

Y/N smiled faintly at their reflection.

“I’ve always been yours.”

His eyes — dark, endless — stared into hers in the glass. His hands, steady and reverent, slipped the ring onto her finger. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“No priest. No vows. Just this,” he murmured. “You. Me. Until the end.

Y/N turned in his arms. Her palms found his chest. His heart beat hard beneath her touch.

“Until the end,” she echoed.

And then she kissed him.

Not soft.

Not restrained.

But hungry.

Jungkook groaned into her mouth, backing her into the altar like it was sacred — like she was sacred. Her hands clawed at his jacket, his fingers tugged the silk off her shoulders, and the air thickened between them like heat.

There, in a ruined chapel lit only by moonlight, they made love like sinners pretending to be saints.

She moaned his name like a prayer. He whispered hers like a curse. Their bodies moved in rhythm with something older than forgiveness, something more powerful than absolution.

When it was over, they lay together in silence.

Her cheek rested against his chest. His fingers played with the ring now circling her finger — the only thing left between them and the world.

Jungkook spoke first.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, barely audible.

Y/N smiled. She didn’t even open her eyes.

“No,” she breathed. “I’ve never felt more like myself.”

A long silence.

Then she added, softer

“I used to be afraid of turning into someone unrecognizable.”

He looked down at her.

“And now?”

Y/N turned her face toward the broken mirror beside them.

The girl she used to be was gone.

But in her place was a woman forged from obsession and devotion. And in his arms, she had never felt more alive.

She stared at her reflection.

“I recognize her now,” she whispered. “And she loves you more than her own soul.”

Jungkook kissed her again. This time, not with urgency. But with certainty.

"Koo?"

"Yes, princess."

“Promise me this never ends.” She whispers.

“It can’t. You’re carved into me.”

She smiled, part of her knows nothing will go back to the way it was. But she was okay with it, as long as she had him.

“There’s no heaven waiting for people like us, you know?” she said.

“I don’t need heaven,” he replied. “I have you.”

“Even if we go to hell?” “Then we’ll rule it—hand in hand.”

[jeonette]

masterlist | 𝕵.

ᯓ★ sasha, 18 years

ᯓ★ user has changed from @/jeeonks to @/jeonette.

ᯓ★ fics posted will only cater to jungkook x reader

( until further notice but all fics posted will only cater to bts members x readers )

ᯓ★ refrain from reposting my work & plagiarism will ( obviously ) not be tolerated.

ᯓ★‧₊ ᵎᵎ ⋅ ˚✮

series! ── .✦ ╰┈➤

TO BE RELEASED.

ᯓ★ ‧₊ ᵎᵎ ⋅ ˚✮

| one shots! ── .✦

╰┈➤

knockout love ; boxer!best friend, best friend to lovers, he’d do anything for her. fluff + angst.

“I promise I’ll make it out alive, princess.”

soft love ; soft smut, fluff, 18+

in which jungkook makes love to y/n while constantly praising her and her insecurities.

eternal obsession ; dark romance, obsessive, 18+ [ smut, angst ]

In which Jungkook is everything Y/N ever wanted — tender, protective, and obsessed. But behind his love lies a trail of secrets and blood no one was meant to find. What if the man who would kill for her… already has? Because if there’s no heaven for people like them, they’ll rule hell, hand in hand.

my favourite chapter : soft romance, bittersweet.

Jungkook and Y/n were each other’s first everything. But the world asked them to choose between love and growth. They didn't want to stop loving each other, but then again, isn't loving someone, letting them go?

after school hours : enemies to lovers, 90's high school romance.

A classic 90's enemies to lovers skit. Mixtapes, rooftop hangouts, and harmless bickering between classes. But somewhere between hallway glances, stolen car rides, and one kiss under the stars, everything changed.

say you're mine : jealous, posessive romance. 18+ [ smut ]

in which Jungkook sees Y/n's ex getting a little too touchy and talkative for his liking. And he's not having any of it. So he takes her home and fucks her silly.

[jeonette]

soft love - jjk 18+

pairing : jungkook x reader

genre : soft love ( koo is whipped for oc )

rating : smut, fluff, 18+

synopsis : he praises her insecurities while making love to her, he loves her so so much

oneshot —

Letting your body fall onto the soft mattress beneath you, you let your eyes close feeling your boyfriend hover above you

his soft and gentle kisses travel from your neck to the spot right behind your ear

"you're so beautiful, have I ever told you that?" he whispers into your ear, chuckling to himself

"You... tell me everyday" you barely make out a sentence, feeling his hands caressing your waist

"Hmm, you deserve to know" he whispers quickly, before letting his kisses work up your cheek, before smothering kisses all over your face

"If only you saw yourself the way I see you, you wouldn't be able to look away from yourself" he whispers, hands roaming all over you

He kisses his way down your shoulders, and stops at your waist

"Youre perfect, your body, your eyes, your lips, your everything baby" he whispers, lightly peppering kisses on your stomach

"Koo..." You whimper out, hands making its way to his hair, lightly pulling onto it, earning a soft groan to slip out from his mouth

"I hate when you look in the mirror and start comparing yourself to other girls" he's already made his way back up, hands slipping into your shirt and his mouth smashed on yours

"Wish I could make love to you everyday so you can finally see how beautiful you are" he whispers in between his kisses

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, your hands around his neck doing the same

"You make me feel so pretty" you whisper out, both of you locking eyes with each other

"Wanna make you feel prettier everyday, my pretty girl" He coo'es

He brings his hands to intertwine with yours, pushing into you slowly

"So so pretty" "My pretty girl" "Shit you're gorgeous baby"

His mouth never leaving the sweet spot behind your ear, whispering things in between his pushes, making him smile whenever you whisper his name out loud

"Let go, l've got you" He whispers, pressing a kiss onto your lips ever so gently, as if you'd break if he pressed any harder

His name slips out your mouth one last time before the both of you practically lean onto each other, catching your breath

The both of you lay next to each other, before he takes you into his arms

"Bet you feel prettier already" he teases, causing you to playfully hit his shoulder

"I feel like the prettiest girl in the world" you whisper, kissing his cheek, earning a big smile from him

"Yeah? Guess we'd have to do this everyday for the next couple of weeks so you'd feel like the prettiest girl in the universe" he whispers, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, pulling you close

"And what happens once i do? We stop?" You tease back, feeling him smile against your shoulder

"Never baby, I'll never stop making you feel like you're the most beautiful girl in my eyes"

a/n : this is something I wrote years ago & just thought that it’d be fun to publish as one of my first posts on here! Just to get a little vibe of this platform! Xx Tumblr is fascinating me already 😭