kayusenreads

[kayusenreads]

Star-Crossed || Chapter x.

In a city divided by power, loyalty, and blood, love was never meant to be an option.

When Kim [Y/N], the daughter of an influential family, steps into the gala celebrating her induction to the family legacy, she’s only looking for a distraction from her rapidly increasing anxiety. Instead, she finds Jeon Jungkook, a boy from the wrong side of the war—a world of neon lights, whispered promises, and inevitable ruin.

Their love is reckless, electric, and entirely forbidden.

But in a world where family names mean everything and betrayal is paid in blood, love is the most dangerous gamble. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, they must decide: can love rewrite fate, or were they doomed from the start?

This is a re-interpretation of Romeo and Juliet, weaving a story of desire, power, and the price of challenging fate.

Pairing - Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

Genre - 18+, smut, romance, angst

Trigger Warnings - Domestic abuse

A/N - I want to remind everyone reading this that this is a work of fiction and the characters are not meant to reflect their real life counterparts. I want to say this because I know some people have/will become upset by what is written/will be written about their biases. And just another reminder, this is a retelling of Romeo and Juliet...a Shakespearean tragedy...so I guess if you're gonna get upset about the members being abusive to Y/N, you probably should stop reading before the actual tragedies strikes. Yes plural. Hope you enjoyed and let me know your thoughts <3

Also because I'm not well versed in trigger warnings yet, if something is triggering to you or may be potentially triggering to others, please notify me so I can fix it. I will add a full list here and a list at the beginning of each chapter.

Thank you I hope you enjoy!

Wordcount - 3.3k

masterlist taglist

Y/N

The house felt dead as I quietly stepped inside.

Empty plates and dishes still sat on the long buffet tables in the ballroom, and a few champagne flutes littered about like forgotten confetti. The staff tried their best to clean the mess left behind from the gala, but it seems there weren’t enough hands to work fast enough. 

The staircase, once lit with gold and glitter, now felt unremarkable. The same staircase I had descended just last night, my chest tight with dread and every step echoing with the weight of expectation. At the time, it had felt like a stage built to expose my flaws to the world. But now it looked small and less daunting. 

Maybe it was the morning light, or perhaps it was the memory of a hand reaching for mine at the bottom, offering me something I hadn’t realized I needed: genuine care, the kind that didn’t expect anything in return. In a room full of eyes, Jungkook had been the only one who saw me.

And if he were to really see me now? Barefoot and wrapped in an oversized jacket, standing in the middle of the grand hall like a homeless woman? Wearing rolled-up sweats as I padded across the marble floor, looking like a thief in my family home? 

Would he think less of me and this pathetic sight?

I started up the steps and kept to the edges of the halls. My footsteps were light and my breath quieter. I knew how to stay where the light didn’t quite reach, which creaky floorboards to avoid, which corners needed careful clearing. I hadn’t lived here for nothing. 

I wasn’t avoiding anyone in particular, just everyone. The last thing I wanted was someone asking where I’d been, who I’d been with, and why I just looked like I’d just woken up in a stranger’s bed. Which, technically, I had.

Jungkook.

The thought of his name alone fluttered in my chest like a pulled thread, unraveling faster than I wanted to admit. He had been nothing but gentle and kind to me. And more than anything, that kindness had meant everything to me. But at the same time, it also scared me. Compassion like that doesn’t last long in this city, especially in a family like mine. 

Caught in the memory of him, I rounded the corner too fast. My heels, which I had clutched in my hands, bumped the wall, and I winced, knowing I had screwed up. 

That’s when I heard a voice confirming this fact.

“Kim Y/N.”

I stopped mid-step, heart stopping in my chest. The voice was calm and composed, sharper than any alarm. I turned slowly, guilt creeping up my spine. “Good morning, Grandma.”

She looked as regal as ever, even this early in the day. She wore pearls around her neck that gleamed in the morning light, looking like they were strung from tension instead of thread. She looked me over from head to toe, not bothering to hide the disapproval on her face. 

“I see you’ve decided to sneak home like a stray.”

“I was just getting my things,” I replied in a quiet voice.

“Come,” she motioned with a ringed hand to follow her. “The family is waiting for you in the dining room.”

“No, I—”

She looked back at me with a glare that could scorch a whole village.

“I wasn’t asking.”

Reluctantly, I followed my grandmother back down the hall, my feet becoming heavier with each step. It was like the walls were closing in around me, my chest felt weighed down, and my stomach twisted tight.

I had never been allowed to attend a family meeting before. Growing up, these doors were always shut to me, the conversations muffled by thick walls and thicker traditions. 

“You don’t need to concern yourself with the business,” they would say. “It’s not your place.”

I used to think it was for my sake. That Dad was protecting me from something cruel. But now I know it wasn’t protection, it was exclusion.

Now, I was being summoned suddenly, with no explanation or warning. I was being ushered into a world I’d only ever watched from the edges. And after all these years of pretending I didn’t care, the truth was I did.

I wanted to understand the parts of this family that were kept just out of reach. I wanted to know what happened behind those closed doors. I wondered what it would feel like to be taken seriously, to be seen by my family. By Dad.

I just wanted to belong to whatever this was.

But not like this. 

Not with my hair a mess and baggy clothes from someone else who seemed to be an adversary to the family. Disgrace clung to my skin like perfume, walking in the morning after what could have been a massive scandal. But damn this shame smelt incredible.

However, aside from my appearance, it felt humiliating to be let into this meeting. Like I hadn’t been good enough to be invited until now, when my future was being mapped out perfectly to fit whatever agenda was appropriate, now they could mold me into whatever they needed. 

The only way I had earned a seat at the table was by giving up the right to be myself. This wasn’t the moment I’d been waiting for; it was just another reminder that I didn’t have a choice.

We finally made it to the dining room after a long, silent stroll. The doors opened without a sound, but the voices inside still quieted themselves down as they were being disturbed.

The room felt cold despite the morning light spilling through the tall windows. I hadn’t stepped foot in here since Dad turned this space into a conference-like room. The long wooden table stretched nearly the entire length of the room, its glossy surface free of food or decor—just papers, glasses, and silence. 

At the head of the table sat Dad, his posture straight and composed in a pressed suit. Beside him stood my uncle Yoongi, arms crossed with a scowl on his face. 

The rest of the table was lined with blood relatives. Older cousins, aunts, and a few uncles, all of whom I barely ever spoke to. The Kim legacy in tailored suits or business attire. And along the wall, standing or leaning, were the spouses. Those who married into the family were never quite inside the circle, but never far enough to escape it either. 

And in just a second, I had garnered the attention of everyone in the room. A few blinked in surprise, others tracked me and my undistinguished attire. One woman, my cousin's wife Jisoo, tilted her head and whispered something behind her hand. My great-aunt, Jennie, gave a small forced smile, like she was trying to pity me without looking obvious. 

I stood frozen in the doorway, every inch of me screaming to turn around. My grandmother put her hand on my back and guided me forward. She ushered me to the far end of the table, opposite Dad. The chair creaked slightly as I sat.

We were in the same space, the same conversation, the same table. And yet I had felt so far away, more so in this moment than ever in my entire life.

Dad took a slow sip from his glass, then placed it down with deliberate care. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. There was no doubt about how angry he was with me. 

“Would you like to explain,” he said evenly, “why you vanished from your own event last night?”

With every head still turned in my direction, I swallowed hard and gripped the arms of the chair to keep my hands from trembling. 

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Yoongi chastised, his voice low and full of fury. He couldn’t hide his anger as well as Dad, and I couldn’t tell which of the two I was more terrified of. “No one knew where you were. And now you come strolling in, looking like you just crawled out of someone’s casement in the South End.”

There were some stifled, quiet laughs from the others. My mouth fell open as the words tried to form, but they got stuck somewhere in my throat. I couldn’t tell them the truth; nothing good comes out of doing so. I was afraid Dad wouldn’t believe me if I told him what his friend did to me. And I frankly didn’t want to admit that it happened, I was embarrassed that I had been so vulnerable and couldn’t defend myself.

And Yoongi?

I couldn’t tell him about Jungkook because I knew deep down what would happen. He’d go looking for him. For blood, probably. And then it would be my fault, I allowed the one person who showed genuine interest and consideration for me to be subjected to Yoongi’s retaliation. 

So it left me with no choice but to protect my dignity and Jungkook's wellbeing at the expense of Paris’s exposure. I looked down and focused on a knot in the wood grain of the table, forcing the words out. 

“I had too much to drink,” I said softly. “I was nervous. Overwhelmed, I guess. I’m not used to being the center of ≥attention, so I thought a little champagne might help.”

I paused to breathe, the air shifting into something stiffer and colder. The two men didn’t interrupt me, probably deciding whether they believed me. I met their gaze again when I felt a bit more confident.

“I went a little overboard, so I left. I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Or the family.”

“And the clothes?” My uncle challenged, wondering how I could explain wearing men’s clothing after being spotted schmoozing with a Montague. 

I hesitated, forcing a quick breath through my nose to buy time. “A friend picked me up. She lent me something to wear.”

“A girl?” He asked pointedly.

“Of course,” I replied, keeping my tone casual. “She dresses kind of tomboyish. I didn’t think it’d be a good idea to show up back here in the same gown from last night.”

Dad didn’t respond, at least not right away. I watched as his expression shifted into something a little more calculated. My thumbs traced small circles into the armrest as I wondered if he was buying the excuse I was giving him.

“Who?” He asked. “Which friend?”

What now, genius? 

My brain scrambled for an answer fast. I didn’t really have friends, and up until now, my family thought the same. My mind went to Hana and the endless work stories that I barely paid attention to. However, there was someone she would rant about almost constantly.

“Dr. Rosé,” I said quickly. “Roseanne Park. Cardiology.”

There was a heavy, silent pause. Yoongi watched me with a piercing glare. Dad’s eyes narrowed. 

“That name sounds familiar.”

“She works at the hospital,” I began, keeping my voice light but careful. “You’ve probably seen her on the surgical board.”

“You’ve been speaking to my staff?” His tone sharpened tightly, showing his displeasure.

“O-only every once in a while. I would make small talk when I was visiting and waiting for you.”

It was the dumbest lie; there was no way he would believe it. I fought the urge to wince and cringe at my poor attempt to create this elaborate excuse. Dad exhaled through his nose and then nodded.

“I appreciate that despite your judgment lapse,” he said slowly. “You made a decision with the family’s reputation in mind and left before it became a scandal.”

I looked up, startled by the warmth behind his words. It wasn’t tenderness, but it wasn’t disappointment either, and I will take that as a win. He seemed to be a bit prideful, and it unfortunately stung more than it should have. 

Uncle Yoongi didn't move, however. He stood by his brother’s side like a statue, casting suspicion with arms folded tightly. His eyes never left my face, and he didn’t speak another word to me, but his silence said everything I needed to know. He didn’t believe me. Not even close. 

✦✦✦

Once I was confronted, I didn’t stay long after. I was politely asked to leave the room. Excused, really. I should’ve expected it, and deep down, I did. But it still hurt to be kicked out of the only gathering I wanted to be a part of.

I’d gathered my things quietly: makeup, purse, keys, and what was left of my pride. With a hurried pace, I made my way toward the staircase and out the door. Dread crept up slowly as I began to hear the echo of dress shoes behind me. 

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. 

“Kim Y/N.”

His voice was low and cold, each syllable laced with a fury difficult to restrain. 

I took a deep breath and turned slowly to face my uncle Yoongi, straightening my spine instinctively. His eyes were bloodshot, and his jaw tightened. He looked as though he was holding in a storm, one crack in the glass and it would break through. 

“I want you to say it to my face,” he demanded. “Where were you last night?”

“I already told everyone—“

He cut me off with a growl. “Don’t lie to me. I know you were with him.”

His words cut like a slap to the face. He was way too smart for me, and this was going to be a problem. I stepped back closer to the wall, my heart beginning to pound out of my chest. 

“I’m not lying,” I snapped, sharper than I meant to. “I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”

That was the wrong thing to say. 

“You think this is a game?” He hissed, eyes growing dark and unsettling. “That you can wander off with that bastard in the middle of the night? After he attacked your family, now you are protecting him?”

I couldn't believe he was lying about Jungkook. The Jungkook I knew would never hurt anyone.

“I didn’t wander off with anyone,” my voice rose, anger overtaking fear. “I left because I was scared and embarrassed. You saw me bump into a random man at the gala, and in your delusions, you think I’m what? Plotting against you? Get a hold of yourself.”

“Don’t raise your voice at me, Y/N.” He took a step towards me, making me retreat closer to the wall. 

“You are insane!” I shouted and pushed him back, planning to run away as soon as possible. 

“You are putting yourself in danger!”

His body ricocheted back to me with a greater force than I inflicted on him. We were so close now, his shoulders heaved, eyes wild with rage and something similar to betrayal, as if I had insulted him by putting my hands on him.

Then he grabbed me.

His hand clamped around my jaw hard, tilting my face up as he pushed me against the wall. The breath was knocked out of me from the force alone. My vision began to blur, tears welling up.

“Namjoon might be too stupid to take your excuse at face value, but I see right through you.” Yoongi snarled. “Now tell me the truth, where is he?”

His grip. The wall. The sudden loss of control. I was back in the dark corridor. Paris’s hands on me with that evil, toothy smile, his breathy voice in my ear. And that twisted dream that felt all too real.

Yoongi was warning me about possible danger, but I knew for sure in that moment, I wasn’t safe.

“Please—” My voice cracked. “Please don’t—don’t touch me like this—please.”

Something in my voice must have reached him. His eyes flickered, breath catching in his throat. He looked at me, not as a liar or a disappointment, but as something fragile, broken, and shaking in his grip. He let go.

I stumbled forward, catching myself against him. Yoongi lifted his arms, trying to pull me into an embrace.

“I didn’t mean—” he began with a trembling voice, like he was starting to become overwhelmed with great remorse. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t—”

I didn’t wait for him to finish; I broke free of his grasp and ran past the family portraits that lined the walls and down the stairs. I hurried through the foyer where the chandeliers still glittered like nothing had happened. I could hear my uncle call after me, and for a moment, it sounded like he was crying.

The door slammed behind me, and I didn’t stop until I made it to my car at the end of the driveway. I threw my stuff inside haphazardly and jumped in the driver's seat, grabbing the wheel with shaking hands. My breaths came in short, sharp bursts, but I couldn’t allow myself to cry just yet.

I never wanted to disappear more than I did in that moment. I turned out of the estate gates and began driving hurriedly away. My knuckles had turned white from how hard I gripped the wheel; it was as if it were the only thing keeping me upright. My throat ached from holding back the building pressure. 

I don’t even know how far I had driven before I began to crack.

Tears welled before I could stop them, sliding hot and fast down my cheeks. Once they started, I couldn’t hold them back. My breath hitched, sharp and broken, and before I knew it, I was sobbing. My chest heaving and mouth gasping between my loud cries. 

Everything was hurting: my face, my hands, my heart. It was all too much for me. The assault, the dream, the lies I’d just told about protecting the people who never protected me. The way my uncle worries about me getting hurt, only to become the one who harms me. And then there’s Dad, wanting to ship me off to be shaped into whatever corporate pawn he wants me to be. 

And now, all of the fear, the shame, the rage I wasn’t allowed to show spilled out in waves that soaked my face and left me hyperventilating. 

The only image that came to mind and helped me calm down was of him. 

Jeon Jungkook.

I thought about his voice, low and teasing in tone, but it was undoubtedly warm. His hand reached for mine at the bottom of the staircase with a stunning smile. The way he looked at me, like I was more than just the Kim girl. Like I was someone worth choosing.

I didn’t understand him. I didn’t trust him. And yet... he had been kind when I needed it most. He gave me a space to breathe. A moment where I didn’t feel like I was drowning under the weight of someone else's expectations.

I sniffed, wiping my face roughly with the sleeve of the jacket. His jacket. It still smelled faintly like cigarettes and spice. I reached for the hem, pulling it tighter around me, and that’s when I felt it.

A small weight, tucked in the inner pocket. I reached in and pulled it out.

A chrome lighter, heavy in my hand. I turned it over and caught the engraving etched along the metal in small, careful lettering.

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

I brushed my thumb over the words, heart thudding in my chest with something that felt too close to gravity.

The stoplight ahead turned red, and I slowed my car to a stop. My blinker was on, signaling left toward my apartment. If I went back, Yoongi would surely stop by to talk to me. He probably would want to apologize and continue interrogating me. I wouldn’t be ready to speak to him any time soon. 

I needed space, needed sanctuary. 

“If you ever need anything, I’ll be there for you.” Jungkook’s promise circled in my mind.

I stared at the light. Then at the lighter. Then at the road ahead. I turned off my turn signal and went straight. 

Toward the South End.

Towards you.

---------------------

@taehyung4cypher-blog

[kayusenreads]

Star-Crossed || Chapter ix.

In a city divided by power, loyalty, and blood, love was never meant to be an option.

When Kim [Y/N], the daughter of an influential family, steps into the gala celebrating her induction to the family legacy, she’s only looking for a distraction from her rapidly increasing anxiety. Instead, she finds Jeon Jungkook, a boy from the wrong side of the war—a world of neon lights, whispered promises, and inevitable ruin.

Their love is reckless, electric, and entirely forbidden.

But in a world where family names mean everything and betrayal is paid in blood, love is the most dangerous gamble. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, they must decide: can love rewrite fate, or were they doomed from the start?

This is a re-interpretation of Romeo and Juliet, weaving a story of desire, power, and the price of challenging fate.

Pairing - Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

Genre - 18+, smut, romance, angst

Trigger Warnings - Blood/gore, mutilation, emesis [stop when you see the word "Click"]

A/N -  There was a bit more I wanted to write in this chapter, but I had to stop it because it was already becoming so long. I will be updating tags and trigger warnings for other chapters very soon. Additionally, I've recently become aware of what a tag list is, and I'd like to know if anyone would like to be added to it. Please let me know if you enjoy~

Also because I'm not well versed in trigger warnings yet, if something is triggering to you or may be potentially triggering to others, please notify me so I can fix it. I will add a full list here and a list at the beginning of each chapter.

Thank you I hope you enjoy!

Wordcount - 3.1k

masterlist taglist

Jungkook

The awkward silence in the car was so thick it felt alive. It settled in the space between us, buckling its seatbelt. 

I kept one hand on the wheel and the other lazily near the stick shift, fighting the part of myself that couldn’t help notice how close Y/N’s knee was to brushing my fingers. The road ahead blurred in and out of focus. 

Y/N sat quietly in the passenger seat, her body curled up in an oversized black thermal and a pair of joggers she had to roll up to walk out the door without tripping. She wore my clothes. My scent clung to her skin, mixing deliciously with her sweet aroma, whether it was her faded perfume from the night before or her natural pheromones.

She had her legs pulled up onto the seat with them crossed; she had asked for socks so she didn’t have to walk in her heels while avoiding being barefoot. Her hair was still a little messy from sleep, and her eye makeup slightly smeared with black smudges under her eyes. 

I marveled at the way she looked, even if she wasn’t the perfect doll I waltzed with last night. She didn’t look like someone who belonged to the glittering marble mansion we were currently on our way to. She looked like someone who belonged here, with me. In my car, in my world, wearing my clothes. 

And it was ruining me. 

Y/N watched out the window, pretending not to feel the weight of my gaze. But I could see it in the way she shifted in her seat, how her fingers fiddled with the drawstring of the pants. I enjoyed the way she was fidgeting around me; it gave me consolation that maybe the tension between us wasn’t just in my head.

I should have kept my attention on driving, but I just couldn’t.

My eyes continued to break from the road just to stare, admittedly a bit too long, at Y/N. My stomach tightened. She was gorgeous even now. Especially now. And even though she was sitting inches from me, she was unreachable. Being this close in proximity and without a soul to interrupt... 

I whipped my head away and glared out the windshield. Fuck. I needed to get myself together; I was beginning to think primally, and I had to calm down. Taking a deep breath, I gripped the steering wheel and made myself promise not to turn back toward her.   

This was a mistake.

Bringing her back last night and letting her stay, letting her wake up in my bed, which now trapped the smell of her I never wanted to remove. With the revelation of Kim Y/N, she is supposed to be a pawn, a complication, maybe even a warning sign. She wasn’t supposed to make me think things I couldn’t afford to feel.

I was losing focus. Again. 

With an unrestrained side glance, I noticed Y/N was no longer looking out the window. She was now staring at me. More specifically, my flexed arm and the veins on my forearm that appeared while I was tightly gripping the wheel. 

Was she ogling me as well?

The car hit a completely avoidable pothole, and it jostled us around a little. When we were stable and realized we were fine and alive, it came to both of our attention that when her hand flew out to catch herself, it landed on my thigh with a firm grasp. 

She froze.

I raised an eyebrow, grinning playfully. “If you’re trying to distract me while I’m driving, it’s working.”

“Sorry,” Y/N mumbled, pulling her hand back and folding her arms tightly against her chest. 

For a moment, I could still feel the imprint of her fingers through my jeans. She turned her face away from me towards the window, probably thinking I couldn’t see the corner of her mouth twitch slightly into a smile. But one thing was clear: she was still very guarded.

I bit back the sigh clawing at my throat.

Y/N was still shaken and wary about the events that had led her here. I could feel it in the way she sat, hunched and stiff like she didn’t trust herself to relax. 

Like, she didn’t trust me. 

She hadn’t even looked me in the eye since she dressed and we left the apartment. And maybe I couldn’t blame her; I was a stranger who rescued her from being sexually assaulted by another stranger. And I insisted I didn’t want anything in return. 

But fuck, it was hard.

She was sitting next to me in such close quarters, her scent filling the air and intoxicating me. Her lips were still pink from sleep and…God, forgive me please for even noticing she wasn’t wearing a bra because she was cold. 

Every inch of her felt like a thing I wasn’t supposed to want but couldn’t stop staring at. I should’ve looked away, but instead, I kept stealing glances like a man starved.

And I hated it. Hated the way I was already too deep in something I didn’t understand, something I’m not built to handle. Kim Y/N wasn’t just a girl. She was a consequence. And I was chasing her anyway.

Then, softly, she said, “Thank you.”

I blinked. “For what?”

She turned slightly, her gaze dipping low before meeting mine. “For last night again. Both times.”

“You mean when I pulled you away from Paris?”

She nodded. “Yes...and before that.”

I looked at her sideways, brows drawn. “Before?”

Y/N gave a small, almost shy smile. “When you asked me to dance. I felt like I was drowning. Like I didn’t belong there. And then you just... appeared. Gave me something to focus on.”

My grip on the steering wheel tightened, but not out of tension. It was something else, something deeper.

I didn’t know if approaching her had been the smartest choice. I was almost sure it had been a mistake. She’d pulled me completely off course. I’d compromised myself just by being near her.

But for her, it may have been precisely the right thing.

“No problem, Angel.” My expression finally softened, coming to this conclusion. “And if you ever need anything, I’ll be there for you.”

✦✦✦

I dropped Y/N off a street away from the mansion. I apologized, but couldn’t give her a good enough excuse as to why. But I reached into the backseat and gave her my jacket, letting her take another piece of me back to her father. 

I was practically giddy at the thought of him finding out she was just in my territory, sleeping in my bed, and thanking the enemy for being the only one that cared about her. 

But I knew, for her sake, he could never know. 

The warmth of the morning sun was gone the second I stepped inside the house.

It was quiet, maybe too quiet, but that was the point. We didn’t use this place unless necessary.

I moved through the narrow hallway with ease, then pushed open the cellar door. The hinges groaned low in protest. The light above was dim and yellow, buzzing slightly like the owner hadn’t changed the bulbs in years.

As soon as I started down the stairs, the smell hit me: sweat, metal, bleach. The sharp scent of fear clung to the concrete like mold. 

This was the den.

It was a basement that belonged to a former officer. He wasn’t a Montague, but the Kim family had screwed him over just as much as one. And he knew better than to ask questions when we used his place for "business."

The room itself was rectangular and bare except for what mattered: a heavy wooden chair bolted to the floor at the center. Metal shelves lined the back wall, each stacked with rusted tools. 

A dented metal table sat just off to the side, cluttered with rope, gloves, pliers, even a blowtorch that we hadn’t used in months but was always ready to be. We set an old drain into the floor directly beneath the chair. Just in case things got messy.

And today it just might. 

Two of my guys stood guard, neither of them looked at me. Eyes locked on the man in the chair.

His arms were tightly bound to the wooden armrests, his feet spread and strapped to the legs. A sack covered his head, dirty and damp at the corners. His breathing was shallow and panicked, like he was trying to disappear inside himself.

I stepped off the last stair and walked forward, slow and deliberate. The concrete was cold beneath my boots. And in the silence, I felt a shift within me.

No Y/N. No car ride. No warmth.

Just this.

No softness. No hesitation. 

Just the part of me they needed. A Montague. 

I stepped toward the chair, moving slowly and steadily. Each footstep echoed across the den until I was standing directly in front of the man. He flinched as I reached down and yanked the stained cloth off his head. 

The man underneath blinked fast against the sudden light. His face was damp with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead. A cut split his bottom lip, and one eye was already beginning to swell. Blood had dried beneath his nose, crusted dark down to his mouth. He looked pathetic.

Perfect.

I let a grin tug at the corner of my mouth; slow, deliberate, all teeth.

“Hello, Mister Thornton.”

He blinked blearily up at me, not recognizing me at first. So I leaned down, just enough that my voice didn’t need to raise above a whisper.

“Funny running into you again. Lovely gala, wasn’t it?”

His eyes widened, and for a second, I watched him try to mask the panic behind confusion. But he knew. And if he didn’t, I’ll make sure he won’t forget again. 

“I’ve been thinking about you,” I said. “Since last night.”

He opened his mouth like he might talk, explain, beg, or lie. But I didn’t give him the chance.

“I know who you are. Board of Admissions. Kim lapdog. And most importantly…” I tilted my head and frowned, knuckles brushing under his jaw. “You’re the bastard who touched someone that doesn’t belong to you.”

My hand closed around his throat, but not tightly. Just enough to remind him that I could. He froze. 

“You saw her standing alone,” I growled in a low tone. “All dressed up, looking like something expensive. And you thought…what? She’d be easy? A little drink, a quiet corner, and she’d fold?”

I let him go and straightened, starting a slow and dangerous pace around him. His body seemed to relax for a moment, but that was a mistake. I wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

“But that’s what you do, right? Smile. Shake hands. Pretend to be respectable. While your hands are already slipping under a girl’s dress.” I spoke in a low and sharp voice. “I know this isn’t the first time, but I'll make sure this is the last."

He opened his mouth to speak, but I didn’t let him.

The first punch was fast and clean. My knuckles cracked across his cheek, snapping his head to the side. He let out a grunt, blood streaking from a fresh split on his lip.

I grabbed the back of his chair and slammed my fist into his jaw again, harder this time.

“I wonder how many girls you’ve done this to,” I snarled. “How many got too scared to say anything. Or didn’t remember enough to fight back.”

Another punch, a shot to the gut that made him gag.

“You think wearing a suit makes you untouchable? Do you think connections make you safe?”

Crack. My knuckles split against Paris’s cheekbone.

“Would your friend forgive you for what you did to his daughter? Would your wife give you a third chance?

Crack. Another blow. Blood hit the floor in fat, dark drops. He cried for mercy, but I couldn’t stop.

“You touched her,” I breathed, wrapping my hand around Paris’s hair and yanking his head up so he had no choice but to look at me. “You drugged her. And you smiled while she squirmed.”

His eyes swam. I wasn’t even sure he could hear me anymore.

“Even if Namjoon ignores this, you scarred MY Angel. And you won’t get to walk away from that.”

I let go, and his head sagged forward, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. My chest heaved, and my fist ached. But the fire still burned under my skin. And I still wanted more.

The sound of his ragged breathing filled the space behind me as I walked away, the blood pounding in my ears finally beginning to settle into something slower yet darker.

I walked towards the metal table where the tools sat, waiting like loyal dogs. Some were sharp, some were dull, and some still bore the stains of old business. I let my fingers graze over some of the instruments until I found one that felt right.

A pair of heavy hedge shears. Rust ringed the joint with long, dull, and serrated edges. Still functional. 

I lifted them off the table, feeling their weight settle into my palms. The shears were heavier than I remember, cold in my hands. I turned them slowly and tested how they opened and closed. 

The metal groaned softly as the blades spread wide, the sound of the grinding rust felt steadying somehow. I wasn’t doing this for information. Not for righteousness. Not even for the Montagues. 

This was for her.

Y/N. 

The memory of her face was still in my mind: soft lips, wary eyes, too innocent for the world she’d been born into. She didn’t belong in it. Not the mansion, not the streets, not in my bed, not even in this memory. 

But she was in it.

And she was everywhere now.

This pathetic excuse for a man had tried to stain the only bit of innocence that found its way into this society. Wanted to touch her, drag her deep into the dark in the most cowardly way possible. He didn’t deserve to feel anything again.

Somewhere, in the pit of my gut, I knew this was irrational. But it didn’t matter. It felt like love. Twisted, warped, but real love.

I couldn’t repair what he’d done to her. I couldn’t fix or protect her the way a rational man would. I couldn’t be soft, or safe, or clean. However, I can do this.

With blood and with permanence. 

I turned around and walked back towards a crying Paris. I wasn’t in his line of sight yet, but he was probably wondering what came next for him. I slowed my steps when I reached closer, letting him see the shears hanging at my side. I got to watch the fear bloom in his bruised and swollen face.

Good. Let Paris feel what Y/N felt.

Paris balled his fists up tightly, using all his strength to wiggle himself out of his restraints. He screamed and pleaded so loudly that I almost thought anyone outside would be able to hear him. Fortunately, we designed this room to minimize noise from escaping. 

“There’s nothing you could do or say that will change your fate,” I declared loudly, cutting through the air and silencing him. “You didn’t just hurt her; you reduced her, made her feel small. You tried to mark her, and now I will mark you.”

Paris mumbled something bloody and useless through his split lips, but I was already moving.

I set the shears down and leaned them against the seat beside him, the metal clinking dully against the concrete. Then I unfastened the strap holding his right arm in place, not to free him, but to drag his hand forward. 

He struggled weakly, limbs jerking like a dying fish. One of my men stepped forward and made his way behind the chair. He shoved his heavy hands on the pitiful man’s shoulders, pressing him back against the chair with a force so strong it made the wood creak.

“You don’t deserve to feel anything with these hands again,” I muttered, the anger and annoyance in my voice showing while I struggled to keep him still. “Not after what they’d done.”

Paris whimpered as I grabbed his wrist and slammed his hand flat against the armrest. His fingers curled instinctively, but I pried them open until his palm lay stretched and trembling.

Click.

The shears opened as I picked them back up. I positioned the blades just above the knuckle of Paris’s pinky finger, letting the cold metal kiss his skin. He started to squirm, his eyes widened with the realization that this wasn’t just intimidation. 

This was real. This was a message.

“This is for what you tried to take.”

I closed the blades.

The crunch was wet and final with cartilage and bone grinding apart as the shears snapped through. Blood sprayed across the chair, hot and fast, splattering my sleeve and his lap. Paris screamed; high, raw, throat-tearing. His body thrashed, but was locked in place like a vice.

I didn’t pause, blades opening again and slicked with red.

“This,” I hissed, “is to remind you who she belongs to.”

Another cut, this time through his ring finger. His scream was shorter, like a choke. 

Then came the gagging. Paris’s head snapped forward as he vomited between his legs, the stench of blood and bile hitting the concrete in a steaming mess. His whole body seized, shuddering violently. Then he fell still and collapsed back in the chair, completely out cold.

I stood there for a moment with the shears in my hand, blood cooling on my knuckles. It was done; I had done something so evil, but I could only think about my Angel.

Y/N.

Her voice. Her scent. The weight of her trust, or maybe the lack of it, pressed against my ribs like something I needed to earn. 

Not with words or apologies.

With actions.

Other men might have walked away. Let the Kims handle their family problems. Maybe even convinced themselves that Y/N deserved what was coming to her.

But I wasn’t other men. I was hers. 

And I was going to show her what that meant. Even if she never found out. Even if she never forgave me. Even if this ruined me.

If protecting her meant becoming something unforgivable, then so be it. Because at the end of it all, the only thing that mattered was Y/N.

---------------------

@taehyung4cypher-blog

[kayusenreads]

If anyone is interested in being added to the taglist for all future works, please comment below. You can also send me a DM or an ask if you want to be added or removed. Thank you! <3

Masterlist

Star-Crossed || Jungkook x Reader

[kayusenreads]

Star-Crossed || Chapter viii.

In a city divided by power, loyalty, and blood, love was never meant to be an option.

When Kim [Y/N], the daughter of an influential family, steps into the gala celebrating her induction to the family legacy, she’s only looking for a distraction from her rapidly increasing anxiety. Instead, she finds Jeon Jungkook, a boy from the wrong side of the war—a world of neon lights, whispered promises, and inevitable ruin.

Their love is reckless, electric, and entirely forbidden.

But in a world where family names mean everything and betrayal is paid in blood, love is the most dangerous gamble. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, they must decide: can love rewrite fate, or were they doomed from the start?

This is a re-interpretation of Romeo and Juliet, weaving a story of desire, power, and the price of challenging fate.

Pairing - Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

Genre - 18+, smut, romance, angst

Trigger Warnings - Dubcon/noncon [skip to page break]

A/N -  To be honest, I'm not too proud of this chapter. As backwards as it may sound, I liked the first part more (if you were brave enough to read it) than the last part. But it's okay for now, and I'll just have to do a rework before I publish it, no biggie. Hope at least some of you like it (?)

Also because I'm not well versed in trigger warnings yet, if something is triggering to you or may be potentially triggering to others, please notify me so I can fix it. I will add a full list here and a list at the beginning of each chapter.

Thank you I hope you enjoy!

Wordcount - 3k

masterlist taglist

Y/N

The room was dark; I don't even remember where we ended up after the gala. But I couldn’t care less about that at this moment. Soft, warm lips pressed against mine with the intent of consuming me; Jungkook’s tongue feverishly explored the inside of my mouth just to savor it. 

His hands moved over me like he owned the right to, as I’d already permitted in a language I couldn’t remember speaking. Heat bloomed across my chest, curling low in my stomach and further between my legs. 

I should have stopped this from continuing, but I didn’t.

Jungkook began nibbling and sucking on my lower lip between kisses. A muffled groan escaped from him like he couldn't get enough of the taste. His roaming hands eagerly discover the curves and planes of my body. 

“J-Jungkook,” I softly moaned. I could feel his grin on my lips. He was enjoying that it was his name I was calling for. 

He repositioned himself above me and, with his body, pressed me into the mattress. I gasped in surprise, feeling just how badly he wanted me as much as I wanted him. He trailed his kisses down my jaw and to my neck. My breath hitched when his cold lip ring brushed my sensitive skin while his lips left a burning trail.

Jungkook’s touch alternated between soft caressing and rough, possessive grasps. It wasn’t tender, but a focused hold on me like he wasn’t worshipping me as much as claiming me.

My mind was telling me this was wrong, but my body didn’t think so.

“You still think I’m dangerous?” He questioned, his voice a low growl against my ear. I shivered, and he chuckled in response. “You have no idea.”

Weird. I don’t recall ever telling Jungkook that I thought he was a dangerous and mysterious man, but maybe he sensed it leading up to this moment. 

His lips followed the line of my collarbone with more kisses right to my shoulder, his fingers tugging at the edge of my dress and pulling it down below my breasts. It happened fast and in a split second Jungkook had sucked one of my nipples into his mouth before I could ask what he was doing. 

A small voice inside me screamed for reason, for pause. But I was drowning under the weight of him, the smell of him, the rush of being wanted so completely.

He had one of my sensitive buds between his lips with his tongue swirling and flicking it gently. Little jolts of pleasure shot through me at the sensation, and I couldn’t help my breathy moans. At the same time, he used his thumb to rub slow circles around my other nipple, giving small and quick pinches to make me arch into him to get my chest as close to him as possible.

What was I doing?

Jungkook’s other hand was still roaming my curves, until he stopped right on my thigh and gave it a rough squeeze. A loud groan fills the room at the sudden savagery, but it still wasn’t enough to come to my senses. 

“You like that, Angel?” He smuggly teased. 

I couldn’t even respond; maybe it was the overwhelming sensations. I was growing dizzy and hot with desire. My breathing was becoming ragged as my pulse raced, and I knew Jungkook could feel it too. The world was fading around us, and all that existed was the urgency for pleasure between us. 

Jungkook’s wandering hand travelled higher up the thigh until he was brushing my wet and needy core. I gasped loudly as his slender finger glided between the slick of my folds, relishing to me about how I was excited and ready for him so quickly. 

But there was only one thing in my foggy mind that I was able to conjure up into a sentence.

“I-I’ve never–oh god…” I struggled to get the words out through the pleasure. “I’m a v-virgin,”

He stilled. Then laughed softly, cruelly. “Oh, Angel. I know.”

Something in the way he said it sent a chill down my spine, but I couldn’t reject his continued advances. I wanted to because in that moment, I was so uneasy, but I just couldn’t because…

Well, I don't know why. 

There was something in the way between me and control over the situation. 

I turned my face away, heat rushing my cheeks not from embarrassment but from discomfort. The air felt heavier, like it wasn’t mine to breathe anymore. 

I hadn’t noticed in my deep thought that he had managed to free his member and was already lining himself up between my legs. I don’t even remember him removing my panties either. 

Then he entered me, and everything around me, everything I was feeling, stopped. 

A sharp, unfamiliar pain shot through my center, causing me to let out a cry. My limbs stiffened. I couldn’t breathe. I gripped the sheets, whimpering in pain with every inch Jungkook forced into me. 

Was it supposed to hurt like this? I was unsure. 

Jungkook didn’t stop. 

“Mmm,” he hummed satisfactorily, lips brushing against my earlobe. “You feel sooo good, Y/N? I’m so glad this pussy belongs to me.”

I froze under him. I couldn’t continue like this; I had to stop this and get as far away as possible. 

“Jungkook—ahh! P-please stop, you’re hurting me…”

“Shh,” he murmured in an attempt to soothe me. “Don’t fight it, Angel. You’ve been practically begging me to fuck you with your eyes all night. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Please…” I begged, tears welling in my eyes. 

“You’re perfect like this,” he continued, disregarding me entirely. “So exposed…so vulnerable.”

Jungkook was no longer moving in rhythm. His voice laced with hunger, his thrusting was voracious. He was filthy, possessive, and wrong. 

All of this was just wrong. 

Through the pressure and pain, I no longer searched for pleasure, for something to hold on to. All I could do was close my eyes and sob, praying that the defilement would stop soon. Hoping that my body was the only thing he wanted from me. 

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice sharp and cutting through my numbing haze. 

I kept my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see Jungkook like this, not when he was enjoying putting me through this nightmare. 

“I said, look at me!”

His palm snapped up to my jaw, fingers digging into my cheeks, and he yanked my face toward his. His grip was harsh, unforgiving. I responded only in a terrified whimper, forcing myself to look Jungkook in the eyes. 

But it wasn’t Jungkook at all.

It was Paris with that too smooth and uncanny grin, that sick stench of alcohol and cologne. The man who had offered me a drink then backed me into a corner as things went dark and fuzzy. 

He wore Jungkook’s face like a mask, now slipping off. His hands still clutched my hips forcefully, his hot and revolting breath still on my skin. 

I screamed in pure horror.

And jolted awake.

✦✦✦

I shot upright, my breath catching in my throat like I’d broken the surface of water too fast. My skin was damp with sweat, and my heart raced. I grew lightheaded from getting up so fast. 

For a moment, I couldn’t move or think. I was only able to sit there as the ghost of monstrous hands that weren’t real burned against my skin. 

My fingers trembled as they clutched the blanket and pulled it over my chest, trying to make a shield from whatever just crawled out of my subconscious.

It was a dream.

Just a dream.

Jungkook hadn’t said those things. He hadn’t touched me like that. It wasn’t real.

I closed my eyes again, just for a deep breath, trying to settle the storm still spinning inside my chest. Relief swelled up slowly and unevenly. I was relieved it hadn’t been real. God, I was so relieved. Jungkook wasn’t like that. He couldn’t be.

But then again, I barely knew him at all.

A name. A dance. A moment. That’s all we’d had. That’s all he’d shown me. And I’d already started filling in the rest with things I wanted to believe. Things that might not be true.

I let out a shaky breath and used the blanket to wipe my face, annoyed at myself for being so easily pulled in. So easily shaken.

Just because he’d made me feel seen, just because his words had made my heart stutter, didn’t mean he was safe. It didn’t mean I could trust him.

I needed to remember that. To remember how dangerous Jungkook could be.

My chest still ached. The kind of ache that lingers after a nightmare you can’t quite shake.

I removed the blanket and looked around.

I froze.

I wasn’t in my room. And this was certainly not my bed. 

As my eyes adjusted, the room came into focus slowly. Light crawled in from a crooked window with thin curtains that barely filtered the morning sun. The mattress I was on dipped unevenly beneath me, and the blanket draped over me was a little rough.

Looking around, still with an unsteady heart, I realized I was in a small studio apartment. One that looked undeniably lived in. The floor was a scuffed and worn wood, and the paint on the moldings and sills was peeling. The air smelled faintly of smoke and something sharper, something familiar.

Cardamom with a hint of black vanilla. I remember the smell of Jungkook’s cologne.

The apartment didn’t look or feel dirty, just a bit disorganized. It was clear Jungkook only lived here briefly and constantly had somewhere else to be. A low bookshelf doubled as a TV stand containing short stacks of DVDs and old records. He also had several books with cracked spines. 

A pile of blankets was on the back of a battered armchair. The coffee table in front of it was littered with loose receipts and change. There were empty cigarette packs and at least two ashtrays that needed emptying.  A half-empty glass also sat on the table. I thought it was water, but with the empty bottle of vodka next to it, I couldn’t be sure.

It was strange. I should’ve felt out of place.

But I didn’t.

It wasn’t the world I came from; sterile, curated, full of cold perfection. This place had texture. Flaws. Signs of life.

And there was something oddly comforting about that.

My gaze shifted to the closed bathroom door on the far side of the room. The faint sound of running water suddenly stopped through the crack in the frame. I tensed instinctively, and my heart skipped a beat. 

I debated whether I should still be here, awake and alert. Visible in a stranger's bed. Something in me hesitated to move; I didn’t want to get caught up and about, looking like I was snooping. I also didn’t want to get caught staring down the door, waiting to watch him walk out practically naked.

The door creaked open, and on impulse, I slammed my body quickly back on the bed, pulling the blanket over my chest and tightly shutting my eyes. 

Jungkook’s footsteps were quiet, steady. I could hear his breathing, calm and measured. But then a low voice broke through the stillness.

“Yeah. Bring it to the den.”

A pause. The sound of fabric shifting. 

“No, don’t tell Taehyung. He doesn’t need to know about this one.”

I held still, barely breathing. My back prickled with tension.

“This isn’t Montague business,” he continued, voice quiet but firm. “It’s personal. I’ll meet you there soon.”

He moved across the apartment slowly, unhurriedly, and carefully not to disturb me. For a long moment, I didn’t move. My thoughts twisted around the fragments of what I’d heard.

Montague.

So, Yoongi was right in assuming he was a Montague. I still don’t know who or what they are, but by the tone of my uncle's voice last night at the gala, I shouldn’t be here. 

I started to shift beneath the blanket and forced my breathing to steady. I had no other choice but to “wake up” if I wanted to leave. I blinked slowly and stretched just enough to make the motion seem natural. 

His cheery tone, the complete opposite of what he sounded like a moment ago, came before I could sit up. “You’re awake.”

I rubbed my eyes and turned towards the direction of his voice. And I realized too late that I would regret it. 

Jungkook stood a few feet from the bed, rubbing a towel through his hair. The only thing he was wearing was another towel that was dangerously low around his hips. I don’t know what else I expected after he got out of the shower, but my cheeks still flushed bright pink. 

Water still clung to his skin and trailed down the ridges of his stomach. Tattoos inked along his arms and ribs, and in addition to his lip ring, he also had an eyebrow piercing that hid behind a mask the night before.

I stared for a second too long.

His mouth curved into a lazy smirk. “Didn’t realize I was a tourist attraction.”

My face flamed a deeper shade of red. “S-sorry…I just wasn’t expecting—”

He chuckled under his breath, tossing the towel over a chair. “Relax. I can get used to the attention.”

I sat up fully, pulling the blanket tighter around me. The dream still clung to the corners of my mind like smoke. “Where… am I, exactly?”

“My place,” he said, turning to the small dresser in the corner, casually pulling out clothes. “After your little run-in with Captain Creepy last night, you sort of passed out. I didn’t know where you lived, and your phone was locked. So I brought you here.”

I processed that slowly. “You… carried me out of the gala?”

“Well, you weren’t exactly walking,” he quipped with a little chuckle. “You were most definitely drugged. I figured getting you away from that party was smarter than trying to play twenty questions with your unconscious body.”

A strange warmth rose in my chest. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He shrugged like it was nothing.

He took the towel away and began to dress, turning his back to me. I couldn’t help but stare at his bare ass as he slipped into boxers, his butt was toned and a bit rounded. Seeing him naked in front of me reminded me of the nightmare I had.

Y/N. You need to ask.

The words clawed up before I could stop them. “Did we… sleep together?”

He turned, jeans in one hand as he lifted his brow in slight confusion. 

“No…?” his voice trailed off, blinking slowly and certainly bewildered. “You were unconscious. I slept on the couch.”

Relief hit me like a wave, but embarrassment followed fast behind.

He tilted his head, watching my expression and wanting to make me feel better with a joke. “Trust me, I’m not the type who needs to drug a girl to get her to sleep with me?”

My mouth dropped open, not able to respond with anything that could properly counter him. He grinned, pulling his jeans up and a plain white tee over his head.

I was blushing too hard for too long. But even so, the tension in my chest began to ease. Jungkook hadn’t taken advantage of me. He hadn’t even changed me out of my gown. 

As if reading my thoughts, he gestured toward me, holding out some folded clothes. “I figured it was better to leave you as you were. Didn’t want you waking up half-dressed in a stranger’s bed.”

The thoughtfulness of it all caught me off guard.

He hadn’t undressed me. He’d made sure I was safe. He’d taken the couch. And now he was offering me clothes as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I didn’t know Jeon Jungkook. Not really. But after last night, after the dream, I expected something colder. Something crueler.

Instead, he was simply kind. And I felt a little guilty for assuming the worst.

Jungkook walked over towards the bed and sat at the end of it. He let out a long sigh as he leaned back and started lying down with his feet still touching the ground. He kept his eyes closed, looking as if he could go back to sleep in that moment. 

I feel bad; the reason he was still tired was that he didn’t want to make me uneasy sleeping in the same bed as him. So he subjected himself to an uncomfortable night in an old armchair. He was a gentleman, wasn’t he? 

He reached his arm up to run his fingers through his hair, and for a moment, I thought he would touch my thigh. I know that after that nightmare, it was probably best he didn’t. But something twisted in my head wished his fingers would graze me ever so slightly. 

“So,” he said casually, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling, “who was that guy? The one who wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

I hesitated.

Part of me didn’t want to say. Not because I thought he’d use it against me, but because saying it out loud made it real. 

“A friend of my dad’s,” I said after a moment of silence, voice quieter than I intended. “He’s on the board of admissions at MIT. They’ve been talking.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. It looked like he genuinely was focusing on what I had to say. 

“They want to send me there. It’s all arranged.” I added, forcing a slight shrug to act nonchalant. But nothing could’ve stopped my voice from cracking and growing softer. 

“It’s what my dad dreams of for me.”

There was more I wanted to say, like how it wasn’t my dream. How I didn’t want to be packaged up and shipped to another state like an asset in a merger. How suffocating it felt to have every decision made before I even had the chance to express what I wanted.

But Jungkook wasn’t mine to trust with those kinds of truths. Not yet.

[kayusenreads]

Star-Crossed || Chapter vii.

In a city divided by power, loyalty, and blood, love was never meant to be an option.

When Kim [Y/N], the daughter of an influential family, steps into the gala celebrating her induction to the family legacy, she’s only looking for a distraction from her rapidly increasing anxiety. Instead, she finds Jeon Jungkook, a boy from the wrong side of the war—a world of neon lights, whispered promises, and inevitable ruin.

Their love is reckless, electric, and entirely forbidden.

But in a world where family names mean everything and betrayal is paid in blood, love is the most dangerous gamble. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, they must decide: can love rewrite fate, or were they doomed from the start?

This is a re-interpretation of Romeo and Juliet, weaving a story of desire, power, and the price of challenging fate.

Pairing - Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

Genre - 18+, smut, romance, angst

Trigger Warnings - Sexual Assault

A/N -  This chapter was so difficult to write just because of everything going on in my personal life. I had planned for it to be finished last weekend, but I guess things don't always go as planned. Hope it's still digestible, please feel free to let me know your thoughts <3

Also because I'm not well versed in trigger warnings yet, if something is triggering to you or may be potentially triggering to others, please notify me so I can fix it. I will add a full list here and a list at the beginning of each chapter.

Thank you I hope you enjoy!

Wordcount - 2.8k

masterlist taglist

Jungkook

Moving like a shadow through the gaudy corridors, I slipped further from the glittering gala, the music and chatter behind me fading into a muffled hum. The deeper I went into the Kim mansion, the colder everything felt. Too perfect. Too still. Like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

I hadn’t meant to stray from the plan. And I certainly hadn’t meant to disappear from the dance floor so soon, not after her—my angel. But plans had a way of unraveling around Y/N.

Jimin found me first, just after I’d slipped away from that brief moment of heaven. He grabbed my arm and dragged me back into the dark hallway behind the stairs. The look on his face cut straight through the fog Y/N had left in my head.

“They know,” he hissed, voice tight and urgent. “Sam said Yoongi pulled him and Namjoon aside. He overheard something about ‘Montagues at the party.’” He paused, taking a breath. “Yoongi didn’t drop any names, but he’s already looking. Namjoon doesn’t want a scene, so he’s letting the wolf off-leash to handle it quietly.”

Of course he was. Yoongi was the kind of bastard who lived for this: spotting a Montague in his house, especially one who’d just touched his niece? He was practically salivating at the opportunity to hurt me. And technically, he had every right. We were trespassing. And he had every excuse to make it personal.

Before I could respond, Taehyung stormed over, all nerves and no patience.

“I can’t believe one of our guys almost tanked the entire plan trying to get into the Kim princess’s panties,” he snapped.

I looked away, swallowing down the guilt. Taehyung didn’t know. He didn’t feel what I felt when I saw her. Y/N didn’t just throw me off course; she dismantled me.

Taehyung didn’t wait for a response from either of us. He sighed heavily, his glare drilling into me. “Let me guess. You haven’t found shit, have you?”

“What?” I blinked.

He scoffed and flung his arms in the air. I flinched before I could stop myself.

“You’ve probably been off somewhere sulking about that stripper chick. There are hundreds of women in this city, Jungkook. Fuck one and move the hell on.”

He had no clue what had happened on that dancefloor, what she did to me with just her presence.

“You’ve got half an hour,” he barked. “Find something useful. Once my guys launch our part, it’s go-time. We’re out the second the signal hits. Jimin’s sticking with me,” he added, eyes narrowing, “because frankly? I don’t think you’re walking out of here in one piece.”

I broke from the group after that, and now I was here, searching cautiously, every step quiet, every sense tuned to the stillness. Several moments had passed. Y/N’s scent had faded from my skin, and the fantasy I’d wrapped myself so tightly in had crumbled beneath the weight of duty.

My fists were clenched in my pockets as I passed silent portraits and overpriced décor, the kind that existed only to scream wealth, not taste. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, but I figured I’d know it when I saw it.

The silence pressing in around me wasn’t eerie, just loud. Too loud. It made every thought echo, amplifying the guilt gnawing through the memory of her smile.

I pushed deeper into the halls, trying to shake her off. The mansion stretched in every direction like a beautiful, glittering trap, and somewhere inside it, Yoongi was hunting.

But that fact alone couldn’t keep my thoughts from slipping back to her.

The further I crept, the softer my steps became. Not out of caution but distraction. I should’ve been looking for files, locked drawers, sealed doors, anything to drag the Kim dynasty into the light.

Instead, I was chasing the sound of her voice in my head, the melody of it curling around my thoughts.

Y/N.

It was stupid. I knew this feeling too well. I’d only danced with her once. Said too much. Thought even more. But the way she looked at me like I was guileless reached into something I thought I’d buried.

She was warmth carved from porcelain, sharp-eyed, self-contained. And within minutes, she’d dragged my mind into places it had no business going.

Jihyo barely existed now.

That realization made my stomach twist. I had spent months coming undone over her, convincing myself she was the only thing keeping me grounded. The love of my life. My escape once I served my time with the Montagues. Just days ago, I’d been shattered, still recovering from what I thought was the worst heartbreak I’d ever feel, second only to losing my grandfather.

And now?

Y/N unraveled me in minutes. From the moment she stepped into the room, she disarmed me like it was effortless. I didn’t know her, not even close to how I thought I knew Jihyo, but I already knew I’d do something reckless for her. Maybe anything.

The sting of Jihyo’s rejection had vanished. The obsession, chasing shadows of what we had? Gone. All of it felt like smoke already burned out, and Y/N had blown out the last of it like it was nothing more than a birthday candle.

And that terrified me more than anything.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I barely registered the room I’d walked into until the scent hit me: cologne, musk, old leather. Heavy. Masculine.

Yoongi’s room.

The walls were a moody gray, the furniture sleek and sharp, designed to intimidate more than impress. A handgun sat casually on a shelf beside a vintage record player, and I couldn’t decide if that was arrogance or recklessness. Maybe he didn’t think anyone would make it this far without his permission.

Of course, I took it.

There’s no way he’d report it missing, not without explaining what an unregistered firearm with a filed-off serial number was doing in his possession in the first place. A cop keeping an unmarked weapon? Illegal. Irresponsible. Almost poetic.

Yoongi’s desk was in the far corner, a dark mahogany wood. It was cluttered with folders and paperwork.

Jackpot.

Most of it was garbage: thin files on Montague activity, witness reports, low-level surveillance reports. But one stood out. A bullet-point list of names, some I recognized, others I didn’t. People he suspected to be connected, including my family’s names. I folded it and slipped it into my jacket.

Still, it wasn’t enough. I checked the drawers. If Yoongi had anything worth hiding, it wouldn’t be on top of his desk.

And that’s when I found it.

A little black notebook, leather-bound with worn edges. A journal. All his secrets were handwritten neatly between pages.

Pathetic. Stupid. Why would someone like him write down things he should never admit? It could be therapeutic, like some twisted form of confession. Or maybe it was just his ego, a running log of all his diabolical achievements.

Either way, it was mine now.

I was halfway to the door, itching to shove it in Taehyung’s smug face when something else stopped me.

The photos.

Framed family portraits lined the hutch near the desk. Most showed Yoongi in uniform, arm-in-arm with old police buddies, or posed stiffly beside Namjoon. But a few were different, softer somehow. Warmer.

They were of Y/N.

Dozens of candid shots. Her smile. His. Moments frozen in time, spanning years. Her in dresses, school uniforms, oversized sunglasses. He looked strangely like a real person. Relaxed. Happy.

I hadn’t expected that.

She must’ve been the only child of her generation. The golden one. And he adored her.

Then one photo stopped me entirely.

Y/N was a teenager in a pale sundress, grinning wide as she stood between her father and a woman I didn’t recognize. The resemblance was unmistakable, though. Same lips. Maybe the same eyes, blurred by the print. Her mother, most likely.

She looked so young. So... normal. Not the girl who owned the room downstairs. Not the polished debutante or the bloodline heiress who had made me forget myself with a single look.

In this photo, she could’ve been anyone. She could’ve been someone I knew. Someone I could’ve loved in a world that didn’t demand sides.

In another life, she wouldn’t have been born into a family that crushed the weak and sold power like it was currency. In another life, she wouldn’t be the enemy.

She wouldn’t be someone I had to hate.

But in this one? She was.

A flash of guilt pierced through me, then something heavier. Regret, maybe? Not for what I felt but for how fast it was happening. I hadn’t come here to fall under someone’s spell. I came for blood. For justice. Our streets were under siege. My people were viciously attacked. The community was counting on me to lead, to destroy.

And here I was: standing in the shadow of the enemy, wishing I could stay longer.

The thought disgusted me.

My hands trembled before I even noticed, and I had to brace myself against the cabinet to stay upright. My pulse thundered in my ears, the pressure behind my ribs growing tighter, higher, like a scream trying to claw its way out. I was spiraling. And this room, this perfectly arranged shrine to everything I was supposed to hate, felt like it was closing in on me.

I staggered back and shoved open the balcony doors, stumbling into the night air like I was surfacing from underwater.

Below me, the Kim gardens sat in silent perfection. Trimmed hedges, marble statues, the soft glow of garden lights. A manufactured serenity. From up here, Verona might as well have vanished. The blood, the sirens, the suffocating weight of our neighborhood, it was all miles away.

I reached into my jacket with shaking hands and fumbled for a cigarette, sparking it with my silver lighter. The flame flared, then disappeared, leaving behind a cherry glow and the taste of something bitter on my tongue. Smoke escaped from my lips into the dark, and I exhaled long and slow like I could breathe her out.

But she didn’t go.

Y/N.

Her name echoed in my skull like a pulse I couldn’t escape. I hated it. How easily she slipped into my thoughts. How thoroughly she’d erased Jihyo without even trying. That space in my head, the one reserved for duty, for revenge, for reason. She had walked right into it like she owned the place.

And I let her.

She was under my skin now, threaded between the hollow places I tried to ignore. And I hated how much I wanted her to stay there.

I hated that I needed her to mean something to me.

I took another drag, deeper this time. The nicotine hit fast, numbing the edges of my panic, but the tremble in my chest refused to fade. I stared out over the quiet garden as smoke curled into the stars, my mind circling itself like a dog chasing its tail.

I should’ve been focused. Controlled. Ruthless.

Instead, I was falling.

And I hated her for making me want it.

A sudden noise erupted across the courtyard from the far side of the house, where I’d left the party. A beat later, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Taehyung.

Time to go.

I crushed the cigarette on the edge of the balcony railing and tucked the rest behind my ear. The black journal disappeared into my suit jacket. Then I moved toward the exit; fast, quiet, purposeful.

I should’ve left right then.

But some part of me still needed to know what the hell our “revenge” actually was. Taehyung never told me. Said it wasn’t my business. Which was bullshit. I was the leader. Maybe I hadn’t been present lately; maybe this was his way of punishing me, but I should’ve known.

So yeah. Stupid or not, I took the long way out.

I retraced my path through the halls, careful not to attract attention. Especially not from Yoongi, the Kim’s very own bloodhound. But I didn’t realize until I stepped back into the grand hall that Yoongi had bigger problems than me.

I hadn’t noticed it before. Maybe there were too many bodies. Maybe I was too busy falling apart over one of them. But now I saw it clearly: a wide white screen positioned across from the staircase, and Yoongi was frantic and red-faced, clawing at the projector to shut it down.

It may have started as a slideshow. The Capulet corporate logo. A toast to family power.

But now?

It was showing a grainy, shaky cell phone video.

The raid on the Poisoned Chalice.

The crowd had gone silent, sickened. Onscreen, Officer Min Yoongi appeared in uniform, beating the shit out of a defenseless, drunken man slumped against the bartop. The man’s face was already swollen. He was crying. Pleading.

My father.

I felt it instantly: the heat. My fists clenched. My jaw locked. I had no love for the man, no respect. I hadn’t even asked what happened after he was sent to the hospital. Didn’t visit. Didn’t care.

But watching that video, seeing how far Kim Namjoon was willing to go just to remind the Montagues that the lower-class community doesn’t matter. Something ruptured within me. 

This was it.

There’s only us and them. That’s all there ever was. All there ever can be.

There could never be a me and Y/N. Not in this life.

I stepped back, trying to find my way to blend into the crowd.

Then our eyes met.

Yoongi.

He stood across the hall like a statue struck by lightning, mouth twisting into the look he always wore right before someone got attacked. His eyes widened, locked on mine. Recognition hit, then fury.

“YOU!”

He shouted it like a gunshot, and the whole room flinched.

I didn’t wait.

I turned and ran, bolting into the chaos. Slipping behind stunned guests, darting past champagne towers and loud gasps. My heart slammed in my chest. My vision narrowed. Every muscle in my body locked into motion.

Adrenaline cleared everything. My mind. My doubts.

Just one thought now.

Get out.

Entering the hall, I didn’t slow down. The stairs loomed behind me, but I kept low, slipping into the shadowed corridor we’d come in through not long ago. Back when this was just a mission and I was still pretending I held control.

And then I heard it.

A voice. Fragile. Slurred.

“Don’t… stop, please… no…”

My body locked mid-step.

The voice wasn’t just familiar. It was hers.

I moved forward slowly, barely breathing, until I reached the edge of the pillar near the base of the stairs, where the light didn’t reach, where everything was just darkness and noise.

And there she was.

Y/N.

Her back pressed to the wall, shoulders slumped. Her arms hung limp at her sides. Her dress was bunched up to her waist, and her top was skewed, revealing one of her breasts. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused. She wasn’t resisting. At least not effectively.

She was intoxicated, drugged perhaps. 

The man in front of her was older. Impeccably dressed. One hand gripped her arm possessively, the other creeping up her thigh like he was entitled to her. His mouth hovered near her ear, muttering something low and vile.

Y/N flinched. Not violently, but just enough to show she was still in there. Still aware something was wrong.

My pulse thundered in my ears. I took a step forward, adrenaline burning.

And then I stopped.

No.

This wasn’t my problem. She wasn’t my problem. 

She was a Kim.

She was the reason I’d lost focus tonight. The reason I’d made mistakes, endangered the plan, nearly destroyed everything we’d worked for. She was the reason Taehyung was furious, why he didn’t trust me, why I wasn’t leading like I should’ve been.

She was the one I needed to forget.

And yet...

She looked so small. So powerless.

This wasn’t the Y/N from the ballroom, the perceptive, poised acting girl who’d made my heart stall. This Y/N was barely standing. Barely conscious. And I hated that it made me want to reach for her. I hated that it cracked something open in me that I’d spent the last half hour trying to seal shut.

Because somewhere deep in my chest, a voice whispered that maybe I’d rather burn everything down for her than walk away.

But what did that make me?

I stood in the dark, frozen between instinct and logic, between who I was and who I swore I’d never become. Between the man Y/N thought I might be... and the one Taehyung needed me to be.

One step forward, and I was involved.

One step back, and I disappeared.

My jaw locked. My fingers curled at my sides, itching for a decision.

She was a Kim, but something in me had already claimed her. And God help the man who touched what was mine.

[kayusenreads]

Star-Crossed || Masterlist

In a city divided by power, loyalty, and blood, love was never meant to be an option.

When Kim [Y/N], the daughter of an influential family, steps into the gala celebrating her induction to the family legacy, she’s only looking for a distraction from her rapidly increasing anxiety. Instead, she finds Jeon Jungkook, a boy from the wrong side of the war—a world of neon lights, whispered promises, and inevitable ruin.

Their love is reckless, electric, and entirely forbidden.

But in a world where family names mean everything and betrayal is paid in blood, love is the most dangerous gamble. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, they must decide: can love rewrite fate, or were they doomed from the start?

This is a re-interpretation of Romeo and Juliet, weaving a story of desire, power, and the price of challenging fate.

Pairing - Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

Genre - 18+, smut, romance, angst

Warnings - Sexual assault, To Be Conferred [I'm not well-versed in trigger warnings yet. If something is triggering to you or maybe potentially triggering to others, please notify me so I can fix it.]

taglist

i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. ix. x.

[kayusenreads]

Star-Crossed || Chapter vi

In a city divided by power, loyalty, and blood, love was never meant to be an option.

When Kim [Y/N], the daughter of an influential family, steps into the gala celebrating her induction to the family legacy, she’s only looking for a distraction from her rapidly increasing anxiety. Instead, she finds Jeon Jungkook, a boy from the wrong side of the war—a world of neon lights, whispered promises, and inevitable ruin.

Their love is reckless, electric, and entirely forbidden.

But in a world where family names mean everything and betrayal is paid in blood, love is the most dangerous gamble. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, they must decide: can love rewrite fate, or were they doomed from the start?

This is a re-interpretation of Romeo and Juliet, weaving a story of desire, power, and the price of challenging fate.

Pairing - Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

Genre - 18+, smut, romance, angst

A/N -  I wanted their first meeting to be perfect, so I rewrote this a couple of times, lol. It's also the longest chapter so far, so I hope you're not too bothered by it. I also tweaked the description, in case anyone noticed. It's very minor, so I doubt it. Hope you enjoy and please leave a comment about what you think :D

Also because I'm not well versed in trigger warnings yet, if something is triggering to you or may be potentially triggering to others, please notify me so I can fix it. I will add a full list here and a list at the beginning of each chapter.

Thank you I hope you enjoy!

Wordcount - 2.9k

masterlist taglist

Y/N

Descending the grand stairs, the hushed voices of the room below began to fold over me like water. The heels of my shoes clicked softly against the marble stairs as I tried to pace myself in time with my father, trying to avoid looking awkward by going too fast or too slow. 

But there was no way I looked elegant in my stride; my confidence floated away the moment I felt like I was drowning under the gaze of the guests. 

Along with the whispers, the glittery receiving hall swelled with music and the clinking of glasses. The lights were golden and warm, casting a flattering glow over everything they touched. I can’t help but look down at the beautiful dress I had chosen to wear for tonight. 

Mom’s dress.

A dress of satiny material, charmeuse if I’m not mistaken, a rich red color. When I first laid eyes on the dress, I knew it was the one by the way I couldn't find myself to look away. The gown was strapless with a fitted corset bodice and a laced back that accentuated my curves. There was also a thigh-high skirt slit that made me feel sexy and feminine. 

Everything this dress makes me feel is the complete opposite of what the other one that Grandma and Eunchae picked out for me. 

A mischievous grin creeps on my lips for a moment as I think back on their reaction when I presented myself in the new gown just less than an hour ago. They put on such a fit, running to Dad to have him force me into the original, unattractive, and outdated dress. 

Luckily, and to everyone’s surprise, Uncle Yoongi defended me. “Honestly, she will look better than half the council wives ever will. Let her wear what doesn’t make her look embalmed.”

“There’s no time. Y/N’s dressed and that’s the end of it.” Dad declared, and just like that, the matter was closed. I don’t win often against my family, but this time I had.

And my one and only win was catching the glow of the chandelier just right. Each of my steps echoed with a kind of ceremonial weight I admittedly wasn’t prepared for. It was then I felt myself sheepishly draw into myself, the weight of every gaze trained on me, and I knew then that I wasn’t ready for this. 

Dad, ever composed, leaned in slightly without breaking his stride. 

“Stay composed,” he whispered beside me. “Tonight is important…for the Kim legacy. For you…”

I nodded once, but only barely. 

“You only get one first impression. You don’t have to speak much,” Dad continues, his tone calm yet firm. “Just smile and be gracious. Paris hasn’t arrived yet, but he will. When he does, you’ll go to him and introduce yourself. Show him you have manners and presence.”

The pressure he was putting me under curled around my ribs like my corset was pulled too tight. My throat was too dry to speak, so I continued to smile and nod once more. 

A sliver of me wanted to confront him in front of everyone. What was I meant to represent? A daughter? A symbol? But I can only bite my tongue and push forward. The objective was simple: politely mingle and cutely smile until Paris arrives, whoever that is, then go to him.

We reached the midpoint of the stairs, and I could feel Dad’s arm slowly loosening from my grip. His voice dropped to a final murmur.

“No mistakes tonight.”

And with that, he broke free from me as we reached the last few steps. The sounds of his shoes faded away before I had the chance even to look up. I stood still for a breath too long, watching him disappear into a group of men in polished suits and practiced laughter. 

It finally settles in this moment that I am now alone in a sea of eyes and smiles I don’t recognize. Something about the silence in my dread wrapped around me, making me feel hollow. Fear settled deep in my chest, slow and suffocating.

On paper, this night was mine. A debut, a celebration. A night to feel honored. Instead, I felt shelved like something polished and set out for display. Standing here unattended only made me feel small.

My breath caught in my throat, my heart thudding like it was trying to break free from my chest. The clamor of the gala suddenly grew too loud, too sharp for my comfort. I wanted to get away, but I just couldn’t move.

But then, through the blur of bodies and light, an open hand came into view. 

Steady. Unbothered. 

I blinked, and for a moment, all I could see was that hand: clean, warm-toned, long fingers slightly curled in invitation. When I followed the line of the arm up to a face, I nearly forgot to exhale.

A handsome stranger.

His face was striking in a way that felt engineered to be remembered. Unlike many of the guests in the room, he was youthful and sharply defined. He looked like a sculpture that softened at the edges. His smooth skin has a subtle glow under the lights, and his jawline is so precise. 

But it was his eyes that held me. Dark, unreadable, yet somehow warm. It was like if I looked into them long enough, I could have the answers to the universe. There was something rebellious woven into his beauty, adorned with a lip ring that gleamed only to highlight this fact. 

He had dark hair, almost black, slightly tousled, unlike the neatly kept and slicked-back styles worn by the rest of the men in the room. His face framed a mouth that curved like it always had something witty to say. 

There was a glint in his eyes behind his gorgeous, intricate mask, something that felt like a challenge and invitation wrapped into one. And before I could even think twice, I placed my hand in his. 

I hadn’t realized we were moving until we were several steps deeper into the room and the crowd. I snapped out of my haze and began to look around the room, wondering if anyone else was watching this or if I was dreaming. Had I entered this twilight zone where the most gorgeous man was whisking me away?

And yet I didn’t panic; whatever was about to happen was most definitely going to be the highlight of my night. I was already wishing it wouldn’t end so soon, and it hadn’t even started.

Our footsteps faltered, and he turned to face me once more. He leaned in just enough that I could catch a whiff of his scent: cologne edged with spice and something rougher. Darker, like a storm caught in velvet. Amber, maybe, or the trace of cigarettes long since put out. 

It wasn’t sweet, but it was addictive. The kind of scent that would linger in memory, even after it was gone. It wrapped around me gently, unshakable and strange, the sort of scent that made you want to lean closer without knowing why.

And curiously, I did. It should’ve made my nose wrinkle, but instead, it only made me dizzy. 

“You looked like you were about to run,” The stranger said, his voice low yet filled with amusement. “I figured I’d offer a more graceful option.”

His hand found the small of my back, warm, steady, unapologetic. The pressure was light but strong enough to root me in place, like he knew how to hold me without holding me down. His other hand reached for mine, palm up, fingers intertwined firmly with mine, making me realize just how big his hands are compared to mine. 

My heart stops for a moment, my body performing a system restart. Coming to my senses, I tried to step back and pull away. 

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t dance with strangers.”

The handsome man didn’t flinch, his body unmoving and still holding onto me with an unchanging grasp. His eyes searched mine, half amusement, half challenge. It was as though he’d expected my resistance at some point and decided not to acknowledge it. 

Which was understandable because I wouldn’t even believe in myself. 

“Then let’s not be strangers,” He grinned earnestly, and my chest fluttered as he drew me forward into the first step. “Jeon Jungkook.”

“...Kim Y/N,” I narrowed my eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at my mouth. 

Jungkook pulled me closer, closer than the room's etiquette allowed, making my cheeks flush with the realization. He moved like someone who was used to being in control, every step confident and fluid like the rhythm of the music obeyed him instead of the other way around. 

“You don’t belong to this place,” he murmured after a moment, eyes fixed on mine. “I saw it the moment you came down those stairs.”

My breath hitched. “And what makes you so sure?”

He tilted his head, smile flickering. “Because you looked like you were dreaming about running. No one in this room dreams.”

For the first time all night, I didn’t feel shelved or displayed. I felt seen—unnervingly so. And I never wanted to leave his gaze. 

When the music slowed, our momentum continued unchanged. Jungkook held me like we’ve done this many times before, my figure moving perfectly with his even though our bodies were grazing each other and my mind was spinning. The hand that he pressed against my back traveled to my hip, where he now had his fingers splayed in a way that felt both protective and possessive. His thumb traced idle, tantalizing circles on my hip bone.

“You don’t dance with strangers,” he leaned in dangerously close to my ear, lips close enough that I felt the words against my skin. “But you let them touch you like this?”

I became instantly breathless. “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

He grinned. “That’s not true. You could’ve walked away.”

I hated that he was right. And more than that, I hated how much I didn’t want to walk away.

“You’re trouble,” I said as he spun me gently, pulling me back into his chest. I meet his gaze, eyes sharp despite the tremor in my chest.

“I’ve been called worse,” he said with a glint in his eye. “But you don’t look scared.”

I study him, my mouth daring a smirk. “I’ve never been scared of beautiful things.”

That caught him off guard.

Jungkook’s smile faded into something quieter, more intense. “I am,” he confessed, voice like smoke and shadow. “Beautiful things are dangerous.”

He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice. “Like you.”

I swallow. “You don’t even know me.”

“Exactly, and already I’d do something stupid for you,” He dropped down to my neck, his lips barely brushing my skin. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”

The moment spun tighter, a magnetic pull neither of us wanted to break. Jungkook slowly lifted his head as he breathed me in. Like he was inhaling my scent because if he didn’t, he’d die. He stopped back up at my ear and let out a soft guttural exhale, making me quiver at the sound of his pleasure. 

I had to change the subject quickly. 

“You don’t belong to this place either,” I said abruptly and put a little distance between us, echoing something he'd said to me earlier.

Jungkook met my eyes and raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh? And what makes you so sure?”

“You don’t look like you belong.” I softened my voice, trying to hide the immense attraction I felt a moment ago. “Just like me.”

Something shifted in his expression—not surprise, but something close to recognition.

“Oh, Angel,” he said, voice low and deliciously delighted. The pet name makes me melt and go weak in the knees. “Of course I belong. You just don’t know what world you’ve been thrown into yet.”

My chest tightens, not with fear but with curiosity. Danger. Intrigue. And Jungkook saw everything I was feeling just by looking at me. He smiled slowly and wickedly. I should’ve stepped away, but I just couldn’t. 

“Then m-maybe…” I hesitated, “you could show me.”

“That sounds like a dangerous promise I can uphold.” He leaned closer again, mouth hovering inches away from my parted lips, an invitation to allow something more. “Would you like that, Angel?” His warm and smoky breath sends shivers through my body. 

I desperately needed more of him. For his lips to touch mine. My skin. To be taken somewhere private just to get to know him on a deeper level. Even deeper. My mind was whirling, and for the first time in my life, it wasn’t because of the stresses of my life but even worse. This man, this stranger, was giving me attention I’d never had before. Making me feel something I’ve never felt before.

Desired.

But before the tension could stretch any further—

“Y/N?”

Yoongi’s voice cut through the moment like cold steel.

We both froze, the ballroom rushing back into focus like a camera lens adjusting through the blur. Catching a glimpse of my uncle searching the crowd for me, Jungkook stepped back and smiled apologetically. 

“I need to go,”

“No, wait. Please,” I begged, grabbing his arm quickly and despairingly. “Please don’t go anywhere. I’ll come and find you again.”

“I know you will, Angel.” 

And then Jungkook slipped from my grasp like a secret, lost to the crowd. Leaving me behind with his phantom touches and a flutter in my chest I didn’t know what to do with. His scent still clung to me like a sin. 

I stared in the direction he had escaped through, foolishly hoping the crowd would part and offer me one more stolen moment with him. It was ridiculous; I didn’t know him, just a name and handsome face. A voice that could make me shudder with need and eyes that glimmer as though he knew everything.

The dance we shared may have ended, but my pulse hadn’t slowed. It felt as if something genuine had been ripped away from me. My body was still hot, remembering the sway of the waltz, the way he’d looked at me like I was someone significant. Like I was something more than a piece of Dad’s game. 

He looked at me like I mattered.

That thought lodged deep in my chest, a painful, glowing truth. Jungkook had seen me. Not the Kim daughter, not the prize of the night, but me.

“Y/N.”

Yoongi’s presence pulled me away from my haze once more. His voice had a familiar, impatient tone with a hint of something sharper underneath. I turned slowly to face him, blinking myself back into the present.

“What were you doing just now?” he asked, voice low and tight with anger. His eyes weren’t on me; they were scanning the crowd like a hound on a scent.

I followed his gaze instinctively, already knowing who he was looking for.

“That man,” My uncle snapped. “The one you were just with. Who was he?”

I hesitated. My lips parted, but no words came out.

Jungkook’s name lingered on the tip of my tongue, warm and dangerous.

I swallowed it.

“I… don’t know,” I said too softly.

Yoongi’s jaw clenched. He took a step forward, towering. “That’s not an answer, Y/N.”

I lifted my chin, not in defiance but in defense. “He didn’t give one.”

He stared at me for a long moment, then glanced once more toward the shifting sea of guests. His frown deepened, and I felt a strange knot of fear in my stomach. 

Jeon Jungkook was in the house. Somewhere.

And I imagine to his dismay, Min Yoongi had noticed him.

“Those damn Montagues,” He huffed, grabbing my arm and pulling me to walk with him.

“The what-a-gues?” 

“Never mind that it’s none of your business.” Yoongi scolded, tightening his grip on me as he dragged me across the room. 

The bruise he was leaving on my skin was just a reminder that no matter what nice things he had done for me recently, he was still the same brutish man they said he was. 

“Ahh, there’s the woman of the hour!” An unnerving and raspy voice resounded. 

I look up and lock eyes with an older man. He stood stiffly in a dark suit that clung to his wiry frame, pale skin looking almost papery. His icy blue eyes fixated on me, unblinking, making it hard to tell whether he was studying me professionally or inappropriately.

His thin white hair was combed back with meticulous precision, giving him a too-neat, too-controlled look, like someone who smiled only when he had to and always had a reason behind it. There was something in the way he held himself —rigid, almost posed —that made you wonder if he ever relaxed or if he just waited. Watched.

“I’ll leave you too alone,” Uncle Yoongi forced a smile towards the older gentleman. His expression changed to a scowl as he glared at me before continuing. “I need to go talk to Samuel and your father about a few unwelcomed guests.”

He walked right past us with heavy feet, leaving me alone with—

“Paris Thornton from MIT admissions.” The man held his hand out for a shake, and I took it. “Your father told me so much about you, Miss Kim, but he failed to mention just how stunning you are.”

“Thank you, Mister Thornton…” I awkwardly replied, focussing most of my attention on how to slip away from his uncomfortably firm grip on my hand. 

“Oh please, call me Paris.” He chuckled quite loudly, clasping his other palm over my trapped hand. “We’ll be getting closer soon enough.”

[kayusenreads]

Star-Crossed || Chapter v.

In a city divided by power, loyalty, and blood, love was never meant to be an option.

When Kim [Y/N], the daughter of an influential family, steps into the gala celebrating her induction to the family legacy, she’s only looking for a distraction from her rapidly increasing anxiety. Instead, she finds Jeon Jungkook, a boy from the wrong side of the war—a world of neon lights, whispered promises, and inevitable ruin.

Their love is reckless, electric, and entirely forbidden.

But in a world where family names mean everything and betrayal is paid in blood, love is the most dangerous gamble. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, they must decide: can love rewrite fate, or were they doomed from the start?

This is a re-interpretation of Romeo and Juliet, weaving a story of desire, power, and the price of challenging fate.

Pairing - Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

Genre - 18+, smut, romance, angst

A/N - This took me some time to write because I got a little distracted (I started reading one of the many unread books from my shelf, and I’m one of those people who have to read it through before doing anything else lol). I hope this is a good read, though, and I hope you share your thoughts :) I will also be releasing a masterlist by the time the next chapter is posted.

Also because I'm not well versed in trigger warnings yet, if something is triggering to you or may be potentially triggering to others, please notify me so I can fix it. I will add a full list here and a list at the beginning of each chapter.

Thank you I hope you enjoy!

Wordcount - 2.5k

masterlist taglist

Jungkook

The Kim Family estate shimmered ahead like something torn out of a dream. The longer I stared, the more I despised its existence and what it represented. It wasn’t just a mansion but a monument to everything rotten the family had ever done, and they went ahead and dressed it in white and gold. The place glittered, sure, but it glittered like broken glass; beautiful from a distance, cruel up close. 

The estate stands tall up on the hill and the backs of people the Kims had crushed to get where they are today. Their power in this city was not built on legacy but on exploitation. The laughter of guests I could hear from the long winding driveway wasn’t joy—it was mockery. A reminder that in their world, wealth excused everything.

Jimin and I walked together toward the lion's den; his footsteps faltered a few steps behind me, and his breath heaved, exposing his lack of athleticism. We had a longer trek than most, my car strategically hiding down the road and finding a small opening in the outer wall to avoid security at the main gate. 

Altering the guest list was not part of Sam’s repertoire. 

The night air was freezing, and I could barely feel my fingers. But even so, I couldn’t stop fidgeting with my cufflinks to slip my hands into the warmth of my pockets. My jaw was clenched tight, eyes flicking across every inch of the estate, its glowing windows lit up. 

I wasn’t nervous; I just didn’t want to be here. Not because it was dangerous, that part I could handle, but because my mind, traitorous and loud, kept drifting back to her. 

Jihyo. 

Her name echoed in the back of my mind like a bruise you stubbornly kept pressing on. I told myself it didn't matter, that I was here for something bigger, something righteous. Revenge. Loyalty. Blood. But the scent of her perfume still lived in every fiber of my coat. Her shape still haunts me when I close my eyes. 

I keep telling myself I could let her go, but my chest tightens with every lie I divulge.

“Umm, Jungkook? I don’t see Taehyung or Sam out here.” Jimin’s voice reeled me back in from my sea of thoughts.

And he had pointed out something truly alarming. I quickly glanced at my wrist to catch the time, then back towards the side entrance we were a few feet from approaching. Taehying had spent the whole day with several other members inside the estate, buried among Kims and lies. They went undercover as party planner staff, ensuring the plan went off without a hitch.

Though I still haven't been made aware of the plan, I trust Taehyung with my life and the Montague name. I hope to find out soon enough if my moron cousin ever makes it to the meeting spot.

An aggravated sigh escaped my lips, taking the time to look at our surroundings, beginning to grow a little paranoid that someone might see strange men loitering around the mansion. Jimin, too, was visibly nervous, shifting from foot to foot and vocally stimming to fill the heavy, silent air. I took the opportunity to get closer to the outer wall and lean against it with my back, feeling the cold and smoothness of the white stone. 

I could still hear her voice through the music that spilled through the opened glowing windows. Calm, detached, final. It was as if she hadn’t declared her love for me rather loudly while she screamed my name the countless times we were together over the last several months. It was like our relationship and feelings exchanged didn’t matter to her, at least not how it mattered to me. 

And even with my heart heavy, I tried to bury the weight of Jihyo’s breakup under business, under revenge, under everything I was supposed to care about now. But now that I’m just saying here with nothing to do but wait, the grief was beginning to slide through the cracks.

“Uhh…boss?” Jimin spoke up to ease his discomfort with silence. “I heard from Taehyung what was happening with you, and I…umm…”

Curse this kid’s inability to find solace in quietness. 

I tried not to react to his words; instead, I stared straight at the courtyard we had just trekked through to get to this awkward moment.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry you’re going through heartbreak. But from the way Taehyung describes it, she—”

“I don’t want to hear another sound from your mouth, Park. Do you understand?” I interrupted him, preventing myself from exploding at him. 

It’s one thing for my cousin to speak badly of Jihyo, but for my assistant, who shouldn’t concern himself with my personal affairs?

“I’m sorry,” He dejectedly said but wasn’t smart enough to leave it there. “You are just the greatest boss I’ve worked for, and I can’t stand to see you this way. For what it's worth, you deserve better.”

“You’re on thin ice, Park. Quit it.” 

I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him. Maybe it was a mistake to respond again because it just confirms that I’m listening to what this dimwit was saying. And Jimin knew it too, taking the opportunity to shift a little closer.

"I mean it," Jimin continued. "You give so much of yourself to people. To her. And she—" He hesitated, measuring his words. "She couldn’t meet you there. Not fully. Not in the way you needed."

My silence deepened, cold and quiet. I could have shut it down with a glance, but I didn’t. I’m not sure why I couldn’t; maybe I just needed someone to talk me through it with the kindness and gentleness Jimin could. So he kept going, his voice soft but steady.

"You act like love has to be hard to mean something. Like it only counts if it hurts. But there’s someone out there who’d take your love and give it back double. Not just the physical or when it’s convenient, but all of it. The loyalty. The late nights. The parts of you no one else bothers to understand."

That got me to shift slightly. My eyes never moved from the Kim courtyard, but the weight of the silence had changed. Less armored. More wounded.

Jimin offered a slight shrug. “I just don’t think love should feel like you’re always chasing after someone who keeps walking away.”

I let out a quiet exhale, barely more than a breath. “It doesn’t matter now,” I muttered. 

The younger didn’t argue. He knew better than to try and force hope onto someone who wasn’t ready to carry it. But he stood there beside me anyway, hands in his pockets, offering the kind of silence that didn’t demand anything in return.

Almost comically, the door we had been waiting beside squeaked open, and out stepped Sam to usher us inside. It took them long enough I had time to receive therapy after deliberately creating an unwelcoming and silent atmosphere for it. We enter a shadowy hallway, brightened only by the light at the end leading towards the sounds of a gala. 

“Everything is all set up,” Taehyung chimed from the dark, causing a small yelp from a jittery Jimin. “I’ve got the boys set up in position just in case things turn south.”

“What’s the plan anyways?” I ask, leading the group towards what I assume is the event.

My arm is pulled back suddenly by Taehyung, and I stop in my tracks to face him, quite annoyed. He quickly digs into his inner coat pocket, looking slightly agitated when he has to check the other side. A smirk forms on his dimly lit face as he pulls out what he is searching for and presents it to me. 

He hands over a mask, but not one I would expect for a heist, like a balaclava or something similar. It's a masquerade mask, deep in a rich midnight blue color. Delicate lines of silver curled across the surface to form feathered floral designs with small crystals woven into the lacework. The mask looked mysterious enough, teetering on elegance and regality.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s a masquerade gala, duh,” Taehyung stated, having already put on his mask and helping Jimin with his. “A glorified costume party is what it really is, but I digress. Putting this on will help us blend in and maybe prevent Officer Dickhead from identifying us so quickly.”

With that fact alone, I wasted no more time putting the mask on; having the police chief catch us prematurely would make this whole night pointless. Our revenge against Min Yoongi is why we’re here in the first place. He assaulted and arrested some of the residents in our community simply because he could. 

And also, Taehyung wants to avenge my dad, who’s still in the hospital. A decent son would’ve already made the time to see him, but you can’t have a decent kid without a decent parent. 

“You still haven’t told me what we’re doing. I’m the leader, you know. You have to tell me these things.”

“I don’t need to say shit,” Taehyung chuckled, putting his hand on my back and turning me back towards the light at the end of the hall. “The only thing you need to do is stay out of me and my guys' way. Maybe slip away from the party and look for unlocked rooms to gather info. I'll let you know when the show is about to start.”

Before I could protest, I discovered the hall we were in led into the gala from behind the stairs. We enter the Kim mansion’s grand receiving hall—a room that could’ve once passed as a ballroom but has since evolved into something colder and more curated. A room once meant for celebration and joy, but now is just a spectacle and more for show and keeping appearances. 

Opulence bleeds from every corner of the room, white and pristine, with red and gold decor that accents the space. The ceiling soared high above the guests that filled the room, crowned with a chandelier that spilled light like shattered diamonds. Every inch of the room gleamed with money and intention, designed to make people feel small. 

I slowed as we went deeper into the room, scanning the crowd and finding every corner the team had positioned themselves. Some disguised themselves as waitstaff, weaving through the clusters of people with trays of crystal flutes filled with champagne and hors d'oeuvres balanced in white-gloved hands.

Turning back to where we came from allowed me to examine the staircase. Twin marble banisters curved up from either side of the room, meeting at a central landing like the arms of a throne. The stairs were wide, regal-like, each one polished. So much so that it looked like someone had covered it in water, shiner than stone. 

Above that, a long stretch of balcony overlooked the gala below; it looked like it was reserved for the Kims to make dramatic appearances. I hated how flawless something as simple as the stairs were; they were almost theatrical. It is the perfect way to seem as if descending from heaven or looking down from Olympus. 

Still, even I couldn’t keep from glancing up. Not when a goddess now stood at the top of those steps. 

A vision snatched up from a daydream; it was easy to see she didn’t belong in this world. Something about how she held herself beside that wretched family, untouched by this empire of cruel sophistication and manufactured elegance. 

I had never seen her before and couldn’t imagine Taehyung having either. He and his team have created profiles for everyone in Verona. If I had seen her picture attached to one, I wouldn't be so starstruck when admiring her beauty. She may have been kept just out of reach of this city’s rot.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Kim Namjoon’s voice commanded the room, everyone turning their attention towards the host. He raised his glass, ordering silence with nothing more than his presence. 

“Tonight is a very special night. Not just for Capulet Enterprise but also for me. For too long, I’ve kept my greatest treasure hidden away, nurturing her brilliance privately, waiting for the right time to share my daughter with the world.”

I turned to look back at Jimin and Taehyung, who had made it a few feet farther into the room whilst I'd been distracted. Their eyes met mine with a similar confused and uncertain glare. Taehyung looked to be growing reluctant. Namjoon’s toast and introduction to this mysterious young woman was something he was not expecting.

He pulled out his cell phone just as the host continued.

“I present to you…my daughter, Kim Y/N. The light of my life and the future of the Capulet brand.”

Polite applause broke out below, accompanied by the low hum of admiration. Y/N stood just behind her father, her gown a cascade of fire-red silk that gleamed beneath the chandelier’s light. She looked every bit the heir to his empire—poised, composed, stunning.

And yet.

Y/N clasped her hands too tightly in front of her. Her shoulders were too straight like they’d been coached into place. And when she blinked, her gaze drifted downward—not to meet the crowd, but to avoid it.

To someone watching closely, she was trying not to disappear. Y/N smiled perfectly, yet emptily, stepping forward and taking Namjoon’s hand with only the briefest hesitation. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be the subject of everyone's attention. Not in the way her father wanted her to be, anyway. 

I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

She was beautiful, and I hated that it was the first thing I noticed. I couldn’t trust beautiful things anymore; they wore charm like perfume. Sweet at first, and then gone, leaving nothing but the sting. But when I looked at how the light spilled around her, how her eyes were too large, too honest. It felt like a betrayal to notice her, like my heart was mocking me.

The room bent around her presence. Everything else faded. The voices, the clinking glasses, even the burn of my resentment—all of it went quiet. And for a man who had come tonight with revenge weighing down every breath, that terrified me.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not tonight. Not so soon after losing Jihyo. 

But the fact was that Y/N wasn’t like Jihyo at all. There was no calculation in her face, no armor in her eyes. Just a quiet sort of brilliance that made the world feel sharper and softer all at once. And though she hadn’t looked directly at me, I felt a pull. It was as if some part of her already lived in the spaces between my ribs.

As the Kim family descended the stairs, my phone vibrated, and I reluctantly removed Heaven's angel from my line of vision just to read a text from Taehyung. 

Take things slow and keep your guard up. There’s no way to know what the night has in store, especially not now.

I almost agreed, only to realize he had meant the plan I should focus on executing.

[kayusenreads]

Star-Crossed || Chapter iv.

In a city divided by power, loyalty, and blood, love was never meant to be an option.

When Kim [Y/N], the daughter of an influential family, steps into the gala celebrating her induction to the family legacy, she’s only looking for a distraction from her rapidly increasing anxiety. Instead, she finds Jeon Jungkook, a boy from the wrong side of the war—a world of neon lights, whispered promises, and inevitable ruin.

Their love is reckless, electric, and entirely forbidden.

But in a world where family names mean everything and betrayal is paid in blood, love is the most dangerous gamble. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, they must decide: can love rewrite fate, or were they doomed from the start?

This is a re-interpretation of Romeo and Juliet, weaving a story of desire, power, and the price of challenging fate.

Pairing - Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

Genre - 18+, smut, romance, angst

A/N - Hope you enjoy another update, still on mobile so I hope structuring looks good. I enjoyed writing this one, and I things will begin to pick up soon I promise. Let me know your thoughts :)

Also because I'm not well versed in trigger warnings yet, if something is triggering to you or may be potentially triggering to others, please notify me so I can fix it. I will add a full list here and a list at the beginning of each chapter.

Thank you I hope you enjoy!

Wordcount - 2.3k

masterlist taglist

Y/N

There is a saying in Italian that goes, “arrampicarsi sugli specchi.” It translates to “to climb on mirrors” in English, and while the literal meaning may seem to make even less sense, the actual meaning of the phrase is worth knowing.

The gist of it is to intentionally and falsely portray something as the opposite of what it is, to try to prove that black is white. It’s about twisting a narrative by misrepresenting truths and making falsehoods appear authentic.

When I carried myself strong in front of my mom while trying to hide the cracks in my mask, she would pull me aside and ask if I was truly all right. I would lie to save face, not wanting her to think I was unhappy or ungrateful for the life I had.

“Smettila di salire su quegli specchi, tesoro.” She would say. “Stop climbing on those mirrors, darling.”

She could always tell just by one glance I was pretending to be content. It was like she was the only person in the world who understood and listened to me and my feelings. She made sure to stick up for me in situations I wasn’t comfortable in and that I got my way when necessary.

When she passed away so suddenly, it was devastating for me. Of course, any girl losing their mother would be heartbroken; she was my friend and caregiver, not to mention she gave me life itself. But the day I lost my mom was the day I lost my voice. I no longer had a say in anything involving my day-to-day life or my role in the family.

With no one else caring about my point of view, I’ve spent the last several years pretending to care about theirs.

So even though my grandmother picked out the ugliest plum-colored gown for the gala tomorrow night, of course, I feigned appreciation. It was a floor-length dress with an A-line silhouette and a neckline that was so high it guaranteed my breasts would stay tucked away. There were a lot of sequins all over the dress; I could be a disco ball.

It looked like a mother-of-the-bride type of dress. The gown was no doubt meant for older, mature women, which makes sense why my grandmother liked it.

“Please don’t tell me that's for you,” My uncle Yoongi said mockingly, having suddenly entered the lounge from behind where I was sitting.

I shrugged, not even bothering to turn and meet his eyes, and continued to fixate on the dress draped over the chair in front of me. “What’s wrong with it?”

I could make a long list of the things wrong with the dress, but what's the point of that? Why would I go through the trouble and have to keep it to myself anyway? My uncle didn’t even care about what I actually thought about the dress and was just teasing.

Officer Min Yoongi had a knack for trouble. He went around the city not just looking for lawbreakers but for anyone whose patience was already worn thin. Anyone who looked like they might snap with the right nudge. With a crooked smile and a few well-placed words, he baits them into arguments, stirring the pot just enough to watch the anger spark in their eyes.

He thrived on that tension, the moment right before things got ugly when pride and fear tangled up and people showed him just how weak they were. Yoongi wore authority like a weapon. The second his games tipped toward chaos, he dropped the smirk and replaced it with a cold and commanding scowl.

Backed by his badge and the weight of the law, he loved turning petty arguments into official business, shoving people against walls, barking orders, and escalating harmless situations until they spiraled entirely out of hand. It was never about justice for him. It was about control, about reminding everyone who held the power.

Even his own family knew better than to stay out of his way, to never cross him. Everyone looked the other way, including Mayor Hoseok, pretending not to see when Yoongi pushed it too far. Others, like Dad, admired him, mistaking his bullying for strength.

But the truth was more straightforward, much darker; Min Yoongi was a man who needed the world to fear him because he feared what he’d be without it—just another small, angry man with nothing else to provide him with worth.

“Are you serious?” His baffled tone pulled me out of my thoughts about him. “You can’t go to the gala with that? I know you’re a little weirdo, but this is just too much?”

Keeping to myself and indulging in introverted hobbies apparently makes me a “weirdo.”

“Well, I don't know if you care to know, but Dad asked Grandma and his new wife to pick out my dress. I’m not even allowed to dress myself anymore.” I informed him and rolled my eyes, saying that last part under my breath.

“Hey,” He shouted. “Don’t disrespect your father like that?”

Like clockwork, there it was. I could just feel the satisfaction my uncle was feeling radiating off of him. But I don’t have the energy he wants from me to keep fighting back. The past few days blurred together, heavy and colorless, like walking through thick fog. I haven’t stopped thinking about what my dad declared were my plans for the future.

He told me I would be moving out of state to attend a university I never was interested in, studying something I knew nothing about. It felt like the life he was planning belonged to someone else. But it was always like that, wasn’t it? My life never felt like mine at all; I was just an empty husk of a person going in whatever direction Dad wanted me to.

And part of me was devastated; I had real plans. I had dreams I held onto so closely, so quietly, for years. But the other part was just too numb. I know I should’ve fought back. I should have been more angry, but instead, I felt…nothing. I felt nothing but a dull ache somewhere deep in my chest, too faint to move me but too constant to ignore.

But what is the point of doing anything? What was the point in planning anything, wanting anything, when my fate had already been written for me?

When I didn’t bother to respond to Yoongi, I heard him slowly approach me. I stood still while leaning back on the couch with my arms crossed, never looking away from the ugly dress. There was nothing more I was meant to say to him other than “Thanks for the ride” when he decided he was done messing with me and took me home.

“Are you in a bad mood tonight, Y/N?” He gibed, taking his place beside me and wrapping his arm around me to pull me closer. “Did your boyfriend break up with you?”

Again, no response. Not even a falter to my breath to indicate Yoongi’s words bothered me. I couldn’t break out of my numb state. It was like my body was holding me prisoner, and I couldn't react how I wanted, only watch it play out.

And Yoongi noticed something was up, and it didn’t sit right with him the way I was reacting. He continued his tactic to try and get anything out of me, rambling about everything that would normally upset me. Not being allowed to date, have a car, or pick out my friends.

“You’re forgetting a few things,” I interrupted his blabbing, and I could hear his breath hitch. “My dad doesn’t love me, and to prove it, he's sending me away to university so that I can become another cog in this machine of his I want nothing to be a part of. How about the fact I want nothing more than to be a mother and bear children, but my body autonomy isn’t even my own, and the family matriarch decides when he is ready for grandkids?

“Or better yet, Dad bought me an entire loft apartment to live in, but I'm not allowed to head back home until he says ok. So I think a stupid fucking dress for the gala celebrating me is the least of my worries. Especially when in all actuality it's nothing more than a glorified event to get more investors so he can grow and continue to treat his daughter like shit.”

Finally, I’m released from my internal cell, and the first thing I do is cry. I sob so hard it confuses Yoongi, and he leans away, my wailing filling the room, looking for more witnesses to this embarrassing breakdown. If anyone else were home right now, I'd be worried, but I was sort of dumped back at my family’s estate while my grandmother and stepmother went out again. It's kind of unfortunate my uncle had to be here to witness me at my lowest.

What I was expecting was for him to tell me to cut it out, stop crying, and act like a big girl. But instead, he moved closer and wrapped his arms around me, albeit in an awkward hug. It caught me off guard, and that forced me to calm down slightly, focussing all of my attention on slowing my breaths.

“Look uhh…I know you’re upset with the arrangements,” Yoongi started to speak uncomfortably. “Being a part of this family isn’t easy. I’ve done things in my past I didn’t want to, and I uhh…I’m not proud of it. But your father is a wise man whose every move is calculated to ensure the protection and class of this family.”

“I wish Mom were here. She’d know what to do,” I whispered, trying to hide the cracks in my voice.

Yoongi sighed and let go of his embrace. I began to wish that we could stay like that a little longer; I was already missing his warmth. I sat up straight and began to wipe away my tears while he took that as his opportunity to get up off the coach. He stretched and audibly groaned like he was trying to expel his embarrassment from making that mushy speech.

I watched him as he slipped his hands into his uniform pockets and started to make his way back around the couch. I sighed deeply and scrunched up my face due to the cringe, realizing that I had an embarrassing breakdown in front of Yoongi. He will surely use this moment against me in the future, but for now, I'm happy he didn't take advantage of my mental state.

“Are you coming, crybaby?”

Maybe I shouldn’t give him the benefit of the doubt just yet.

I reluctantly pushed myself up off the couch, snatched up my ugly dress, and followed my uncle out of the lounge. After a long and dragging day, I was so ready to go home and collapse in bed. I want nothing more than to get a good night's rest. After all, I'm spending all of tomorrow getting ready for the pointless gala.

But I was super confused when Yoongi turned right towards the staircase and not left towards the front door. My footsteps slowed as I adjusted to the change in direction. Why was he taking me deeper into the house? There's nothing left in here for me, not to mention it was already so late to be wandering the halls.

Well, he was my ride anyway; I didn't have much of a choice, and curiosity was getting the better of me. I quickly caught up to him and walked up the flight of stairs.

There were many rooms I wasn’t allowed in, and I'm not even sure what could be up here that would be of interest to me. Even though this was my family’s house, I couldn't help but feel like I was trespassing. The second-floor hallway we walked through mainly contained sleeping quarters; even my old bedroom was down this way.

But my heart dropped when my uncle stopped in front of a room with large white double doors and an intricate floral design painted on the wood. I met yoongis gaze with wide eyes, not believing what he was doing.

He reached into his pocket, and with a jangle, he pulled out his large key ring. He searched for a specific key, and with a little struggle, he separated from the rest. I held my hand out to receive it, and taking a closer look, I confirmed everything.

“Yoongi, I-I don’t know what to say…”

“How about starting with ‘thank you’?” He chuckled, stepping back and motioning me towards the door. “And be careful with that. Your dad doesn’t want anyone in there, but I figured you could find a nicer dress to wear tomorrow. After all, you don’t want to be representing the family in the old lady getup.”

I started to tear up a little and rushed toward Yoongi, hugging him to show my appreciation. He has no idea how much this small gesture means to me or how much trouble he could be in for giving me the key in the first place. Afterward, I wasted no time unlocking the door. I had to see with my own eyes what was behind it.

Mom's old room.

And even after all these years, it still smelt like her. A lump in my throat began to form as a result of the emotions I felt just being in her old space. Dad wanted this space to be preserved perfectly; no one was allowed to enter the room, let alone touch her things. But the memory of her locked away and out of sight was doing her a complete disservice.

How often does he even enter this room? Would he even notice if I started taking Mom’s stuff back home with me so that she could be honored and remembered properly?

“Don’t take too long. I got to get back to work.”

I can worry about that another day. Right now, let's see if Mom can help me find the perfect dress for the gala.

[kayusenreads]

Star-Crossed || Chapter iii.

In a city divided by power, loyalty, and blood, love was never meant to be an option.

When Kim [Y/N], the daughter of an influential family, steps into the gala celebrating her induction to the family legacy, she’s only looking for a distraction from her rapidly increasing anxiety. Instead, she finds Jeon Jungkook, a boy from the wrong side of the war—a world of neon lights, whispered promises, and inevitable ruin.

Their love is reckless, electric, and entirely forbidden. But in a world where family names mean everything and betrayal is paid in blood, love is the most dangerous gamble. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, they must decide: can love rewrite fate, or were they doomed from the start?

This is a re-interpretation of Romeo and Juliet, weaving a story of desire, power, and the price of challenging fate.

Pairing - Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

Genre - 18+, smut, romance, angst

A/N - So I know it’s been over a month but life just got in the way. I just finished moving not too long ago and me and my family are still trying to get settled in. I’ve rewrote this chapter twice and I hope that this version of it is satisfactory. I’m also posting this on mobile cuz I can’t log into my Tumblr from my laptop and my desktop hasn’t been set up yet, so praying the structuring is halfway decent.

Also because I'm not well versed in trigger warnings yet, if something is triggering to you or may be potentially triggering to others, please notify me so I can fix it. I will add a full list here and a list at the beginning of each chapter.

Thank you and I hope you enjoy!

Wordcount - 2.8k

masterlist taglist

Jungkook

The bar owner whimpered, but I could barely hear him over the pounding in my skull. My knuckles ached, split open and raw, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. My breath became sharp and uneven, my chest rising and falling with the force of my rage.

The man slumped over, slowly sinking further onto the concrete floor. He sat wide-eyed and gasping for air, his face bloodied, making it unclear where it was coming from at this point. I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him upright, forcing him to meet my eyes.

“You wanna try that again?” I snarled, voice low and cold. Beneath it, though, rage boiled beneath my skin—rage that had nothing to do with the man in front of him.

The owner coughed up a mix of blood and saliva. "I-I told you, I don’t know what happened to your father. The police officer—"

My fist made contact with his face once more, sending him back onto the concrete with a loud groan. “I don’t give a fuck about the old man, where is the money, Ilhoon?”

Ilhoon began crying while pleading and begging for the pain and humiliation to stop. He rolled onto his stomach, the blood from his mouth began to pool underneath him. The bastard mewled, arms shaking as he tried to pick himself off the floor. He wished to speak further without the degradation, but I could barely look at him without disgust.

With my patience already razor-thin, my mood more foul than the stale stench of sweat and fear clinging to the air, I kicked him in the gut. His face slammed back onto the floor.

"Where is it?" I scowled, my voice sharp and laced with something dark. Something barely restrained.

The owner moaned, clutching his ribs where I had just driven my foot. “I-I don’t have it,” he stammered, his voice shaking.

I laughed, humorless. “Yeah? That’s funny ‘cause I saw plenty of cash running through your registers last week.” I grabbed the man by his collar again. “Don’t lie to me.”

The other guys continued to watch cautiously, lingering in the background, guarding the door and waiting. Taehyung and Jimin wouldn’t question my actions as of yet, not after the mood I’d been in all morning. They knew I had been looking for something—someone—to take it out on.

“You know the arrangement,” I whispered in a low growl. “You pay, or you deal with me.”

This was how the Montagues operated. They weren’t a charity, no matter how much the people in this neighborhood liked to pretend they were. Yeah, they protected the businesses and kept the Kims from sinking their claws in, from bleeding them dry—but loyalty had a price—a steep one. And when someone fell behind, they made an example of them.

The Montagues were not merciful, not under my leadership.

“No wonder your father is always in here…” The older man chuckled.

It wasn’t clear whether Ilhoon had grown bold and defiant or had already developed brain damage from the injuries. Maybe a sudden sense of grandeur could combat the indignity he has already faced.

“...he gets piss drunk to fill the void that used to hold the pride he had for his son.”

The room grew cold, and I could feel the jaws drop from the other two in the room. I felt my anger surge, sharp and suffocating. My fingers tighten around the bar owner's collar, my other hand pulling back, curled into a tight fist—

Then everything blurred.

My first punch was controlled, and so was the second. But by the third, fourth, fifth—I don’t even know how many—my body was moving by itself, my mind slipping into something dark and senseless. I wasn’t thinking anymore, just pounding and beating and striking, taking all my rage out on this unfortunate older man.

But I did know one thing for sure while I feverishly attacked the man: I was trying to beat something out of this man that had nothing to do with his debt or the business or even the low-blow remark he made about my father.

A firm grip latched onto my wrist mid-punch, yanking me backward. "Enough!"

I jerked my body, straightening my posture with ragged breath and hazy vision. Taehyung stood in front of me now, positioning himself between me and the bar owner, eyes sharp with warning.

I watched the beaten man slump forward, groaning in pain, his face barely recognizable beneath the open wounds and bruising. I looked down at my own hands, bloodied and trembling. I flex my fingers, trying to stop them from shaking.

The room began to feel too small, too loud, despite only the grunting cutting through the silence. The stench of blood and sweat clung to the air, thick and suffocating.

I had to get out of there fast.

Quickly, my feet carried me out of the storage room of the Poisoned Chalice, struggling to hold up my heavy and exhausted self. They didn’t stop until I had made my way out the back door and into the alleyway.

The glare of the sun was harsh on my eyes, needing time to adjust to the light after the dark of the bar. I leaned my depleted body against the wall of the building and enjoying the way the cool stones feel on my head.

It was then that I noticed my breathing started to pick up, like I had just run a marathon. I tried to steady it, but I just couldn’t. My heart raced out of my chest; my pulse was in my ears, like a thunderous roar.

My hand held onto my chest, and I thought I could stop it. I wished there was a way to reach right inside and calm my heart and stop my lungs from gasping for air.

When that didn’t work, I grabbed my face tightly, trying to mimic someone else telling me to hold it together. I closed my eyes and prayed the world would die, that I would die. But it didn’t work. Nothing worked.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jimin demanded, both him and Taehyung following me out the door, with a voice full of concern. “You usually know when to quit.”

It was like my pridefulness took over, overruling my body’s panic attack to save face. As much as I desperately wanted to be left alone and get away, I needed to stay because being in their presence was the only thing that could stop me from hurting.

I exhale sharply, sliding my hands down my face. It was only after that action I realized my hands still covered in Ilhoon’s blood. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Taehyung scoffed, pushing his way past Jimin.

Even though I was technically his boss, Taehyung had just about as much power over the group as I did. We were always close growing up and did everything together so it only made sense to run the montagues together as well. In a sense, I was the CEO and he was the COO. He takes care of the day-to-day operations and manages the team, while as a leader, I’m the final decision-maker.

I’m also the strategic planner and overall face of the group, defining us to the community we swore to protect.

And that was why my fuming cousin was in my face right now, scolding me about representation and accountability. I don’t even know what he’s saying because my thoughts are so loud I can’t hear him.

I should’ve been thinking about my father, about the attack last night that landed him in the hospital, about what the bar owner said before he got pummeled. But all I could think about was her, and the way she had looked at me before she walked away—like I was nothing. Like we were nothing.

And I know this to be the reason I lost control in there. I needed to feel like I was something, even if it meant to break a couple of bones to do it.

It ultimately was Jimin’s voice that pulled me out of my thoughts. “What happened?” His voice was lower and calmer than the other. The difference between the two men was respect; Jimin had more of it due to being my assistant and bookkeeper. “This isn’t normal.”

I found myself swallowing hard, jaw clenched tightly.

Even though I’ve been thinking about Jihyo all morning, a vision from the night before with her hit me like a flash bang.

✦✦✦

A sultry red glow bathed the short hallway leading away from the club. Behind the roped-off doorway, there were a few alcoves on both sides, small nooks with only a curtain for added privacy. I approached my favorite room, the usual spot for our rendezvous. The neon lights bled across the velvet walls and a few mirror panels, reflecting the low shimmer of the small chandelier overhead.

Along all three walls stretched a black leather couch, sleek and inviting, but I had no interest in sitting just yet. Alcohol, sweat, and the cheap perfume of the last dancer filled the air. The stuffiness didn’t pair well with the distant thrum of bass from the main floor.

The lounge owner may have built this room for leisure and indulgence, but I couldn’t keep still.

I paced around the little area I had behind this curtain, running my hands through my hair while my pulse drummed faster than the music outside. Impatience whirrs in my veins, and excitement spreads to my fingertips. Wishing for my love to make her way to reunite with me.

There was something electric about the wait every time I found myself here. The anticipation made it impossible to stand still. Every second felt stretched too thin, like the room itself was holding its breath along with me.

And when my Jihyo finally arrives, I can feel time stop around us.

The room suddenly became nothing but a shadow surrounding the two of us. An oppressive dim, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The soft light that barely touched her skin made it look as if she was a vision, an impossible dream that my mind had conjured up just for me. Heavy was the ambiance with the weight of her presence. The world on the other side of this curtain ceased to exist.

There was nothing but this moment. Nothing but her.

“Jungkook…” She spoke up, taking a step closer. “I’ve been expecting you…”

Her voice was like a spell, a melody spun from silk and shadow. It dripped with something sweet, something dangerous—like honey laced with venom. It had a cadence that was so rousing it lured you, making it impossible to move away.

I found my eyes tracing the outline of her body, admiring the way the light made her glow like something celestial. I couldn’t wait any longer; I wanted to touch and hold her. Pull her close and never let go.

And in my despairing hunger, I pounced on her, closing the miles of distance between us. I could hear the subtle rustle of her breath, steady and warm, but it felt as if it reached deep inside me, shaking me awake in ways I wasn’t ready for. I couldn’t think of anything but my desperate need for her.

Her scent was an intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla; it was all-consuming. It was like a drug that took complete control over every part of me. It clung to my skin, filled my lungs, and settled into my bones like I could never escape it, even if I wanted to.

And I didn't want to. Not for a second.

Unable to resist the urge any longer, my hands moved to the back of her head as my lips crashed into hers. Jihyo responds with the lowest of moans, her hands gripping my shoulders roughly. I took that as the go-ahead to deepen the kiss. Her lips were soft as I moved against them with immense passion and intensity, not wanting to waste a second of opportunity.

“Jungkook, please…” She softly groaned, her lips lightly brushed mine until I hungrily captured them once more.

My hands couldn’t resist wandering her body, fingertips tracing down her back and towards her waist. I left a trail of kisses down her neck and her collarbone. Jihyo's skin was soft everywhere I touched, and she smelled so deliciously sweet that I couldn't help but use my tongue to tease her skin.

She moaned my name tenderly; the compliment made me want to be even bolder.

Jihyo’s fingers raked my back, inducing a wave of desire, and I pulled her closer to my body. My hips buck into her of their own volition; my hard-on was practically begging to break free. A deep groan escaped my lips as I grind forward, my palms traveling lower, grabbing handfuls of her cheeks.

Every part of her felt like it belonged to me—no, like I belonged to her. My entire existence seemed insignificant without her in it, as if she were the center of my universe, the very air I breathed. I am hers.

“Jungkook!”

My eyes fly open when Jihyo stops me and pushes me down onto the couch. The corner of my mouth turns up into a smirk, and I can feel my eyes gleam as I look up at her.

“Ahh, I see,” I hummed, taking off my cashmere suit jacket and quickly unbuttoning my white dress shirt. “My baby wants to be in control today?”

“Please stop. I’m not your baby…”

The moment the words left her mouth, my heart tore into thousands of pieces. Jihyo stood over me, arms folded tight across her chest in an attempt to shield herself. She seemed to shrink into herself and was trying to disappear into the dim light. Her eyes refused to meet my confused gaze. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer and more hesitant.

“I can’t keep doing this, Jungkook…I-I’m seeing someone…”

“Who?” My voice boomed in comparison to hers. “Give me a name. I’ll burn down the whole city for you.”

“Listen, I LOVED the time we’ve spent together. Like you were really great…” She paused to take a deep breath and collect her thoughts. “But I can’t be with someone so…you.”

I watched her, aching to be closer to me as her eyes traced my exposed chest. It was easy to tell that she was afraid of what might happen if I reached up and touched her. And I wanted to so very much. I wanted to pull her down on me and reclaim her. I was starving with want for her—starving for her touch, for her everything.

For her to be mine again.

Without her, I was nothing. And that terrified me immensely.

“I-I don’t understand,” I nervously chuckled. “I gave you all of me, you are my everything. I love you Jihyo, please baby don’t do this.”

“The way you are so lovestruck was so endearing in the beginning, but now its starting to suffocate me. I need to be with someone more normal.”

✦✦✦

“Forget it,” I muttered, but the memories were sinking their claws into me. I tried to fight back against them dragging me down. “Jimin, go back in there and tell Mister Choi we’ll be back in two days to collect. If he breathes a word of what happened to anyone, I’ll be back alone to finish the job.”

Jimin quickly nodded and hurried back into the bar. I turned back to Taehyung and motioned towards the car parked a several feet away. We started to make our way towards it, when he spoke up to my dismay. I was hoping he wouldn’t speak another word of my outburst.

“I know you don’t give a rats ass about your dad, even if he was on the brink of death…So what did whore do to get you so rialed up?”

I choose not to answer, not to give into his taunting. He never liked the fact that I was seeing Jihyo, thought she was too distracting and not worth my time. He always thought she was using me, and I know he would have a field day filled with “I told you so's” if he knew she broke up with me and left me for a better man.

So I just don’t plan on ever telling him until I can heal my heart enough to handle his gloating.

“Whatever,” He gave up rather quickly trying to get a reaction out of me and grew serious. “Sam told me this Namjoon has been planning a gala for tomorrow night and can get us in. It would be the perfect opportunity to-”

“Lets do it.” I interrupted.

I don’t care what we’re doing, but I needed to get back into work, making up for the last few months I’ve been slacking. I needed to go back to the way I was before I met Jihyo and got my heartbroken.

I needed to go back to being normal.

[kayusenreads]

Star-Crossed || Chapter ii.

In a city divided by power, loyalty, and blood, love was never meant to be an option.

When Kim [Y/N], the daughter of an influential family, steps into the gala celebrating her induction to the family legacy, she’s only looking for a distraction from her rapidly increasing anxiety. Instead, she finds Jeon Jungkook, a boy from the wrong side of the war—a world of neon lights, whispered promises, and inevitable ruin.

Their love is reckless, electric, and entirely forbidden. But in a world where family names mean everything and betrayal is paid in blood, love is the most dangerous gamble. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, they must decide: can love rewrite fate, or were they doomed from the start?

This is a re-interpretation of Romeo and Juliet, weaving a story of desire, power, and the price of challenging fate.

Pairing - Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

Genre - 18+, smut, romance, angst

A/N - I finished writing this chapter with a sharp pain in my head, but I continued because I just wanted to not mess up my flow. Please let me know of any errors or your honest opinions so I can change anything to make this story the best it can be. Thank you!~

Also because I'm not well versed in trigger warnings yet, if something is triggering to you or may be potentially triggering to others, please notify me so I can fix it. I will add a full list here and a list at the beginning of each chapter.

Thank you and I hope you enjoy!

Wordcount - 2.4K Words

masterlist taglist

Y/N

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, my fingers brush against the silky fabric of my dress, adjusting the way it sits on my shoulder. It was nothing special—simple and black, the dress you’d throw on for a casual dinner—but it felt like the wrong choice tonight. 

My body type wasn’t the same as the mannequin at the boutique I purchased it from. I was a few inches taller so the length of the dress fell just above the knees. My upper body was a bit broader, making the off-shoulder straps pull the dress snug to my chest, exposing my neckline and drawing attention to my cleavage. 

This dress makes me feel so damn beautiful, but I’m wearing it in front of someone who will make me feel disgraceful. 

The soft hum of my laptop echoed from the desk nearby, pulling me out of my thoughts for a moment. I glance down at the screen, where an animated Hana chatted away and filled the silence. Her eyes were wide with excitement as she described her shift at the hospital, or more so the parts of her day unrelated to work. 

I tried to focus on her, but my eyes kept drifting back to my reflection. I honestly couldn’t care less about the latest nurse gossip being spread around. The vanity lights in the mirror illuminated my skin, but there was something about the way they highlighted my face that made me feel like an actress, playing a character and putting on a show.

And the person who will be watching me is my biggest critic; my dad. 

“Y/N?” Hana’s voice broke through my contemplation, sharp and teasing. “You are listening, right?”

Stepping back into the frame, I fake a smile as I present myself in front of my best friend. She gasps and her squealing sends me into a twirl as I show off the rest of me. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t listening. I’m trying to get ready. What were you saying?” I apologize while taking a seat at the desk in front of the laptop. 

“Are you kidding? I wanna know what’s going on with you! Tell me…who’s the lucky guy you’re going out on a date with?”

I fiddled with my earrings trying to put them on, smirking just a little at the ridiculous comment. Me? Date? Please…

If only I had the time to date, or even the permission to. My dad would never allow me to start an entanglement with people that wouldn’t benefit the family—the empire. Hell, if he knew I mingled with the hospital staff he’d explode. 

After explaining that I was meeting with “Daddy Dearest” for dinner, she rolled her eyes and immediately became disinterested in my night. Which was a good thing because I don’t wanna talk anymore about the evening that’s yet to unfold. 

My dad would say, “family business is no one’s business”, but I wouldn’t want to discuss my family in general. 

Hana went back to gabbing, this time I kept up with her by nodding along and absent-mindedly responding. Every few seconds or so the sounds “uh huh”, “hmm”, and “oh?” would escape my lips as I continued getting ready. Clean and light makeup paired with a basic hairstyle, nothing that would want to draw too much attention. 

I stared at my sullen face in the video chat camera, trying to convince myself that everything was fine. It would be fine, right? I just needed to keep the conversation short and simple, accept the complaints, and acquiesce to any new responsibilities that inevitably would be thrown my way. 

It was coming to the point that I couldn’t stall anymore. I had to face the music and get moving. 

“I’m sorry Han,” I cut her off, admittedly a little unapologetic. “I do need to go. You know how my dad is about tardiness.”

She chuckles with a hint of sarcasm, the ending trailing off as her face twists into repulsion. The thought of that man doesn't bring a feeling of fondness. 

“Alright, babe. But please do me a favor?” Hana rushed to get that last part out before I hung up the video call. 

“Hmm?”

“Puh-lease find an escape and think about yourself for a moment. I really don’t want you to end up like your crazy family.”

✦✦✦

The restaurant surrounding us proved to be lively—silverware clinked against porcelain, the low murmur of overlapping conversations, and the occasional fit of laughter from nearby tables. The air was swirling with the smell of freshly baked garlic bread, the only food at my disposal to devour stressfully. 

Across from me, dad was taking a phone call and using his hands in lively gestures as he spoke. This was something he always did for as long as I can remember. Kim Namjoon was a confident man and he presented himself that way no matter who he spoke to or what he was saying. To seem commanding you must emphasize the importance of your words.

His voice would rise and fall in that charismatic way that always drew people to him. I could barely bring myself to care about the subject of his call. I gave up my nosy nature years ago, once I realized my dad would never elaborate if I ever heard anything I wasn’t meant to. I was gaslit into believing I misheard or didn’t know what I was saying, that I was crazy. 

Crazy.

My mind continues to wander to Hana’s plea to escape my crazy family so I don’t end up like them. I could only bring myself to shut the laptop to avoid continuing the conversation at the moment. I just can’t listen to someone speak about my family like that. Above all, I can’t muster up the energy to defend them anymore. 

I hear the stories from Hana and the other hospital staff about the mistreatment, not just from my dad, the hospital director of Capulet General, but also from the rest of the board. I see the posts on social media claiming the city's police department doesn’t handle cases properly, that my uncle Min Yoongi, the chief of police, is crooked and dishonest. 

Our family “empire” stretches out into all types of public service work; no matter where you look, there is something negative to say. 

“Nothing was ever proven in a court of law, don’t believe everything you see on the internet.” Dad would say when this was brought up in conversation.

But when you’re going up against a family syndicate, it’s much harder to win when your opponent has ties with the courts. I can admit that I’m not blind or stupid to what’s happening, but I have no choice but to turn a blind eye. 

My mother used to try to convince me that sometimes ignoring wrong doing didn’t mean you were a terrible person, you were protecting yourself from said terrible people. I don’t remember much about her, but this advice I clung to to justify my stance in the matter. 

A heavy sigh caught my attention and drew me away from my train of thought. I quickly darted my eyes towards dad, wondering if keeping to myself had somehow annoyed him. He was pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head in disappointment, I took the chance to quickly swallow the mouthful of garlic bread I had been mindlessly stuffing in my face. 

“Your uncle will be the death of me,” Dad said listlessly.

“What happened?” I questioned in a perfunctory manner, knowing he wouldn’t answer me. 

“Don’t mind your pretty little head about it, darling.” And there it was.

I have been a part of this family for 21 years, born into it with its blood running pure throughout. But in a way I’m a stranger to all family affairs, not allowed to be involved in any way, shape, or form. Dad handles the whole family like a part of his company. My whole life I’ve waited to be invited into the Kim guild just to be in the loop and included. But now, after all I know, I’m not too sure. 

Growing up, I believed loyalty was the same as love. Family always came first—that was law, an unspoken creed we all lived by. There were always whispers about us, people casting shadows on our name. I defended myself and my family each time; my father wasn’t manipulative but persuasive, my uncle wasn’t cold-hearted but practical. Regardless of the claim, the excuses came easily because I was taught that those same people speaking ill about my family were jealous of our success. 

My mind raced with the memories I’d buried, the truth weighing heavier than any excuse I could muster. I wasn’t so sure of anything anymore, a wave of something bitter and cold rising in my chest—shame, anger, despair all knotted together. As much as I wasn’t allowed to know the family’s business, that never stopped me from snooping.

In a way, I wish I hadn’t done so. That way I could continue with life with the unconditional love I had. 

The evidence was glaring. Deals made in dark rooms. Promises broken without hesitation. People ruined and discarded like pawns in some endless, selfish game. And I’d been a part of it—maybe not directly, but by looking the other way, by telling myself it wasn’t my place to judge.

But normal families didn’t leave destruction in their wake. Good people didn’t destroy lives to pad their own pockets.

What did that make me? I’d built my identity on defending them, clinging to the belief that they couldn’t be as bad as everyone said. But now, stripped of my excuses, all I saw was the truth: they were that bad. Worse, maybe.

And there was nothing I could do about it. They didn’t need me to defend them anymore; they were too far gone, too entrenched in their corruption to even care about my moral crisis. I was just a single thread in the tangled web they’d spun, and pulling away now wouldn’t unravel anything. It wouldn’t fix the damage or undo the harm.

What am I even doing here? The thought crept in again, unwelcome but persistent. I tried to push it aside, focusing instead on the flicker of the candle on our table, the way it made the wine in his glass glow a deep crimson. My dad was actively speaking but my feverish mind wouldn’t allow me to listen. 

He realized and spoke up about it.

“What’s wrong tonight, darling?” Dad’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp enough to make me flinch.

“Yeah, sorry,” I said quickly, straightening in my chair. “I was just… thinking.”

“There’s nothing to think about, I can do it all for you.”

It might sound like a sentiment thing to say; let me take the mental burden from you because I don’t want you to stress. But it was all just a part of his controlling nature. It didn’t matter what I thought. I could only sit here, playing the dutiful daughter until it was time to be officially invited into the company. 

The waiter appeared, setting down a plate of pasta in front of me. The rich aroma rose to meet me, but my stomach churned. I twirled my fork absently, watching the noodles tangle and untangle, like my thoughts. They’re not bad people, I told myself. They’re just trying to protect what’s ours.

But then I remembered the faces. The ones I’d seen on the news, the people whose lives were shattered because of the Kim Family Name. I couldn’t tell myself this was harmless, not when the evidence was staring me in the face after years of looking for it.

“...so I’ve arranged for him to attend with the sole purpose of meeting with you,”

The words caught me off guard, causing me to choke on my pasta and cough loudly in the restaurant. The patrons at nearby tables began to stare, some with worry and others with judgement. Dad raised an eyebrow, probably wondering if I needed help. 

I apologized and composed myself before asking him to clarify after admitting I wasn’t listening. 

He explained the future he had decided for me, the method of which I would be integrated into the family business. I would attend MIT to contribute to the technological advances for Capulet General. A man from the board of admissions is interested in working with my dad, so as a favor is willing to meet with me and coach me into acceptance. 

The thing is, I know nothing about tech or engineering. I’ve never shown the least bit of interest in it my entire life, why would this be what my father plans for me? My dream to be a teacher, caretaker, or even a mother was disregarded for one of the hardest and most intense fields of studies. 

“I’ve planned a gala in your honor, don’t be so ungrateful,” Dad snaps, the anger in his voice hurts me deeper. “Everyone will be there to celebrate you before you're sent away.”

The term “sent away” cuts like knives, like I’m being thrown to the side so he doesn’t have to deal with me anymore. 

I wish you could help me, mom. You knew how to dissuade dad from bad decisions. 

I swallowed hard and stabbed a piece of pasta, pretending to be engrossed in my plate. The room felt stifling, the chatter and laughter around us too loud, like it was mocking me for my silence. Dad kept talking, his voice steady and confident, as if the world hadn’t cracked open for me in the middle of this fancy restaurant.

But I should be grateful, right? I was on the winning side of history, the high ground in the economy. I see my reflection in the wine glass as I’m about to bring it to my lips. I just look at the woman staring back and see that she’s not me. I can’t explain it, I wouldn’t even know how to start.

How can she call herself Kim Namjoon’s daughter and feel like an imposter? She hides behind the family name to be a part of something, to benefit from the riches it provides. 

So why can’t she be happy?

“I’ll also be arranging for you to go gown shopping with Eunchae and your grandmother. I can’t have you dressing like this in front of important guests.” Dad said, chuckling. His laugh was warm, familiar, the kind that used to make me feel safe. Now it felt like a cover, a shield he used to hide what was underneath. 

I forced a small smile, hoping it would satisfy him.

[kayusenreads]

Star-Crossed || Chapter i.

In a city divided by power, loyalty, and blood, love was never meant to be an option.

When Kim [Y/N], the daughter of an influential family, steps into the gala celebrating her induction to the family legacy, she’s only looking for a distraction from her rapidly increasing anxiety. Instead, she finds Jeon Jungkook, a boy from the wrong side of the war—a world of neon lights, whispered promises, and inevitable ruin.

Their love is reckless, electric, and entirely forbidden. But in a world where family names mean everything and betrayal is paid in blood, love is the most dangerous gamble. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, they must decide: can love rewrite fate, or were they doomed from the start?

This is a re-interpretation of Romeo and Juliet, weaving a story of desire, power, and the price of challenging fate.

Pairing - Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

Genre - 18+, smut, romance, angst

A/N - Hope the first chapter is enjoyable. I understand if the story isn't that interesting yet, but it will take a few chapters to get to the good stuff lol. Btw, all names of secondary characters are not meant to represent anyone in real life. Even the likeness of the BTS members aren't meant to be offensive in any form. I hope we can all have fun here :)

Also because I'm not well versed in trigger warnings yet, if something is triggering to you or may be potentially triggering to others, please notify me so I can fix it. I will add a full list here and a list at the beginning of each chapter. 

Thank you and I hope you enjoy!

Wordcount - 2.4k

masterlist taglist

Jungkook

The neon lights of the Ecliptica Lounge flickered sporadically overhead, a hue of pink and purple casting a garish glow on the rain-slicked pavement. In front of the blacked-out windows, I stood right next to the bright red open sign with a silhouette of a nude woman straddling it. 

While watching pervy patrons scurry for the front door, a cigarette found its way to my lips and there it sat while I fished in my pockets for a lighter. Loud sensual music filled the sidewalk as the door opened for another set of shameless individuals to enter and a different creep was thrown out.

I fumbled with the lighter and brought it to the cigarette's tip, my eyes narrowing with frustration as the weak spark barely flickered. The small metal rectangle was weathered, with its once chromatic surface faded and scratched. Every time I pull it out, it reminds me of how long I’ve let this habit go on and that quitting will become infinitely harder after every light. 

One would think that a smoker would just trash the damn thing and buy a different one as the refilling of lighter fluid is considered tedious. And while it is true, I would never replace my lucky lighter even in this moment of irritation.

With a deep breath, I flicked the lighter’s wheel again, flint scraping against the metal, but the paper-wrapped tobacco refused to catch the sputtering flame. A low groan slipped past my lips as I feverishly tried to ignite the cigarette, each failing attempt adding to my mounting anxiety. Irritation and impatience took over as I shook the lighter, hoping to coax the remaining fuel into action. 

It was at this moment I couldn’t tell if my shaking was because the cold winter rain was piercing my skin or the stress caused by the withdrawal my addiction had prized me with. My composure slowly drained, and my lower half became restless as I slowly rocked on my feet. The sighing grew frequent unknowingly, thinking about the cigarette untouched by flame that was mockingly slipping from my mouth.

Before it became too embarrassing, the lighter glows long enough for an inadequate flame to catch an ember. One deep, satisfying drag later, my nerves finally settled alongside a mixture of resignation and irritation. My body softens slightly as it happily fills its lungs with toxic smoke.

As much as I know this was wrong, the way my body reacts to this cancer stick, I know I can’t fight it. I will always be weaker than my addiction, so I choose to blame the cigarette over myself. 

I started smoking soon after my grandfather passed away. Out of everyone in my family and community combined, I was the most devastated. Grieving affected me hard, my father refused to allow me to process the emotions properly. I never understood if it was because of his stance on emotional men or the fact that his father was a terrible parent. 

I heard the stories they told of how unforgiving he was, how he was a hard-ass and never let anything stop him from getting his way. The family describes him as authoritative and intimidating, but I only saw him as merciful and protective. 

Even so, they all admit he seemed to have mellowed out as he got older and I fear the picture they painted of him being brutish and rigid fit the description of his son more than him.

They say I’m lucky to have never known that side of him, but in all actuality, they haven’t got a clue how much I was fortunate enough to witness. It’s painful to think I could’ve learned so much more from him if he hadn’t left me so soon. 

I brushed my thumb over the engravings made on the last thing he ever gave me. With a weak smile, he repeated the same saying to me. 

“What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.”

My younger self didn't fully comprehend what it meant, never mind what he was trying to accomplish. But as time passed, digging through his belongings for the truth and watching my world darken and numb, I began to understand and took it upon myself to make things right. 

The lucky lighter returned to my jacket pocket, where it'll continue to be just a spent relic of mine. In that moment, I was pulled out of my daydreaming, long enough to realize my cell phone had been vibrating for a while.

I chose to ignore it, knowing exactly what it was for and not wanting to deal with work right now. 

Even after all that stress and effort just to light the smoldering roll I hate every minute it takes to burn and smoke it to completion. My chest grows hot as I inhale it into my lungs, the tightness I feel is unpleasant as useless air tries to escape. 

Shallow drags allow me to ease into the light-headed but pleasant hazy feeling that is present every time. My scrambled brain might finally take a second to calm or my achy depressed body might be soothed, but the blissfulness doesn’t always last long.

So I decided to take deeper, longer puffs, hold them purposefully, and repeat. I eventually find myself feeling sick after a moment or two because I greedily overdid it, starving myself from sweet fresh oxygen and trying to heal myself through lethal means.

But the cycle continues every few hours if I am lucky enough to last that long. No matter how much I always hated my bad breath or dry mouth, the feeling of even just part of my body wrapped tightly around a warm blanket was far more delightful than facing the senselessness and emptiness of my situation without it. 

I know I must quit. I’m killing myself slowly, which I’m well aware of, but I just can’t. 

The vibrations start back up again and I reach into my pocket for my phone. 

I answer.

“What?”

“Oh my god, finally!” My cousin Taehyung exclaims on the other end, sounding completely exasperated. “We need you to come quickly to the Poisoned Chalice, it's urgent! Your father-”

I hung up the phone at the mere mention of that wretched sperm donor, I’ve reached my daily emotional capacity for him already and I need a much-needed break. 

Grinding the remaining embers on the brick of the strip club, I toss the cigarette butt at my feet and dart my hands into my jacket pocket. The blistering wind is harsh on my skin after exposing it purposely for several minutes. My legs take long and quick strides into the building, feeling nothing but sensory overload when entering the lounge.

The air was thick with a scent mixture of cheap perfume, potent hard liquor, and sweet musk. This amalgamation mingled with the strong stench of tobacco and marijuana clung to the back of my throat. Dimmed-colored lights bathed the room in a lurid glow, causing my vision to see other patrons unclearly. 

Alluring and sensual music boosted its bass through the speakers, ear drums humming, and floor vibrating. My heartbeat thrums in synchronization with the rhythm and flashing lights. The room pulses and gives sober guests migraines. 

Glittering girls moved fluidly on stage, their costumes and lingerie catching the stage lights and sparkling. They danced hypnotically with a blend of seduction and athleticism as their bodies twisted and arched with grace. Both men and women watched, their faces lit with the glow of their drinks, enraptured by the performance. 

Everywhere you looked, there was movement, color, and noise, each element competing for attention in a relentless onslaught that left people reeling.

I walked through the kaleidoscope of colors and shadows to get to the bar. It wasn’t far from the entrance, but it was easy to become distracted and turned around. Navigating past clusters of bodies seated at or around plush couches, eyes fixated on the dancers on platforms a few feet in front of them. 

Reaching the bar top, I slipped past a guest retreating and taking their place at the counter. My gaze fixated on the woman behind the tending station, a gorgeous older woman with a striking figure. She was dressed more modestly than the other workers in the club, in a short and tight-fitted black dress that highlighted her curves.

As she wiped the countertop with practiced ease, her eyes flicked up to meet mine. A hint of recognition sparked her eyes seconds after, pairing it with a warm welcoming smile.

“Good evening, Jungkook.” She proclaimed with a smooth and confident voice that cut through the cacophony surrounding us. Instinctively she pulled a glass from below the bar and set it between us. “The usual?”

I returned her smile with a playful grin. “You know me too well, Nayoung.”

She fixed a neat whiskey, making it a double with no ice. As Nayoung poured the drink, she pressed her body on the counter, leaning over slightly to bring attention to her cleavage. 

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can get for you.” She smirked and slid the glass into my hand, intentionally touching my fingers and lingering for a moment. 

Every night I come to the lounge, she does this same song and dance, but she’s not to blame. When a man walks into a club dressed in his nicest suit, he stands out in a sea of casually attired guests. It is only business that she flirts with me to get me to throw cash around, pun intended. 

Flashing a wink in her direction, I grabbed the glass and turned away, propping my elbows up on the counter. I swished the drink in my glass, taking in the oaky aroma. Bringing the glass to my lips I tasted only a fraction of its contents, letting the burning sensation replace the sheer discomfort of a dry mouth.

My eyes darted across the room, looking through the haze of neon and shadow, methodically searching for the one reason I came here. The only reason I find myself here so often is that I’ve become familiar with the exasperating scene and eager bartender.

Jihyo.

From the bar I could see my beautiful Jihyo in the far corner of the lounge, performing on a small platform for a few other guests. My pulse quickened the moment my gaze locked onto her, the dim, sultry glimmer of the club intensified her presence. The stage lights cast her in a halo of seductive glow as the rest of the room seemed to blur, leaving only a luminous angel.

I could feel my eyes consuming every ounce of her being, so thirsty they could drink an ocean dry. Jihyo wasn't just another dancer, she was a vision from a dream, a muse trapped in a world of neon and velvet. Her movements were a delicate, rhythmic poem that captivated my senses. 

She was the embodiment of all my deepest yearnings and unspoken desires. 

Throwing back my drink, I finished it in one large swing and turned to place it back on the bar. Nayoung took notice, smiling coyly and making her way back over. I reached into my pocket and fished for my wallet. After fumbling with it briefly, I grabbed a fifty-dollar bill and placed it between us on the counter. 

The bartender’s expression brightened even more as she slid the bill into her possession, quickly pocketing it, probably afraid someone else would snatch it right up. With a slight wave of the hand to convey thanks, she went on about her business helping another patron.

I chuckle as I turn on my heel, feeling like I’m walking on air. My feet carry me over towards the other side of the club where my heart wishes to be. 

My body and stride radiate with only pure elation, an energy that is nearly impossible to contain. My state of being seemingly comes alive with an electric vibrancy as if every one of my nerve endings is celebrating. The muscles on my face grow sore as my smile stretches wide and almost unrestrained.

Whatever's going on back at that bar with my father almost completely escapes my mind, and once that happens, I'll achieve unadulterated bliss.

I approached a small doorway with an even smaller man standing in front of it. His perfectly stout frame sure acted as a better barrier than the skinny velvet rope that hung in the door frame behind him. When he made eye contact with me, his serious demeanor fell and flashed a delighted smile.

“Well if it isn’t Mister Jeon,” Yeesung, the owner of the Star-Crossed Lounge, snickered. “Back for more, I see?”

I try not to contort my face as he unknowingly addresses me by the title my father prefers to be called. 

“It’s been a rough one, this is the only spot to clear my head.”

The irony hits me as the words leave my mouth and reach my ears. The Ecliptica Lounge was the last place to collect yourself and take a mental break. How could a space where all your senses are overwhelmed help reduce stress?

My gaze caught the attention and hopeful stare of my Jihyo, who must have finished her performance just seconds before. As she retreats towards a staff-only door, her eyes meet mine accompanied by a devilishly sweet smile. A temptress she is known to be, but it’s only I who calls her my beloved. 

She is mine. 

“Who do you want to request tonight?” My attention was rudely pulled back by the manager in front of me. “We’ve got plenty of gorgeous ladies who would love to spend a moment alone with you.”

His tone was relaxed and playful, but I couldn’t help but feel annoyed by his proposal. There was only ever one woman I came to see, everyone working in this club knew it. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” I snapped, admittedly too harshly. “Only the love of my life, Jihyo.”

“Uh huh…sure…” Yeesung's voice trailed on a moment, carrying a tone of uncertainty. “...pay the fee and I’ll send her in.”

He sticks his hand out waiting for payment. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, rolled bills in the expected amount and traded it over. The manager wasted no time in counting it, knowing I have never and would never jip him. He unhooked the rope and stepped out of the way to let me pass, a beaming smile plastered on my face as my stride carried me through. 

$1,200; a small price to pay for love.