jungkooksmytype

[jungkooksmytype]

Manifesting this type of love 🙏 A must read for sure!! 💜

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

[jungkooksmytype]

The writing??? I felt like I could actually smell the underground rink. Incredible! A must read! 💜

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 highkey 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! 🥹

[jungkooksmytype]

begin | jjk (m)

Summary: “Being a human isn’t that bad when he gets to be one with you by his side.”

Before everything shatters like a mirage of an impossible dream, you teach Jungkook how to live a fulfilling life far from Heaven. His numb heart starts to gradually light up again; you make him begin believing in love and hope when not even starting afresh could. But then… everything shatters.

pairing: Jungkook x reader

genre: s2f2l, fallen angel / fantasy!au; fluff, angst, smut

warnings: major and minor character death (but the fic has a happy ending nw !!), themes of death / rebirth / illness, bad childhood / foster parents, not exactly biblically correct - i took some liberty with these themes (no insults or anything offending tho), jk is mean at first but softens up and becomes the sweetest guy ever, swearing, unrequited love for like… 5 seconds; explicit sexual content: outdoor foreplay, handjob, oral (f. receiving), groping, fingering, soft dom!jk, lots of kissing, unprotected sex (reader is on pill just for him, be careful guys), praise kink, marking, some manhandling, dirty talk, jk’s goddamn muscles and moans gawd

word count: 26.6k

a/n: first of all, look at this banner by @ddaechwita​, I’M SO IN LOVE, TYSM !!!!! T_T this fic was written for the wings collab hosted by @missgeniality​ who also beta’d this fic and listened to me ramble about it for months, along with @jimilter​, my talented lil goofball !! thank you for making fallen angel jk (and the summary smh) so much better <3 PLUS, ash and @ressjeon​​, i love you babies for lending me your beautiful names for some of the scenes *cries* !!

uploaded to AO3, too (for those who prefer pdfs or mobile readings!)

MASTERLIST | WIPs

Angels fall with a dull thump and the flash of a light.

A human ear registers the sound as a small whimper, a soft wind blowing and howling in a somewhat strange way for only moments before normality returns. But differently from mere mortals, Heaven and Hell shake at the disturbance, the rare happening indicating the failure of another superior creature.

Jungkook doesn’t remember the thump and the fall, but he remembers the brightness vividly - a striking and blinding light before he entered the life he’s gotten used to now. The punishment he’s wandered into would certainly be less frightening if he knew how he’d gotten to suffer through it and how he can fight it.

Keep reading

[jungkooksmytype]

Just absolutely incredible! Such a fun and immersive story! Definitely a must read!! 💜

Once Upon a Bracelet

Pairing: Prince Jungkook x Sorceress Reader (Featuring Platonic Jin x Reader Friendship)

Genre: Fantasy • Soulmates • Enemies to Lovers • Fairytale

Word Count: 12.5K

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MINORS PROHIBITED. I DO NOT CONSENT TO ANY INTERACTIONS WITH PERSONS UNDER THE AGE OF 18. NO EXCEPTIONS.

Warnings: explicit sexual content • mentions of death • injury with a knife • passing mention of patricide • mentions of blood in relation to magic • literally none of this is graphic at all • I am just trying to be safe • loss of virginity • some hurt/comfort elements • social inequality and classism • pseudo-infidelity but not really •

Rating: Explicit (18+) 

Summary: You were born to nothing, but your powerful craft caught the eye of a charming prince. However, his distinctly un-charming younger brother challenged your betrothal and is routinely challenging you. Jeon Jungkook is (probably) a former necromancer and (definitely) the wrong prince…

But the bracelets tell a different story.

Author’s Note: This story would not be here without the love, support and friendship of my incredible support system. You talk with me, you laugh with me, you listen when I’m crying, and you read my chaotic drafts when I am ready to pull my hair out of my head in frustration. I love you all. @ppersonna @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen @lemonjoonah Special thanks to my lovely beta Hope @hobi-gif who keeps my work sharp and gives so generously of her time to help me. If I shine, its because you ladies are lighting up my life. And finally, shout-out to the lovely @wwilloww who read the very first version of this story year before we ever connected through BTS. I hope you like this new version–my brain clearly ran away with me…

Content Note: In this universe a necromancer is defined as a magic user with the ability to drain and/or manipulate the life force of living beings to fuel their own power. Using life force magic temporarily grants them advanced abilities—most of which are forbidden or illegal in the Kingdom of Dionysia where this story is set. Most mages with the ability to use this type of magic do not elect to do so. Magic users in this universe are typically proficient in three to four varieties of magic generally determined by their genetic make-up (meaning you are likely to inherit the same type of magical abilities as your parents or family members). 

꧁ Prologue ꧂

It is said that the world of mortals contained three sacred wells where ancient magic rose up within the waters like springs from the depths of the earth. 

One such well could be found in the Kingdom of Dionysia—a nation of great warriors and powerful crafters who served as its caretakers for generations.

The Dionysians called this place Sanguine Well and, as a reward for their devotion, the gods honored them with a remarkable gift…

Bonding Bracelets

—a set of unique magical artifacts used to join, identify, and empower soulmates. 

On the first day of their twentieth year, Dionysian youth traveled to Sanguine Well for the ritual creation of a bonding bracelet pair. 

When the appointed hour arrived, a young seeker ventured into the depths of the well and held their breath beneath its waters till the currents receded—leaving a bracelet pair behind. 

One bracelet formed fully clasped around their wrist. The other remained open and would only close for the seeker’s destined mate.

Naturally the people of Dionysia did not take the gift of bonded soulmates lightly…

All proposed matches were registered and approved by the Ruling Council before an open bracelet could even be tried on by a potential partner and both parties were required to present evidence of their commitment to one another. 

If the alliance was approved, the betrothed pair participated in a public ceremony where the first seeker’s intended would activate the bond by placing the open bracelet around their wrist.

When an unclaimed bracelet united with its true owner, the open ends stretched and intertwined to form a rune.

From that moment on, the seeker and their soulmate were blood bonded in a supernatural union of their hearts, powers, and abilities that was—to all known craft—unbreakable. 

Dionysia believed that this care and reverence honored the craft and the gods, thereby allowing the sacred tradition to continue.

In 900 years of recorded history, only five bonding ceremonies ended with a bracelet that did not close.

Now there were six…

꧁ Once Upon a Time ꧂

“Jin!”

Your voice echoed through the elegant corridors of Solemn Truth Palace as you chased after your betrothed. “I’m sorry! I—”

Jin whirled on you, shaking his head vehemently.

“None of this is your fault.”

“There are many reasons why this could’ve happened,” you offered breathlessly.

“There’s only one reason why this happens.”

He sighed and you rubbed your temples in frustration.

“I don’t understand… The Council gave permission.”

The Ruling Council was a sovereign governing body of three kings and three queens—one monarch from each of Dionysia’s six royal bloodlines.

“The Council isn’t all knowing…” Jin collapsed against a nearby wall. “This is a disaster,” he whispered.

And it was.

You had no family, but all of your friends and colleagues from the Academy were there.

Jin was technically an orphan as well, but his adopted family, the Jeons, were there.

Jeon Alaya was high queen of the Ruling Council, so half the kingdom was there to see the prince, her (adopted) son, bond with the craft prodigy from The Wastes.

Half the kingdom, but not her blood. Not her youngest son…

The two of you were silent for several moments as you struggled to process the shock.

“Do you think the rumors—what they say about me—is true?” 

Jin’s head shot up in an instant.

“No,” he swore, “they’re absolutely not true.”

Your heart warmed at his fierce defense, but after today’s debacle you were beginning to question yourself…

Whispers that ‘Wastelanders’ like yourself were citizens of no nation and loyal only to their own desires had plagued the majority of your academic and professional career.

You were forced to work twice as hard as any of your peers for each of your achievements, relying on nothing more than your natural talent and a stubborn determination to succeed in spite of the prejudice you faced. 

And you did succeed.

The gatekeepers of Dionysian society may have sneered at your background, but the powerful craft in your veins and the mastery with which you wielded it earned you undeniable respect and acclaim. 

Yet—even then—you were still an outsider. 

A strange girl with strange magic. 

Keep reading

[jungkooksmytype]

So well written!!!!! The tension on my gawddd

✶ BLOODY CRAWLING BACK TO YOU

in which... you absolutely hate your co-worker, the insufferable Jeon Jungkook. but you're badly hurt, and somehow, your feet led you to his door.

pairing: jungkook x f!reader ✶ ( secret agents au ) word count: 7.7k content warning: smut ( mdni ) ✶ angst ✶ mentions of blood, bruises, fights, sex, and lots of cursing. a/n: although I'm a sucker for the arctic monkeys original version, this one was inspired by hozier's cover of "do I wanna know". hopefully it's not too soft for what I've written, and if it is... well, sorry bout that !

⋆ 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒂𝒚...

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏 was biblical—like the city itself had decided you were a stain it needed to scrub off the map.

You staggered through alleys slick with city grime, rainwater swirling in neon puddles at your feet. Every step punched a fresh flare of agony through your side, where your coat clung wetly to the blood seeping from beneath. You didn’t know if your ribs were bruised, fractured, or split like kindling—but every breath felt like dragging lightning into your lungs and hoping you didn’t catch fire.

They’d said four men. Maybe five.

They’d lied. It had been closer to eleven—if you were counting the one catapulted through the window. You’d clawed your way through that hell. Fought like an animal in a trap. And you’d gotten what you came for. The hard drive burned cold and hard against your belly, its weight heavier than steel.

But now you were bleeding.

And somehow, your body—battered, burning—had walked you here.

Of all places.

To him.

You stood at his door, water dripping off your soaked clothes to pool at your feet, hand raised in mid-air, suspended in hesitation. The alley behind was too quiet. The storm outside sounded muffled, like the world was pressing in from all sides and this was the eye of it.

You hated him.

You hated him with an intensity that tasted like smoke and felt like lust. Hated his smirk. His arrogance. His voice. His eyes. His mouth. Hated how often you imagined it against your skin, even now.

But you couldn’t walk another block.

And you couldn’t risk what was in your hidden pocket. Couldn’t risk losing yourself out there when you'd already lost too much.

Your fist met the door before your pride could stop it. The knock echoed through the porch. You turned your head, checking behind you out of habit, expecting a shadow to crawl from the storm. Nothing. Another knock, this time louder—sharper, more frantic. Pain bit at your side, sharp as a blade twisting. You doubled slightly, hand pressed harder over the heat blooming beneath your ribs.

And then the door jerked open.

And there he was.

Jeon Jungkook.

Fucking hell.

His black hair was a mess—still damp like he’d just gotten out of the shower, frowzy strands falling across his forehead. His raven eyes, sharp as always, scanned you in a single, sweeping glance. No flicker of surprise. No warmth. Just that same infuriating coolness that always made your blood boil.

“Seriously? Where the fuck have you been? Losing a fight with a sewer?”

His voice was a cold blade, smooth and deadly.

You didn’t reply. You looked past him instead, scanning the dark corners behind his shoulder—checking for threats, anything to distract from his judgment.

“Hi to you too,” you muttered, lips twisting in a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. Sarcasm was armor, and you wrapped yourself in it fast.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there with his arms crossed like he’d been expecting you—and maybe he had.

That was the thing about Jungkook. He knew your tells like battle scars. And he used them.

"Can I come in?" you asked, the words rasping out before you could steel yourself. Your voice cracked, just slightly, under the weight of everything you were trying not to show. "Please."

That made him pause.

Jungkook wasn’t used to you asking for anything—let alone pleading.

He didn’t say a word. Just stepped aside, eyes never leaving yours.

You passed him like smoke, brushing too close, too fast, but not fast enough to miss the heat radiating off his skin. You didn’t look at him again. Couldn’t.

“Thank you,” you muttered, half breath, half defeat.

The door shut behind you with a soft click.

You and Jungkook had been orbiting the same hell for too long. Tossed together by whatever bastard thought pairing oil with fire was a great tactical move. You worked like wolves. Clashed like storms. And when it mattered, you covered each other’s backs with snarls and bloodstained fists.

Still, you had rules. Self-made. Non-negotiable.

No drinking with him.

No sleeping in the same room.

No letting him see you bleed.

No showing up at his door when you were breaking.

Too late.

The couch called to your bones, but his voice cut through the air like a whip. “You’re soaking wet.”

You rolled your eyes, dragging a hand through your drenched hair. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Your fingers found the back of the sofa, steadying yourself as exhaustion clawed at your spine. Your clothes felt like lead. Your skin itched from the dried blood you knew clinged underneath. If you closed your eyes, you were done for. So you didn’t.

He moved to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Leaned against the frame, arms folded, every muscle taut beneath the hold of a black shirt. The battered—and quite edgy—fabric hugged his torso like it wanted to be torn off. His sweatpants hung dangerously low, a taunt all on their own.

Your gaze flicked down. Just once.

Big mistake.

"I’m assuming you got it?"

The husky scrape of his voice pulled your head up. You stared for a beat, then moved to the table in the kitchen like your legs weren’t screaming with every step.

"What do you think?" you bit back, reaching into your jacket and yanking out the hard drive. You chucked it at him without ceremony. “Prick.”

He caught it with the kind of lazy precision that always pissed you off. No flinch. No reaction. Just a long look, like he was trying to read past the rain and bruises to what lay underneath.

But your coat was still on. Your secrets still safe—for now.

You slumped into a chair. He moved beside you, sliding his laptop across the table and plugging in the drive.

"‘Kay then, let's just throw the thing around so we lose the leverage we have and money we won’t be paid for."

You allowed yourself to shut your eyes for a second, and leaned your head against the wall behind you. “Dramatic as ever.”

The clicking of his keyboard filled the room. Rhythmic. Familiar. You focused on it like it might keep you conscious.

“What took you so long then? Are you that out of shape?”

A small laugh escaped, tight with pain. “As if.” You shifted in your chair, wincing as fire flared under your ribs. “They lied. There were more of them than their intel promised. A lot more,” you muttered, voice brittle with leftover rage.

The keyboard stopped.

You opened your eyes to find him staring.

“How many?”

You let out a breath. Winced again. “Ten? Maybe twelve? I didn’t exactly count heads while they were trying to break mine open.”

His expression faltered.

Just a crack. A flicker. Barely there—quick enough that anyone else might’ve missed it. But you saw it. The sharp flash of something unspoken that darted through his gaze like a blade—gone just as quickly as it came.

He stood slowly. Like he was bracing for impact. Like he could already taste the blood in the air. His movements were quiet, calculated. An animal not yet sure if it needed to strike or mend.

“You’re hurt.”

The words were low, almost a growl. Not concerned. Not yet. But deadly focused.

“Not really.” You shot back too fast. Too automatic. The deflection barely made it past your lips before another sharp wince cut through you, slicing clean under your ribs like a warning. “I’m just soaked… and sore. Pretty normal after rain and knocking out a few men.”

His gaze sharpened.

Whatever he’d been doing on his laptop no longer mattered. Jungkook stepped closer, leaving the glow of the screen behind like it was nothing. His full attention snapped to you like the click of a safety being released.

His eyes dragged over you—slow, deliberate. Mapping out every flinch, every shiver of pain beneath your soaked jacket. You felt stripped bare, despite the layers you still wore. You hated that look. Hated how closely he could read you. Like his fingers weren’t the only things that could undo you.

You shifted back in your seat instinctively, tension rippling down your spine.

But his voice cut through your retreat like iron.

“Take that off.”

The command didn’t even try to be soft. You saw the way his jaw tensed around it, like he hated how much he wanted to say it—and how badly he meant it.

Your breath stilled. An unholy cocktail of defiance and heat clawed up your throat.

“Excuse me?”

“You're drenched,” he said, cool and precise, but his tone wasn’t nearly as detached as he wanted it to be. “You're shaking. And now I can bet my ass you're bleeding too.”

His eyes dropped—too focused, too dark—and locked onto your side. His voice lowered, rough like gravel. “Just get in the bathroom.”

Oh. Oh. He was fucking serious.

And that made you want to punch him.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed the heat rising in it—rage, maybe. Or something worse. Your fingers curled tight against your thigh, jaw grinding. “You can ready your ass then ‘cause you couldn’t be more wrong!”

But even you didn’t believe that. Your body throbbed in agreement, every nerve screaming betrayal beneath the slick black of your sleeves. You knew how to fake strength. But you were running out of it.

You stood. Slowly. Painfully. If you could just make it to the door—

“You have the package,” you muttered, trying to keep your spine straight, even as your knees threatened to fold. “I already did my part. Now you keep it safe.”

You turned your back to him. The mistake was thinking he’d let you go.

You barely made it four steps before his hand was gripping the collar of your jacket, yanking you to a halt. “Just get in the fucking bathroom, for fuck’s sake!”

"Or what?" You spun, fury lashing in your tone, a snarl curling your lips as your fingers fumbled furiously with the zipper.

You would leave his place with or without the damn jacket. You didn’t care. This was a mistake—coming here, letting him see you like this, giving him even an inch of something he could hold over you.

"Or I'll fucking make you," he growled, yanking the jacket from your shoulders as the zipper finally gave way.

The motion twisted your arms awkwardly, pain lancing through your side with a white-hot burn. You faltered. A sharp breath escaped you as your knees buckled.

He caught you immediately.

And when he steadied you, it wasn’t with roughness. It wasn’t with victory.

“Sorry. Fuck—I'm sorry.” His voice dropped, rough and ragged, hands gently guiding you back upright. “Just… please, let me help you.”

Your head fell forward, forehead brushing the side of his shoulder. Not from affection. From sheer exhaustion. From not having the strength to keep up the fight.

When you finally opened your eyes again, his were already watching you, one hand dragging through his hair in a clear sign of restraint. His chest rose and fell beneath that clinging shirt, his breath a little too uneven.

“Look—you came to me. You’re already here.” His hand returned to your hip, grounding and firm. “Let me just take a look at that.”

You opened your mouth, ready to throw another snarky line just to keep the rhythm of control in your corner, but before you could, he was already steering you—gently, insistently—toward the bathroom.

“Jungkook—”

His hand shot up near your mouth, not touching, just fingers curling in the air like he was this close to losing whatever thread of patience he had left.

“Just—shut your pretty mouth for a second.” He turned to open the bathroom door, not waiting to see if you obeyed. “Get in. Take that off.”

He nodded toward your shirt and gave the smallest push to your lower back. “I’ll be right back. No arguing.”

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind you.

His bathroom was bigger than expected. Clinical. Sterile. Almost too neat for someone in this line of work. But it made sense, in that strange, maddening way Jungkook always did. Controlled chaos in the field—total discipline at home.

The dim light spilled down the tiled walls in long, moody shadows. The floor was freezing under your bare feet as you peeled off your shirt, every movement stiff with pain. Your fingers trembled, but you managed it.

Your cargo pants stuck to your thighs, soaked and heavy. You unfastened them, sliding them low enough to access the damage—only to the curve of your hips. Anything more and your pride would unravel too.

You sank onto the closed toilet lid in just your open pants and a black sports bra, arms bracing hard on the basin. Your breath came shallow, dizzy from blood loss.

The door swung open, startling you.

You jerked, arms flying up to cover your chest. “You could always knock.”

“And miss the show?” His voice was low, shameless—but it didn’t bite. There was no cruelty, only that maddening velvet steel that was his signature.

He stepped in slowly, kneeling before you with a med kit tucked under one arm, movements deliberate and devastatingly calm. The sight of him like that—on his knees, flushed skin and damp hair, inked arm flexing beneath that cursed black shirt—made your stomach twist violently.

Desire, or pain. Maybe both.

“Just give me that—I can manage,” you said, reaching for the bottle of antiseptic in his hand.

But his fingers wrapped around yours, guiding your arm down with a tenderness that disarmed you more than any threat. “No, you can’t.”

He looked at you—really looked—his eyes falling to the crimson trail running from your ribs, jaw tightening as he exhaled. “This’ll sting.”

His hands hovered over your skin, the gauze paused midair. He wasn’t moving. Just staring at your torso like it told a story he hated reading.

You shifted. “Well?”

That snapped him out of it.

He pressed the antiseptic to your wound and your world exploded.

“Son of a—”

“Breathe.” His voice was a rasp, low and oddly soft, his free hand finding your hip. His fingers didn’t press—just steadied. A quiet promise not to let you fall.

And for a second, you let him hold you like that.

You lost track of everything once he peeled the bloodied gauze away, his movements deft and careful. Jungkook picked up a hooked needle with the same deadly focus you’d seen him use while disarming a bomb or loading a gun. His teeth came down to snap the nylon thread, the noise sharp in the bathroom’s too-quiet air. Your breath hitched.

Modesty didn’t matter now. Not with the sweat on your brow, the taste of copper in your mouth, and the burn that spread from your side like a live wire. You uncurled your arms from your chest and gripped the basin and wall behind you, knuckles whitening, fingers digging into porcelain.

“Oh, God…”

You didn’t mean to say it out loud.

He noticed—of course he noticed. Jungkook’s eyes darted to your face. Then his hands came down to your knees, grounding you with a touch that was unexpectedly steady. Unexpectedly warm. Like an anchor.

You couldn’t stop staring at the needle, though.

Your gaze clung to it like it might jump at you. You weren’t new to fieldwork—scars littered your skin like a patchwork of every mission that had gone sideways. But stitching? That was personal. Up-close and brutal. It wasn’t the pain that got to you. It was the implication. The intimacy of being opened and closed again in someone else’s hands.

Worse than all that was him seeing you like this.

Panicked. Fraying. Human.

“Hey.”

His voice slipped through your spiraling thoughts.

Then his hand was on your face—firm and unrelenting. His fingers curved under your jaw and tilted your chin down, forcing your eyes to meet his. He looked thunderous, but not in the way you’d grown to expect. Not cruel. Not smug. He looked… patient. Focused. Like he was trying to will the fear out of you.

“You really need the stitches, baby,” he said, and the nickname unraveled something low and sharp inside your chest. “I don’t have anesthesia—But I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

You blinked at him, momentarily mute.

It wasn’t just the pain—it was the softness, the way he said baby like it was a secret he hadn’t meant to let slip. You didn’t know if you wanted to slap him or lean into him.

Your chest tightened. So you nodded, barely.

“That’s it. Keep your eyes on me.”

And then he stitched.

The pain came instantly. Sharp and molten. Your whole body flinched, muscles locking as you grabbed your discarded shirt beside you and shoved it into your mouth to muffle the cry. It was either that or scream.

But you didn’t look away from him.

Not once.

Even through the haze of agony, you couldn’t ignore how he looked up at you between every pull of the thread. His brows furrowed in concentration, his lashes casting shadows over cheekbones sharpened by the low light. That little scar he had on his left one. Every few seconds, his eyes found yours, like he needed to make sure you were still breathing.

And worse—you liked that he was watching.

His fingers moved too near your skin, grazing the edges of you, slow and precise. With each tug of the needle, a jolt ran through your spine. Not all from pain. Your body was buzzing, alive in a way that made you clench your jaw and hate every molecule of awareness you had.

Because why did he have to be this close?

Why did you want him closer?

You took the shirt out of your mouth and swallowed hard. The tension in your voice matched the tension on your skin. “You always do this?”

He didn’t look up. “Do what?”

“Play medic for strays?”

His jaw clenched tight, shadow gathering under his cheekbone. His hand paused on the final stitch, threading the knot harder than needed. His silence was louder than a curse.

He tossed the needle aside like it had burned him, shoving the med kit across the tiles with a careless flick of his hand.

“Only the ones that run into traps alone.”

The words cut deeper than the stitches.

His hands hovered in his lap, still curled into fists. You watched his teeth bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make that faint, telltale line dent his cheek. The one that only showed when he was furious. When he was trying to hold back.

You knew that look. You’d seen it too many times. He always wore it before things exploded.

“You should’ve told me,” he said finally. His voice was raw, softer than before. A confession, almost.

You couldn’t handle that softness.

Your gaze dropped to the floor, jaw tight. “It’s just a scratch,” you muttered, but the words rang false in your ears yet again.

He sat back on his heels, eyes still burning through you. “Just a scratch,” he repeated, the laugh hollow. “Yeah, right.”

The silence that followed wrapped around you like a vice.

Not peaceful. Not even quiet. It throbbed—the kind of quiet that made your skin prickle and your lungs tighten. It felt like something had cracked open between you, and neither of you knew how to close it.

You moved to stand, needing air, space—anything that wasn’t this. But before your muscles could engage fully, his hand came down, flat and sure, against your thigh.

Not a grip.

Not a threat.

Just there.

“Don’t,” he said.

You made the mistake of meeting his raven eyes.

Electricity. That’s what it felt like. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the dark brown whole, and there was something feral clawing behind them. Something wild. Untamed.

Not hate.

Need.

“I’m not staying,” you whispered, barely able to push the words past the burn in your throat.

Jungkook rose in one fluid movement. He was suddenly there, towering over you, too close, too solid, the heat of him crowding the air.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

The words were a promise. A warning. Maybe both.

He turned his back to you before you could respond—walked to the sink like the conversation was over. He scrubbed his inked knuckles hard, the water hissing as it hit the porcelain, blood swirling down the drain in thin, ghost-red streams. He didn’t look at you once.

But he didn’t have to.

He thought you’d stay.

So you stood. Fast. Pain stabbed through your side, but adrenaline burned hotter. You clutched your wet shirt like a weapon, storming for the door with your pride clenched so tight it nearly suffocated you.

He moved before you could touch the handle.

“What is it now? Huh?” His voice snapped like a whip. “What’s the hurry?”

He stood in front of the door like a sentinel. Like he’d expected this after all. His body blocked every inch of escape.

“I’m going home,” you bit, hand flying to the knob. “You have the damn drive, you don’t need me to run it. I’m done here.”

His hand clamped over yours, solid and immovable. His grip was hot, skin calloused. Like steel locked against silk.

“You were bleeding just a second ago, goddammit! You’re hurt. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you out of here.”

Your voice dropped, venomous. “You don’t get to decide.”

Jungkook leaned in, so close you could feel the fire of him, smell the faint cotton-and-cigarette scent clinging to his skin—a contradiction so sharp it made your breath hitch. His voice came out low, all grit and fury, the heat of it brushing your cheek like a threat.

“I do when my co-worker is falling apart and pretending to be fine. You’re not going the fuck out there like that and that’s final. I didn’t stitch you up only for you to drop dead.”

You didn’t speak. Not with words.

Your body did.

You shoved him.

Hard.

Your palms collided with his chest and he staggered back, spine hitting the door with a thud that echoed like a gunshot. His jaw clenched. A muscle ticked in his neck. And for a second—just one second—you thought he might lunge. There was that flare in his eyes again. That glint of the monster you knew better than most. Want tangled with rage. But he didn’t move.

He just stood there, breathing hard, teeth clenched behind those pierced lips he didn’t part. The way he stared—like he could rip you apart and worship you in the same breath—lit something molten in your chest.

Then, abruptly, he turned his face away, playing nervously with the loops piercing his bottom lip. Calmed himself. Swallowed it all.

“I’m running you an ice bath,” he muttered, voice flat but dragging like smoke over gravel. “It’ll help with the bruises. Trust me, you’ll thank me tomorrow.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You stood there, vibrating with the fury and the pull, while he moved like a storm through the bathroom, filling the tub. You could hear the splash of the water hitting porcelain, could see the slow swirl of mist rising where frost met heat. Jungkook crouched and pulled something from behind the tub—a coiled noose of silver tubing, a trickle system you hadn’t noticed. Typical. Always had a backup.

“There’s clean towels there,” he said, passing you on his way out, pointing to a cabinet with one long finger. His shoulder brushed yours—intentionally or not, it didn’t matter. It burned. “Don’t lock it,” he added without looking at you, already opening the door. “Just in case something happens. I won’t come in. Just—spare me from having to barge through it, will you?”

Then he was gone, the door closing behind him like a full stop.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The room was quiet except for the hum of the water. You exhaled slowly, peeling away the rest of your clothes as you hated yourself for complying so easily. The sports bra clung to your skin like a second wound, and your pants stuck as if determined to keep every painful inch of the night stitched to you. Your underwear followed. Cold air rushed in against your naked skin, but it wasn’t the chill that had your blood racing.

You stood over the tub for a moment, teeth sinking into your lip as your fingers hovered. Then, jaw tight, you slipped in.

It was ice.

Literal ice.

You hissed, biting down a scream as the freezing water bit into your bones like knives. But you didn’t get out. You let it happen. Let it burn the heat off your skin. Let it numb the ache in your side and slow the beat of the panic still coiled in your gut.

You stayed submerged there until the pain was dulled by another—the kind that started to settle in your fingertips, the subtle ache of skin flushing blue at the nails.

That’s when you moved. Slowly. Deliberately.

You rose, dripping and goose-pimpled, wrapping yourself in the thick towel you found exactly where he said it would be. Your body felt like it didn’t belong to you anymore, your brain spinning in that hollow, too-calm way that meant you were still in survival mode.

Your eyes fell to your soaked clothes on the floor and tugged at your bottom lip again. Maybe you could use Jungkook’s drier and then call a cab or something. You gulped drily, looking down on yourself and the towel that hid even less than your previous attire. 

But then again, the feeling of having the wet clothing itching back your skin, tormenting your wounds, made you want to yell. 

You decided by leaving them in a heap in the corner and opened the bathroom door with a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

And there he was.

Leaning against the wall right across from the door.

Waiting for you.

Like he knew you wouldn’t bolt.

Like he dared you to.

His eyes dragged up your form slowly, drinking in the towel, the steam curling around your hair, the flush in your cheeks—not just from the water. His lips parted slightly, breath shallow, but he didn’t speak.

The silence between you screamed enough.

He exhaled like he was trying to drag the edge off himself, and you stood there in a trance, waiting for him to move first in this chessboard you stood on every time you were face to face. 

“It’s late. Take my bed,” Jungkook said finally, shoulders tensing, fists balled up inside the pockets of his sweatpants. “The couch is a wreck and you’re not curling up on the floor like some damn street cat.”

Your laugh cut through the air, sharp and disbelieving. “Don’t fucking order me around.”

“Oh, I will, since you bled all over my bathroom and all that,” he shot back without missing a beat, turning down the hall like he’d already won. He didn’t even check if you were following, but of course you did—seething and restless and not quite finished.

Jeon Jungkook was the king of final words. He collected them like weapons. Filed them sharp and threw them with intention. You doubted he even knew how to end a sentence without stamping it in blood.

When he reached his bedroom, the sight of his rumpled sheets made you pause in the doorway. They looked like him. Dark and messy and lived-in. He strode over to a dresser, fingers trailing over the wood as if the casualness could fool either of you. It didn’t. His every movement was intentional—controlled, like he was holding himself together at the seams.

“I’m not staying,” you said again, softer this time. A warning, or maybe a plea.

He didn’t turn around. “You are.”

Then his gaze lifted—through the mirror perched above the dresser. It met yours with devastating precision, and the current in the room sparked like something struck metal.

The bedroom shrank. The walls leaned in. The air felt heavier with every breath you stole, your pulse thudding traitorously against your skin.

You felt everything too much—the towel clutched tight around your chest, the damp fabric molding to your curves; the tendrils of wet hair brushing along your spine; the sting of cold air on your bare thighs. Your nipples peaked beneath the cotton, begging for a little more friction.

Jungkook turned finally, grabbed a shirt from the drawer—white, of all things—and tossed it to you with a flick of his wrist, eyes somewhere over your head. “I’ll dry your clothes after you put that on.”

You caught the shirt with one hand, inhaling as it settled in your grip. It was soft. Lived-in. You could smell him on it.

He gestured with a jerk of his chin. “Bed’s clean.”

You rolled your eyes instead of answering. Arguing now was pointless.

You could dig your heels in, sure. But your body ached. Your side pulsed. Outside, the rain hadn’t let up for hours. And the bastards you’d escaped tonight weren’t going to rest easy. If they were hunting, you weren’t up for round two.

Plus, he did say he would dry your clothes for you. You’d have to wait for that anyway.

Jungkook watched your stance shift—read the surrender in your silence like the tactician he was. Deciding it was safe, he stepped forward, back to the mirror, facing away from you.

He gave you privacy. As if it mattered anymore. As if he hadn’t already seen you stitched and half-naked, skin marked with blood and bruises.

Still, you waited.

You kept your eyes locked on his broad back, on the way his shoulders tightened when you didn’t immediately move. He wasn’t relaxed—he was steel braced for impact. Like he knew what would happen if he turned again.

You let the towel slip. Slowly. Let it fall in a whisper at your feet before grabbing his shirt and tugging it on. It clung in places, soft cotton sticking to damp skin. His scent curled around you, confusingly comforting, irritatingly intimate.

You tugged at the hem—useless. It barely brushed your thighs.

“Of all the black shirts you own, you had to choose the white one for me? For real?”

He turned then—and froze.

His eyes dropped again. Just for a second. Took in the stretch of your legs, the curve of your hips, the little puddle starting to soak through the shirt as you brought your hair all to one side. His throat bobbed.

And when his gaze snapped back to yours, it was searing.

“I’m fine,” you found the need to reassure him, stepping forward. Too close. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely, voice wrecked. “That’s the problem.”

His eyes were wild—something caged came back, clawing just behind them once more. Like if he stayed a second longer, he’d do something neither of you could undo.

And so, he bolted.

“I’ll finish checking the drive,” he barked, already halfway through the door, not sparing a glance back, closing it behind him.

You were left alone, blinking in the sudden silence, his scent still clinging to your skin, your blood still thrumming like a war drum.

You crossed the room slowly, each step softer than the last, until your legs hit the edge of his bed. And then, without thinking too hard, you slipped beneath his sheets, still warm from his body.

And for the first time in hours, you let exhaustion win.

Your eyes felt too heavy to open, but it was your own voice that betrayed you first—a soft medley of a moan and a whimper, curling out of your throat like it hadn’t asked for permission.

Everything smelled like him.

The cotton warmth of Jungkook’s bedsheets clung to your skin, soaked in his scent, and it made your limbs feel heavier, your thoughts more tangled. You shifted beneath its weight, your body aching and too warm under the covers. A chill skittered down your spine regardless.

Was there a window open?

You clenched the pillow under your head, breath catching as another whimper slipped out, softer this time, needier. “Jungkook,” you whispered into the sheets, the sound too raw for comfort, too real.

And then you felt it—that presence.

Like a sixth sense, prickling beneath your skin. The faint light beneath the door drew the silhouette of a man carved out of stillness, perfectly rigid, perfectly silent.

Your pulse surged.

Maybe he hadn’t heard. Maybe you were imagining it. Fever dreams could do that.

But your breathing turned shallow, and the room spun slightly, dragging your consciousness fully awake. You could feel him, even without seeing his face. You could feel the way his attention wrapped around you from the other side of the door like a noose waiting to tighten.

And then your mouth betrayed you again, raspy from sleep and dry with nerves. “Are you coming in or not?”

The silence fractured.

The door creaked, slow and deliberate. The knob turned with a soft click, and then he was there.

Jungkook’s eyes latched onto yours like a hook in the gut. Gone was the usual sharpness, replaced by something raw—wide and glassy, like he’d just lost a fight with his own thoughts. His hair was a darker mess than earlier, like he’d run his hands through it in frustrated loops. His face looked shadowed, haunted. Sleep hadn’t touched him.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, heat flashing beneath your skin. The thin sheet pooled at your hips, clinging to the sweat and fever coating your bare legs.

He just stood there.

“I tried the couch,” he said, voice low, almost hoarse. Like it hurt to speak.

You swallowed. Hard. “M-My clothes are probably dry now, I’ll go—”

“No.” His voice cracked with something too sharp to be gentle. He gripped the frame of the door with both hands, like he needed to anchor himself or else he’d do something reckless. “Stay. It’s not that.”

His eyes followed your leg sliding beneath the sheets, and your breath stilled.

“What is it then?” you asked, trying not to let your voice tremble.

Jungkook hesitated—then his jaw clenched, breath flaring through his nose. “I kept hearing you… couldn’t sleep.”

You licked your lips, nodding faintly. “I think I’m breaking down in a fever.”

That was all it took.

He stepped inside, slow like he was wading through quicksand. As if afraid you might flinch. His knees met the edge of the bed and he hovered there, wavering fingers finally lifting to your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the slope of your neck. His touch was gentle, hesitant. Like he was afraid to confirm what he already knew—but hungrier for the permission to touch you than he should’ve been.

You didn’t look away.

Your eyes stayed locked on his while his palm lingered against your pulse. And there was heat there, not just from the fever. Your thighs shifted under the sheets, friction teasing your skin in all the wrong—and right—places.

“So?” you asked, breathless.

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. His hand was still on your neck, fingers grazing the sensitive skin behind your ear. His lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Let me… uh, let me check on the stitches.”

He pulled his hand away too slowly, reluctantly, and the air felt colder where he’d been. You nodded faintly, heart hammering, remembering suddenly—damn. You were still only wearing his shirt.

You swallowed again and tugged the covers higher over your hips before raising the hem of his shirt. You stopped right under your breasts, baring the stitched flesh to his eyes.

His breath caught audibly.

He didn’t say a word. Just reached out, and when his fingers found the edge of your wound, they were soft. Reverent. He traced the perimeter of the bruising like he was learning it by touch.

Your eyes fluttered. You hadn’t expected that kind of delicacy from him. But it was undoing you in pieces.

Then his fingers drifted lower. Barely an inch, grazing your skin like they had no business being there—but made themselves welcome anyway. Your stomach coiled, every inch of you taut with anticipation. And when he reached your lower belly, your breath hitched and a moan slipped out.

He froze.

“I—” he whispered, mentioning to pull back his fingers. “I should stop.”

You were faster.

Your hand shot out, seizing his wrist, eyes blazing. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

His breathing turned frantic, eyes wide and searching your face like it was a war he didn’t want to win.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” his voice trembled but made no move to get out of your hold. “You have a fever and—”

“And I’d say the same if I hadn’t one,” you interrupted, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt until his lips hovered over yours.

Jesus, you had to be fucking delirious. 

You struggled to pin his gaze, feeling the burning of your wound from holding your abs tight from the position you were in. But you weren’t stopping this. 

He growled low, like something deep in him finally snapped—and crashed his mouth onto yours.

Your fingers threaded through his hair instantly, tugging with just the right amount of pressure. He moaned into the kiss, biting your lower lip, devouring you with an intensity that blurred every line you’d drawn.

Clothes started melting away, yours first. Jungkook’s mouth only left yours to slide his t-shirt over your head. Then his hands ran all over your naked back as he trailed a path from your neck to the sweet spot beneath your ear, lowering you back down. 

His tongue lashed and you could feel his body was heat and tension and want as you pulled him closer to you. “You’re mine.” he whispered.

God, you needed his clothes gone. 

You tipped your head back into the pillow, a whimper falling out of your mouth as you savored the warmth of his mouth back on your throat. The faint sting of his hand brushing against your ribs completely subsided by the knee he had between your legs, occasionally brushing against your core through the sheets. 

“For tonight,” you teased with a grin. 

Jungkook fisted your hair and covered your mouth ardently, and you moaned feeling his damn tongue all the way down between your legs where you needed him most. Your toes curled in pleasure. 

You didn’t know if it was the burning fever taking control over your body or your own unbridled desire, but you needed him closer, needed to feel his skin on yours. 

You started clawing his black t-shirt impatiently and he chuckled against your mouth, bringing his hand to the collar of it, pulling it out for you. 

His heat poured onto your torso immediately and you shivered, letting your fingers glide over his narrow waist, getting under the waistband of his sweatpants and pulling them down to his thighs. 

When you mentioned doing the same with his boxer briefs, mind dizzy as you felt him hard beneath it, he gripped your wrist, halting your movement. 

“God, you’re killing me,” he lifted himself inches off your face, staring deeply, voice wrecked with need. “We can’t—”

“I told you. This is not my first rodeo,” you said against his mouth. “And I don’t want to think about all of this. Just finish what you started.” 

Jungkook growled and his hand came down on your collarbone, pushing you. You fell back down onto the pillow, gasping as your hair fanned around you. He got up, baring his teeth, yanking his sweatpants and briefs all the way down. 

Your heart started thumping in your ears, heat firing your chest, neck, cheeks, as your eyes drifted up his body. Your own burning for him. 

Fuck. Perfect golden skin. Tight stomach, narrow waist. Toned arms, one of them inked to the knuckles—a devil in the night ready to pounce. 

Killing smile. 

Gentle, so fucking gentle with you tonight. 

Jesus, you really were fucking delirious. 

You clenched your thighs, but he kept pinning you down with his eyes, clearly unhappy about you being injured as well as you not wanting to think about the repercussions of what was going on between the both of you. Which you found adorable because his eyes kept darting to your breasts and then to your thighs as you peeled the sheets from them and watched him struggle to breathe. 

Jungkook was as untamed as you were, and he couldn’t stop the storm coming any more than you could. 

Suddenly, all of him was stretched above you, fitted against your body like sin. He squeezed your thigh, pushing it down on the mattress, and you spread your legs wider. A whimper left your mouth when he came down grinding on you. Your back arching, eyes closing as he sucked a nipple into his mouth. 

“Mmm,” you fisted his hair back again, relishing on the softness of his raven locks.

His hips dipped again, rolling against you, and you bit your lips, pulling his face toward your mouth. “You have—” you tried as another roll of his body made you clench. “Ah—please tell me you have something.” 

He looked up to your eyes, smiling. “Yeah.”

You bit his lower lip, dragging your teeth as he gasped and squeezed your under-thigh. You locked one ankle on his lower back, pushing him into you. 

“Ah, fuck,” he moaned.

His body stretched as he reached for his bedside table, opening the drawer and haphazardly pulling out its contents until he found what he was looking for. Your mouth only left his neck once he rose up, taking out a condom, looking down at you from between your legs. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows were etched in anger as he tore the wrapper with his teeth. His eyes never leaving your body as he tossed it and fisted his cock. 

Instinctively your hand came down to rub your clit and he groaned. 

He looked like a god staring down on you as he rolled the rubber on. Your head swarmed with the vision, your fingers working faster, tummy coiling expectantly. 

“You’re so fucking hot it hurts,” he breathed hard, coming down on you again. Your eyes locked as he reached between you to guide himself. 

Your hands snaked around his neck, one tugging at the hair on his nape as he crowned your entrance, pushing inside just barely. You couldn’t help but clench. “JK…” and he groaned in response. 

“You’ll be crawling back to me,” he whispered, pressing himself deeper and deeper. 

You moaned, relishing how he stretched you.

“You can run away as much as you like,” he kept going, grunting as his inked knuckles wrapped around your neck. “Throw a tantrum for all I care…”

He sank into you, filling you to the brink, so deep, stretching you so completely, that a single cry torn straight from your throat. 

“But after tonight, you’ll be crawling back to me,” Jungkook growled. “Again and again—You’ll be fucking mine.” 

His mouth crashed into yours, making you moan, bringing your legs to the small of his back as he withdrew and sank back in deeper and harder.

“Oh, fuck,” your back arched off the bed. 

Your breathing became labored as he propped himself with his other hand, staring you down as he plunged into you over and over. He gave a little squeeze on your neck, and you clenched around his cock, making him moan, dipping his head back for a moment. 

Jeon Jungkook felt so good. 

God, he felt amazing on top of you. 

You clawed your way from his pecs, down to his abs, and you felt it tighten under your touch. His pace turning unruly, wild.  

You spread your legs wide, as wide as they would go, dazed with fever and how good it felt the deeper he went. “Nhg, you feel so fucking good—fuck,” he gasped. 

“I need–” you held onto him and he sucked the air groaning, “Harder, JK.” he rolled his hips into you on command. 

God, you were spiriling. 

Your hands snaked around his waist, and you digged your nails into his ass, helping him roll into you harder, as you met him halfway. 

Sweat glistened your bodies, and it was getting hard to breathe. You couldn’t give a damn if the stitches would tear, the lush pressure of him on top of you, inside of you, kept your mind reeling. 

You’ll be fucking mine, he had said. 

You already were. 

“Jungkook, I–” you gasped, trying to mold his body to yours as your orgasm started building. “Jungkook–”

“What, Jungkook, what?” he teased. 

But your mouth came to the curve of his neck and collarbone instead, biting and moaning as he kept ramming your spot over and over. 

Your nails dragged down his back, burning his skin as you arched into him. You cried out as you found your release, the world spinning, your body wrecked as euphoria crashed into you. 

Holy shit. 

Jungkook came completely undone a few erratic thrusts later, with the sexiest moan you’d ever heard in your life. He managed to hold himself from collapsing on top of your wound, shifting gently to the side. 

You were both a tangled and panting mess. You closed your eyes, enjoying his heavy breathing on your mouth. 

You felt his hand snaking to your hair again, turning your head to the side. He pecked on your mouth slowly until you opened for him, not helping the whimper as your tongues collided again. 

“Jungkook, what?” he asked again lazily, his eyes barely opening, hazy with pleasure. “What was it that you were going to say before?”

A laugh rumbled on your chest, low. You nuzzled your nose on his and although you were unable to remember what the hell you were about to say, you decided to do what you did best—tease him. 

“Oh, nothing… I was just going to say that, uhm, I hate you.” you kept your eyes closed, waiting for his reaction. 

When he didn’t utter a single word, you opened one of them to see his eyebrows were angry and he tilted his head in that way you fucking loved to tease him about it. 

“You do know I’m literally still inside you—?” 

You snorted, rolling to the side and claiming his mouth once more. 

God, you were fucked. 

© ACHERONSOCIETY / 2025, all rights reserved. do not steal, repost, translate and/or claim this work as your own.

[jungkooksmytype]

long lost | jjk

⇒ summary: jeon jungkook is famous, talented, and on the hunt for his childhood friend and first love. you are self-deprecating, a little awkward, and exactly who he’s looking for. only, there’s one (1; single, a solo) problem: he doesn’t know it. 

⇒ childhood friends!au, celebrity!au

⇒ pairing: jungkook x female reader

⇒ word count: 15k

⇒ genre: fluff, comedy, light angst

⇒ warnings: n/a

⇒ a/n: finally!!! after literally a month of no bts writing, here is this 15k beast that i’ve been hyping up. inspired by true events, kinda. i will work on getting the sorted series out next, so please be on the lookout! 

Keep reading

[jungkooksmytype]

[479/547] — until we meet again, jungkook ♡ (cr. ouranxingg)

[jungkooksmytype]

So cuteeeee ��� and so well written!! A must read for sure! 💜

A Jar Full of Us | one-shot

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: best friend! jungkook, best friend! reader, college! au, unrequited love (?), idiots to lovers, best friends to ??? to lovers, angst, fluff, implied smut.

Summary: You never meant for him to find them. Hundred little confessions, folded away, never meant to be read. But now, they’re in his hands. And Jungkook—your best friend—knows everything. But he doesn’t say a word. He just watches you, with that same unreadable expression, like he’s waiting for something. And this Valentine’s Day, you might just have to find out what.

Inspired by: To All the Boys I've Loved Before

Word count: 10.2K+

Warnings: arguments, jungkook is a jerk, misunderstandings (a lottt of it), angstttt, reader and jk are huge idiots, mutual pining, implied smut (its not too detailed so that the story maintains the emotional connectivity), romantic intimacy, tooth-rotting fluff.

MOODBOARD

A/N: HERE IT ISSS! this is the longest fic ive written! tysm for all the support yall have given me in the teaser of this fic. i put out a taglist thinking no one would actually want to be a part of it but so many of yall asked to be tagged 😭 im so grateful! tysm i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writng it. lmk ur thoughts abt it after u read too <3 ALSO HAPPY VALENTINES DAYYY (someone date me pls)

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the dorm, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to study.

Joy, your roommate, is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside your bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box. You pull it out carefully, as if it were a fragile secret, and place it on your lap.

A soft breath escapes you as you grab a nearby pen and a book, neatly tearing out a tiny slip of paper. The motion is second nature now. Without even thinking, you let your emotions spill onto the paper, crafting a fleeting moment into something permanent.

Tonight’s memory is simple, but it still tugs at your heart. Jungkook had sent you another blurry picture of the moon, captioned with a casual, “Looks kinda pretty, right?” He knew how much you loved the moon—how it fascinated you in a way you could never quite put into words. And he had remembered. Of course, he had remembered.

A fond smile tugs at your lips as you write:

Jungkook remembers the little things.

Once the ink dries, you fold the note with care and add it to the collection. The box is almost full now, brimming with countless tiny confessions—whispers of feelings you’ve never had the courage to say aloud. A hundred little moments, a hundred little thoughts, all dedicated to the boy who had unknowingly stolen your heart.

Jungkook.

Jungkook, your best friend, who always saves you the last bite of his food, even when it’s his favorite. Jungkook, who sends you blurry pictures of the moon just because he knows you love them. Jungkook, who insists on studying with you, despite his major being entirely different from yours, just so he can make sure you actually open a book instead of procrastinating.

This little tradition of yours had started as a joke. One night, after an especially soft moment where Jungkook had wordlessly placed his hoodie over your head because you were shivering, you had scribbled on a piece of paper: Jungkook is warmer than the sun.

You had smiled to yourself as you rolled up the paper and dropped it into the box. It had felt oddly nice—preserving that moment, capturing the feeling of it in something tangible. So you did it again. And again. And again.

Until, one day, you realized you had written over a hundred of them.

You hadn’t meant to fall in love. And you certainly hadn’t planned to confess.

But each tiny slip of paper holds a truth your heart refuses to say aloud.

And you're going to keep it a secret forever.

You met Jungkook almost three years ago, during freshman year. The first time you met him, he had been infuriatingly kind.

You had been struggling under the weight of a precariously tall stack of books, barely able to see over them, when suddenly, a few disappeared from the top. Startled, you looked up to see Jungkook grinning at you, effortlessly holding the books you had nearly dropped.

"You looked like you were about to tip over," he teased, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement.

With a playful huff, you had responded, "Maybe I wanted it to tip over."

Jungkook had only laughed, shaking his head. "I'll catch you next time," he had promised.

That night, you had written a tiny note and slipped it into your box: He wants to catch me when I fall, even without me asking.

From that moment on, your friendship grew in ways you hadn’t even noticed at first. Midnight walks and late-night study sessions became routine, pulling you closer together with every shared moment. What had started as swapping notes for the one class you had together turned into sharing secrets. Somewhere along the way, before you even realized it, Jungkook had become your favorite person.

The box was almost full now.

You had written so many things over the years, each note capturing a small piece of him, a fragment of your feelings. Some were simple observations:

Jungkook frowns when he eats something delicious.

His hair is always a mess in the mornings. He hates it, but I love it.

His eyes smile before his lips do.

But one night, you had written something different. Something deeper. Something that felt like the truest thing you had ever put to paper.

I love him.

The moment the ink dried, panic had set in. You had almost torn it up, almost removed it from the box as if keeping it there would somehow make it real. But in the end, you had left it. Because the box was safe. No one was going to see it.

Especially not Jungkook.

One afternoon, you came back from your classes, ready to relax and unwind before the stress of exams fully set in. You had been looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe even a movie marathon with Jungkook to take your mind off things for a while.

But the moment you stepped into your dorm, you felt something was off.

Joy was sitting on the couch, sipping her coffee, her expression smug—too smug. A knowing smirk curled at the corners of her lips as she watched you walk in, and instantly, your stomach twisted with unease.

You narrowed your eyes. "What did you do?"

"I did you a favor," she said casually, taking another slow sip of her coffee.

A cold shiver ran down your spine. "What favor?" you asked, dread creeping into your voice.

Joy grinned. "I found that little cute box of yours."

Your heart stopped. "What?"

"Don't look at me like that," she waved a hand dismissively, as if what she was about to say wasn’t about to shatter your entire world. "It was just sitting there collecting dust, and I thought—what a perfect Valentine's Day gift for Jungkook. So…I wrapped it up and dropped it off at his place."

Silence.

A deafening, all-consuming silence as her words echoed in your head.

"You WHAT?!"

Your entire body froze in place, your breath catching in your throat as horror washed over you in waves. Your chest felt tight, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Joy merely raised an eyebrow, seemingly unbothered by the sheer panic on your face. "You're welcome," she said cheekily—before promptly sprinting out of the room for her life.

But you couldn’t chase after her. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the ringing in your ears.

No. No. No.

This couldn't be happening.

Still desperate to deny the possibility, you dropped to your knees and scrambled to check under your bed, your hands shaking as you reached into the familiar space where you had hidden the box for years.

Empty.

It was gone.

The tiny wooden box that held a hundred little moments, a hundred little secrets—your secrets—was gone.

And now it was in Jungkook's hands.

Of all people…Jungkook.

Jungkook lived in an apartment a little further away from your dorm. The second the realization hit, you bolted out the door without a second thought, heart pounding so hard it nearly drowned out the sound of your footsteps against the pavement.

Your plan was simple—get to his apartment before he did. You knew his habits well enough to guess that he was probably grabbing a late lunch at that fast-food place near campus. If luck was on your side, you still had time.

He hadn’t seen it yet.

He couldn’t have seen it yet.

As you ran, your mind spiraled into chaos, bombarding you with every possible scenario—each one worse than the last.

What if he had already opened it?

What if he read through every single note?

What if he found the one that said I love him?

Your stomach twisted painfully at the thought.

Jungkook was your best friend.

He was your person.

And now, he might know that you wanted to be more than just friends.

The mere thought made your chest tighten as memories of the two of you flashed through your mind. The times you spent together at the arcade, the countless movie nights, the time you and Jungkook had crashed Jimin’s birthday party with a ridiculous amount of booze.

And then…there was that moment.

The moment you almost confessed.

"I wish I could find someone who truly understood me," he had said one night, his voice softer than usual, lost in thought.

And you had almost said it. The words had been on the tip of your tongue, so painfully close—"I do."

But you swallowed them down.

Because what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if saying those words ruined everything?

And now, thanks to Joy, you didn’t have a choice anymore. The truth was out there, sitting in a neatly wrapped box in Jungkook’s apartment.

The thought of his reaction sent your mind into overdrive.

Would he laugh?

Would he think it was weird?

Would he—

Would he reject you?

No. No. No.

You shook your head violently as you rounded the corner, lungs burning from the sprint. You’re going to get there before he does. You’re going to take the box back, and he’s never going to know about it.

That was the plan.

It had to work.

As soon as you reached Jungkook’s apartment building, you barely paused to catch your breath. Your legs ached from running, but panic kept you moving. You made a beeline for the mailbox section in the lobby, frantically scanning the names, searching for his.

Box 109.

You yanked it open.

Empty.

Your stomach sank.

Maybe his roommate took it upstairs? Yeah. That had to be it. Maybe it was sitting untouched on the kitchen counter, still wrapped, still safe, still unseen.

You latched onto that sliver of hope as you rushed up the stairs two at a time, unwilling to wait for the elevator. By the time you reached his floor, your hands were shaking. You raised a fist and knocked on the door, urgency making your knuckles sting.

No response.

You knocked again, harder this time.

Then—finally—you heard shuffling from inside. A few footsteps. The creak of the floorboards. A pause.

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Standing right in front of you, framed in the dim light of his apartment, wearing an oversized grey hoodie that draped over his frame in a way that shouldn't have been so unfairly attractive. His dark hair was slightly damp, messy from a shower, strands falling into his eyes. His lips were parted in surprise, his brows slightly furrowed, and the expression on his face—confused yet soft, dangerously soft—made your already erratic heartbeat lurch violently.

But then, your gaze dropped to his hands.

And the world stopped.

The box.

The open box.

Your box.

Your secret, sacred collection of unsent confessions, of words meant only for the safety of your own solitude. The pieces of your heart you had never dared to show him.

You felt like you were going to be sick.

No, no, no, no—

"You—" You gasped, barely able to form words, chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought for air. "You opened it?"

Jungkook blinked, holding the box loosely in one hand, fingers curled around the edges as if he had been going through its contents just moments ago. He tilted his head, his expression unreadable.

"Yeah," he said simply, as if the weight of the universe hadn’t just come crashing down on you.

Oh. Oh no.

Your legs wobbled. You had to physically stop yourself from collapsing right there in front of him.

His gaze flickered downward, and you followed it instinctively. In his other hand, he held one of the notes. One of your notes. The handwriting was unmistakably yours, a little smudged, a little rushed, but still legible.

He cleared his throat, then read aloud.

"I don’t know when it happened. But one day, he became my favorite person."

Silence.

It stretched on for what felt like an eternity.

You thought you might actually pass out.

"Jungkook, I—" Your voice cracked, but before you could even attempt to explain, he looked up and met your eyes.

And then, to your absolute horror—

He smiled.

Not a teasing smirk, not an awkward grimace, but a real, genuine, knowing smile. A little shy, a little amused, as if the weight of what he had just discovered didn’t terrify him nearly as much as it did you.

And then—oh god—he spoke again.

"So… do you still think my hair looks best when it’s messy?"

Your breath hitched.

Your brain went blank.

You wanted to scream.

The change was almost instant.

In the days that followed, Jungkook became… different.

Not in the way you had imagined, though.

You had been bracing yourself for a talk—a conversation where he’d tell you gently, maybe even apologetically, that he didn’t feel the same way. Or, at the very least, a moment of awkwardness before things slowly went back to normal.

But instead, Jungkook just… pulled away.

It started subtly at first. He stopped texting as much. The late-night calls that once lasted for hours dwindled into one-word replies and seen messages. The casual lunch meetups, the spontaneous arcade runs, the easy, natural way he used to gravitate towards you in a crowded room—all of it changed.

And yet, despite the distance, he never fully let you go.

Instead, he turned it into a joke.

Like today, when he leaned in—far too close for comfort—during your shared class. His voice was low, teasing, the warmth of his breath fanning against your ear.

"So, I’m warmer than the sun, huh?"

You stiffened instantly, your hands tightening around your pen. He pulled back with a smirk, his dark eyes glittering with mischief as he watched your reaction unfold in real-time.

It was unbearable.

He kept doing it.

Whenever you tried to talk to him—really talk to him—he would either dodge the conversation entirely or turn it into something lighthearted, something unserious.

Like the time you finally found him alone, determined to just get it over with, to ask what had changed between you two. Before you could even get the words out, he cut you off with another one of those smirks, his voice laced with amusement.

"So I look best in black? Good to know."

And then he walked away.

That was when you finally got the message.

Jungkook had taken it as a joke.

He didn’t care about your feelings.

It was like the caring, affectionate boy you had known for years had vanished the moment your heart had been laid bare. Like now that the truth was out in the open, he didn’t know how to handle it—so he chose to mock it instead.

And worst of all?

He was pulling away from you completely.

The time you used to spend together? Gone. He was hanging out with other people now, filling his days with anyone but you. And when you did manage to cross paths, he only acknowledged you through those insufferable little comments, those cruel reminders of the things you had never meant for him to see.

It hurt. More than you wanted to admit.

Because maybe—just maybe—you had hoped that if he knew how you felt…

He wouldn’t push you away like this.

The next week brought the on-campus career fair—an event mandatory for all students. You weren’t particularly excited about it, but at least it was a distraction, something to keep your mind occupied.

Or so you thought.

Because that’s when you saw him.

And he wasn’t alone.

He was walking around with Hana, a junior from your college. They moved easily through the crowd, side by side, completely immersed in conversation. And then, to make things even worse—he laughed.

A real laugh. The kind that made his nose scrunch up and his eyes crinkle, the kind you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

Your stomach twisted.

You weren’t expecting him to make it this obvious.

If he wanted to reject you, fine. If he didn’t feel the same way, you could live with that. But did he really have to parade it around like this?

Maybe this was his way of sending a message. Maybe he wanted you to know, without actually having to say it out loud.

A silent rejection.

What a jerk.

These days, you barely have the motivation to attend classes. You go through the motions—waking up, dragging yourself to campus, sitting through lectures—but your mind isn’t really there.

Because no matter how hard you try to distract yourself, the brutal reality of rejection lingers like a shadow, following you everywhere you go.

Jungkook threw away your feelings like they meant nothing.

You should have expected it, right? You should have known this was how it would turn out.

Maybe you were never meant to be anything more than a friend to him. Maybe, the moment he realized you held deeper feelings for him, he got scared. Or worse—maybe he just didn’t care at all.

The thought makes your chest ache.

Jungkook has always been a romantic at heart. You’ve seen it in the way he talks about love, in the way he watches romance movies with a dreamy look in his eyes. But clearly, you were never part of that dream.

And now, because of your stupid feelings, you’ve ruined everything.

You used to be his best friend. The one he joked around with, the one he trusted, the one he leaned on.

But now?

Now he barely looks at you.

And if he does, it's only to throw some teasing remark your way—like your feelings were some kind of joke.

The person you were most angry at was Joy.

Not Jungkook. Not yourself.

Joy.

Because none of this would have happened if she had just left that damn box alone.

That day after the box incident, the moment you stepped back into your dorm, she was there, lounging on the couch like nothing had happened. She glanced up as you walked in, a smirk already forming on her lips.

“I didn’t expect you to come back so early. I thought you guys would—” she wiggled her eyebrows—“get freaky after the whole confession, you know?”

She laughed, expecting you to groan or throw a pillow at her like usual.

But then she saw your face.

Her laughter faded. “Wait… what happened?”

You didn’t answer. You just walked past her and sank into the couch, staring at nothing, your mind still replaying every moment from earlier—Jungkook’s teasing, his smirk, his distance.

You heard Joy shuffle closer, her voice softer now. “I… I’m sorry. Did I send the gift too early? Did Jungkook not like it?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, no, he loved it.” You turned to her, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you so much for your help, Joy.”

Her expression faltered. “Wait… what do you mean?”

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “Jungkook probably thinks I’m pathetic now.”

Joy winced. She sat beside you on the couch, guilt written all over her face. “I— I really thought—” she hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I was so sure, though. That boy always had heart eyes for you.”

You let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, now you know he didn’t.”

Silence settled between you both.

And for the first time, Joy didn’t have anything to say.

The next time you see Jungkook, he’s with Hana again.

They’re standing by one of the campus notice boards, deep in conversation. You don’t mean to eavesdrop—you’re not even sure why you stop—but the moment you hear them talking, something in your gut tells you to listen.

Hana tilts her head, her voice low but clear. “Are you sure she won't find out?”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know… Maybe it's better this way”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Your first instinct is denial—maybe they’re not talking about you. Maybe it’s about someone else entirely. But deep down, you know.

As far as you’re aware, there isn’t another she in Jungkook’s life. Not before. Not when you were still close.

You’ve already been replaced.

Your chest aches as you piece it together. He doesn't want you to find out—because he's probably in a relationship with Hana now. Because he doesn’t want to hurt you with a direct rejection, he thinks hiding his relationship with her is the kinder option.

It isn’t.

You swallow the lump in your throat and force yourself to step back, turning away from the scene before you can hear any more.

You decide then—no matter how much it hurts, no matter how pathetic it makes you feel—you can’t bear being apart from Jungkook.

Even if he doesn’t love you back.

Even if he only sees you as a friend.

Losing him completely? That’s not something you’re ready for. Maybe you never will be.

So, you do the only thing you can think of.

You wait for him after class.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you watch the door, your hands clammy with nerves. When Jungkook finally steps out, your breath catches. He looks the same—same hoodie, same soft brown eyes—but everything feels different now.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward.

"I get it, okay?" you say, voice firm despite the way your throat tightens. "You don’t like me. And that’s fine. I hope she makes you happy."

Jungkook halts mid-step.

His jaw clenches. His fists curl at his sides.

"You don’t understand," he mutters.

"Then make me understand, Jungkook," you plead. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to keep going, even as your last shred of dignity slips through your fingers. "Can we still be friends, at least?"

Silence.

Jungkook doesn’t reply.

And somehow, that hurts more than rejection ever could.

There's a party happening, hosted by one of the biggest party animals on campus. Everyone is invited, and Joy insists that you go.

After much convincing, you finally give in. You've mended things with her—finally forgiven her. Maybe it wasn’t entirely her fault. Maybe you just needed someone to blame.

You decide to go, hoping for a distraction. Maybe the music, the drinks, and the endless chatter will help you forget, even if just for a night.

But you already know Jungkook will be there.

Probably Hana too.

And that's fine.

You'll just stay out of their way.

The party is in full swing when you arrive—loud music, flashing lights, bodies moving wildly on the dance floor, and the unmistakable smell of booze in the air. Bottles are being passed around, and the energy is electric.

A few friends from your classes spot you and pull you in, offering drinks. You take them all without hesitation, reaching for the strongest ones, letting the alcohol burn away the ache in your chest.

Jungkook is nowhere in sight.

Good. Maybe he didn’t come. Maybe you can actually enjoy yourself tonight.

With the alcohol settling in, your limbs feel lighter, your mind a little hazy. You dance to the outdated playlist blaring through the speakers, laugh with strangers, and let yourself let go—just for a while.

But after some time, it all feels like too much. The heat, the noise, the overwhelming buzz in your veins. You slip away from the crowd and make your way to the rooftop, breathing in the crisp night air, letting it cool your flushed skin.

And then you sense it—someone else's presence.

You turn, your head spinning slightly, and there he is.

Jungkook.

You blink, wondering if you're imagining him, but his gaze is fixed on you, a slight furrow between his brows. There's something like concern in his expression as he watches you, taking in your drunken state.

Your heart stumbles in your chest.

The alcohol makes everything feel lighter—your body, your thoughts, your inhibitions. So when you see Jungkook standing there, looking at you with that unreadable expression, the words just spill out before you can stop them.

“I liked you, you know,” you mumble, swaying slightly. “But now I realize… I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook doesn’t react. No apology, no denial, not even a flicker of emotion across his face.

He just exhales softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’ll be fine,” he says simply, then turns on his heel and walks away.

Just like that.

The cool night air suddenly feels suffocating, the weight in your chest heavier than ever. You watch his retreating figure, your heart shattering all over again.

The next morning, you wake up with the nastiest headache ever. Your head throbs, your mouth is dry, and your body feels like it’s been wrung out. You groan, forcing yourself to sit up as the hazy memories from last night slowly piece themselves together.

Jungkook. The rooftop. The way he just… walked away like he didn’t care.

You shake the thought from your mind, dragging yourself out of bed. There’s no point dwelling on it. Your exams are approaching, and you need to focus.

Deciding to get some studying done, you head to the library. The quiet atmosphere should help clear your head—or at least distract you from the mess that is your life.

But the moment you step inside, your breath catches.

Jungkook is sitting at the table you both used to frequent, completely absorbed in scribbling something into a notebook. For a second, you consider turning around, but then something catches your eye.

He rips out a small piece of paper, folds it neatly, and—without hesitation—slips it into a glass jar sitting beside him.

Your heart clenches.

Is it for Hana?

You don’t stick around to find out. Before Jungkook can notice you, you turn on your heel and walk away.

February 10th. Your birthday.

You wake up with a small flicker of hope. Maybe today would be different. Maybe Jungkook had been ignoring you all this time because he was planning something—some kind of surprise. That had to be it, right?

Surely.

So you wait.

By 3 PM, your phone is filled with messages—friends, family, even distant relatives reaching out to wish you. Everyone but Jungkook.

Not even a single text.

The hope that had carried you through the day starts to crumble, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You don’t go to class. What’s the point? This might just be the worst birthday ever.

That’s when Joy bursts into your room with a grin.

"You got a package!" she announces, holding out a neatly wrapped box.

Your heart leaps.

Jungkook?

You rush over, fingers fumbling as you tear open the wrapping—only for your stomach to drop.

It’s from your parents.

Disappointment washes over you, but you push it aside. They went through the trouble of sending you something, and you should be grateful. You take a deep breath, forcing a smile as you pick up your phone and call them.

"Thank you," you say, voice steady. Because at least someone remembered.

There was still time.

It was only evening—plenty of hours left before midnight. Jungkook would surely text before then. He had to.

Joy, noticing your gloomy mood, tries to lift your spirits. "Come on, let’s go out drinking. Have some fun, at least for your birthday."

But you shake your head. "I’m not in the mood."

She sighs, clearly frustrated but doesn’t push you. Instead, she flops onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. "I hate this," she mutters. "I hate seeing you like this. And I hate him for treating you this way."

Her voice is laced with anger, but there’s something else there too—guilt.

Because deep down, Joy still blames herself.

If she hadn’t sent that gift early, if she hadn’t tried to play cupid, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way. Maybe you wouldn’t be spending your birthday like this—waiting for a boy who might never come around.

Jungkook didn’t text that day.

He forgot your birthday.

You waited all day, checking your phone every few minutes, hoping for a message that never came. Midnight passed, and still—nothing.

The realization settles deep in your chest, heavier than you expected. You feel pathetic.

Pathetic for hoping. Pathetic for waiting. Pathetic for still caring.

It’s the day before Valentine’s Day.

You can’t afford to miss any more classes. You haven’t stepped foot on campus since your birthday, but today, you decide to go.

You have no motivation to see or talk to anyone. You tell yourself that you’ll just quietly attend your classes and head straight back home. No distractions. No unnecessary interactions.

But as soon as you reach campus, you notice a crowd gathering. There’s some kind of matchmaking event happening for Valentine’s Day tomorrow.

Great. Just great.

Everything about it feels like the universe is mocking you, rubbing salt on an already raw wound. Heart-shaped decorations, pink confetti floating in the air, and couples laughing—completely oblivious to how suffocating it feels for you.

You try to move past the crowd, but suddenly, someone pushes forward, and you get caught in the chaos. You stumble, losing your balance—bracing for impact—

But you don’t hit the ground.

Because Jungkook catches you.

His hands grip your arms, steadying you out of instinct. His touch is firm and warm, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.

For the first time in days, you look up at him. And for the first time in days, he looks right back at you.

He doesn’t let go of you immediately.

His grip stays firm, his fingers pressing into your arms like he’s grounding himself, like he’s hesitating. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parting slightly—like he’s about to say something.

The music playing in the background fades into a distant hum. Everything around you slows. The laughter, the chatter, the festival lights—it all blurs.

All that’s left is him.

Still holding you.

Your voice barely comes out, a whisper against the space between you.

“Do you even care, Jungkook?”

His hands tighten for a fraction of a second. His jaw clenches. And for a brief, fleeting moment, you think you see something—something raw and unspoken flash through his eyes.

But then, like a switch flipping, he lets go.

So fast that you nearly stumble again.

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words cut through the air, sharp and merciless.

Then he turns. Walks away.

And you’re left standing there, alone in the middle of a festival meant for love.

This is it.

This is your answer.

Jungkook has made his choice.

And now, it’s time for you to make yours.

You have to move on.

That night, you decide—Jungkook was never meant to be yours.

It’s a painful truth, one you’ve been avoiding, but tonight, you accept it.

Needing a distraction, you start clearing out your closet, pulling out old clothes, forgotten trinkets, anything to keep your hands busy. That’s when you see it.

The pink heart-shaped box.

Your breath hitches.

You had snatched it from his hands that day, barely able to meet his gaze before bolting out of his apartment and driving straight back to your dorm. You had shoved it deep into your closet, hoping that if you buried it away, you could bury your feelings too.

For a moment, you consider throwing it away. What’s the point of holding onto it now? Jungkook knows. He read the notes, saw every piece of your heart laid bare. And in the end, it changed nothing.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid.

One by one, you pull out the little folded papers, unfolding memories you once held so close.

"I don’t know when it happened, but one day, he became my favourite person."

"His laugh is my favorite sound."

"I wish he knew how much he means to me."

Tears blur your vision.

You never wanted him to know.

Because you never wanted to lose him.

And now, you have.

The weight of it crashes over you all at once, and before you can stop it, the tears spill over, hot and relentless.

You clutch the notes to your chest as silent sobs wrack your body.

You’ve been holding the pain in for too long.

So tonight, you let the dams break.

And you cry yourself to sleep.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

You feel miserable.

Forget having a Valentine this year—you don’t even have a best friend anymore.

So you stay in bed all day, buried under the covers, refusing to acknowledge the world outside.

Your mind drifts, unbidden, to last year’s Valentine’s Day.

You and Jungkook had gone out for dinner—not as lovers, not as anything more than friends, just two people who didn’t have dates. You remember how he laughed at the terrible restaurant music, how he stole fries from your plate like they were his.

You miss it.

No—wait. You shouldn’t be thinking about him.

Shaking off the thought, you grab your Nintendo Switch and start playing, trying to distract yourself.

Then the doorbell rings.

You ignore it. Joy is probably home—she’ll get it.

But it rings again.

What is Joy doing?

Then it hits you—she probably stayed over at her boyfriend’s place last night.

With a groan, you push off the covers and make your way to the door. You swing it open, ready to shoo away whoever it is—

But there’s no one there.

Your gaze drops to the ground.

And then you see it.

A singular jar, placed carefully on the doormat.

You stare at the jar, a strange sense of familiarity creeping in, but you can’t quite place it.

Where have you seen something like this before?

Your mind scrambles for an answer, flipping through memories like pages in a book, but nothing surfaces.

With hesitant fingers, you reach down and pick it up, feeling the cool glass against your palm. It’s heavier than you expected.

That’s when you notice the writing on the lid, scrawled in red marker.

"To Y/N."

Your heart stutters.

You blink, trying to steady your breath, but the moment feels unreal—like you’ve stepped into a dream.

It’s only then that you notice the jar is filled with tiny rolled-up notes, crammed inside like secrets waiting to be unraveled.

Your mind starts spiraling.

What is this? Who left it? Why does it have your name?

Your hands tremble as you twist the lid open, the slight pop of the seal echoing in the silence.

You reach inside, fingers brushing against the countless little slips of paper.

With bated breath, you pull one out.

You carefully unroll it, eyes scanning the words scribbled in rushed, familiar handwriting.

"I lied."

That’s all it says.

Two words.

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes trace the messy yet unmistakable handwriting.

Jungkook.

Your fingers tighten around the note as your pulse quickens.

It’s his.

The realization slams into you with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.

Your breath turns shallow as the memory crashes into you—

Yesterday.

The crowd. The music. The overwhelming blur of people around you.

You had stumbled, nearly falling, only for Jungkook to catch you. For a fleeting moment, he held you close. His grip was firm, his expression unreadable.

You had searched his face, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you even care, Jungkook?"

You had wanted him to say yes. Even a little. Anything to make the ache in your chest feel less unbearable.

But instead—

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words had cut deeper than you ever thought possible.

And then he had let go. So fast, like touching you had burned him. Like you meant nothing at all.

You remember the way your heart had cracked, the way he had disappeared into the sea of people, leaving you stranded in the middle of a festival meant for love.

But now—

Now you stand here, gripping a jar full of his words.

"I lied."

Your hands fumble as you reach into the jar again, pulling out another note.

Unrolling it with shaky fingers, you read:

"I thought if I pushed you away, it’d be easier for you to move on. But the truth is, I don’t want you to."

A sharp pang strikes your chest.

Your mind reels, and suddenly, you're back at the rooftop party—drunk, vulnerable, spilling your heart out in slurred words.

“I liked you, you know? But now I realize I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook had stood there, silent, unreadable, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

No apology. No denial. Nothing.

And then, just as effortlessly, he had turned away.

"You'll be fine," he'd said before walking off, leaving you alone in the cold night.

The memory burns like an open wound, and yet, here you are, standing in your doorway, holding the truth he should have told you that night in the palm of your hands.

Your fingers tremble as you pull out the next note.

"I missed your birthday on purpose because I wanted to give you something that lasts longer than a text."

Your breath hitches.

He didn’t forget?

He chose not to text?

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, but it fades just as quickly as the weight of his words settles in.

You reach into the jar again, pulling out another note, heart pounding against your ribs.

What you didn’t know was—

Jungkook had spent hours writing your birthday note.

He had sat at his desk that night, a dozen crumpled papers around him, rewriting the same message over and over, never satisfied. His hands had been shaky when he finally folded the note and slipped it into the jar.

Because words were permanent.

Because he was afraid.

Because deep down, he knew—if he told you how much you really meant to him, he wouldn’t be able to push you away anymore.

And that terrified him.

Your grip on the jar tightens as you pull out the next note.

"I was scared you’d see me in the library that day. And you did. I almost stopped writing. But I wanted to finish this for you."

Your breath catches in your throat as a memory rushes back—

The library.

That afternoon, when you had finally dragged yourself back to campus to study for your exams, you had seen him sitting at your usual table, scribbling something into his notebook.

At the time, you thought nothing of it—until you watched him tear out a tiny slip of paper and slip it into a jar.

A jar.

The very same one you now hold in your trembling hands.

Back then, you had turned away, assuming it was for Hana.

But it wasn’t.

It was for you.

Every note in this jar was for you.

Your vision blurs as you stare down at the tiny rolled-up messages still waiting to be read.

He had been writing to you all along.

By the time you reach the last few notes, your hands are trembling. Maybe you can’t even read them through the tears clouding your vision. The weight of all those misunderstandings—every ignored confession, every painful silence, every moment you thought he didn’t care—crashes down on you all at once.

Your breath is uneven as you unroll another slip of paper.

"You thought I didn’t care. But I did. I always did."

A sob escapes your lips, the ache in your chest unbearable.

You clutch the jar against you like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held—because it is. Because it’s him.

Every unspoken word. Every hidden feeling. Every truth he was too afraid to say aloud.

And now, you finally know.

Your breath catches as you reach the bottom of the jar, realizing the significance—there are exactly 100 notes, just like the box you once gave him.

With shaky hands, you pull out the 99th note.

“I was always bad at saying things out loud. So I wrote them instead. I just hope it’s not too late for you to read them.”

Your chest tightens.

You take a deep breath and reach for the last note, your fingers trembling. Slowly, you unroll it, heart pounding in your ears.

“Y/N, will you be my Valentine?”

The paper almost slips from your fingers as your vision blurs with fresh tears. A shaky laugh escapes your lips, somewhere between disbelief and overwhelming emotion.

After everything, after all the silence, the pain, the misunderstandings—he’s finally saying it.

And suddenly, all that matters is what you’ll do next.

The moment the words register, you don’t think.

The jar nearly slips from your grasp as you scramble to your feet, your heartbeat hammering louder than the thoughts racing through your mind. Jungkook. He couldn’t have gone far—he must have just dropped it off.

You fling the door open, barefoot, barely even stopping to grab your keys. The cold air bites at your skin, but you don’t care. You sprint down the stairs, nearly stumbling in your rush to get outside.

Your eyes dart wildly around the street, your breath coming out in frantic puffs. Where is he?

Then, you see him.

A few feet away, Jungkook is walking slowly, hands in his pockets, head low like he’s already bracing for disappointment. Like he’s already convinced you won’t come after him.

But you do.

“Jungkook!”

He freezes.

You don’t stop running until you’re right in front of him, breathless, clutching the jar close to your chest like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the moment.

His eyes widen when he sees you—messy hair, no shoes, trembling hands still gripping his gift like it’s the most important thing in the world.

You swallow hard, voice shaking. “Did you mean it?”

Jungkook looks at you for a long moment, the night stretching between you like a fragile thread.

Then, barely above a whisper—“Yeah.”

Your chest heaves, breath uneven, voice shaking as you clutch the jar tighter.

"You absolute—jerk." Your voice wavers, but the anger, the hurt, the sheer weight of everything he’s put you through spills out in every word. "You sat there, letting me think I meant nothing to you. And the whole time, you were—" You shake the jar, almost laughing in disbelief. "—writing these?"

Jungkook doesn’t answer. He just stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets, jaw tight, like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say next.

"You could’ve just told me, Jungkook. You could’ve just—" You pause, gripping the jar like it’s the only thing holding you together. "Why? Why lie to me?"

He exhales sharply, his voice rough, like he’s been holding it in for too long.

"Because I was a coward."

You blink. You weren’t expecting him to admit it so easily.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, looking away. "I thought pushing you away was the right thing to do. If I let you think I didn’t care, maybe you’d move on. Maybe you’d find someone who wouldn’t hurt you like I did."

Your throat tightens. Your fingers dig into the glass of the jar. "You were the one hurting me, Jungkook."

His eyes finally meet yours, and the weight of them almost knocks the air from your lungs. He looks wrecked.

"I know." His voice is barely above a whisper.

"Then why?" Your voice trembles, frustration bubbling over. "Why did you let me think I was chasing something that wasn’t even there?"

His jaw clenches, and for a second, he doesn’t answer. But then, his voice comes, low and raw.

"Because I was afraid you’d realize you deserved better."

Silence settles between you. A silence so thick it presses against your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You stare at him, your vision blurring. You should walk away. You should scream, cry—anything. But instead, you do the only thing you can think of.

You reach into the jar, grab a note at random, and shove it into his hand. "Read it."

Jungkook hesitates. Then, slowly, he unfolds the paper. His fingers tremble as he reads the words he once wrote.

"If I had been braver, I would’ve told you every single day how much you meant to me."

He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the paper like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes flick back up to yours, burning with something you can’t quite name.

"Say it now," you whisper.

Jungkook's breath catches. His grip on the note tightens like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

You wait. Trembling, heart pounding, eyes locked onto his. Daring him to finally, finally say it.

He exhales shakily. His voice is low, rough—like it hurts to speak, but he does anyway.

"Y/N…"

You don’t look away. Don’t let him run from this.

His throat bobs. His hand curls into a fist at his side, then slowly unclenches.

"I love you."

A sharp inhale cuts through you. Even though you were waiting for it, the words hit like a tidal wave.

Jungkook shakes his head, almost laughing, but there’s no humor in it—just raw, aching regret.

"I loved you then. I love you now. And I don’t think there’s a single version of me that won’t love you."

Your vision blurs, the weight of everything pressing down on you all at once.

"Then why—" your voice cracks, "—why did you let me think you didn’t?"

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. His face twists with something close to pain.

"Because I was scared." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Scared that if I let myself have you, I’d ruin you. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth it."

Your hands clench at your sides. "You don’t get to decide that for me."

He nods. Swallows hard. Takes a step closer.

"I know." His voice is softer now. "And if I could go back, I’d do it all differently. But I can’t. All I can do is stand here and tell you—"

Your lips crash into his, years of longing and heartbreak unraveling in a single, desperate moment. Your fingers fist into his jacket, pulling him closer, closing the distance like you’ve been waiting forever. Because you have.

Jungkook catches you. His arms wind tight around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. His grip is firm, unyielding, as if holding you is the only thing that makes sense anymore.

The kiss isn’t soft—it’s frantic, raw, filled with all the words you never got to say. It’s a confession, an apology, a plea. His lips move against yours with urgency, pouring everything into it, like he’s trying to make up for every second he spent pushing you away.

Jungkook tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and a shiver runs through you as his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. His other hand spreads against your back, pressing you impossibly closer, like even this isn’t enough, like he’d fuse you together if he could.

You melt. Every wall you built, every ounce of anger, every misunderstanding—crumbling, dissolving into the heat of him. The way he kisses you feels like an answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking. Like a promise.

When you finally pull apart, neither of you lets go.

Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours, still uneven, still shaken. His hands remain on your waist like he’s afraid that the second he lets go, this will all disappear.

Your fingers stay curled in his shirt, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

His voice is raw when he finally speaks, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”

You exhale, shaking your head, the weight of everything still pressing against your chest. Your voice is quiet, but steady. “Then spend every day proving that you do.”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh—one that sounds broken and real, like he can’t believe he’s still allowed to have this moment with you.

“Deal,” he murmurs.

And then he kisses you again.

The door barely clicks shut before Jungkook is on you again, his hands framing your face as his lips crash into yours. There’s no hesitation now, no careful restraint—only heat, only the raw, aching need that’s been simmering between you for far too long.

His body presses against yours, pushing you back into the door, and you gasp against his lips. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping over yours with slow, deliberate intent. He tastes like something addictive—like want, like longing, like the kind of hunger that makes your stomach tighten and your knees go weak.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer. His hands roam down, slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming along your bare skin. His touch is scorching, leaving a trail of fire wherever he moves. He pauses, his breath ragged, lips barely brushing yours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, voice rough, uneven.

You shake your head, tilting your chin up until your lips ghost over his again. "I don’t want you to stop."

The words break something inside him.

His mouth crashes onto yours again, hungrier this time, more desperate. His hands slide up your back, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hard lines of his body, the way his chest rises and falls unsteadily against yours. One hand grips your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you shudder, while the other slides lower, gripping your thigh and hitching it up against his hip.

A quiet moan escapes you at the feeling, and he groans in response, pressing harder into you. His lips leave yours, trailing a path down your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, where he lingers. His teeth scrape lightly against your skin before he soothes it with his tongue, sucking gently, enough to make you arch into him, enough to make your breath hitch.

"Jungkook—" His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper, and he exhales sharply against your skin, like the sound is enough to undo him.

His grip tightens as he lifts you effortlessly, hands settling under your thighs. Instinct takes over, and your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you across the room. He lays you down on the bed with care, but there’s nothing careful about the way he follows you down, covering your body with his own.

He hovers above you, his breath warm against your lips, his dark eyes searching yours. His thumb brushes over your cheek, then lower, tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his touch unbearably light.

"You’re sure?" he whispers, voice thick with something heady.

Your only answer is a whispered "Yes," breathless, certain.

Something shifts in him at your words. His lips find yours again, but this time, he takes his time—exploring, savoring, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you. His kisses trail downward, along the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, his mouth mapping out a path of heat and sensation. His hands move with just as much purpose, slipping under fabric, pushing it aside, fingers tracing bare skin with an intimacy that makes your pulse stutter.

Every brush of his lips, every slow, deliberate touch sends waves of electricity through you, igniting something deep and primal. Clothes are discarded in slow, teasing movements, the heat between you building with every layer that falls away.

His lips ghost over your shoulder, down your arm, over the curve of your breasts, his breath hot and uneven. He watches you, eyes dark with something intense, something almost reverent, as his fingers trace slow, lazy patterns along your bare skin.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmurs, voice filled with something deeper than desire.

You reach for him, pulling him back up, needing his mouth on yours again, needing more. He obliges, kissing you fiercely, like he never wants to stop, like this moment has been waiting to happen for far too long.

His hands explore moving towards your heat, his touch reverent yet possessive, like he’s memorizing every inch of you, like he’s making up for all the lost time. You arch into him, breath hitching, hands gripping onto his shoulders as heat coils low in your stomach.

"Jungkook," you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a plea.

His breath catches, and he exhales shakily. "I’ve got you," he murmurs against your skin, voice barely above a whisper. "I’m right here."

And then there’s no more talking—only movement, only passion, only the feeling of finally, finally being exactly where you both belong.

The air is thick with warmth, bodies tangled beneath the sheets, hearts pounding in tandem as the last echoes of your shared breaths settle between you. The world outside might still be turning, but in this moment, it doesn’t exist. It’s just you and him, skin against skin, the weight of what just happened pressing down like the softest, heaviest thing in the world.

Your body is spent, muscles trembling faintly from the aftershocks, but you don’t move. You can’t.

Jungkook is still holding you. One arm draped lazily around your waist, the other tracing absentminded patterns against your back. His touch is slow, soothing, like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real. Like if he lets go, you might slip away.

You stay like that for a while, chests rising and falling in sync, your head resting just above his heart. The rhythm of it is steady now, no longer racing like it had been just moments ago. Still, there’s a softness to it, an unspoken question lingering in the quiet space between you.

It’s you who finally breaks it.

“So…” You shift slightly, fingers trailing absentmindedly along his chest. “Hana knew about the jar?”

His hand stills for the briefest moment before he exhales a small, breathy laugh. His voice is thick with exhaustion, but there’s amusement in it too.

“She didn’t just know about it.” His fingers resume their slow, idle circles against your bare skin. “It was her idea.”

You blink. “…What?”

Jungkook hums in confirmation, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Yeah. She was the one who told me to do it—to fill a jar with everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.” He pauses, then adds, “She also threatened to expose me if I didn’t.”

You scoff, though you can’t help the warmth blooming in your chest. “So let me get this straight… You couldn’t tell me how you felt, but you told Hana?”

Jungkook turns his head slightly to look at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but the amusement in them is undeniable. “I didn’t tell her. She just… figured it out.”

Of course, she did.

You huff, feigning annoyance, but your fingers betray you, tracing soft, aimless patterns along his collarbone. “Still. She knew before I did.”

Jungkook grins, rolling onto his side to face you fully. One hand slips beneath the sheets, finding your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. His voice is low when he asks, “Are you jealous?”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

His laughter vibrates against your skin, rich and warm, before he dips down to kiss you—slow and lingering, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into it. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet.

Then, softer now, more serious, he murmurs, “Are you gonna answer me?”

Your brow furrows slightly. “Answer what?”

Jungkook leans over, reaching toward the nightstand where the jar still sits, its notes untouched—except for the last one.

“The question,” he says, retrieving the single unfolded slip of paper. He holds it between you, and even though you already know what it says, your heart still stutters when your eyes skim over the words again.

Y/N, will you be my Valentine?

Earlier, you had left it unanswered, too overwhelmed by everything that had come before it. But now, after everything—after confessions, after heartbreak, after finally finding each other again—there’s no hesitation.

You reach out, plucking the note from his fingers. Slowly, carefully, you fold it again, tucking it beneath your pillow like something precious, something worth keeping. Then, meeting his gaze, you whisper, “You never needed to ask.”

Jungkook exhales, slow and shaky, like something inside him has finally settled. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Good,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “Because I wasn’t planning on taking no for an answer.”

Your breath catches. Not because of his confidence—but because, deep down, you realize you’d never wanted to say no in the first place. Maybe you had tried to fight it. Maybe you had convinced yourself that the past had built too many walls between you. But now, lying here in the warmth of his arms, the truth settles into your bones like something that had been waiting for you to accept it all along.

It had always been him.

Your fingers tighten in the sheets as you search his gaze, looking for hesitation, for doubt—for something to make this feel less like a dream. But there’s nothing. Just him. Just you. Just this moment you both fought so hard to reach.

Jungkook watches you, waiting, always waiting, his hand still resting against your cheek as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

So you close the distance.

You kiss him slowly this time, letting it sink in. The warmth of his lips, the taste of him still lingering, the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing the same air, hearts beating in time.

And then, with a quiet, knowing smile, you whisper, “Then don’t.”

Jungkook’s lips part slightly, his expression shifting—softening, melting—as if those two words had knocked down every last barrier between you. And maybe they had. Because before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you against him again, tucking you close, his hand slipping into yours beneath the sheets.

Neither of you speak for a long time after that. You don’t need to.

Outside, the world keeps turning, time moving forward just as it always does. But here, in the hush of your dorm room, wrapped up in him, it feels like the universe has paused just for you.

Not to make up for lost time.

But to remind you that some things—some people—were never really lost at all.

And maybe, just maybe, they never would be.

EPILOGUE : Years Later – Valentine’s Day

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the apartment, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to pick a restaurant instead of saying, “Anything’s fine.”

Jungkook is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside the bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box.

But this time, there’s something else.

Your fingers find the jar—the one that started it all.

You pull them both out carefully, as if they were a fragile secret, and place them on your lap.

Soft footsteps approach. Then, a familiar weight sinks onto the mattress beside you.

Jungkook’s voice is quieter now, fond. “Didn’t think I’d see those again.”

You smile, running a thumb over the worn edges of the box before glancing at him. “I don’t know what made me reach for them.”

He hums, gaze flickering between the objects in your hands. “Habit, maybe. Or fate.” Then, smirking, “You always did have a thing for digging up answers.”

Rolling your eyes, you pop the lid off the jar, fingers fishing out an old note. The paper is creased, the ink slightly faded, but you already know what it says.

"Y/N, will you be my Valentine?"

Jungkook watches you, expectant. “You never actually answered me, you know.”

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. “Jungkook, we’re literally married.”

“And?” He leans in, teasing. “I’m just saying, a verbal confirmation wouldn’t hurt.”

You scoff but humor him anyway, fingers curling into his sweater as you whisper against his lips—

"Yes, Jungkook. I’ll be your Valentine."

His arms wrap around you, pulling you in. The jar sits forgotten on the floor, the pink box nestled beside it.

Once upon a time, you had pulled it out, searching for clarity. Looking for a sign.

You didn’t realize then—you never needed the answers inside.

Because you’d already found them.

Because you’d found him.

And maybe that was the answer all along.

taglist: @iamstilljk @hirochan112 @withluvjm @amarawayne @jeon-has-left-you-on-seen @blueofocean @tattzjeon @tsick @stuti2904 @gukkiebabysblog @taekritimin123 @whisperingonyx @sadgirlroo @nerdycheol @hoshiskimchi @blueberriesm @kooksrqcer @minimoninini @dreamersparacosm @yok00k @whothefuckisthishoe @prxdajeon @darkangelfei @sunainasworld @kia091106 @khadeeeeej @welcometomyworld13 @noshametempo @bakuhoethotski @ohyeah35sworld

thank you so much for reading! let me know what u think about it <3

[jungkooksmytype]

I found myself sobbing over this. Such a delicate and beautifully written piece of work! Definitely a must must read 💜

GUILTY AS SIN | JK

"You are stuck in time, and Jungkook doesn't stop running from it until he eventually does, and you learn that grief doesn’t wait for death, that love isn't all that dignifying."

→ Pairing brother in law!Jungkook × widowed fem!reader

→ Genre forbidden love! au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, smut

→ W.C 17. 32k

→ Warnings unrequited love :(, oc is in love with his older brother, early character death of the said older brother who is haunting the narrative, cute childhood sweethearts who are doomed by me, mentions of dealing with grief and acceptance, mention of cancer, a minor scene where harassment is attempted,emotionally troubled! oc, emotionally troubled and detached! jk, simp jk, pathetic man in love, he's so so lovesick, ceo! jk, protective jk, yearning, pining, loads of angst, fluff if you squint, breif yoongi mention, namjin yay!!,rich people party, mentions of anxiety,sexual tension,slow burnish,smut (omg everyone look away), kissing, unprotected sex (raw and deep, next question),dirty talking, oc is insecure,hickies,oral (f! Receiving), he cums in his pants,big dick jk, soft Dom Jungkook, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie, praise, cuddles if you squint again

→ Playlist Guilty as sin, control, killing me softly with his song, do I wanna know?

→ A/N the idea of this one shot came to me at 1 am when I was supposed to be studying for a test that probably my future depends upon and after much much complementing I'm finally posting it. To me, its very experimental and I was just trying to explore my writing style and writing things that I haven't before, like smut 🫠 so please please bear that in mind!! I hope you enjoy reading and if you did please comment!! It makes my whole day 🥰💕💕

P.S: cross posted on wattpad.

It is a believed fact that it takes three to four short months to fall in love. 

For you, it took one summer. The summer spent watching him sketch galaxies in the dirt with a twig, summer spent learning the way his laughter sounded after stealing popsicles from the freezer, summer spent holding his hand as they made paper planes under the blazing sun. It was the kind of love that grew roots so deep, you couldn’t separate where he ended and you began.

That summer, you met Minho. The boy next door with a mind as wild as his curls and a heart so warm it seemed to shine blindingly bright. He showed you how to climb trees, told stories he'd crafted all by himself, convincing you that the universe could be held in the palm of your hand. He shared his world with you, and you fell in love with it.

You kissed his cheek on the porch of your house one late July evening, bold and brimming with the kind of confidence only childhood summers could bring. “Now you’re gonna have to marry me, Min Min,” you teased, hands behind your back, your toes curling against the wooden floorboards.

He blushed, a shade of red that rivaled the setting sun, but his grin mirrored yours.

The porch of your house was a witness to many things. Your first steps, held your first scraped knees, your first dog and Minho's new brother; your new friend.

A boy of your age, younger than Minho had appeared from right behind him, his hands clutching onto Minho's flannel, his watchful eyes going everywhere all at once. The kind of boy who never spoke unless he had to, the kind who was more familiar with loss than comfort, lingering on the edges of things, unsure if he belonged.

Jungkook.

Now, Jeon Jungkook.

You and his brother had taken it upon themselves to bring him into your fold, turning your duo into a trio. With time, he laughed with you both, trusted you both, became one of you both.

The three of you were inseparable— in the backyard of your house, in elementary school, in high school. How could you not be? You had tied the promise in the form of handmade friendship bracelets around the wrist of both boys.

Even though what you wanted with minho was far from friendship. A bold dreamer, you always have been. But not so much when you turned sixteen. Sixteen; what a awkward age.

An age of overthinking haircuts, dreams, and the lives your peers are gonna live all at once. Visits to the school councilor are doubled. Relationships happen; Friends part.

But you only grew closer with Jungkook. He didn’t seemed interested in making a move on the timid, short haired girl who passed him notes in chemistry class, neither did he talk much about the future. When you asked him what he wanted to do, he’d shrug and say something like, “Whatever makes sense at the time.” He wasn’t aimless, exactly—just grounded in a way that made you think he didn’t feel the need to plan everything out.

Minho, though, was spiraling.

He now spent more time with the councilor that he spent with you both. Had this bitter look on his face every morning you saw him on the bus stop that will have you sharing a knowing look with Jungkook—Minho had been having a lot of fights with his dad, had been overthinking a lot more because the world seemed so much bigger than he had imagined.

Maybe for the eldest son and heir to a family that ran a company as old as the town itself, the world really was big. But to you, he was just a hopeful boy with all the colors in his eyes. The colors that you loved. The colors that didn't belong in a office, crunching numbers.

Your heart ached for him, but you didn’t know what to say. At sixteen, nobody has the answers.

Seventeen is a different story. It's a starlight dream. It's you acing the college entrance test. It's Minho surfacing back. It's Minho kissing you on that very same porch, promising, “One day, we’ll have our own porch, and I’ll kiss you there every day.”

And he was one to keep his promises.

You married him at twenty-five, in crisp autumn. To your family and friends, it was "About time." To you, it was nothing short of a dream as you walked to promise forever to the man you love, a vision in white. It was nothing big, just a dreamy intimate affair with soft twinkling string lights. Something you both agreed on. Because you were content with what you had, overjoyed actually after picking out a quite cozy apartment for the both of you and landing a job as a humanities professor in a university that wasn't too far from the said apartment. Minho was too and while things weren't the same with his father now, he did what he loved. Ever the artist at heart.

It was like everything you ever wrote in your middle school diary, everything you wished for was now laid under your feet like a carpet unfolding.

You were given a good time before it started pulling away from your feet.

At first, it was subtle. A missed dinner here, a canceled hangout there. Then he told you both he’d taken up an opportunity abroad to manage the family business, something Minho had no interest in, just on the night of your wedding after he had fulfilled his role of the groom's best man, watched you walk down the aisle.

You hadn’t seen the decision coming—not that night, not like this—but you couldn’t deny it either. Jungkook had seemed restless here, especially after finishing college.Conversations with him in those days had been brief, distracted, his eyes darting to the distance even as he smiled at you. It felt as you were trying to talk to the Jungkook who had appeared on your porch the first time. He hadn’t asked for understanding, and you hadn’t known how to offer it. His reasons were vague, more like placeholders for something unsaid. And so he left, quietly, with little fanfare, and though Minho seemed sad to see him go, you could tell he understood.

“It’s good for him,” Minho had said. “He deserves something for himself.”

Relationship happened; Friends parted.

You weren't sure if you understood. While you agreed with Minho, you couldn’t help but feel the loss of a friend now that his calls became less frequent until they stopped altogether. One day, he was simply gone, leaving behind only the memory of the boy who had once trusted you with his rare, precious smiles.

"You’d laugh if you saw me right now. I tried to fix the leaky sink in the kitchen, and now the entire floor is flooded. Minho’s being no help—just standing there laughing."

"Hey, stranger. Our anniversary is next weekend. We’re just doing a small dinner. You should come. Seriously, koo, don’t make me guilt-trip you."

"Saved you a slice of cake, but Minho ate it. You’d better show up next year, or I’ll stop saving you anything."

"Hey, Koo. Just checking in. Hope you're healthy and happy. Would love to hear from you"

You'd text him timely, in hopes that he still knows how to use a phone. But apparently, not.

Still, you had Minho. Your husband, your best friend.

Until you didn't.

Until the carpet was at last, snatched right down from your feet.

The diagnosis came in the spring. It started with a faint weakness in his voice. A shortness of breath he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just tired,” he’d say, smiling that same easy smile. But tired turned into tests. Tests turned into results. And results turned into a diagnosis that was oh so cruel.

Leukemia. Early stages. Aggressive.

The months that followed were a blur of hospital visits, treatments, and quiet nights where you held him as he cried. You tried to be strong, for him, for both of you. Told him what the doctor in the sterile white office will tell you. "They've caught it early so we're not at a great risk here." You'd reassure him. "You have yet to get away from me, min min." You'd try making him laugh but he had always been better at that.

Now, suddenly he wasn't. The next two years, your life was just the slow, agonizing process of watching the man you loved fade away, losing every bit of his lively soul to the cancer, holding his hand when he was too weak to hold yours back.

Perhaps it wasn't only Minho who was chipping away. It was you too.

You turned into the woman who knew exactly how to track medication schedules, who could list every side effect of his treatment in order of severity, who spoke with doctors as if reciting a memorized script. You learned how to bite back the frustration when he snapped at you because he was in pain, and how to smile when all you wanted was to scream at the unfairness of it all.

You started to measure time not in days or months but in cycles of chemotherapy, in percentages of remission and relapse. Life was divided into hours spent in sterile hospital rooms, waiting for results that were never as hopeful as you needed them to be, and hours spent at home trying to pretend those results didn’t exist.

You had stopped dreaming. And minho had stopped painting.

Grief doesn’t wait for death— or so you've realized as you often found yourself grieving the life you had built together, the one you knew would never be the same. You grieved the sound of his laugh, which became quieter as the months passed. You grieved the way he used to tease you about your love for terrible reality shows, You grieved the mornings spent tangled together, talking about everything and nothing.

By the time the end came, you had already lost so much of him that you thought you might be prepared.

You weren’t.

And then he was gone.

With an, "I'm sorry. I love you." He was gone.

The house was too quiet without him, the days too long. You withdrew, not just from the world but from yourself, letting grief shape the edges of your existence.

The world moved on, even if you didn’t. They tell you how long it takes to fall in love but not how long it takes to get over it.

2 years, 240 days. And you're still counting.

Time passed in pieces—fractured and unrelenting.

Your family, Minho’s family, even well-meaning friends—none of them knew what to do with the mess you’d become, so they did what people often did. They tried to fix it. To fix you.

Blind dates were their answer, little nudges toward what they called healing. The word had been said so many times it began to lose its meaning. Healing. As if it were something—a destination you could stumble upon.

You didn’t have the energy to argue anymore, so you let them dress you up, hand you phone numbers, and convince you that this—whatever this was—was what you needed.

But your heart wasn’t in it.

Because as the man sat in front of you in the dimly lit bar continued to talk about how his ex couldn't handle his success, the trials of being a man with ambition, you really couldn't even bother to pretend you were interested. He was nice enough—tall, well dressed (consdering the dingy bar) with a confident smile but your thoughts kept drifting, as they often did.

2 years, 240 days since Minho had died.

2 years, 240 days of waking up alone in your bed, his side untouched.

2 years, 240 days of trying to find your way back to the woman you used to be.

“Hey,” the man interrupted your thoughts, leaning forward with an eager grin. “I feel like I’m talking too much. Tell me about yourself. What do you do for fun?”

You forced a smile, your stomach twisting. “I paint. It’s... therapeutic.”

“That’s nice,” he said, reaching across the table to touch your hand. You pulled back instinctively, your stool scraping against the floor. His brows furrowed.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I just—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, but his tone was tighter now. He leaned back, shrugging as if trying to dismiss the moment. “You know, you should loosen up a little. You’ll never find anyone if you keep acting like you’re still married.”

The words hit you like a slap, your chest tightening as you struggled to process the audacity of his statement. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring the warning in your tone, “you should give people a chance. I mean, you’re here, right?” He smirked and stood, coming around the table. “Let me take you home. We can—”

“Stop,” you said sharply, rising to your feet.

But he didn’t listen. His hand reached for your arm, his grip firm.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d grabbed you, he was gone.

The man stumbled backward, a hand jerking him by the collar. The force was so swift, so unexpected, that it took you a moment to register what had happened.

And then you saw him.

“..Jungkook?” The name caught in your throat as you turned.

You took in the man standing before you, taller and broader than you remembered, the years etched into the sharp lines of his jaw and the set of his shoulders. His dark eyes were fixed on the man who had dared to touch you, glinting coldly.

His voice was low, dangerous. “She said stop. I suggest you listen.”

For a moment, the world tilted.

You weren’t in a dingy bar anymore.

You were standing at the edge of a memory—the first time you’d ever seen Jungkook, the quiet boy who clung to Minho’s shadow.

And the last.

The last time you’d seen him, a looming figure in an ocean of black suits. A barely recognizable shadow among the mourners at your husband's funeral.

Now, standing before you, he was real, tangible—and so was the flood of emotions crashing over you.

It was so loud, you could barely hear as the the man stammered out an excuse, something about a misunderstanding.

“Leave.” Jungkook snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut and bring you back to the moment.

The man hesitated, his mouth opening as though he wanted to argue, but one glance at Jungkook’s expression and he decided against it. Without another word, he turned and stalked out, muttering something under his breath that neither of you caught.

Silence followed.

Only then did you felt his gaze on you. His presence was larger than life, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of how much had changed. How much he had changed. You hadn’t registered that at the funeral. Now, you didn't know what to say, you could hardly manage to look at him. While he wasn't Minho's real brother, didn't share any resemblance with him, it still hurt you, sucked you back into those times when it was the three of you, when it wasn't.

He too didn't reply right away, his gaze searching your face, as though he was also trying to piece together the version of you he remembered with the one standing before him now. When it landed on the arm you were clutching, the arm that dipshit had grabbed, you saw his eyes glint again.

"Did he hurt you?" It sounded more like a demand rather than a question but you couldn't even deciper the words, too focused on how his boyish tone had turned sharper, harder.

"W-What?" You fumble out like a fool.

"Did he hurt you, y/n?" This time, you heard him.

Letting your hand fall, embarrassed, you shook your head, finally managing to utter something sensible out. “No—yeah. I’m fine.”

He glanced back at the door that man had fled from before looking back at you. Finally, he exhaled, his voice low and quiet.

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

You blinked. “My phone?” You don't remember getting a call from anyone but then you realize your battery had died down as you looked down to see your dead device laying flat. "Oh. I didn't realis—"

“Mom said you’d been gone a while. Told me where you were.” He interrupted. There was an edge to his voice now, faint but undeniable.

You feel more embarrassed now that you know it's because of your mother in law's anxious nature that he is here. Your fingers brushed against the strap of your purse, desperate for something to do, something to hold onto as he speaks again. "Are you ready to leave?"

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could think them through. “I can get a cab.”

His brows furrowed, just slightly, and you noticed for the first time the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the hint of weariness in his expression. “It’s late,” he said simply.

"So?”

“So,” he echoed, his tone calm but unyielding, “I’ll take you.”

You hesitated, your pride and your exhaustion warring within you. Finally, you exhaled out in defeat, reaching for your coat. It's just a thirty minute ride. You reassured yourself. It'll be fine.

The cool night air wrapped around you and so did your coat as you stepped outside, and the streetlights cast long shadows that flickered as you walked toward his car. He opened the passenger door for you, his movements deliberate, and waited for you to slide in before closing it softly behind you.

The drive started in silence.

It wasn’t the silence of old friends, the kind that felt easy and safe. This was different—fraught, taut, like a thread stretched too tight.

You stole a glance at him as he started the engine, too aware of the small space you were packed in with him.

“I didn’t know you were back,” you said finally, your statement sounding more accusatory that you or he would have liked.

“Just for a little while,” he replied, his tone ofcourse, unfazed. “Business.”

Buisness. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the word. If someone could look like that word, you thought, it'd be the man in the fine tailored suit with eyes fixed on the road ahead and a rolex that didn't look any more cheaper than the car he was driving and you wondered.

Wondered if the lines of his palms—the callouses from late-night basketball games, the way they had felt solid and familiar when he held yours to steady you on the wobbly bike Minho had convinced you to ride—had changed too.

Had they turned forigen, unyielding? Had time eroded their familiarity?

When the car slowed, you glanced out the window, expecting to see the acquinated sight of your apartment building. But instead, the streetlights gave way to a quieter, darker road. You frowned, turning to him.

“This isn’t the way to my place.”

“I know,” he said simply, not bothering to elaborate. "You're coming with me."

You felt your chest tighten, your pulse quickening as unease prickled at the back of your neck. “Jungkook,” you started, the word heavy with protest.

"Y/N." He ends, sparing you a glance that has you sinking back into your seat, arms folded across your chest like a petulant child that you could swear made his lips twitch at the corner, you could swear you saw your old friend who had grown a sassy tounge at the age of fourteen that'd earn smacks at the head from his older brother for a fleeting cruel second there. But that was it. It was gone as fast as it had appeared, summoning the return of the silence that felt like its own living thing.

The house was still the same.

That was the first thing you noticed as the car slowed down in front of the building that loomed at the end of the road like a memory waiting to consume you.

The overhead lights still flickered faintly, casting shadows across the steps where you and Minho had once sat, daring each other to stay outside until the stars disappeared. Even the smell was the same—faintly woody, with the comforting hint of whatever candle Jungkook’s mom always lit in the hallway.

You hesitated in the doorway, the memories rushing in too fast, too loud. It's not like you haven't been here in ages but since the year you celebrated your first marriage anniversary with Minho here, it felt like you have lived a thousand lives.

Lives that haunted you still, made you randomly pause in the grocery aisle and now before this house until you felt Jungkook’s presence press behind you as if silently urging you on.

Clearing your throat, you slipped out of your heels that have been as much as pain as the man you had been on a date with. The floor creaked softly beneath your feet as you stepped inside, the sound jarring. The same hardwood floors, polished to a faint sheen. The same floral wallpaper lining the hallway. The same photo frames arranged along the wall—a collection of childhoods captured and frozen in time.

But as you glanced toward the corner of the living room where the three of you used to pile up pillows and blankets for makeshift forts. The corner was bare now, save for an old armchair, but in your mind, you saw it vividly: Minho’s determined grin as he shuffled the pillows, Jungkook, always following the lead but never quite competing for it. You would snuggle a pillow to your lap, nestled between the two brothers, peeking from behind your fingers and giggling at the the way Minho’s face would light up in triumph when he won another round of rock-paper-scissors.

A type of smugness that came from knowing he’d get to flick Jungkook’s forehead next. But your smile would fade as soon as you would realize that it's your turn next. “Wait, wait!” you’d plead, wide-eyed, deploying the best puppy-dog look you could muster. It was the same look that had, on occasion, earned you extra TV time with your dad. Jungkook would glance at you and chuckle. Relent like your father would and sheild your forehead with his palm that'd have Minho pouting. "Hey! That's not how you do it!"

"Y/N?" A well recognized voice pulled you back to the where you were supposed to be, back from the fort of pillows and blankets.

You turned around and instantly found yourself wrapped up in a tight hug. You managed a small smile, letting your arms wrap around the warm frame of your mother in law, the scent of her jasmine oil and apprehensive energy pulling you in. "Mom." You greeted back.

Mrs Jeon hadn't always been this.. overbearing. Though after the passing of your husband, she had teamed up with your mother and been on a determined mission to make sure you are well and on a road to healing.

The next few minutes, she did what she had been doing best—fussed over you, asking how you’d been, if you’d eaten, if you were warm enough. In that time being, Jungkook had resigned to wherever his room was.

You planned to do the same, especially now that you could see on her face how she is on the brink of asking about the disaster tonight. You showed some obvious sign of weariness, in hopes she'd let it go for the night and tell you where you're supposed to go to bed for.

"Third on the left, my dear. And I'm gonna need you to stay for breakfast, okay?" You wondered if stubbornness was a running streak in this family.

Hours later, sleep had yet to come.

You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, counting the faint grooves in the plaster as if they could somehow lull you into rest. The trick didn't work. It hadn’t worked in your own apartment either—the one you and Minho had picked out together, picked the colors of the walls together, and argued over where the bookshelf should be. Yet, it was still your space. You could control how you faced the memories there, pacing them, deciding when and how to confront them.

There, at least, you’d managed four or five hours of sleep on a good night. Here? In this house that held so much of him, so much of them, you weren’t sure you’d manage even one.

The room you were led to was neat and welcoming, the kind of space that had been carefully prepared for guests. But there was no comfort to be found in the knowledge that two doors down lay Minho’s childhood room, untouched, a shrine to a boy who grew up into the man you loved and lost.

At some point, you gave up.

Sliding out of bed, you wrapped your arms around yourself as you padded quietly downstairs. The house was silent as you made your way downstairs, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound, the indistinct glow from the kitchen spilling into the dimness. You didn’t expect to find anyone there, but as you rounded the corner, your steps faltered.

Jungkook stood by the counter, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his other resting on the marble surface. His jacket was gone, abandoned somewhere, leaving him in his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Tattoos.

They sprawled across his skin, intricate designs etched into muscle and sinew, that you didn't think you'd ever see on him.

Perhaps you thought wrong. Perhaps you never knew. Never knew him.

He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours that looked just as caught off guard as yours did. For a moment, you didn't feel comfortable moving from your spot until he eventually spoke.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You shook your head, stepping into the kitchen. “Needed some water.” You said and opened a cabinet, finding the glasses exactly where you remembered, and filled one with water.

Behind you, Jungkook leaned against the counter, his presence impossible to ignore. Funny, how he always preferred to blend in the background as a child, now his mere cologne—earthy and warm—demanded attention, filled the room before he had even entered.

“Do you… do you drink often now?” you asked hesitantly, glancing over your shoulder, at the way his fingers curled around the glass, the tattoos on his hand shifting as he tilted it.

“Sometimes.” he said, his tone vague.

If things were anything like before between you two or anything like before at all, maybe you'd have pushed further, asked him if this was growing to be a unhealthy habit.

Now, it didn’t seem right when there was an ocean between you—a chasm of time. Felt intrusive. And you know it would only sound hypocritical from your mouth—talking about unhealthy mechanisms. Hah.

You ended up only nodding and put the washed glass back so you could go back to counting the grooves in the plaster. Resume your restless attempt at sleep.

But Jungkook spoke again.

"How long have you been going on.." He started suddenly, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. His voice was calm, but the muscle in his jaw twitched as he spoke. "These dates?"

You blinked at him, taken aback by the question. "Uh—for a while now, I guess?"

“Are you willing, or are they forcing you?”

The question, the way he asked it—sharp, direct—left you off balance. So did the way he was looking at you now, his eyes no longer holding the casualty as they once did when he had the glass of alcohol in his hand.

“I—” You faltered. “They just want to help. They think it’s time.”

“And what do you want?”

To go back to your room. To ask him what did it even matter to him, after all this time.

But what came out was forthright honesty. “I don’t know,” you admitted, “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

He stepped closer, his feet padding softly against the kitchen floor—a contrast to his rigid frame that now towered just close enough. Close enough to see how his chest rose and fell with every breath. Close enough to see how his eyes lingered on you, like he was trying to unravel something he didn’t understand.

“You don’t have to do anything for them or anyone,” he said, his voice soft but no less rough. “Not if you’re not ready.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to deflect, to do something, but his gaze held you in place, tracing down from the dark circles that weighted your eyes to your parted lips. All you could feel was his gaze burning on you and hear your own pulse in your ears.

“Jungkook…” His name escaped your lips in a whisper, barely audible.

He lingered for a beat longer, his eyes searching yours, then he stepped back, his jaw just as tight. “Get some rest.” He clipped out before he turned and walked away, leaving you alone again.

You didn't got any sleep that night.

8:00'o clock. The time's a etched number in your brain ever since you started your job at the university.

It's a routine that needs no alarm clock. It's a number you keep waiting for as you blink at the time passing. And you're more than eager when the morning comes softly along with smaller needle stopping at 8, sunlight slipping through the curtains in streaks too gentle to match the weight in your chest.

With Minho, you were the one to wake up first but here you find that the house was awake before you.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air, mingling with the faint sound of voices coming from the dining room. Breakfast was warm and lively, much like your mother in law. She greeted you with a brightness that almost made you feel guilty for your somber disposition.

“Good morning!” she said with a smile that could have been plucked from a painting. Reaching for a plate of toast, setting it down in front of the empty seat beside her.

“Good morning.” you murmured, sliding into a chair.

Across the table, your father in law sat at his usual spot, his attention fixed on his phone, only looking up to give you a nod of acknowledgment. You had never fully understood him, not as Minho’s father, not as a man.

Perhaps, It had always been because of the sore spot between him and your husband, the way his father disapproved of his wishes—choosing art over business, passion over practicality. You remembered the arguments you thought would never hear after the age of sixteen, the way Minho would come home, his face tight with frustration. “He doesn’t get it,” he’d say. “He never will.” You saw the way it wore on him, the way he carried the weight of his father’s disapproval like it was stitched into his very skin.

Even now, as you sat across from him, you wondered if he ever regretted it—if he ever wished he had spoken softer, loved louder. But his face was as impassive as ever, his thoughts a mystery.

“Jungkook left early this morning,” his mother said, breaking the silence. “Something about a meeting downtown.”

You nodded, relief washing over you in a way that felt almost shameful. You hadn’t realized how much you were dreading seeing him until you knew you wouldn’t have to.

“Busy as always,” you said lightly, reaching for your coffee.

The conversation drifted into familiar topics—neighbors, extended family, stories you half-listened to with polite nods. The table felt both too full and too empty, the gazes of all the people that sat there never straying to the right one in the left corner, just right beside yours.

The older woman turned to you, her tone bright with enthusiasm.

“There’s a party this weekend,” she said, her smile widening. “Just a small gathering with some friends and business partners. It would be lovely if you came with us.”

The suggestion made you squirm uncomfortably in your chair. “Oh, I don’t think—”

“It’ll be good for you,” she interrupted gently, her gaze soft but insistent. “Everyone would love to see you.”

You hesitated, the thought of mingling with people, of putting on a brave face for strangers already making you want to go back to bed. “I’m not sure I’d be good company,” You glanced towards your father in law, half-hoping he might say something to discourage the idea, but he couldn't be any less bothered.

“Nonsense!” she pressed. “You don’t even have to stay long. But it would mean so much to us.”

There was no malice in her persistence, no attempt to guilt you, just a genuine desire to include you in their lives. You couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come.”

Her face lit up with a smile. “Wonderful. Jungkook will pick you up and bring you there. That way, you don’t have to worry about driving.”

You froze, cup midway to your mouth. "There's no need for that, mom."

"Oh hush." she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’ll be coming from the office, so it’s no trouble.”

You nodded slowly, your appetite not too great or you just wanted to get out of here.

8'30. You glanced at the rose gold wrist watch, your first anniversary gift. Your first class is due in an hour, the perfect excuse wrapped around your wrist which you use to excuse yourself from the suffocating walls that always feel like they are closing in on you.

You have come to prefer the morning buzz of the university more—the hum of young adults chatting in the hallways, the scrape of chairs against tiled floors.It was a rhythm you found comforting, predictable in its own way. Here, you were just a professor, the one who explained history and philosophy with hands that only shook sometimes.

The teenage year you would have thought predictable as boring but you— a woman gone through a dubious sets of events found a fellow feeling in it.

Found the task of grading thesis, making power point presentation better than you would have ever imagined.

But Gods, your students need to realize that they can't dump about their toxic ex in every essay. A woman can only take so much.

You were sorting through the said papers in your office when the door creaked open, and a woman peeked her head in, the light from the outside catching in her curly locks.

“You busy?” she asked, her voice light and familiar.

You looked up to see Mira, the economics professor and one of your closest colleagues, walking toward you with her usual warm smile. Mira was more than just a coworker though—being practically family, the wife of Minho’s dark haired cousin who didn’t talk much in family gatherings, and over the years, she had become a friend you could rely on and share lunch with.

“Not for you,” you said, smiling as you waved her in.

She dropped into the chair across from you, setting her bag on the floor. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

Was it that obvious?

“I didn’t,” you admitted, sighing softly. “I stayed at the Jeons’ last night.”

Her eyebrows rose, but there was something in her eyes—a softness, an understanding—that made you look away for a second. “How’d that go?”

You hesitated, picking at the edge of a notebook on your desk. “It was… fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Jungkook’s back,” you said, and her eyes widened slightly, the topic seeming to catch her attention.

“Really? I didn’t know he was in town.”

“Neither did I, until yesterday.” You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “Just for a while, though. Business stuff, y'know?”

Mira tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “And how’s that going?”

You frowned, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, but her eyes stayed on you, curious. “I mean, it’s been years, hasn’t it?"

“Yeah,” you said slowly. "It's fine, I suppose. We didn't talk much."

“Hmm.” Mira hummed thoughtfully as if tasting the question she was gonna ask on her tounge. “Are you okay with him being back?”

Were you okay with him behind back? Okay with him stepping in your vicinity after years of acting like you were not even family, let alone a friend?

“I don’t know,” you admitted finally. “It’s strange seeing him again after all this time. But he’s been… kind. Quiet, mostly.”

Mira didn’t press further, but there was something in her expression that made you uneasy, as if she knew something you didn’t.

You cleared your throat, desperate to change the subject. “There’s a party this weekend. His mom invited me. Please tell me you’re going.”

Mira winced, her smile apologetic. “Date night with the husband. Non-negotiable.”

"Oh." You tried not to show the dejection on your face but it was there. "Lucky you."

She studied you for a moment, her expression gentle. “Are you okay with going?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I feel like I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything for them. Not if you’re not ready.”

If only he understood how much easier it was to do things for others than to face yourself.

“Y/N…” Her voice softened, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say more. Instead, she reached out and squeezed your hand. “You’ll be fine. And if you’re not, you can text me. I’ll make up some excuse to get you out of there.”

You smiled, grateful for her before bidding bye to her for her next class and focusing back on the pending work spread across your desk while simultaneously going through your closet in your mind.

Minho had always said red made the brown of your eyes excel more.

And you have really tried to believe it, looking at yourself from above your shoulder, from the side of your arm in the mirror but perhaps it's not only this red, off shoulder dress that's not doing your eyes justice. It's every color you have once known, once loved.

It's like, it's you that's not doing them justice.

As you stared into the mirror, your eyes flitting from one detail to the next—the slightly uneven tuck of fabric, the exposed skin of your collarbone—it felt wrong.

The little things were missing—his hands fixing the clasp of your necklace, his voice telling you not to overthink it, that you looked beautiful. That it didn’t matter what you wore, because it was you who wore it.

But he wasn’t here.

With a sigh, you adjusted the necklace you had chosen yourself, a simple silver chain that rested delicately against your collarbone. The mirror wasn’t forgiving, but you looked anyway, searching for something familiar in your own reflection. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, told yourself this was just another party, and dodged the doubts of this being a mistake.

The knock at your door came too soon, sharp and punctual, like everything Jungkook had become.

You felt your stomach clench, nerves twisting with something else you couldn’t name. Smoothing your dress one last time, you crossed the small space of your apartment, pausing just before the door.

When you opened it, Jungkook was standing right before you.

He had stood on the edge of cliffs where oceans met skies too, in countless countries at that, walked through streets that droned with history. Scrawled through the wonders of the world—the kind that made poets immortalize them in verse—but nothing—nothing—would ever measure up to this.

To you.

You, standing in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the hall light, your hair falling in waves that he had memorized long ago.

His chest tightened, the memory of another doorway bleeding into the moment as gaily as if it had just happened. He had been in the room meant for waiting, where your parents had sat moments before, your mother sniffling into a tissue, your father pacing in his polished shoes. Now it had been his turn.

The thought alone of being the second person to see you before you walked away from him for good had made his tie that he had been trying to get the hang off felt too stressed around his neck, his palms clammy despite the air conditioning. He rubbed them on his pants, glancing at the small clock on the mantle every few seconds. The minutes dragged, each one seemed longer than the other.

What would you look like?

The thought ran circles in his mind, only for a creak of the door to startle him back.

Footsteps had echoed in the quiet, minimizing the distance until he could practically feel the nervous energy of a bride bounce against his. "Okay. You can turn around now." He had heard you speak, had seen the skittish smile on your face before he even turned around.

And when he did, he felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

The dress hugged you like it had been designed with only you in mind, its soft fabric flowing as if in defiance of gravity. Your veil cascaded behind you, catching the light, and your smile was small, almost shy, as you looked up at him, waiting for his reaction.

“Well?” you prompted, turning slightly, your hands brushing the fabric at your sides. “What do you think?”

What did he think? He thought the universe was wicked for allowing him to witness this and still expect him to let you go.

He had swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady when he finally said, “You look—” His tongue had faltered over every adjective that came to mind. Beautiful wasn’t enough. Breathtaking felt like a cliché. “Perfect.”

You—Beautiful, Devastatingly, so.

You—who weren’t his to look at this way.

He feels his breath catch, his hands clenching at his sides to keep himself from reaching for you.

Because while that version of you had been a dream, this version—worn, weathered, but still so unmistakably you—was real. And the reality of you had always been what he wanted most.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t have agreed to pick you up, shouldn’t have stepped into this space, should have kept the distance he had spent years bridging.

But he has always found himself hopeless and running back to wherever you were concerned, hopeless in a way that had him studying for a test he didn’t even have to keep you company or show up.. here. Content to be near you in whatever capacity he could. He told himself it was enough. That it would be enough to watch you from the sidelines, to sit across from you at family dinners.

It wasn’t.

Because Jungkook wasn't a virtuous man. He never had been.

Virtue belonged to his brother—the one who could weave dreams out of thin air, who saw the world in colors Jungkook had never learned to name. His brother—Minho—who had been the light, the warmth that people, he gravitated toward. He had admired Minho, even envied him, resented him in ways he never admitted aloud and kept it in shadows.

When Minho died, the shadow became a man. And that man had spent years running.

Running into work, into unfamiliar cities, into the kind of purpose that left no room for thought. No room for the times when everything was right, when he tasted family and friendship for the first time ever, no room for the last time he tasted it when you walked down the aisle to his brother looking at him like he was the sun and how it burned, how he had burned with nails biting into his palms.

And only men with no integrity burn. Men who are cowards, restless, afraid of thier own greed try to run, in hopes that the distance would save them.

But distance didn’t save men like Jungkook.

Because here he was again, standing before you, the fire still smoldering.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice pulling him back, creating a doubt in his belief.

“Hi,” he replied, his own tounge feeling heavy in his mouth.

“You’re early,” you said, your tone carefully light.

He cleared his throat, his hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks in an attempt to keep them to themselves. “Traffic was lighter than I expected. Are you ready to leave?"

You nodded and he stepped back, revealing his sleek Mercedes benz parked just right in front. He let you walk before him, watching how your movements were hesitant, as if the ground beneath your feet wasn’t entirely steady. He wanted to ask you if you were okay. He wanted to tell you it was okay if you weren't.

He settled for opening the car door for you.

“Thanks for this,” you said, your gaze fixed on the passing streetlights. “I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do.”

His grip tightened against the leather of the steering wheel with a force that made his knuckles ache. There was a rancorous way that you spoke to him, carefully restrained, that he couldn't even blame you for.

"It's not." He gritted out. "It's not a problem."

He had earned every inch of this gap between you, had spent years building it brick by brick, mile by mile. He's all to blame for. For carving the space between you with every ignored call, every excuse he made to avoid family dinners where you’d inevitably be.

For the leaving the wreckage in his wake—yours, his, theirs.

It wasn’t fair to hate the consequences of his own choices.

But hell, if he didn't outright loathed feeling like he was staring at a wall of frosted glass when he looked at you—where he could see the outline of you, but the details were blurred, distant. Like he had lost the privilge of knowing you from one glance, lost the privilge of having you speak up to him whenever you wanted, call him out, intoxicate him with your laughter that lightened up a room he wasn't even aware was dark. Found it fucking unbearable.

So much that he felt relief washing over him when the venue of the gathering came in view. A grand mansion, framed by manicured gardens and sprawling oaks that seemed to whisper old secrets to one another. It had a timeless elegance that made you wonder how many lives it had seen pass through its doors.

Small gathering, she said. You scoffed internally at rich people and their definition of small.

“Nice place,” you murmured as you walked beside him, your steps careful on the stone path after the car was eased into a parking spot.

“It’s the Kim's family home,” Jungkook said. You nodded, though the name didn’t spark much recognition. The Kims had been mentioned here and there at family dinners—names dropped in passing between sips of wine and shared laughter. You had barely paid attention then, too busy suppressing laughs at the jokes that Minho whispered near.

The front doors were open, the faint scent of fresh flowers and expensive cologne wafting out to greet you. Inside, the space was as opulent as expected—high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers, polished floors that gleamed under the soft light, and clusters of well-dressed guests milling about with drinks in hand.

A tall man stood near the entrance, his broad shoulders and sharp jawline making him impossible to miss. Beside him, another man stood with a softer air, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned into the first man’s side.

The taller of the two men turned, his expression lighting up as he spotted Jungkook. “There he is,” He said, his deep voice carrying effortlessly.

"Hyung." Jungkook softened, clasping hands in a firm shake before pulling each other into a brief hug, the kind that spoke of collaboration and respect.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, your fingers curling around the strap of your purse as you wondered whether to step back and leave him to his conversation or stay and risk being out of place.Would it be rude if you chose the former?

You were saved from your uncertainty when the two of them pulled away from Jungkook and took you in, a gleam of recognition passing through their face. Recognition, shock, then pity. You know how it went.

“You must be Y/N,” the taller one said, his gaze shifting to you with a warm smile.

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by the direct attention. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Kim Namjoon ” he said, offering his hand. “And this is Seokjin, my partner.” You smiled, nodding in acknowledgment before taking the hand of the charming one in the beige suit. “It’s nice to meet you, both. This is a beautiful venue.” You assume that they're the hosts of the party. The Kims that this house belonged to.

“Thank my father for that,” Namjoon said with a chuckle. “Sixty years old and still insists on hosting the most extravagant parties. He’d never let me live it down if I didn’t pull out all the stops.”

“Extravagant is an understatement,” Seokjin chimed in, his tone playful as he glanced at Namjoon. “I’m pretty sure half the flowers in the city ended up here.”

You smiled again, but it faltered when Seokjin's expression changed in a beat.

“We’ve heard a lot about you too,” he said gently, his gaze dipping briefly to Jungkook before meeting yours again.

You tilted your head, curiosity flashing across your face. “All good things, I hope.”

“Of course,” Namjoon assured you. “Your family is well-regarded, and we-we're sorry about Minho. He was brilliant in every sense of the world. We can't even imagin—"

“Thank you,” you said softly, trying really hard to not let the tightening of your throat strain your voice. “He was.”

Jungkook watched as your smile faltered, just slightly, at the mention of Minho. He decided to steer the conversation away but you recovered quickly, offering a polite nod and beat him to it.

There was a brief, loaded pause before you glanced at Jungkook. “I should find mom. She asked me to join her earlier.”

"Yeah, right.” Jungkook said, his voice steady despite the way his chest tightened again when he looked at you.

You walked by Jungkook, brushing close enough that your shoulder brushed against his chest, the faintest hint of your vanilla perfume that was so maddeningly you lingered in the air. He tensed, his breath catching before he could stop it. His fingers twitched at his sides, an almost imperceptible motion, but it was enough.

Subtle as he tried to be, he caught himself leaning slightly, his chest rising with a quiet inhale as though he could take the ghost of your scent and keep it for himself.

"Not as subtle as you think." Seokjin snickered by his boyfriend's side who also raised an eyebrow, his expression knowing and somewhat giving away his discomfort. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

Shit.

Jungkook straightened, his jaw clenching as he avoided their eyes, fixing the collar of his shirt hoping they won't catch on the heat creeping up on his neck too. “Don’t.” he said quietly, his tone low and edged with warning.

"Maybe you don't sniff her like a dog in public? Maybe you have some decorum?" Seokjin judged, proud and loud.

"I have plenty, hyung." The younger male side eyed the older one, his eyes narrowed and the tips of his ears already crimson red like he was a boy caught watching porn for the very first time.

Namjoon sighed, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Let him be, honey.”

But the look he gave Jungkook was far from dismissive. It was the kind of look that saw too much, that peeled back layers Jungkook wasn’t ready to confront. Gods, he needed new friends.

He turned his attention back to the crowd where you disappeared.

The soft hum of conversations and the faint clinking of glasses followed you as you weaved through the grand hall, your eyes scanning for your mother-in-law’s familiar figure. The air in the mansion was heavier than it had been when you arrived, the brush of silk against silk, the way every movement seemed calculated, observed, and weighed.

You navigated through the crowd like a ghost in a gallery, your steps measured and slow, eyes flicking to the floor more than once to avoid the speculative stares. With rich circles came dirty gossip—whispered words disguised as laughter, false smiles that hid daggers. You’d learned to let them roll off your back, like rain on stone.

The Jeon matriarch had mentioned being near the back, closer to where the banquet tables were set. You followed the direction she’d gestured toward earlier, passing servers who moved seamlessly with trays of sparkling champagne.

Halfway through the journey, your steps faltered as your gaze landed on the centerpiece of one table—a chocolate fountain. Warm, rich, and cascading like liquid satin, it stood surrounded by an array of treats. Strawberries gleamed like rubies in the low light, their surfaces polished and inviting.

You hesitated, glanced around as if expecting someone to berate you for indulging in something so ordinary, but eventually, you plucked a strawberry and dipped it into the cascading chocolate.

You let the sweetness settle on your tongue, closing your eyes for a brief moment. For the first time all evening, you found this place somewhat tolerable.

Free food always making things better.

“Excuse me, miss.” a small voice piped up beside you, tugging on the flowy end of your dress.

A boy, no older than six or seven, stood by your side, his wide eyes flicking between you and the fountain. He looked as if he had stepped out of a luxury children’s catalog, his little suit tailored perfectly, his bow tie slightly askew. “Can you grab one for me? I’m not allowed to reach it by myself.” he asked, pointing at the fountain. His voice was polite, but there was a hopeful edge to it, as if he wasn’t used to asking for things twice.

“Of course, love.” you said, your lips curving into a small smile. You picked another strawberry, dipping it with care before crouching slightly to hand it to him. "There you go."

“Thank you!” he chirped, grinning immediate and radiant, the kind that softened the edges of a hard day.

"What's your name?" You asked him, crouching down to his level.

“Do-yun!” came a sharp voice, the kind that turned your stomach before your brain even processed it.

Who you assumed was the boy's mother stepped forward, her elegance severe, her lips painted in a red that matched the strawberries. She took her son’s hand but not before her eyes raked over you, head to toe, with an expression that left no room for interpretation.

"What did I tell you about bothering strangers?” she scolded do-yun who stared at the skewer in his hand apologetically.

“He wasn’t bothering me,” you said gently, straightening up and having the woman’s eyes flicker to you again, assessing.

“He just wanted a treat.”

Her eyes flicked to the chocolate fountain, then back to you, her lips pressing into a tight smile. “how kind of you.”

There was no warmth in her tone, no hint of gratitude. Just a faintly dismissive air. And with that, she turned, her child in tow, leaving you with the faint scent of something floral and the taste of bitterness on your tongue.

You'd learned better than to expect warmth from people bound by history.

You'd learned not to mind it. To overlook it. To not pay attention to them at all.

"That's her, isn't she?"

“Such a shame, losing her husband so young.”

“Yes, but you know, they weren’t exactly power players, were they? He was an artist, wasn’t he?”

The words hung in the air like cigarette smoke, acrid and inescapable.

A laugh, soft and cruel. “I suppose she’s lucky the Jeons still keep her close. Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.”

You stopped in your tracks. The sharp sting of their voices cut through the party’s hum, louder than the music, louder than your own heartbeat.

You could feel your palms start to get sweaty, eyes suddenly unable to meet anyone's.

Breathe. You reminded yourself.

One: Find your breath.

Two: Focus on something neutral—the fountain, the floor, the chandelier above.

Three: Remind yourself: They don’t know you. Their words are weightless.

But weightless wasn’t the right word.

“Though, you’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly… widow-appropriate, is it?”

You tried to focus on your numbers but you lost it.

You turned, your fists clenched, your lips thinned, the polite demeanor cracking away from your face under the weight of your frustration.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “Was there something you wanted to say to my face?”

The women froze, their eyes widening in surprise. One of them, a younger woman with a nervous smile, tried to backpedal. “Oh, no, we didn’t mean—”

“Because if you have an issue with me or my dress, feel free to say it outright,” you continued, your voice clear despite the way your heart hammered in your chest. “I’d hate for you to waste any more time whispering behind my back.”

The group exchanged glances, communicating in a language of their own, you couldn’t care less about. Atleast not in this moment.

“We didn’t mean to offend,” one of them muttered, her tone brittle.

“Of course you didn’t,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “How could I possibly take offense to strangers dissecting my life as if it’s some dinner party entertainment?”

Stupid old hags with no life of their own!

You kept that to yourself.

Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and stormed away.

The chandeliers above blurred as tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

You weren’t looking for anything specific—just distance, just air that wasn’t thick with judgment and whispers. A bathroom, maybe, though you weren’t going to ask for directions not when your voice felt like it would crack the moment you opened your mouth.

People brushed past you, their scents of expensive perfumes swirling in the air, their muted voices blending into a hum you couldn’t quite focus on. One or two bumped into your shoulder, but you didn’t apologize, didn’t bother looking back.

You just needed to get away—you just needed out of here.

And then, as if the universe wasn’t finished testing you, a firm hand of another one of a frame you jerked into, closed around your wrist, halting your momentum.

You looked up, brows scrunched, eyes glossy and mouth parting, ready to snap but then you were met with a amicable pair of dark eyes.

A crease of his own wrinkling his forehead as he looked down at you. "Is something wrong?" He asked and you almost wanted to laugh mockingly.

Instead, you did what you initially wanted to do. Your eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face. “Let me go.”

He hesitated for a moment, tounge poking his cheek, grip on your hand loosening but not releasing entirely. "What's wrong, y/n?"

“I said, let me go,” you repeated, your voice firm, frangible at the edges before you pulled your hand away from him and pushed past to walk away without another word.

The next random hallway you stumbled into was quieter, emptier, and for that, you were grateful, stretched ahead like an endless corridor of polished wood and muted gold accents. The noise of the party faded into the background, muffled by the thick walls and heavy doors.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to roam around mindlessly any further. This should be good enough, you told yourself and leaned against one of the walls, your forehead pressing against the cool surface as you tried to breathe through the wave of vehemence emotions that crashed through you.

One: Inhale.

Two: Exhale.

Three: Forget the words they said. Forget them.

But they echoed, persistent and savage, circling in your mind like vultures.

Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.

You’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly widow-appropriate, is it?

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, your hands clutching at your dress as if the fabric could somehow hold you together. But nothing could, nothing had. You had tried and tried and tried.. and fuck you didn't wanted to do it anymore.

Turning around, your head tipped back against the wall, the ceiling swimming in and out of focus as your vision blurred.

You shouldn’t have come here.

You should have stayed home, buried yourself in the comfort of your quiet apartment where no one whispered behind your back or looked at you with pity thinly disguised as deference.

Why did they care? Why did it matter to them how you dressed, how you existed, how you grieved?

It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. Crying wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change anything.

Your hands gripped your clutch tightly, the edges digging into your palms, and for a moment, you considered throwing it—hurling it across the hall just to feel something break.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because even here, in this quiet, empty hallway, you felt the silent expectation that you hold yourself together, that you keep smiling, keep nodding, keep existing in a way that made other people comfortable.

You hated this. You hated being you. You hated being the one who was left behind. And God you hated being alone. No Minho to make a quiet joke about the ridiculousness of it all and pull you toward something fun and irreverent.

Just you.

It will be always be just you. You've never admitted that to yourself but now that you did, you feel such panic rise in your chest that you don't hear him at first. Not until his voice broke through the haze.

“Y/N.”

It was soft, tentative, but it still cut through the silence like a blade.

You flinched, your head snapping toward the source of the voice. Jungkook stood a few feet away, his dark eyes searching yours, his expression shadowed with concern.

He had followed you.

“I told you to leave me alone,” you managed, your voice trembling as you turned away, willing him to disappear.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, his footsteps growing louder as he moved closer with a cautiousness that made you feel like a wounded animal. “Talk to me.” He added, the pleading in his voice almost running free.

"I mean it, Jungkook.. go away." You tried putting distance between the both of you again but far too quick for your slowed senses, he was now standing right in front of you, hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with him while also knowing.

"And I told you, I'm not leaving." His tone had coarsened and your dam had broke.

“Why now?” you cried, stepping closer to him, your fists balling at your sides. “Why do you want to stay now? You’ve spent years acting like a stranger, Jungkook. Years acting like I didn’t exist. And now—”

You shoved at his chest, your fists pounding weakly against him, but he didn’t move.

“Now you want to act like you care?” you yelled, your voice cracking as you hit him again. “Now you want to be here? Why?”

Jungkook stood still, his arms at his sides, his chest solid and unyielding beneath your fists. He didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, didn’t even try to stop you. He just let you hit him, let you pour out everything.His silence infuriated you, and yet it steadied you in a way you couldn’t explain.

"Why do you care now?" you repeated, your voice cracking, trembling like your hands as they hit his chest incessantly. Each word felt like it scraped raw against your throat. "Where were you, Jungkook? When everything fell apart, when I—when I needed someone. Where were you?"

“I don’t need you now!” you snapped, your tears falling freely now. “I don’t need you to come here and act like you care, like you’ve always cared, because we both know that’s not true."

“Because you left!" your voice cracked, the words laced with betrayal. The hurt from the breach of faith weakening you and your punches on his chest until they finally stilled, your hands trembling still as they curled into the fabric of his shirt. Jungkook caught your wrists, his hold firm but gentle, and for a moment, you fought him, your breaths coming in sharp and ragged. But when he didn’t let go, when he didn’t flinch or step back, the fight drained out of you.

Your knees buckled, and his arms came around you slowly, hesitantly, as if he were afraid you might push him away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were too tired now. Empty hands that had been holding onto something for as long as you could remember were too tired, have forgotten the feeling of what it felt like to be held instead.

You allowed to let yourself feel that. You allowed yourself to feel someone else other than the woman you couldn’t even recognize in a mirror as you sagged against him, your head pressing against his shoulder as your tears soaked into his shirt, body shaking and shivering from the quiet sobs that you let out.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, angel." You heard him say those words like a mantra against your hair, arms tightening around you, nestling you close against his chest.

For a moment, you heard pain there, raw and unfiltered, pain that felt similiar to your own in ways you hadn’t expected. You clutched his shirt tighter. You didn't wanted to be alone and Jungkook felt and smelled of times when you weren't. Earthy and Warm. Like that one time when he pulled you in to him after the death of milo- your first dog, and didn’t even mind your snort.

You had clung to those memories but it felt better clinging to him. A small, desperate part of you wanting to drag him closer, to cling to what little you had left of the past. The rest of you wanted to push him away, to keep screaming at him for daring to come back after all this time, after all this distance.

The sobs subsided slowly, leaving behind the kind of stillness that felt fragile, as if it might shatter with the wrong word or movement. Jungkook didn’t push you away, didn’t loosen his hold. If anything, he pulled you closer, as though he feared you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your gaze searching his face. His eyes shadowed, a stupid perfect strand of his stupid perfect hair falling on his forehead with tension prominent in his jaw and you wondered if there was a time there wasn't.

You wondered if it would make you any more vulnerable that you are right now if you say the words that sit on the top of your tounge, sting in the tears that linger in the corner of your eyes.

“I missed you,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. They felt dangerous, like exposing a wound that had barely begun to scab over.

His eyes darkened, a low sound rumbling in his chest—something between a growl and a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I missed you too, angel."

The rawness in his tone made your chest clench, a part of you craving more, while another part shrieked at you to stop this before it went any further, gather whatever semblance has left of you and walk away, play his cards against him.

But you have never been too good with cards or walking away.

“Then why did you leave?” you croaked. “Why did you stay away for so long?”

His gaze dropped to the space between you before meeting your eyes again, his own breathing now getting uneven. You could feel it beneath you. Rising. And Rising. And Rising.

"I didn’t knew how to look at you and not feel like I'm.. betraying him." His voice trembles as he drews in breath and you're so close you feel the heat of it brush against your temple. "And I can not, not look at you. That became a problem."

His eyes darkened, a low sound rumbling in his chest—something between a growl and a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I missed you too, angel."

The rawness in his tone made your chest clench, a part of you craving more, while another part shrieked at you to stop this before it went any further, gather whatever semblance has left of you and walk away, play his cards against him.

But you have never been too good with cards or walking away.

“Then why did you leave?” you croaked. “Why did you stay away for so long?”

His gaze dropped to the space between you before meeting your eyes again, his own breathing now getting uneven. You could feel it beneath you. Rising. And Rising. And Rising.

"I didn’t knew how to look at you and not feel like I'm.. betraying him." His voice trembles as he drews in breath, and you're so close you feel the heat of it brush against your temple. "And I can not, not look at you. That became a problem."

Your body stiffened at the confession, the world around you shrinking until it was just the two of you, his voice echoing in your ears.

Your first instinct was disbelief.

This can't mean what you think it does.

This can’t mean what you think it does!

The words replayed in your mind, over and over, refusing to settle. Each repetition twisted something deeper, something buried in the hollow space that had once been you.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, needing space, needing air.

He didn’t move. His gaze followed you, his expression resolute, like he was determined to lay everything bare now that the first truth had slipped out.

But you didn’t even wanted to acknowledge it as something, let alone, a truth. “That’s not—” Your voice cracked, and you forced yourself to start again. "Are you drunk, Jungkook?" You found the thought so repulsing, you could only think of ways to brush this up, put all the blame on the champagne.

From the way his eyes narrowed and brow ridged, you could tell that it was not the champagne.

“Y/N.” he says with a warning. “I’m not fucking drunk.”

“Well, you sound like you are,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “Because that—what you just said—sounds like something someone says when they’re not thinking clearly. You're not making any sense, Jungkook!"

“It makes sense,” he was starting to get frustated now. “It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me.”

And you were starting to get scared. You needed him to stop talking. Anything and everything he said made you physically want to recoil. You took another step back, your arms wrapping around yourself as if you could shield yourself from the weight of unsaid words that are no longer so.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking, hands tempted to cover your ears like a child. His confession felt like a pin pulled from a grenade, and now the blast was unfurling within you. “Don’t do this. It's not fair. It's-It's not fair to him. Or me. Or you."

I know. He admits quietly to himself because he doesn't think anyone knows better than the man who was holding the jagged ends of a once delicate thread. And he hates himself for it because hating you was as unrealistic as the existence of a greater being to him. He had tried. Tried turning to salvation. Tried to despise you for being the one thing that has turned him the best and worst person he can be but he just can't. He prefers hating himself better.

He wants this punishment, that is you. He wants to whisper I'm sorry- I'm sorry for leaving- I'm sorry for coming back in every crook and nook of your body for the rest of his life so you'd feel his expression of regret that could only be a product of love so consuming embedding into you.

Because it's truth. It's his truth, has been for years and years, before he even knew what are the consequences of being a honest person. Now that he is seeing you in front of him—you with a revolting look, a stray tear rolling down your eyes that is nowhere near as angry as it had been before, he understands that it's not a consequence he can take.

He dares to step forward again and even if takes a whole lot of power in him not to pull you into him again, he doesn't and only raises a hand and catches the tear with his thumb.

“You don’t get to do this to me.” you repeat, your voice low and trembling.

And so does his. "I know."

Jungkook didn’t know what he expected you to say, what he hoped for. Forgiveness? Understanding? He wasn’t sure he deserved either.

Yet when you don't pull away, look back at him with the same daring he had stepped forward with, a silence understanding passes between the space that is separating you from him. And he's done being separated from you.

He tilted his head down, his breath stirring your hair when he inhaled deeply, his nose tracing a path down until it rubbed against yours—softly, deliberately—as if giving you time to move away. You didn't and his eyes fell on your inviting mouth again.

Fuck it.

Jungkook surged forward, his hands cupping your face, tipping your face up to him as his lips crashed against yours. The way he kissed you was nothing like the way he had touched you. It was rough, desperate with the way tounge and teeth clashed, filled with years of pent up desire and regret and emotions too tangled to name.

He kissed you like the nights he’d spent staring at the ceiling in places too far from home, wondering if you’d be happier without him there to complicate things, wondering if things had been any different if he said something before. Will you have looked at him like the way you looked at his brother? Would that choice have saved you from years and years of tragedy? Would that have saved him from the weight of his guilt, his love—love that had been a silent, unwelcome presence in his life for so long that it felt like another organ, vital and inescapable?

When he felt you grip him again and kiss him back. Nothing else mattered. The world stopped spinning and he didn't wanted to run anymore.

His hands found your waist, gripping tightly. A low groan slipping from his mouth to yours at the feeling of how you melted against him when he deepened the kiss, tounge proding and exploring all that your sweet mouth had to offer. Gods, he was drunk now.

"Shit." He shuddered as the taste of you finally started to settle in, pulling you closer and closer, then pushing you back until your back met the wall of the hallway.

You should be scared, anxious and pushing him back. The mere thought of someone walking in on you kissing him, your supposed family. Should make you want to end this because you could only imagine the stake they'd pin you on. They'd be not wrong to.

This is traitorous—what you're doing, what you're allowing yourself. But so is a shameful part of you that had always reached for him. Something that whispered to you, so soft it felt like it came from inside your own chest.

It's not so bad. His lips feel good.

But oh, it is. It makes you sick from just thinking how bad it is. Anger, confusion, guilt—oh, the guilt—swirl together and make you so sick.

"W-We shouldn’t.." You gasp against him as your unpracticed lips suck on his in a contradiction.

"No, we shouldn't." He kisses you harder, his mouth only leaving yours to trail a train of kisses along the column of your accessible throat to him, making you whimper out loud that he takes as an sign to nibble and bite.

Your hands find their way to his shoulder and his to your hips. "Legs around me." He licks the length of your neck, narrowing your world down to the feeling of his provoking wet tounge on your skin, his calloused fingers squeezing your hips. It felt all too real now. And despite you being balant enough to start this in the first place, you're not sure if you're still feeling bold. What you are feeling is this sinful, unexplainable craving seeping into your bones, curling around your ribs, making it hard to breath and think. Or maybe it's him.

Whatever it is, you get yourself to pause his eager hands and hungry mouth and speak, your breath coming in short, hot puffs. "Jungkook.. I don't think-" He straightens up and the vulnerability in his voice and eyes is gone as he squeezes your hips tighter.

"Finally gave me that perfect mouth of yours and now you want to walk away? Do you like tormenting me, angel? Do you like knowing that I'd fuck my fist to only the thought of you when you do?" He growls against your ear and you feel yourself flush so hard you're sure he even feels the heat coming off you in ripples.

"Please, baby." He pleads unapologetically, fingers tugging you closer even when all of you is pressed against all of him. "I want you." So bad it hurts.

Gone is the man who had once been so armored, seemed so unreachable and untouchable. And left is Jeon Jungkook, who looks like he will crumble to the ground if you pull away now.

You wouldn't want that. But the words came anyway, right from where shame twisted in your stomach, tangling with the guilt that clawed at your throat. "Do you still want me even if I'm nothing like the woman I used to be?" It came out breakable and in segments, and the second they left your lips, you weren’t sure what to except as a answer.

For a moment, all you could hear was the ragged rhythm of your combined breathing.

You swallowed hard, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. The intensity in his dark eyes was almost unbearable, raw and unrelenting as they searched yours.

"Don't ever say that again." he bit out, every syllable heavy. "I want you always. I want you with my every breath. There's always been only you for me, understand?" He added with a brief grind of his hardened arousal against your front, making you mewl.

The words, though, hit you like a physical forcek, breaking through the walls you’d built around yourself, the ones you’d convinced yourself were impenetrable.

Before you could respond, he moved.

His mouth fell onto yours again and with practiced ease, his hands slid to the backs of your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing. "Now. Legs around me, baby." he murmured in the kiss, and though your mind was a whirlwind of what seemed like every single thought you've ever had, your body obeyed.

You could barely figure out to where he was taking you, too engrossed in the kiss that you steered towards a softer, mellow one, fingers tangling in the hair that has grown a little bit on the nape of his neck. Feeling like you both were two audacious college students trying to find a space in a messy party where you both won't be interrupted.

When he halted in his steps, you assumed that he found it as he kicked it open with a firm nudge of his boot, the room beyond dim and quiet but he barely give you time to register anything else, his movements urgent and frantic as he carried you over to the bed in the middle after swiftly locking you both away. You bounced on the silk mattress as he set you down, though his intentions were grave, his actions or the way he held you was gentle, tounge swiping over his glistening lips like chasing the taste of you that made you want to give him once more.

Audacious, you were.

Your eyes on his face, shadows played along the planes, softening the hard edges of his jaw, but his gaze burned. Dark and piercing, it held you in place as if daring you to look away.

You didn’t.

Your eyes followed the sluggish movements of his hands as he reached up, his fingers deftly working the knot of his tie. The fabric slid free, whispering against the buttons of his dress shirt before he cast it aside, forgotten on the nearby chair.

Next came his jacket. He shrugged it off with practiced ease, the broad span of his shoulders rolling beneath the fabric. Your breath hitched as he discarded it, leaving him in the crisp white shirt that clung to his frame, the outline of him barely hidden.

And then his hands moved again, this time to his wrist.

You watched, mesmerized, as he undid the strap of his watch, the silver buckle catching the faint light. He pulled it free and set it down on the nightstand, the movement so fluid it felt almost rehearsed.

It wasn’t until he turned his wrist slightly that you noticed it—the worn thread of a bracelet wrapped around his wrist, faded from time and use but unmistakable.

The one you’d tied around his wrist when you were kids in an action of promise to stay friends for years to come.

But he still wore it.

He still wore it.

Your fingers twitched against the bedspread, the urge to reach out and touch him almost overwhelming.

And as if understanding your anticipation, he soon followed you down, your breath catching as he hovered above you. You waited for him to kiss you again because god help you, you liked a little too much but he only pressed a chaste one, smirking subtly at the pout that subconsciously formed on your lips that soon parted in a gasp when he started to suck on your neck again, this time with the intention to claim the spot with the scrape of his teeth.

He hummed against your skin, the sound deep and satisfied, before he drew your flesh into his mouth again, harder this time. The sharp pull sent a jolt of pleasure-pain coursing through you, thighs clenching together.

"My angel." he said softly, yet nothing was soft about the way he pulled down on the straps of your dress. The fabric slipped, baring the smooth skin of your shoulder, and he pressed his lips there, warm and firm, before trailing lower, his mouth following the path he’d just uncovered. "My undoing."

The red fabric gathered at your arms as he pushed it further, exposing the tops of your collarbones and the swell of your chest. His gaze flicked up to meet yours then, dark and questioning, seeking permission even though his hands were steady, his intention clear.

You nodded, perhaps with too much enthusiasm and earned a chuckle from him that you were sure was the reason for the wetness pooling between your legs.

You had missed that sound. You had missed him.

And he was hell bent on making up for lost time as he dived face first into your chest, humming again when he took in your pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling his tounge around the roundness of you.

"Oh shit." Your back arched, hands finding their way to his hair again. Pulling and tugging. Urging him on until his hand was fondling the other, abandoned tit. Squeezing under his rough palms that made the heat lowering your stomach worse—all of it felt too much, too soon. And yet, it wasn’t enough.

It had been so long.

Too long since someone had touched you like this, with a reverence that made you feel seen, whole, wanted.

You told yourself it was natural, that anyone in your position would respond this way. That it wasn’t about him—it couldn’t be. But your body betrayed you before your mind could even catch up. Your legs wrapped around his waist once more as you ground yourself against him. Against the print of his bulging length you could feel pulsing against you.

"Fuck yeah.." You cursed low, head falling back on the pillows and Jungkook looked up, his own cock twitching at the sight of you, at the feel of you. Of everything he has ever wanted. Of everything he thought he would never have. But here you were straight from his flithest wet dream that would have him taking more cold showers that he could keep count of.

A goddamn miracle for him, this wasn't a dream.

"This here needs some attention too, hmm?" He rasped, hands slipping down from the curve of your waist, to bunch up your dress to your hips. Wasting no time in finding the wet mess you made of your panties. "Look at this." He grunted, hand cupping your clothed mound. "So wet."

You exhaled out like you'd been freed from shackles that felt too heavy and a whimper followed right after when he disposed you of them, exposing your deprived cunt to the cold air that had you clenching around nothing. "And so fucking responsive." He breathed against your bare sex after moving his head down.

You hadn’t expected that. You breath was bated, cheeks were flushed and heart was pounding at the view alone of his face between your thighs.

Then again, he was all about surprising you today.

Though, it didn't make it any less overwhelming.

The way his hands gripped your thighs, firm yet careful, as if he were both anchoring you and holding himself back. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave the faintest imprint, a reminder of where he had been, where he was. Your legs draped over his shoulders, trembling with a mix of anticipation and disbelief, as though your body was still catching up to the reality of this moment.

Never in your wildest dreams, it would have come to this. Come to Jungkook licking a greedy strip up from your folds.

"Jungkook—oh God!" You gasped and he groaned, feeling all of his restraint and the plan to savor this, to savor you, slip away from his tightening hands. One taste of you and he wanted to grasp every drop of like it would be his last.

And so he did.

Burying his face in your wanting pussy like a man with purpose, he lapped. His mouth wrapped around your clit, tounge swiping and licking with a reverence because you were something sacred, something he had put on a pedestal so high, others in his life barely mattered.

"Oh- mhm. Feels so good!" You moan out, mind in a haze of pure fog and he takes it as his cue to plunge his digit inside your dripping core. You're sure you've got no mind now. Grunts of his own leaving him at the thought of your heat wrapping around his aching cock instead.

He felt no shame in that. No shame in what he was doing right now. Because then you moved, your body arching toward him as if to erase every doubt. Your fingers found their way to his hair, tugging as selfishly as he fed on you, flatenning his tounge on your slit to take all he can get, to give you all he can.

A shaky exhale brushing against your folds. The sound was low, guttural, and filled with more longing than he knew how to contain. "Does it, baby? Sweet pussy's feeling good?" His fingers—knuckles deep now—worked you faster, curling and testing ways to get you closer to the edge.

This was more desire that he knew he was possible of as his hips started to rut on their own, seeking friction in a way that was both instinctual and helpless. Brain flat lining. Face drowned in the essence of you. Desperate, as you pulled on his hair. Pathetic, as he chased his own high from just the taste of you, from just how you enveloped his curving fingers. Ecastic, when you finally reached your breaking point from how he alternated between broad strokes and targeted flicks, making you come all over his mouth that kindles his face, that he swallow all because he refuses to let anything go to waste.

"Ah fuck—Oh lord!" You fingers tear in his scalp and hips bucked against his face, eyes rolling back until they whitened.

Oh.

Oh.

It was in this moment, with your thighs braced against his shoulders and his name spilling from her lips, that Jungkook knew.

He would never be the same again.

That he too would be coming in his pants like a high school boy.

It wasn’t enough—nothing would ever be enough—but it was all he had, and it drove him to the edge faster than he would’ve liked to admit. The tension inside him snapped before he could stop it, his body tensing and toes curling because he found everything else secondary to the sheer joy of watching you fall apart beneath him.

"Oh shit, y/n. Shit. Shit. Shit." He whimpers against your cunt, his hips finally slowing down their mindless movement. His forehead pressed against your thigh as he caught his breath. His chest heaved, his heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his entire body felt like it was vibrating, the aftershocks of his release making his muscles twitch.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to your clit before leaning back up to feel another wave of release threatening to overcome him when he sees your content expression, hands loosening their grip in his raven hair, half lidded eyes meeting his own before they trail down. "Y-You.." You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t have spoken even if you tried.

A lazy smirk made it's way to his lips that caught the light before he licked whatever remnant what was left of you on his fingers.

"I'm a starved man, angel. Cut me some slack." He panted, pinching your bud in emphasis and moved back up before you could even process it, the warmth of his breath retreating, replaced by the cooler air of the room as he straightened. The absence of his lips against you left you gasping, your chest heaving, your pulse thundering in your ears or maybe it was you still riding your orgasm or maybe it was the knowledge that he came in his pants from just eating you out.

Then he was there again, his hands sliding from your thighs to the mattress on either side of you, bracketing you in like a secret he refused to let escape.

"Hi." He breathed against your forehead.

You felt a shy smile twitch on your lips. "Hi." You reply just as breathlessly.

He presses another kiss, this time to the tip of your nose. "I'm gonna fuck you now, yeah?" You couldn’t reconcile it.

How could he say things that made your cheeks flush, your body respond in ways you couldn’t control, while his lips brushed against your temple with a tenderness that felt like an apology?

How could he make you feel like you were unraveling and being held together all at once?

You wanted to know. "Mhm. Please." You mewl, hands softly going through the beautiful mess that you made of his hair.

"Please, what?" He demanded, lips on your cheek.

"Please fuck me." You whine and he bumped his nose against your face, chest rumbling from a sound so feverish that you can't help but grind against him again. Coaxing his cock back into hardness with your bare cunt against him, from the realization that you shared the insatiable urges with him.

It got his hand trembling when they reached down to unbind his belt, pushing the fabric down his hips to reveal predicament he's made of his boxers that were bounding his hard, leaking cock but hell if he had it in himself to care.

He had been bidding his time for far too long. Waited enough—longer than any man should have to wait for something that felt this inevitable, this right, this his.

Ridding himself of the last piece of clothing on him, other than the white dress shirt that flexed against his coiled muscles, he took himself In a fist, groaning when he pumped himself in one slow stroke. Eyes never leaving your wide ones like you weren’t sure if you should be impressed, intimidated, or both.

Your breath hitched audibly, and your chest rose and fell as your eyes darted from his face to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, but you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away, couldn’t stop the thought that immediately took hold.

"You're too big." Your throat dry, and your fingers fisted the sheet beneath you, trying not too think too much about how thick he would feel down your throat. The sounds he'd make when you would lick him just right.

"And you're gonna take every inch." He said it like a statement, a prominent vein popping in his neck when he finally let go of the locked gaze and focused instead on compressing the tip of his angry, veiny cock to your slick folds.

"Won't you, angel?" He asks with a confident smirk passed your way for a second before his breath wavered again, brows scrunched together and if it wasn't for his tip nudging inside you, you'd thought him endearing.

But once his tip is actually is in, you're left with no thought. Rendered speechless, eyes falling shut when he starts to jab inch by inch.

"Dear lord—" You gasp out loud. The sheet beneath you not providing much semblance so you switch to his shoulders. And you swear, he feel him shake when he is finally all in. Closes his eyes and relishes in your heat stretching around. "Fucking hell." The sensation was overwhelming—heat and softness so consuming it felt like his mind short-circuited, every thought dissolving into static.

But you feel that its your pussy that feels like it's going to split apart any moment now that's stopping him from moving. And partly it is. "You're so..tight." He hisses out and squeezes your hips with great roughness.

"Been long since you've been fucked, eh?" He muses, dark hungry eyes devouring yours when he makes an attempt to move inside you like he was testing your limits. Your mind reels, caught between the sharpness of the initial sensation and the overwhelming desire that followed.

He felt impossibly big, like your body wasn’t prepared for the sheer intensity of him, and for a fleeting moment, doubt crept into your thoughts.

It’s been so long.

The thought came unbidden. Your body had grown used to quiet nights and cold sheets, to the impersonal hum of a vibrator and the absence of warmth.

"Been so long." You confirm, nails clawing at his shoulders, mimicking the roughness that only spurs him on. His lashes fluttered shut, his forehead drops to your shoulder and with a whine of disagreement from you, he pulls back fully just to (to your satisfaction) bury himself back to the hilt.

An unadulterated moan from you broke the silence, a sound so sweet it made him want to come right there and then again. But he'd much rather have you convulse first. Priorities.

His jaw clenched, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he started to move his hips against yours, slow and deliberate, like he needed to feel every inch of your.

Your legs tensed around his hips, pulling him closer. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the way your body reacted to him, your mind a dizzy blur of heat and need and overwhelming sensation.

He pulled back again, the drag of him leaving you feeling empty, only to return with the same slow, measured thrust.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his voice rough and uneven, barely coherent through the sounds your free spilling moans and the fact that his face was buried in the crook of your shoulder. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice unrefined at the edges, raw with honesty and disbelief, like he couldn’t believe you were really here, with him, like this.

Your hands slid down his back, clinging to the flexing muscles beneath your palms. You suddenly didn't like that his shirt was still on. Wanting to map out his bare skin with every graze of your nails. But with each thrust, pleasure sparked at the base of your spine and spread outward, your thoughts scattered like autumn leaves.

"Yeah- Oh mphm! Just like that!" He flourished in your cries of encouragement, his grip on your hips tightening, his fingers digging into your skin as he was afraid he'd lose control too soon.

And you wanted nothing more. "F-Faster! Please go faster!" His pace was unhurried but devastating, every pull and thrust deliberate, designed to drag you to the edge and keep you there, teetering. You couldn’t take that anymore.

And Jungkook couldn’t take keeping you unsatisfied. His lips found the corner of your mouth, brushing against it in a fleeting kiss before moving lower, his teeth grazing your jaw. His hands moved to your thighs, urging them higher, wrapping them around his waist as he drove into you with more force, more intent.

“taking me so well, was made for this cock.” Were made for me. he praised, his voice sounding like a backdrop to the obscene sounds his hips snapping against yours as your own body moved with his, meeting him with the same intensity, the same desperate need. "Yeah." He grunted, punctuating his words with a squeeze to your boob. "Fuck me back. Use me. Feel me."

All you could possibly do was feel him.

He felt like fire and electricity all at once, a heat that spread from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes.

“Jungkook…” you whispered again, your voice catching on the syllables when his head tipped forward, his forehead pressing against yours, his damp hair brushing your skin.

He whimpered in response, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through you, and he pistoned his cock harder, pulling a cry from your lips that you couldn’t hold back.

"I-I missed you." You can feel tears gather in your eyes again. You don't even know why. Why you're repeating what you've already admitted. Why the words feel more vulnerable now. All you know that you missed him and the coil is tightening in your stomach.

Jungkook, too feels like he will break down any moment when he stares down at you. But he’s got a impending orgasm to deliver.

He kisses your eyelids, is tempted to lick the tears that slowly make their way down to your chin but doesn't. He's not sure he'll be able to handle the taste of your despair without feeling like he has to chastise himself for ever being the reason for it.

"I know. I know." His cock thrusts with renewed vigor. "I missed you too. I missed you." He says through his gritted teeth, feeling how your walls fluttered around him.

"Gonna cum now?" He knows what your answer will be. There's a smug underline tone in his rasps that gives him away. How he takes pride in knowing that he's the one to make you release all this tension; once on his mouth; then on his cock that is pulsing with an reoccurring ache.

You can only manage to nod, lips tightly tucked between your teeth, hands scratching and marking on his once crisp shirt that is now crumpled from the fate of your hands.

"Gonna soak my cock, huh? Go ahead, baby. Go ahead and come with me." He demands, his hand slipping between you to rub tight circles against your puffy clit that is just enough to tip you over at last.

"Koo.. ah..oh god!" The name you've always called him with a fondness falls unintentionally from your lips when your walls tighten for the last time and you release all over his cock that is now stuttering with it's every thrust.

"Oh fuck. Call me that again." He all but snarls. Cock turns firmer inside your heat that hugs him. And balls screw up.

"Koo.." You whine and that's all he needs before thick ropes of white hot cum is spilling inside you, filling you to the brim. "Mhm, take it all. There's my girl. Pussy looks so good stuffed with my cum." He grinds the best his spent body can into yours that still welcomes him and fuck if that doesn't make him never want to leave.

And he doesn't, for a moment, when he collapses onto you. Just not enough to crush you under his weight. Just enough to latch his lips where ever he can find and whisper words of affection. "Could'nt fucking breathe without you." He's yet to get enough of you. This life won't suffice, he thinks. Then finally pulls out his softening cock from your slick hole with a hiss.

You too feel the loss the of the connection that had pulsed faintly between you, leaving you achingly empty.

He moved with the same carefulness, reaching for the tissues on the bedside table. The room was quiet save for your mingled breaths as he knelt beside you, his touch impossibly tender as he wiped at the inside of your thighs. You shivered under the cool press of the tissue against your skin, the sensation making you acutely aware of the aftermath—the way your body still quivered, the way your breaths still came uneven.

You stared at the ceiling while he did so, the edges of your perception blurred as you tried to silence the tingles that still hummed across the length of your legs. A reminder of how throughly he had disentangle you, how throughly his very essence had penetrated into you.

You were ruined by him.

There was no going back from this. You knew that.

What scared you was the realization that you didn’t want to.

You just didn't know how to admit that out loud where everyone and he could hear you.

Your eyes seeked out for him as if that alone could answer all your questions. He returned back against you without a question. Hands finely adjusted the strap of your dress and drew you closer to him with a soft voice, hoarse from the strain of everything he’d given you. "Come here, angel." Bundled you up in his arms and then only did he breathe out.

Your breath stayed differing. “Why do you call me that?” Your voice was curious but tentative. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”

You felt his lips curve up against your temple. "You were wearing this really pretty white dress the first time I met you." he began, his voice quiet, almost wistful. “Had these frills on the sleeves. I thought you looked like an angel."

You tried to piece together the memory. “That was so long ago."

It might be understood that it takes months to fall in love but Jungkook had been falling all his life.

[jungkooksmytype]

So good and so well written! A must read!!

Jungkook:

𝐄𝐯𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Intro

Every year, he joins the old tradition of traveling, where his ancestors have once ruled the skies. Every year, he meets familiar faces and new ones he's never seen before. Every year, he watches how his brothers find their mates, build their families, and introduce new generations to stories as old as time. But this year, something might be different. This year, there's you - a treasure worth more than he could ever offer.

Tags/Warnings: Dragon!Jungkook, strangers to lovers/mates, mentions of folklore and traditions, modern fantasy, romance, human?Reader, Fluff, Courting, MC kinda wary of kook at first, but he's cute give him a chance pls

Length: ~2k

-> Masterlist

"Look at you! All the new color suits you well!" Seokjin laughs, commenting on Jungkook's tattoos which had been changing over the course of the year since he's seen his friends last festival. The younger dragon simply shrugs, though he can't help but stand a bit more proudly at the comment, considering that his body ink is a visual representation of his identity within the Clan up to this point.

It's all part of the tradition after all; as soon as a dragonkin turns 21 years old, they're considered an adult, officially on their own and ready to build their own families and futures, and while not all do it, he likes to wear his identity openly like this.

Even though in the modern world, his dragon blood isn't seen as something to be proud of anymore. In fact, it's treated as nothing more than a simple remnant of lost times, outdated and no longer of any importance.

It's why most members of the dragon bloodlines tend to stay amongst each other, most of their social circles consisting of other dragons, just like he himself tends to do. A lot of his friends have been finding their mates recently, and while Jungkook is happy about that, he himself isn't really interested in that- at least not right now. He's doing good all by himself at the moment, so he doesn't really see the need to settle down right now. He's also not yet found anybody he'd really honestly see himself wanting to settle down with- so for now, he just attends the traditional festivals every year to reconnect with his friends and family, let himself go for a little while and leave all those expectations of the modern world behind for at least a small amount of time.

"Are the rest here too?" Jungkook asks Jin as they both walk into the Hotel close to the festival spaces, many already setting up their tents and booths for tonight.

"Taehyung is coming a bit later, he said the whole trip is taking a bit longer now that his mate's pregnant." He says, making Jungkook nod next to him, greeting some elders along the way. "she's not even properly showing, yet he's already all scrambled up in the head." He jokes.

"I've heard about that! Yoongi owes me a hundred bucks now." He laughs, remembering the bet he'd made with the older dragon last year when Taehyung had announced his engagement to his mate. He'd always dreamed of a big family- so it wasn't surprising to Jungkook that his friend already had the first child on the way.

Maybe one day he'll have his own, too.

"I remember when Yoongi of all people attended the hunt and actually caught his mate too!" Seokjin laughs. "Remember that? It was honestly hilarious to see him so desperate. The old slow guy all out on the fields." He teases, as the man in question walks into view.

"At least I've caught something. Not like mister forever virgin over here." He teases, laughing when Jungkook growls offended, mumbling something about that 'not being true at all hyung.!' Under his breath as the older one walks alongside them.

It's when a giggle catches him off guard, the sound accompanied by what he can only describe as a small bell faintly in the background.

When he looks for the source of the sound, he finds your eyes pretty quickly- gaze hauntingly beautiful as he doesn't even realize he'd just stopped walking for no reason, one of his friends bumping into him the only cause of distraction for him. And for a second, he looks away, only a small but of time - and suddenly you're no longer there, disappearing as quickly as you've appeared in the first place. "Who was that?" He asks no one in particular, Yoongi shrugging as he tries to find what his friend seems to be looking for.

"Who was who?" He asks, before everyone walks away with him to greet Taehyung and his partner who'd just arrived.

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

He spots you again as you tie your hair up, elastic in between your lips where you hold it while your hands collect all your hair. It's a normal thing he's seen a lot of people do- himself included, considering the length of his hair these days- and yet when you do it, it looks like Aphrodite captured in marble, details enchanting and intricate.

He almost feels like he shouldn't watch.

And yet he does, even continues to look your way with his hand around his glass of water, small leftovers of his meal completely uninteresting compared to the sight of you walking closer to the older women to help with washing clothes and other things in the riverbed. He can spot Jimin and other male dragons between them as well, and he wonders if you enjoy those tasks.

During this time of the year, everyone is pulled back to the old ways of living. From using almost no electricity to trading things instead of buying it with money, things work simply differently during these next few days, and he personally enjoys this more simpler way of living to the fullest. There's no space for boredom or anything like that- always something to do for him, never an empty second.

Even now, as he watches you.

For a while, you seem to not notice him until one of the women taps your shoulder, talking to you for a few words before you turn your head to meet his eyes. Surprise is written over your features, especially when he boldly pats the spot next to him at the table, silently inviting you to sit with him, maybe even share a meal.

You wonder a little. Does he know that offering a meal is one part of courting a fellow dragon?

He probably does, considering his appearance. He does look like you'd expect a modern dragon to carry himself; from the wyvern tooth necklace around his neck, the colored tattoos under his skin, even the challenging fire behind his eyes. He surely knows his heritage, which makes it even more odd to you.

Though you wouldn't ever pass the chance of getting to know someone like him.

He's well known in the community of female dragons- mostly for his lack of interest in anybody when it comes to actually finding a mate. For a long time, there's been a rumor going around that he wasn't simply interested in females in general- but that was quickly debunked after it got known that he does, in fact, seek out pleasure without any long-term relationship in mind. It makes you wary of his intentions right now though-

Because that's not what you're seeking here, or at all.

You sit down across from him at the table, having dried your hands before joining him, his eyes friendly as they watch you, someone already next to you asking what you'd like to eat. As soon as that person leaves, it's Jungkook's turn to talk to you. "I've never seen you around here before." He tells you, arms now on the table as he's got them crossed in front of him. "I'm Jungkook."

"I know." You nod. "Both of those things." You shrug, looking around for a moment before you spare him another look. "I'm not interested."

"I haven't even proposed anything." He counters, head tilted a bit as he's internally confused as to what you might've heard about him that could make you so wary of his intentions. In his world, he's not done anything questionable, ever- he doesn't fuck around, never broke somebody's heart, is always pretty clear and honest with whomever he crosses paths.

"But I know what guys like you want." You simply say, thanking the young dragon who puts your plate down in front of you. "And I'm not offering that." You tell him without looking, simply starting to eat instead.

"What do I want then?" He asks, moving one of his arms so his chin can rest on his palm. "You got me curious."

"Sex." You bluntly tell him, reaching for the large water pitcher standing somewhat closer to Jungkook than to you- something he instantly notices, lifting it for you instead to fill your cup. "Thanks." You offer quietly, and he nods at that, putting it back down.

"Interesting." He just shrugs after he sits back down in front of you. "That's not what I want though. I mean- you're attractive, don't get me wrong- but I'd like to get to know you first, if anything." He proposes, and you narrow your eyes at him.

"That sounds like you're aiming for my heart." You accuse, pointing your steak-knife at him. "And that's even worse." You say, making him laugh.

"No, I promise. I really just.. think you're really pretty, and from what I can tell, you're also exactly my type- but if you want me to leave you alone, I can totally do that too." He offers politely, and you chew on your food in thought before you rest your cheek on your palm, poking at some vegetables.

"How am I your type?" You ask him, curious to know what makes you stand out to him. It must be something at least- because if he's never wanted a relationship with anybody before why pursue someone as boring as you for that role of all things? You know you're a good friend, but a girlfriend? No, you're lame, and you've come to accept that after all those failed relationships.

Your question makes him light up visually, as he sits up straighter with a bit of a smile on his lips. "It's hard to explain. You're cute, but I like people who have their own mind." He shrugs, explaining his view on you while you don't look at him. "Visually, you check all my boxes. If your character does the same thing, I guess we just have to find out." He tells you, and you look at him now.

"What if you don't check any of my boxes?" You ask him, looking for how he's going to react. "You're too tall for me, for example. And your muscles scare me a little." You jab at him, cutting your food as if you're talking about the weather. "You seem like someone obsessed with working out. I'm not. In fact, I don't ever really work out. I don't really look at what I eat in general, to be honest."

"That's fine by me." He simply answers when you stop talking. "I don't really watch it that much either- only if I have a shooting or something alike." He explains, making you nod quietly. "But if I don't check any of your boxes, like you say, why come over and sit with me then?" He teases, leaning in over the table a little bit.

You shrug. "Your tattoos." You simply tell him. "They're pretty good. Who made these?" You ask, and he looks at them for a second, before he moves his gaze back to you.

"Min Yoongi back in Seoul did most of them. He specializes in dragon tattoos." He explains, and you nod at that.

"I thought I remembered the artstyle." You say. "He's always been very neat with his work." You mumble more or less, before you sigh, putting your cutlery onto your empty plate, pulling your glass of water closer. "Alright- do you want my number now, or.?" You ask, suspecting that he would maybe ask you on a date or something after the whole festival is over. But he genuinely surprises you, when his eyes narrow in a challenging manner, the dragon peeking through in a way as he leans forward over the table, standing up.

You're wary- and he assumes it might be because you've never truly experienced anything good when it comes to finding partners. He can relate to this; and he can also gain power from that simple fact, simply because now more than ever, he wants to prove himself to you. He wants to show you that he truly is different from what you might believe.

"I'll just win you over, easy." He tells you, promises almost, as he pulls the wyvern tooth from around his neck, and leaves it close to your hand- an offering of sorts, a first step at trying to impress you, even if small. "The traditional way." He finishes up, leaving you alone at the table, simply watching as he walks away and merges with the crowd.

Maybe you've underestimated him.

Maybe he's not who you think he is.

Maybe you've finally found your match.

[jungkooksmytype]

The rollercoaster of emotions I went through reading this???? Truly one of the best fantasy/horror fics I’ve ever read. I’m truly, truly at a loss for words. You’re an incredible author and I’m honored to have stumbled upon this fascinating piece of writing that I couldn’t stay away from for even a second. A MUST MUST read for sure! 💜

Bedeviled - Masterlist

Pairing: demon!jungkook x female reader

Genre: E2L, drama, romance, horror, angst

Age recommendation: 16+ (pls be aware of your boundaries and don’t force yourself to read something that may affect you, ily)

Official Word Count: 165k

Date first posted: October 14, 2022

Date finished: December 13, 2023

Warnings: strong language, brief mentions of liquor, physical violence, gore, cruelty, humiliation, angst, physical injuries, panic attacks, frightening depictions of Hell and those in it, some suggestive content, deals with/summoning of demons (do not), grief, death, loss, strong religious themes

________________

Money. Fame. Power. Love. Health. Courage. Strength.

Humans will trade their souls for anything, unaware of how their selfish desires will fade away as they do; growing feeble and pathetic, until there’s nothing left but the ghost of their youth, cowering in a corner until old age disposes of it. 

Convincing yourself to go to the Underworld? Easy…

Walking through to get something that you’ve waited many years for, accompanied by a demon that will stop at nothing to make sure your soul belongs to him? Maybe not so much.

Making deals with the devil is a tricky business; one you might not have realized could end in something much more painful than death itself if you make a single mistake.

Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. It is not religiously accurate and is not claiming to be. That being said, blasphemy will not be used/tolerated during this story. Heavy inspiration from Dante Alighieri’s ’Inferno’ was used, I am not claiming to have created those ideas on my own, simply incorporated some of them into my world building. If you do not feel comfortable reading this work, please don’t. No need to try and correct me on anything, this is all fictional and for entertainment purposes only. Hate will not be tolerated; it will be removed, and you will be blocked immediately.

All Rights Reserved ©️ @writemywaytoyourheart 2022 2023

Keep reading

[jungkooksmytype]

[382/547] — until we meet again, jungkook ♡

[jungkooksmytype]

Golden Cufflinks | JJK

▻ Golden Cufflinks ↳ Alpha!Jungkook x Omega!f.Reader ⤜ Best Friend's Fiance, Strangers to True Mates ⤜ A/B/O AU | angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 11,742 ⤜ Summary: You’ve never given much thought to finding your true mate, firmly believing it’s something that will happen when it happens. But, when you do find him—thanks to a pair of golden cufflinks—it very well could ruin everything. They say not all’s fair in love and war; you just hadn’t expected your best friend’s wedding to be the battleground. ⚠️ Crass language, talk of designation hierarchy, mild talk of misogynistic practices of the past, confessions of cheating(not by main pairing), anger/arguments, kissing, dick sucking, mild cum intrigue, maybe mild breeding kink if you squint, unprotected v. sex, knotting, lots of slick and cum

Written for @hisunshiine as part of the 2nd Quarter 2023 @bangtanwritershq Awards Season! A/N: Congratualtions, Vanessa. You deserve all the kudos for a job well done during the 2nd Quarter 2023, I hope you enjoy the story!

A special thank you to @downbad4yoongi, @lo1k-diamonds, @moonleeai for the amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

Nerves flutter in your belly as you gather your belongings from the plastic bin at the end of the rolling conveyor belt on the other side of security. As you walk away, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you have to juggle your purse and jacket to retrieve it.

You feel bad for making Hayun, your best friend for as long as you can remember, wait for a response, but you desperately just want to find your gate and have a seat first. Once you find it and settle in at a chair by the big windows looking out on the tarmac, you thumb to her contact.

“If I didn’t love you so much, I’d probably hate you right now for making me wait so long for a response,” Hayun sasses before her voice softens, “Hello, I love you.”

“Love you, too, girl,” you say, unable to help the smile that tilts your lips up. “Sorry, I’ve been MIA for the last few hours. Things have been hectic. I misplaced my passport this morning, but I finally found it under the bed and then missed the hotel shuttle. I had to call a rideshare, but of course, it took them forever to get through airport traffic, and ugh…” you trail off with a sigh. “I’m sitting down for the first time since I woke up this morning.”

Which was approximately four hours ago at this point. Your flight is set to take off less than an hour from now, so you imagine boarding might start soon. You’re not exaggerating when you say it’s been hectic. It was bad enough waking up at 3 AM, but you’re a chronic planner and stickler for time, so missing your flight was the absolute last thing you wanted to happen.

“Oh, babe, that sucks. I’m glad it’s all worked out, though. I really can’t wait to see you!”

The conversation passes quickly, easing your heart and mind as you catch up on the last twenty-four hours. You haven’t seen Hayun in a handful of years. Her career took her to the other side of the world, and yours kept you where you both grew up. The last time you saw her was through a haze of tears at this very airport when she boarded a plane destined for Seoul, South Korea, where she was adopted from at just two years old.

Visiting each other was always something you both talked about. But, as with most things, life just happens, and eventually, you find yourself making that visit you always talked about for reasons you never considered before—like your best friend tying the knot with a guy you’ve never met.

Sure, you’ve seen pictures of him and have heard him talk in the background of most of the phone calls you’ve exchanged with Hayun over the last few years. But, it was never on your friendship bingo card that the next time you’d find yourself seeing your best friend, it would be her at her wedding.

“I gotta go. They’re about to start boarding.”

“I’ll see you when you land. Can’t wait!”

Hayun disconnects the call, and you gather your belongings to prepare to line up in the boarding queue. It will be a long flight, but seeing Hayun again after so long apart will be worth it.

You fiddle with the bracelet on your left wrist, twisting and pinching at the silver moon charm dangling from the thin chain. Hayun has a matching one. They were presents from your parents on the day you were both recognized with your designations; she was thirteen, and you were fifteen.

The dynamics of Alphas and Omegas have long since changed from what it once was. Legend has it that once upon a time, an Alpha and an Omega were closer to their wolf-kin than how the world is now. Thanks to evolution and science, the only things remaining from that time are the more basic bodily functions—scents, knots, and slick, to sum it up.

The crescent charm on your wrist symbolizes your designation—Omega. But being an Omega doesn’t hold much meaning for you. You don’t feel all that special, and it’s not like you’re rare or any more or less capable than the next person. As it stands, you can see at least a dozen other moons jangling from bracelets, waiting to board the same plane you are.

There are also necklaces, tattoos, and other ways to display a designation scattered around the waiting area. The how of it is mostly regional, sometimes generational. The Beta standing behind you in the queue has a teardrop earring dangling from their left ear, and if it weren’t for the pheromone blockers you took this morning, you might be able to smell their unique scent.

You also have your own smell, a scent that is just you. You’ve been told it’s a sweet, citrusy bouquet like lemonade on a hot summer afternoon. However, also thanks to the blockers, it remains suppressed to the point someone would have to make you bleed or press their nose so firmly against your throat it hurts to smell it.

There really is only one thing that a lot of people are envious of when it comes to an Omega’s designation, and that is that they supposedly have an Alpha true mate out there somewhere that will call to their baser nature. It’s such a rare phenomenon these days that it might as well be part of the legends of old, too.

The bottom line is that no one cares about subgenders anymore; it doesn't matter whether your charm is the Omega crescent, the teardrop of a Beta, or the triskelion denoting an Alpha. In fact, you’re pretty sure you could ask the Beta for their earring and offer them your charm bracelet and no one would bat an eye over it.

Though you’d never do that, considering the chain around your wrist isn’t technically yours. The night after you presented as Omega, when you snuck away with Hayun to lay on a blanket under the stars and moon that was so like the charm hanging from your twin bracelets, you giggled as you exchanged them. Her tiny fingers trembled against your wrist as she secured her silver chain around it. You did the same with your own around hers a second later.

It was that night that you both swore always to be friends. No matter what happened in life or where either of you ended up, you would always remain true to one another. So far, your friendship has been unfailing, a constant thread of comfort and light for you both. No matter how long it’s been, the charm still smells faintly of your best friend—a perk of the charms themselves, holding a token essence of their owners. Hers holds a soft lilac and jasmine scent that you’ve always thought complimented your own citrus notes.

The flight attendant scanning boarding passes beckoning you forward breaks you out of your internal reflections. With a full heart and giddy anticipation curling in your belly, you find your seat and settle in.

It’s a long flight, longer than most flights you’ve taken. But when you finally walk off the plane, make it through customs and immigration, and finally empty into the arrivals terminal of the Incheon Airport, you feel immediate relief, and the hours spent in the air don’t seem so bad.

“Hey, over here!” a familiar voice calls out, catching your attention.

You spin on your heel, confusion setting in for just a moment before it’s replaced by another wave of relief and a little of something warmer. Taehyung, Hayun’s adopted brother, swamps you in a giant bear hug that quite literally sweeps you off of your feet.

“Wow, hey. This is a surprise. What are you doing here? Where’s Hayun?”

Taehyung scrunches up his face, letting out a small scoff. “It’s a good surprise, I hope. Something came up, and she had to meet with the wedding planner and caterer at the last minute. She called me and asked if I could pick you up.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah,” you confirm with a smile. “Good surprise.”

It’s no secret that you’ve always been fond of Taehyung. As a baby, you were toddling around with him long before his family adopted Hayun. She ended up being the sister you never knew you needed, even if you were a few years older.

When she moved to Seoul for work, Taehyung ended up being the physical representation that took her place. He flew out a week before you to help her with planning and will stay for a few weeks after you’ve already headed back home. They may have had their differences over the years, but their sibling bond is stronger than petty arguments and rivalries.

“Ready to get on the road? It’s a long drive.”

Hours later, with the rolling countryside and farms dotting the horizon, you discover the fiasco inside your backpack. The bottle of pheromone blockers you packed this morning somehow got shuffled to the bottom of your bag and popped open. The once-powder-filled capsules litter the bottom of your bag, broken open. Pale blue powder coats your things, the mild flower smell of the medicine lingering in the air.

“Fucking hell,” you groan. “Any chance there’s a clinic somewhere between here and where we’re going?”

“Unfortunately, no.” He frowns, drumming his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, making the triskelion signet ring on his index finger glitter in the mid-day sun. “We’d probably have to turn around and head nearly three hours back to get anywhere near a clinic with blockers. I'm told most people don’t use them anymore these days here. Maybe another one of the wedding party might have some you could borrow if you really need them. But, honestly, I don’t see anyone minding if you don’t use them.”

“Most people here don’t use them anymore?”

“Well, yeah, with the progression of equality and things like that. They’re so great here, way more progressive than back home. It’s very common for Omegas to go off of blockers or never even begin them. Laws have been implemented to punish Alphas who can’t control themselves. The responsibility of remaining safe shouldn’t be solely set on the shoulders of the Omega population.”

Talk like that has only recently become popular back home. You’ve heard the speeches and followed the media and the sources, but you suppose after nearly half of your life taking blockers, it just comes naturally to continue to do so.

“Hm, yeah, okay. I guess it’s no big deal, really. As long as you’re sure people won’t mind?”

Taehyung sniffs the air, his nose twitching. “I think you smell great, but just in case not everyone does, if someone says something, then I’ll personally drive all the way back to the city and pick you up some,” Taehyung promises, giving you one of his swoon-worthy smiles.

The crush you once upon a time had on Taehyung threatens to spark anew at the sight of his charming, boxy grin—a grin you would have once done anything to pull from him. But now, it just fills you with warmth and a homey comfort.

You give him a smile of your own. “Deal.”

“Hayun!”

Her squeal of delight when she turns around and catches sight of you echoes through the open space of the dimly lit bar of the bed and breakfast where the wedding is taking place.

It’s a cozy space with rich dark wood accents and royal blue velvet upholstery. Brass gas lamps and light fixtures give the entire lounge an upscale and chic atmosphere that you know is right up Hayun’s alley.

The few hours you had between checking in at the bed and breakfast and meeting Hayun for her very small—just you and one other person—bachelorette party were spent familiarizing yourself with the grounds.

The ceremony will take place in one of the lavish gardens, and the reception will follow in one of the grand dining halls. For a bed and breakfast, it’s far fancier than any you’ve ever been to. It definitely does not have the mom-and-pop feel that you typically associate with the term ‘B&B’.

“You’re here!” she shrills, throwing her arms around your neck.

Her petite form fits just like it always has against yours. Thick black hair, shorter than the last time you saw it, curls around the rounded lines of her cheeks, and her brown eyes are bright and glisten with happy tears. With her bubbly personality and small, wispy frame, she's always reminded you of a fairy.

You sigh, taking a deep breath and savoring your best friend's soft, floral scent. Thanks to the bracelet tinkling around her wrist, it holds the smallest undercurrent of your sweet citrus. Clearly, she’s not taking blockers; the scents are heavy and delightful. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Hayun sucks in a deep breath that mirrors yours. “Wow, babe, you smell good! Finally gone off the blockers, huh?”

“Uh, kind of,” you chuckle, untangling yourself from her arms. “I brought some, but they broke open in my bag at some point.” You shrug. “Tae said it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”

“Oh, it’s not. Absolutely not,” Hayun agrees, grinning broadly. “I’ve been off them for years and haven’t had a single issue. Come on, let’s have a drink and catch up!”

You settle in at a table, and it’s not long before Eunseo, Hayun’s other guest, joins you. You’ve heard a lot about Eunseo. Much the same way Taehyung took the place of Hayun for you, Eunseo took your place for Hayun. You half expect to feel some sort of friendship jealousy upon meeting Eunseo for the first time, but it doesn’t come. If anything, you’re immediately fond of the young woman.

The evening carries on, Hayun and Eunseo regaling you with tales from working together and their various adventures around Seoul. Eunseo shows genuine interest in your life back home, seeming eager to hear stories of Hayun’s childhood. She shows a particular interest in Taehyung, asking you in no certain terms more than you think is appropriate to share.

“But you’ve seen it, right?” Eunseo asks. Her elbows rest on the table, and her chin is nestled on her clasped hands, her eyes wide and glassy from the countless glasses of wine she’s had. “I bet it’s huge. Am I right?”

“Ugh,” Hayun groans. “Can we not talk about my brother’s dick. Please.” She makes a gagging sound before slurping down the rest of her cocktail and flagging down a passing waiter for another.

You try to wave off the waiter, but he’s turned toward the bar before you can get his attention. If Hayun has much more to drink, you’re not sure she’ll be able to walk down the aisle tomorrow unassisted.

“I’m just curious. It’s a harmless question,” Eunseo pouts. “Ignore her. Tell me. I just have to know.”

You swirl the straw around in your glass of water before giving Eunseo what you hope is a conspiratorial look. “Well—”

“What?! Ew. Are you really about to answer her? Please, dear god, do not tell me you have seen my brother’s penis. If you’ve seen it—fuck, I might actually puke.”

As much as you probably shouldn’t, you laugh, which earns further protests and obscene noises from Hayun.

“Before you interrupted me, I was going to say that maybe Eunseo should ask him herself.”

Hayun howls a protest, sloshing her new cocktail onto the table as she gesticulates a crude hand gesture in your direction. “Do not. I repeat, do not do that, Eunseo!”

The conversation peters off, Hayun losing herself in another cocktail while Eunseo stares dreamily up at the ceiling.

“I think—hiccup—it's bedtime,” Eunseo slurs.

As if right on cue, a familiar face peeks through the entrance to the lounge. You wave Taehyung down, and he comes jogging across the space to your table. His shirt is rumpled with the top few buttons undone, but his eyes are clear, and you know he’ll be a perfect gentleman.

“Are you sure?” you ask him, pitching your voice low.

“I got this, don’t worry. We finished up a few hours ago anyway.”

Taehyung gives you a warm, private smile before turning to Eunseo. “Hey there, beautiful. Let’s get you on to bed, okay?”

“Where’s my savior?” Hayun asks, frowning after her brother escorting Eunseo from the lounge and back through the front lobby.

“Right here,” you tell her, sliding out of your chair and coming around to her side of the table. “Come on, let’s go.”

It takes you more than twice as long as it usually would to get to Hayun’s room. She leans against the wall in the hall as you dig through her pockets in search of her room key. Once you find it tucked between a few stray bills and her ID, you usher her into the room and deposit her onto the bed.

Her fiance has a room on the other side of the grounds, but after the ceremony, they will both be moving into one of the couple’s suites for the night before jet-setting off to Jeju Island for their week-long honeymoon.

“Am I doing the right thing?”

Hayun’s question catches you off guard. You throw a confused look at her over your shoulder as you rummage through her suitcase in search of something for her to sleep in.

“What?”

She sighs as she rolls over, letting her head hang off the edge of the bed so she can look at you upside down. “Marrying Jungkook. It’s a mistake…so why am I doing it?”

“Hayun…what are you talking about? Jungkook is perfect for you. You guys have been dating for five years, and you told me you’ve never been happier. Where’s the mistake in that?”

The sound Hayun makes is akin to something a wounded animal might make. She flops, flailing her arms and legs like a child throwing a fit.

“That’s the thing, though! I’m happy, but I don’t love him. Oh god,” she cries. “I don’t love him.”

“Hey, hey now.” You abandon the search for sleeping clothes and crawl across the floor until you’re kneeling beside the bed. Smoothing your hand across her forehead, you ask, “Where is all this coming from?”

“He thinks I’m his true mate,” she whispers. The tears leaking from her eyes slide up her face, wetting the edges of her eyebrows before sliding over her forehead and disappearing into her hair. “But I know he’s not mine.”

“Wh—wait, what?” You push up from the floor and move onto the bed, gathering your best friend’s head into your lap so she’s no longer hanging upside down off the side of the bed.

She hiccups a sob, lips trembling as she explains, “He says I’m his true mate, that he knows because of my scent. But he doesn’t smell special to me…how is that possible?”

“Hayun, I don’t—”

“I cheated on him,” she whimpers in confession, cutting off what were going to be your soothing words of affirmation. They sour on your tongue, refusing to be released now.

Your stomach churns at her admittance. “You what?”

“You have every right to judge me. I’m a terrible person. But, when he told me I was his true mate…I panicked. I had to be sure I wasn’t broken, that me not finding his scent special wasn’t just something wrong with me.” Hayun blinks rapidly, trying to clear the tears as they begin to come in earnest. She clutches at the front of her shirt, hand fisting over her heart. “So, I slept with two Alphas that I work with to see if it was any different. I had to be sure. I had to know.”

“Hayun, I-I-I don’t…I’m not—”

“I’m such a fucking mess,” she sobs, curling in on you and pressing her face against your stomach. “I don’t deserve him. I only said yes to marrying him because I don’t want to be alone forever. I can’t be like you. I need someone.”

Her words sting, causing you to flinch involuntarily. You watch as she falls apart in your lap, ultimately giving in to her grief. It’s on the tip of your tongue to call her out on her childish behavior, to set the record straight about your own love life, and to leave her to her wallowing. But…the shaking of her shoulders and soft whines from her remind you so much of a younger and more fragile Hayun—the Hayun of your shared childhoods.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” No matter how you might feel about her actions and the hurtful words she’s spilled, you hate to see your best friend so distraught and broken. “Hey, look at me.”

You wait until her watery eyes peel away from your shirt and meet yours. “Tell me you hate me; it’s okay.”

“Hayun, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. You made…a mistake, that’s all. You were trying to figure things out. But…Hayun, you…you have to tell him.”

She frowns up at you, her expression sobering. “Tell him?”

“He’s about to marry you, Hayun. That’s a big freaking deal…you have to tell him tomorrow morning before anything else happens.”

The laugh that bubbles from her lips is anything but humorous. “I-I can’t do that! He’ll hate me. He’ll call the wedding off!” She shoves out of your lap and stares at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“If Jungkook truly loves you and says you’re his true mate, I don’t see that happening. But, he deserves to know. You have to know that. Either you tell him now, or he finds out years from now, and then it’ll be so much worse,” you try to reason with her.

“He doesn’t have to know!” she whisper-yells, her tears turning from sad to angry in an instant.

You shake your head, unable to believe what you’re hearing from her. “This isn’t right, Hayun. You can’t go into a marriage with someone with secrets like that!”

“It’s not like it’ll happen again. I’m not going to cheat on him while we’re married. Please,” she begs, her face once more softening into saddened anguish. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“He deserves to know, Hayun,” you whisper, remembering your own keen sting of betrayal from many years ago. There is a reason you don’t date much. “You say it won’t happen again?” you ask, trying to buy yourself some time to process everything Hayun just told you.

Her silence is deafening, and you think she’s about to not answer you the way you hope, but, finally, she murmurs, “No. Never. I swear it.”

“Okay. Okay, good. But, he still needs to know.”

Just because you’ve never actually met Jungkook, it doesn’t mean you don’t care for him. He’s the one who puts a smile on Hayun’s face when you can’t. He’s the reason she’s as happy as she is…or has been? Now, you’re not so sure. But, what you are certain about is that Hayun is far too drunk right now to know up from down and is just having a moment of raw vulnerability.

“Are you going to tell him?” she asks, voice a hoarse whisper.

You chew your bottom lip for a moment before slowly shaking your head. Thinking about it, even if you didn’t care for Jungkook, he still deserves to know on pure principle. “No. I won’t tell him.” She lets out a soft sigh of relief, which has you tacking on, “Because it’s not my place to tell him, it’s yours.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “Okay.” She doesn’t say anything more beyond that, falling into a listless stupor, all of her energy sapped from the quick argument and endless cocktails from the bar.

After you wrestle her out of her clothes and put on a long nightgown, she tucks easily into bed. You leave a glass of water on the bedside table for her, then exit the room and head to your own.

A pang of uncertainty refuses to quell in the pit of your stomach. You toss and turn most of the night, falling into a fitful sleep just before the sun begins to kiss the horizon. It’s going to be a long day…a battle of wills you never saw coming.

🥀🥀🥀

Jungkook

Today is the big day, and Jungkook couldn’t be happier. Nothing could possibly bring him down from the high he’s feeling. Not even the fact that he is unable to find the cufflinks that were passed down to him by his father.

“Did you check the pockets of all your pants?” Jimin, Jungkook’s best friend, asks from where he’s lounging in one of the chairs on the other side of Jungkook’s hotel room.

“Yes,” he mutters, dumping his entire suitcase onto the bed to rifle through it once again. “I remember putting them with the pile of Hayun’s—oh fuck.”

“That’s great,” Taehyung sighs. “So my sister probably has them.” He checks his watch. “We don’t really have time to go on a scavenger hunt through her room. Jimin and I are supposed to meet the photographer to get started on some of the bride and groomsmen shots.”

Jungkook purses his lips and rakes his hands through his hair as he thinks of a solution. “I’d go look myself, but what if I run into Hayun between here and there? She specifically requested that we not see each other until the ceremony.”

Taehyung hums lightly. “I think I have an idea. The other girls don’t meet for pictures until after we’re done. So…yeah…okay…done,” he murmurs, tapping away at his phone screen. “If they’re in Hayun’s things, they’ll be delivered to you soon.”

“Thanks, Taehyung, you’re a lifesaver.”

Minutes later, Jungkook finds himself alone, Taehyung and Jimin having gone to meet with the photographer. Somewhere out there, beyond the confines of his room, his fiancee is probably smiling and laughing as she poses in front of the camera. If only Jungkook could see through walls. He’d give anything for even just a little glimpse of his bride-to-be.

When Jungkook first met Hayun almost six years ago, he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to track her scent. The meeting he was heading for was instantly forgotten, replaced by a visceral need to discover the source of that titillating aroma that had his hindbrain firing on all cylinders.

Never before had Jungkook experienced something so…primal. It was both alarming and utterly fascinating. Amongst the harsh scents of car exhaust and the warm notes of roasted coffee, Jungkook wove his way through the crowd on the sidewalk to the doors of a little cafe; Hayun was inside, ordering a matcha tea to-go, and the rest was history.

Jungkook sighs, forcing himself to stop daydreaming and fiddling with his shirt's empty cuffs and focus on putting together the rest of his suit.

The scent hits Jungkook a moment before the sound of a soft knock reaches his ears. He’s standing in the ensuite bathroom, mid-skin care routine. Wiping his wet fingers off onto a towel, he draws in a deep breath to confirm the aroma wafting to him from beyond the door of his room.

A roguish smirk quirks up one side of his mouth as he exits the bathroom and moves across the room. Unable to help himself, he opens the door. “Hayun,” he chuckles, fingers wrapping around the doorknob, “I thought we agreed that you…you are not Hayun.” The words tumble from his suddenly numb lips, rasping past his too-dry tongue.

“Umm, no. Not Hayun, sorry. You’re Jungkook?”

The woman standing before him is clearly not his fiancee. The woman’s purple gown is familiar, Jungkook knowing it’s what Hayun chose for her attending party. You’re a friend of Hayun, clearly, yet you smell exactly like Hayun…if Hayun smelled like Hayun times a thousand. The fragrance slams into his olfactory system, and the edges of his vision grow blurry a moment before he shakes his head and steadies himself with a hand on the doorjamb.

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice raspy with his suddenly dry throat. Revelations pounding him right between the eyes, washing through his body and keying right into his most basic of instincts.

Jungkook watches as your nostrils flare, and he knows it’s in that moment that you register his cedar and lavadin scent; the scent that marks him for what—who—he is.

“Jungkook,” you repeat his name, and he wants to howl with delight at how it sounds coming from your lips. “No. You can’t…it’s not—” your voice cuts off a second before you drop the small, black leather box you were holding and turn, disappearing in a flash of violet tulle and silk.

🥀🥀🥀

“Stop! Wait, please!” The shout of your name follows you down the hall, but you’re too focused on getting as far away from him and the feelings threatening to overwhelm you as you can.

“No, no, no,” you chant under your breath as you move as swiftly as the slippered feet will allow you to go without tripping yourself up.

It’s clearly not fast enough. It only takes a few frantic beats of your heart before a firm grip on your elbow draws you to a stumbling halt. The touch is electric, and your skin flushes with goosebumps at the heated contact.

“Don’t run,” Jungkook pants. “Please.”

You wretch your arm from his grip and whirl on him, a sharp remark ready on the tip of your tongue. Only, it dies there, never to be uttered, as your heart thumps violently in response to the look on his face—pure anguish.

Your voice is thread-thin as you finally manage to get words out, “This can’t be happening.”

Jungkook’s brow twitches, his lips tucked between his teeth. His emotions are stark on his face, and the conflict is raw and bare to you. Clearly, he’s warring the same as you, maybe even more so.

“Why do you smell like Hayun?” he asks, his voice soft in contrast to the raging storm you see in his eyes. “Why do you smell more like my true mate than she even does? Is this some wicked, cruel prank?”

You shake your head, intentionally drawing a breath through your mouth in hopes of saving your nose from another assault of his perfect scent. But, instead, his flavor laces over your tongue and slides down your throat to sit like a knot in your belly. You might as well have licked a stripe up his neck for all the good that did.

“I-I don’t know,” you choke out, trying to keep the pool of saliva under your tongue from dripping down your chin.

Jungkook steps closer to you, leading with his nose. He sniffs the air around you and something must not sit well with what he discovers because he rears back and bares his teeth. “Of course,” he mutters as his eyes drop to your left wrist.

Your eyes track his movement as he scoops up your wrist in a loose grip, and you realize it’s the bracelet there that has his attention. Everything clicks into place, and you feel like the faintest breeze could sweep you away with how lightheaded you’re feeling at this moment.

“We traded,” you whisper as if speaking low enough means the admission won’t utterly destroy the world as you know it.

“She’s not my true mate,” he states, voice as low as yours, fevered and quiet. “You are.”

Those words punch you in the chest, nearly taking you to your knees. If it weren’t for the hold Jungkook has on your wrist, you’re sure you’d be in a heap on the floor. As it is, he catches his other arm around your waist as you sway on the spot.

“Y-you shouldn’t.” Your protest is stilted, the words feeling robotic and unnatural as you gingerly press a hand against the arm that’s angled around your ribs. It was your intention to push his touch away, but the most you accomplish is flexing your fingers against the smooth cotton covering his thick bicep.

Somehow, you find yourself back in the room you had fled from just a few minutes ago. Jungkook settled you on the bed and is now pressing a chilled water bottle into your hands.

He kneels before you, headless of putting wrinkles in his black dress slacks. He’s wearing a thin white undershirt, his starched white button-up undone over it. The cuffs of the sleeves flop as he brings his hands into his lap and picks at the edges of his thumbnails.

Your eyes rove the room, catching on the black leather box still sitting on the floor by the door where you dropped it. Inside the box is nestled a pair of golden cufflinks—a pair you now understand have been passed down through the generations of Jeon men.

Absently, you press your thumb to your phone, unlocking it to reveal the text message that has irrevocably changed your life forever.

If you had known Taehyung’s text message requesting help would have led you to where you are right now, you’d probably have ignored it.

Yet, at the same time, if you had, you’d probably have had this revelation with Jungkook in the middle of the ceremony, and it would have caused all sorts of untoward chaos. No, it’s far better that it’s happening now instead of later. Maybe you can get ahead of this and fix it somehow. Though…

“Hey? You okay?” Jungkook interrupts your thoughts. “Fuck, that’s a stupid question. Sorry.”

“Huh? Oh. Umm…yeah. I don’t—what do we do now?” You turn your phone over, finger ghosting over the power button to lock the screen once more.

Jungkook sighs, and you can’t help watching the rise and fall of his shoulders, framing the swell of his defined chest with the action. He’s an exquisite specimen of masculinity, and even if it weren’t for the musky notes of his scent that mark him as your true mate, you’d find him devastatingly attractive.

“We need to tell Hayun. I c-can’t…I can’t marry her. Not when I’ve found—” he cuts off, wincing as his voice breaks. “I should go and find her. Now, before this can go any further. I’m sorry. I’ll, uh, I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Wait,” you call after him. He stops halfway to the door and glances back at you over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we tell her together?”

Jungkook chews the inside of his cheek a moment, his eyes flicking over your face as he thinks through your suggestion. Slowly, he nods. “Yeah, maybe that’s for the best.”

There is palpable tension between you and Jungkook as you follow behind him out of the main building. He texted Jimin, knowing he’d be the most reliable with his phone on him, asking where the photos were currently taking place.

It only took a few minutes for Jimin to respond that they were almost finished but were currently capturing some group shots on the walking path by the lake on the backside of the property.

You’re vaguely aware of where the lake is located, having given the map of the grounds that was posted on the backside of your room’s door a cursory look the day you arrived. It’s a relatively short distance, yet it feels like miles with the weight of pure dread sitting firmly on your shoulders.

At least it’s not a feeling you’re experiencing alone. Jungkook is right there with you, and you can clearly see the unease in the stiff way his body moves. The tips of his fingers twitch back in your direction every few steps like he’s fighting off the urge to slip them between your own.

The first person you catch sight of is Yoona, the photographer. She’s squatting in the grass, her large DSLR camera held up to her face, as she captures candid moments of Hayun, Taehyung, and Jimin repositioning themselves along the lake's edge.

Your heart squeezes hard at how beautiful Hayun is in her form-fitting silk ivory, off-the-shoulder wedding gown, the lacy bell sleeves fluttering around her hands. Her head is thrown back, the peel of her carefree laughter carrying to you and further crumbling your soul into a million pieces. You ache, not just for the desire to draw closer to your true mate, but for the inevitable aftermath of what is about to happen.

Taehyung is the first to notice you and Jungkook. The smile on his face slowly disappears, replaced by a concerned frown. Hayun catches his expression and follows his line of sight. Her gaze sears into you, and you feel like you might combust into a cloud of ash at any second with the irritation contained in her pretty brown eyes.

“What’s going on?” Hayun exclaims, throwing her hands up in a frustrated manner as she stalks towards you and Jungkook. “It’s not time for your photos yet,” she tells you before her eyes swing to Jungkook. “What happened to not seeing me before the wedding? That was your rule!”

“Hayun, we need to talk.”

“Talk about wh—” she cuts off, her question turning into a gasp. Your wide eyes flick to you. “You told him?”

“What? No!”

Your protest rings out at the same time that Jungkook says, “She’s my true mate.”

A breeze kicks up, sweeping from behind you and tossing errant strands of hair across Hayun’s forehead. You’d give anything for the power to pluck the wind from the air, shove it back…keep it from showering her with yours and Jungkook’s combined scents—a blatant confirmation echoing the words Jungkook just let loose.

Hayun stiffens. Her jaw goes rigid, and her face pales as her nostrils flare. It’s a moment that will be forever written across the band of your friendship. Betrayal flashes through her eyes before morphing into something akin to somber resignation.

“Hayun,” Jungkook begins. “I don’t—we didn’t…I’m sorry. What do we do?” He spreads his hands out in front of himself in a helpless manner.

By this time, Jimin and Taehyung have come up from behind Hayun, faces wary as they take in the scene with growing clarity. You look to Taehyung, hoping he can see the silent plea in your eyes.

“Explain,” Hayun says simply. Despite how collected she seems, you can see the subtle tremble in her hands and the way the muscles in her neck continue to flex and strain as she clenches and grinds her teeth.

Jungkook launches into recounting the events that brought you to his room and broke the proverbial dam. “We—we had no idea. I swear this is the first time we’ve ever met, and gods, the bracelets…” Jungkook trails off, a pained sound rumbling from his chest.

“Is this a joke?” Taehyung asks accusingly, and it’s like a barb to your heart.

“We wouldn’t do that.” Your croaked statement draws Hayun’s attention.

Hayun sniffles, her chin jerking a little higher into the air. “My nose tells me one thing, but my heart tells me another. Did you know about this last night? Is that why you pushed so hard for me to tell him?” The last part is whispered, meant only for you, which hurts even more.

“Hayun, no! You know that’s impossible. I couldn’t have known.”

“Tell me what?” Jungkook asks, having heard despite her whisper, his eyes swiveling between you and Hayun.

You shake your head at him, not wanting to throw further fuel on the fire. “Hayun, please, believe me.”

A pregnant moment full of thick tension passes before it fizzles, and Hayun shakes her head, not in a dismissive fashion but in gentle acceptance. “I believe you,” she tells you. “I guess…I guess there won’t be a wedding in four hours unless you two want…” She trails off, a bittersweet smile tugging at her cherry red painted lips.

Jungkook blanches, wide eyes landing on you. “What? Us? No. I mean, sorry…but—”

Hayun holds up her hand, quelling Jungkook’s flustered response. “I was teasing, Koo, trying to lighten the mood. Um,” she pauses, absently twisting the diamond engagement ring around her finger before slowly slipping it off and closing a fist around it. “Can we talk, though? There’s something I needed to tell you today anyway.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says wearily.

“Tae, do you mind…?” Hayun asks, not even having to fill in the blanks. Her brother instantly steps into his role as protector and savior.

“Don’t worry about anything. I’ll make some phone calls,” Taehyung assures her before grabbing Jimin’s arm and starting back down the walking path.

“I’ll just—” you thumb over your shoulder in the direction Tae and Jimin just disappeared in “—be in my room.”

“Wait,” Hayun calls, pulling your retreat up short. “Come here.” She opens her arms, her hands opening and closing in grabby motions. “Please.”

A sob cracks from your throat as you throw yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her neck. “I’m so sorry, Hayun. I’m so sorry.”

“Hush. None of that. This isn’t anything we could have predicted or stopped from happening. If anything, maybe this is life’s way of getting back at me for what I did to him,” she whispers in your ear. “This is how it’s meant to be.”

Hayun smoothes a hand over your back and releases you. She steps back, using the back of a finger to lift the tears from your cheeks, and gives you a watery smile.

You’re not sure you can speak without completely losing yourself, so you just give her a tight nod and continue back on your way down the path. A part of you wants to hear what she has to say to Jungkook, to be there to soothe any hurts or aches…which is a startling realization that you’d not just tend to Hayun but to Jungkook, too. That internal, visceral part of you yearns to turn on your heel and…protect what’s yours.

It’s an odd revelation to think of Jungkook as yours. Well, yours unless either of you reject the bond. Though, that thought makes your stomach pitch and roil. You have to trail a hand along the wall in the hall leading to your room to keep yourself from curling over your abdomen at just the idea.

Once back in your room, you’re unsure what to do with yourself, so you absently start to gather your belongings and pack them up. Every few minutes, you find yourself pausing to stare at the door, ears pricking at the slightest sound from beyond it.

You’re not sure what you’re expecting. Whether it’s Hayun coming to your room so the two of you can cry together or Jungkook coming to claim y—uh, you shove that thought aside quickly because now is not the time. At. All.

The time for the wedding comes and passes without a single knock on your door nor a text or call on your phone. You’re tempted to go looking. For what, you’re not entirely sure—an answer, maybe, some sort of direction on what you should do now.

Finally, after hours of sitting in silence with just your thoughts for company, a soft knock sounds at your door. The long hem of your dress nearly trips you up in your haste to make it to the door. It swings open, and for some reason, your stomach drops, the flutter of disappointment heavy and unexpected.

“Hey, beautiful,” Taehyung says, his voice soft and full of emotion. “Mind if I come in?” 

His necktie is loose, and the top button of his dress shirt is undone. There is a tension in his eyes that wasn’t there earlier. It makes your chest ache.

“Sure,” you say, stepping back and letting him into your room.

Taehyung sighs, perches on the end of your bed, and props his elbows on his knees. His chin rests on an upturned fist, his other hand dangling between his legs, clutching his phone.

He opens his mouth, a single word the only thing coming out, “So.”

“So,” you parrot.

“Hayun wants me to take her home…alone. I’m not sure what all she and Jungkook talked about, but I think they’re at least amicable in agreeing that it would be best if he gave her a few days at home alone before they start the process of separating their lives.” You’re not sure if the bitter tinge in your chest is hurt because Hayun isn’t the one telling you this or because now you have to find your own way to the airport. As if reading your thoughts, Taehyung continues, “I can be back in two days, maybe sooner, depending on traffic. Perhaps they’ll let you extend your stay. If not, I can talk to Jimin—”

“No, Tae, it’s okay. I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about me. Just take care of Hayun, make sure she’s okay...as okay as she can be, at least. Fuck.” The last word comes out choked, and you gnash your teeth on the inside of your cheek to keep from letting the angry tears out. You have no right to be angry. Hell, you’re not even sure why you’re angry. It just seems like the easiest emotion to feel right now, the only one that doesn’t leave you feeling like your world is slowly imploding.

“Hey,” Taehyung says, bringing one of his big hands up to cup the side of your face. His thumb prods at the swell of your cheek, causing you to release the tension in your jaw. “Hayun isn’t the only one I’m worried about here.”

“I’m fine—I will be fine,” you amend. “I promise. I think I’m just feeling overwhelmed. I’m mad at myself for ruining Hayun’s big day. I can’t believe this is happening at all. This…this just doesn’t happen. This is the kind of shit you read about in books, it’s not supposed to be real life.”

And there it is, you surmise—the truth of the matter. None of what’s happened makes sense. It honestly belongs on the pages of a book or in a movie script, not in your real life. It still feels surreal. If it weren’t for the subtle, lingering ache you instinctively know is associated with finding your true mate but not allowing yourself to fully accept it, you’d think this was all some elaborate party trick or impractical joke.

Taehyung smiles at you, but the unease in his eyes can’t be masked that easily. “I’m not sure what to say or what to do. You’re right. This isn’t a situation I think anyone was prepared for or ever thought possible, actually. But, here we are…and we have to face it the best way we can.” He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. “I'll tell you what: I’ll text Jimin—he’s a good guy, I think you’ll enjoy his company—and ask him to meet you in the lounge. Have a few drinks, wind down, and try to relax as best you can.”

“Sure,” you say lamely, trying to muster up at least a little bit of enthusiasm.

“That’s my girl.” Taehyung offers you another smile, this one not so tense. “Here, I have something for you.” He fishes into his pant pocket and produces a familiar thin silver chain, a tiny crescent moon dangling near one end.

The sight has your spine straightening. “Right, of course.” You quickly thumb open the clasp on the bracelet around your wrist, letting it fall from your skin for the first time since you put it on when Hayun gave it to you all those years ago. It never felt right to take it off…not until now.

Taehyung helps you swap the bracelet with the one in his hand. The metal feels cold against your skin and you immediately miss the subtle fragrance of Hayun’s scent clinging to your wrist. Though, you suppose that’s what has gotten you both into this mess to begin with. Taehyung explains in soft words how Jungkook explained to Hayun about the scent mix-up with the bracelets—such a silly, seemingly insignificant thing…the catalyst to spark such a colossal moment.

“I’m going to get on the road with Hayun, but I’ll call you as soon as we get to her place and check in on you, okay?”

Sitting at the bar with Jungkook’s best friend seemed like a good idea when Taehyung first presented it to you. But, at the time, you weren’t connecting the dots that Jimin was Jungkook’s best friend. He was just Jimin, the guy that just so happened also to be part of the wedding party that you had met in passing briefly, but he seemed like a good enough person. Now, however, you feel all the awkward tension radiating right between your shoulder blades, emphasized by the silence lingering between the two of you.

You traded in your lilac dress for jeans and a light silk blouse, canvas slip-ons in place of your slippers, yet no matter how comfortable you know your clothing is, you can’t shake the prickling discomfort eating away at the back of your neck.

“Want another?” Jimin asks, nodding to your mostly watered-down rum and coke. It’s barely late afternoon, and as much as Taehyung’s suggestion of a drink sounded like just what you needed, you’ve found yourself not in the mood to drink after all.

“Um, nah. I’m okay, thanks.”

“Cool. Okay. I’ll be right back.” Jimin drums his fingers on the tabletop and pops his lips before giving you a slight head nod and pushing up from his chair.

You watch as he saunters to the long bar, his crescent moon tattoo on the nape of his neck peeking out from the top of his collar, and props his elbows onto the shiny top. His smile is flirty and casual as the bartender, a beautiful woman with long, inky tresses and fiery red lipstick, sidles up in front of him.

They’re too far away for you to hear their conversation, but her tinkling laughter carries across the space, and you know it might be a while before Jimin returns to your table.

Which you’re okay with. Considering you know you’re not exactly pleasant company right now, you don’t blame him one bit. You glance down at your phone, once again reading the last text message Hayun sent you not too long ago.

Eunseo stopped by the lounge around the same time Jimin showed up. If her smile and lingering hug were any indicator, she clearly had a thing for him. She gave you a small wave goodbye before giving Jimin another hug and heading out. Apparently, she was going to follow Taehyung and Hayun back to Hayun and Jungkook’s place to help Hayun with whatever she needed over the next few days.

Does it hurt that your best friend is relying on someone else, her new best friend? Yes. Do you also understand why? Also, yes, but that doesn’t make the sting hurt any less.

You’re just about to give up and retreat back to your room, which the front desk still hasn’t given you a definitive answer about whether or not your stay can be extended while you wait for Tae, when a shadow falls across your table a second before.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Jungkook asks in a low voice.

He fidgets, threading and unthreading his fingers together while he waits for your answer. The suit he had half on earlier is gone, and in its place is a dark pair of jeans, the knees worn fashionably, and an oversized white graphic t-shirt. Black sneakers peek out from the rounded bottoms of his pant legs.

You clear your throat, forcing your eyes away from his and instead on the glass sitting in a puddle of condensation on the table before you. “Oh, I—uh, I was actually about to go. You’re welcome to the table, though. Jimin was—” You cut off, realizing Jimin is no longer in the lounge at all. “Well, he was here,” you add with a frown.

Jungkook scratches a hand across the back of his neck and gives you a hesitant smile. “Yeah, he texted me. He went…well, that doesn’t matter. Could we, um…can we talk?”

“Yes.” The response is out of your mouth before he even finishes asking. “Please, I think I’d like that,” you say, nodding toward the open seat across from you.

A shaky breath rattles from Jungkook as he eases into the empty seat. “Have you talked to Hayun at all?” he asks after a moment’s hesitation.

“A text message, but that’s all. I’m not sure she wants to talk to me right now.” Needing something to do with your hands, you trace a finger along the edge of the water pooled around the bottom of your glass and use your other to poke more drops on the side of your cup, making them race down to join the growing puddle.

Jungkook nods, his lips pursing thoughtfully. “She told me what happened last night. Her confession.” That draws your attention back to him, and you wait, fingers still on the glass, intent on hearing what he says next. “I thought I’d be angrier finding out the woman I’ve been with for years—the woman I was hours away from marrying—had cheated on me…but I’m not. For the life of me, I’m not mad at her…even though I know I should be.”

“How do you feel?”

Maybe it’s none of your business, but you have to ask.

Blowing out a breath, Jungkook slides one of his hands across the table and, giving you plenty of time to protest or pull away, slowly slides his fingers between yours, effectively joining his hand with yours. It’s the first time hand-holding has felt so intimate yet wholly innocent.

“Relieved, I think,” he finally says. “Grateful, maybe? Hayun was hurt. As she has every right to be, but she said she also felt relief, too. I think, as much as she said she loved me, she was still holding back even in the end.” With a rueful shake of his head, he tacks on, “We were just a disaster waiting to happen, held together only by the thin chain of a bracelet. We would have shattered eventually.”

Jungkook’s eyes drop to where your fingers are entwined with his, trailing up to your wrist to land on the object he just spoke of.

“I’m relieved, too,” you whisper. Your eyes meet his as he glances up, and you’re instantly captivated.

This is the first time you’ve allowed yourself to really study Jungkook. His hair is tousled like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. You suppose he probably had been and wonder if that’s one of his nervous ticks.

The bow of his lips is prominent and draws your eyes. Your gaze lingers on his lips, making small mental notes at everything you see, like the tiny beauty mark under his bottom lip. His straight nose leads you to his expressive eyes, so dark and full of secrets you want to be privy to.

To say Jungkook is handsome would be a gross understatement. You’re not sure if it’s the fact he’s your true mate or just simply a gorgeous being, but he is pleasing to the eyes, that’s for sure.

You mentally kick yourself for thinking such thoughts about your best friend’s almost-husband after everything that has just happened. It’s not in good taste to entertain these thoughts so soon, right? True mate or not.

Yet, you can’t shove those thoughts away completely.

“Where did you go just now?” Jungkook asks, tilting his head and studying you intently.

Not wanting to explain yourself and the thoughts you were just having, you choose to ask him a question instead. “So, what now?”

You’re thankful Jungkook doesn’t push you to answer. He shifts in his seat and withdraws his fingers from between yours.

“I think we start with…” he trails off, a playful smile tugging up the side of his mouth as he holds the hand he pulled back in the air in front of you in offering. “Hi, I’m Jungkook.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, you smile. A laugh escapes you, and you instantly feel a thousand times lighter with that simple action.

As you take his hand back into yours, allowing yourself to truly savor the feel of his skin against yours, you realize that no matter what happens with Hayun or the fact that you live thousands of miles apart from Jungkook…everything is going to be okay and maybe you wouldn’t have ignored Taehyung’s text after all.

🥀🥀🥀

Jungkook, 3 months later

The flight was long but worth it. Jungkook stretches as he climbs out of the Uber he took from the airport. You would have picked him up. In fact, you are supposed to pick him up…just, not until next week. He decided to surprise you by coming early. He hopes you don’t mind.

Time seemed to drag to a near stand-still following that fateful day at the bed and breakfast where he was so sure he’d be joining his life with Hayun’s officially. No one could have anticipated what actually went down that day. But, in the end, he and Hayun parted ways on pleasant terms, and it’s actually thanks to her that he’s here right now, a week early.

Jungkook was worried that with everything that happened, yours and Hayun’s friendship might suffer. But, surprisingly—and thankfully—you guys have been getting on great. Hayun has been looking at work prospects in Thailand but, from what you’ve told Jungkook, is planning to visit you and Taehyung for Christmas.

It’s been three months, and not a day has gone by that Jungkook hasn’t talked to you in some capacity. From the moment he offered to be your ride to the airport, and you agreed, he’s thought about nothing other than getting on a plane and following you. The draw to you is just that strong.

You’ve expressed similar feelings, already having planned a return trip to Seoul next month. Neither Jungkook nor you have really talked about what the future holds or how to even begin to navigate it. But Jungkook hopes that during the week he is here, you can both begin to figure that out.

Giddiness makes his tattooed fingers shake as he reaches out and grasps the brass knocker on your door. He gives it a rap against the thick wood and waits. Jungkook counts the breaths as his anticipation rises. It’s only three and a half exhales before he hears the soft pad of your feet on the other side of the door.

Jungkook can imagine you pressing up onto your tip toes in order to peer through the peephole. He’d pay money to be able to see the look on your face when you see it’s him. Not being able to see your face doesn’t take away from the dopamine rush he gets when the sound of your surprised squeal sounds through the door.

“Jungkook!” Your shout is followed by the frantic sound of you disengaging the locks on your door before you swing it open and launch yourself at him. “What the fuck are you doing here? Oh, my gods! Why didn’t you tell me? You’re here!”

It feels good to laugh, but it feels even better to have you in his arms finally. The brief embrace he shared with you at the airport when he dropped you off was not enough and is what drove him to try and come sooner than planned.

Jungkook savors the warmth of your soft body pressed against his, your arms tight around his neck. Running one of his hands up your spine, he clasps the back of your neck and uses his hold there to angle your head away from his neck so he can look you in the face.

“Surprise,” he whispers. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

You sigh dreamily, your eyes fluttering closed for a second like you’re savoring the feeling of being in his arms. “Pleasant surprise,” you murmur with a smile on your face.

Jungkook can’t help himself. He wants so badly to know if your smile tastes as good as he thinks it will. The press of his lips against yours causes you to melt against him, a throaty sound escaping around the intrusion of his tongue as he works it between your lips.

“Your taste,” he groans, forcing his mouth away from yours before the allure of you can drive him completely mad. Who is he kidding? He’s already there. “I need more.”

🥀🥀🥀

Those words do something to you.

I need more.

They echo the thoughts you’ve been harboring for the last three months. You’ve ached with those words, desperately willing yourself to be patient and let it happen when it’s meant to happen.

But, fuck, it feels so good to have him in your arms, to have his mouth brushing against yours. He tastes divine, a warm sweetness that compliments the musk of his scent that is slowly wrapping itself around you.

“Take me. Take it all,” you urge, completely baring yourself to him, body, mind, and soul. “I’m yours.”

It’s a frenzy, the frantic discarding of clothing. Your fingers work to free him of his jeans while also helping him with the criss-cross straps of your lounging romper. You don’t care that you’re still standing by your front door, bared down to your underwear. The only thing you’re focusing on now is how Jungkook holds you at arm's length and drinks you in from head to toe.

“You…are…everything.” The way he whispers those words crawls under your skin, rooting itself deep in your being. You feel sexy…desired, and unbelievably empty—your body clenches, the ache deep between your thighs. You’ve never been so turned on from just taking your clothes off before, from whispered words and a heated look.

Jungkook allows you to undress him as slow or as fast as you want. You try to take your time and savor every inch of skin you expose. But, you can barely contain yourself when you get to his jeans, shoving them unceremoniously down his thighs with your eyes locked on the many planes and angles of his toned chest and stomach.

Your fingers ghost over his skin, eliciting goosebumps in their wake as you explore the smooth and lush expanse of his shoulders and down his arms. Without needing to say anything more, he gathers you into his arms and covers your mouth with his once more.

It’s a miracle you make it to your bedroom. But, seeing Jungkook sprawled out on your bed is a sight you’ll never forget, with his lowered lids and bottom lip caught between his teeth. You want to taste every inch of him, from the tips of his ears down to the defined muscles of his calves.

Now, though, your gaze focuses on the front of his tented boxer briefs. The dark grey material has darkened even further, where you can see the distinct outline of the head of his cock. Saliva pools in your mouth.

You crawl on the bed, knees slotting between his, your hands on either side of his hips. With your eyes locked on his, you lean down and mouth gently at the wetness. You moan at the flavor of him, your tongue peeking out to seek more.

“Fuck,” you curse. “You taste so good.”

Jungkook lets out a quick breath. “You can’t say shit like that, baby girl. You’re going to make me lose it.” He flicks his eyes up to the ceiling, his lips moving like he’s sending up a silent prayer, before looking back down at you. “You have maybe three seconds before I can’t hold back any longer and tear that ass up.”

You chuckle softly, pouting out your lips in a faux sullen manner. “Yes, sir.”

That earns a growl from Jungkook that has heat racing down your spine as you hook your fingers into the band of his Calvin Klein’s and pull them down. He lifts his hips, helping you free him from their confines.

His cock stands so pretty before you, the full heft bobbing against his belly, smearing a pearl of precum against his golden skin. You dive in, licking at the sticky mess before taking the tip between your lips and lavishing your tongue over his slit.

Jungkook fists the sheets, a litany of curses falling from his lips. “Please,” he chokes.

You keep your eyes locked on his as you inch your way down his length, your jaw forcing itself wider to accommodate as much of him as you can. The blunt head of his cock presses against the back of your throat. You take a steadying breath in through your nose before forcing yourself a little further until your throat constricts around him and you have to pull back.

The second your mouth leaves his cock, saliva stringing from your lips to his tip, Jungkook grabs you and hauls you up over him. You laugh, loving the heat emanating from his body as yours covers his.

“What are you doing?” you gasp.

His strong hands land on your hips and tangle in the band of your panties. “I need these off. Please. I need you. I want to feel you…be inside you.”

You want that, too, you realize, your body already primed and begging for it. The sweet, fragrant notes of your arousal saturate the air, mixing with Jungkook’s to paint a picture of hedonism and wanton desires.

The rest of your clothes come off, your bra and panties are tossed to the side, leaving you utterly bare to him. Your inner thighs slide like velvet over his hips as you move your body against his until you can feel the press of the head of his cock against your entrance.

You wrap a hand around his base, angling him perfectly. It’s a slow descent into madness, the lowering of your body onto his. His eyes bore into yours, pouring out everything that has been building to this moment, this pinnacle that will forever throttle you onto a different path for your future—with him. You can feel every perfect inch slide along your walls as they adjust and welcome him. It’s like sliding home; he is the perfect fit for your body, filling you completely.

The pace you set, at first, is languid. An easy rise and fall of your hips as you both learn the body of the other. Jungkook’s hands mold around your breasts, his thumbs caressing over the pert points of your nipples.

“You feel so good,” you tell him, emphasizing your words with a generous roll of your hips. “So much better than I imagined.”

“You imagined it often?” he asks, a teasing tone to his words.

With the amount of teasing photos and videos you’ve shared with each other over the last few weeks, he knows you have. You can tell he’s just giving you a hard time. That’s fine, because you can…

Jungkook throws his head back as you arch yours, letting his cock hit that special place inside that has you both seeing stars. “Fuck!” His hands drop to your hips, landing with a satisfying smack. His grip tightens, dimpling the supple flesh around his fingers. “Can I knot you?” he asks with a breathless moan. You’ve never taken an alpha’s knot. The idea has your body pulsing around his, flooding slick onto his pelvis as you continue to roll your hips. “Fuck, baby girl, do you like that idea? You want to take my knot like a good girl?”

You can’t even form a coherent thought, much less answer him. The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a panting keen, your chin jerking up and down as you frantically nod your want.

Jungkook braces his feet against the mattress and uses his grip on your hips as leverage to thrust upward, sending you forward onto your hands. He’s relentless, pounding into you from below to the point your eyes roll back, and you have to squeeze them shut. Tiny pinpricks of light burst behind your lids as your body coils tighter than ever before.

You cry out as he sends you over the edge, your body careening into an unfathomable abyss of pleasure. The sounds coming from around his cock as it pounds into you are slick and obscene, debauched yet wholly satisfying. 

“Alpha, need your knot,” you mewl, your lips finding the triskelion tattoo over Jungkook’s left pec muscle. You nibble at it, your teeth sinking softly into the skin.

“Oh, baby, fuck…fuck…Fuuuckkk!” Jungkook shouts, the sound turning into a guttural snarl as his body goes primal.

He seats himself completely inside of you with one final, deliberate thrust, and then you can feel the swell of his knot capture within you. It hurts, your pleasure turning into a moment of pain and panic. You squirm, trying to lift your hips from his, but the clasp of his hands on your body won’t let you go far. You whine, “J-Jungkook.”

“I know, baby girl, I know. Relax. Let your body do what it needs to do.”

It’s like those words unlock some inner Omega part of your brain, and suddenly you feel your body rush with endorphins and dopamine as it accepts the thick jets of his cum now flooding in. Like administering a drug, it’s such a fast transition that you feel lightheaded and giddy, sheepish and almost silly over your moment of panic.

“Gods, that feels so…good.” You wiggle in his arms, gasping as his knot pulls tight. You want more, need more of that feeling…need more of his cum. “More, Alpha, please.”

Jungkook pants, a tired smile on his face. You can feel it when his cock pulses inside you, dribbling even more liquid heat into your body in answer to your plea. “That’s my pretty girl,” Jungkook coos, brushing a hand across your forehead. “You’re so beautiful taking my knot, full of my cum.” He curses softly, reverently, and another gush of heat fills your body. “I’m going to take such good care of you. I swear it.”

You fall into a half-sleep, content and sated as you are. There are no worries about the future, nor the past. You are happy…all thanks to a pair of golden cufflinks.

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️   2024-11-05 ColorMePurplex2

[jungkooksmytype]

[342/547] — until we meet again, jungkook ♡

[jungkooksmytype]

Absolute insaneeeee!!! A must read for sure!💜

Ember Burning (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Contributor: @baebae-goodnight​ for this MOODBOARD WOO!

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Fantasy / Dragon / Enemies to Lovers

Synopsis:  The dragon riders of Duret Ghal are known across the continent; fierce warriors who take to the skies on their leashed, winged beasts. You are the last Dragon Queen of Ashya, ruler of a dying species who can transform from human to Dragon at will. When a new foe emerges which threatens both Dragon and rider alike, you find yourself forced to broker peace with your former enemy. The King of Duret Ghal, and a dragon rider himself: Jeon Jungkook.

NSFW Warnings: oral (male and female), nipple play, fingering, multiple orgasms, big cock, dirty talk, hair pulling (her to him)…. tattooed, man-bun jungkook who has a big sword

Trigger Warnings: somewhat graphic depiction of a shoulder injury  

Word Count: 36,079

Keep reading

[jungkooksmytype]

PROPOSALS

▹ pairing: Jeongguk x reader ▹ words: 18,102 I’m so sorry  ▹ genre: smut, fluff, light angst, friends to lovers

You and Jeongguk propose at restaurants to get free food, but somewhere along the way you start to fall for him.

You never thought Jeongguk would actually take you up on the whole fake proposals thing. When you had suggested the idea to him, he’d just laughed and said “yeah”, then continued playing Fallout 4. You hadn’t actually meant it; the idea was one of those you vaguely imagine it happening, but not really, which is why when he brought it up weeks later suggesting you try it out, you thought he was kidding. 

He wasn’t, and this is how you end up in one of the city’s nicer restaurants on a fake date with your best friend. 

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[jungkooksmytype]

Such a heartwarming, lovely read. It didn’t feel like 40k at all and I was dreading reaching the end coz I loved it so much!!🥹

This Mortal Coil (M) | JJK

Author: jinfizz [masterlist]

Genre: heavy angst, smut, fluff, F2L

Pairing: Alpha!Jungkook x Unspecified Wolf!Reader, age difference

Rating: M, NSFW

Summary: Some might say that being in love with your best friend is the single worst thing that can happen to you. That’s the least of your problems, though, because you’re still waiting to find your fated mate, you’re not getting any younger, and Jungkook is painfully, tragically human. Little do you know, your laundry list of problems is about to get a little bit longer–because there’s more to Jungkook than meets the eye.

Warnings: HEAVY ANGST, pining, fake identity (this is NOT a yandere fic, JK has a good reason), swearing, age difference (OC is 26 and JK is 23), violence, blood/gore (JK fights off bad guys), did i mention pining, self doubt/loathing, sad shit, minor character death (before the events of the fic), they’re both literally so stupid, like i can’t emphasize what giant dimwidiots these two are, you’re gonna be facepalming at every turn, the hours of this café are weird and don’t make sense don’t think about it too hard, sexism/patriarchy themes, ingesting a single droplet of blood, loss of virginity, oral (f + m), unprotected sex, impreg kink, mentions of/intention for pregancy, rough sex, dirty talk, knotting, cum play, cockwarming, disguisting amounts of fluff as usual. this fic will break your heart and patch it back up again.

Word Count: 40k

(A/N): For the lovely @whitesparrows97 as part of the BTS Writers Club fic exchange! I hope you like it, angel. Writing this monstrosity was frankly awful at times, but thanks to some very special people, I am happy with the way it turned out. @hisunshiine @wayward-wayfinder @gyukult​ @reneejuliet​ and everyone whom I spoke with about this fic at some point or another– thank y'all for being my sexy azz hypewomen, motivating me to keep writing. Your support really helped put some much-needed fire in my heart (and under my ass). @jinpanman and @sahmfanficbts – I owe it all to your sexy brains and big hearts that this thing came together. Without such kick-ass betas and sweet friends, I would have just tossed this whole mess in the garbage and deactivated lmao. A thousand thanks for reading this thing and giving such thoughtful feedback.

Part I: The Renegade 

The cold air stings Jungkook’s eyes as he lunges through the underbrush. His paws land with minimal noise on old, dry leaves and pine needles, and he is pleased to find that he is not too out of practice for his wolf to have gotten clumsy.

He has taken great pains to arrive at this moment. A moment where he can shift, run freely without having to worry about being scented by a nearby pack, and let the wind rustle through his fur for one glorious night.

This moment is the fruit of weeks of preparation. Weeks in which he had painstakingly mapped the boundaries of pack territories from his recollections of Alpha Training in his youth, devised a plan to transport himself in human form to this remote forest area in the country’s northeast corner, and waited, waited, waited until the temperature would be cold enough to conceal his wolf’s scent. 

Because his scent suppressants are great, but they’re not perfect: they only work when he’s in human form.

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