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sweetvoidstuff · 7 days ago

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Just a Normal Night

Jungkook x Reader I Modern AU I Chance Encounter I Fluff I Romance

Summary: What begins as a chance encounter turns memorable when you help Jeon fucking Jungkook during an unexpected and chaotic night. Jungkook finds himself lingering in you world—sharing drinks, laughter, and lighthearted moments with your friends that feel more real than anything he’s known lately.

Word Count: 25K

Masterlist

A/N: Just a quick note on formatting: Bold text is used for dialogue spoken in Korean. Italic text represents internal thoughts or feelings. Normal text is used for dialogue spoken in English.

I hope this helps make things easier to follow while reading. Thanks so much for giving my story a chance!

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Jungkook had only wanted one thing tonight: a normal dinner. No hushed whispers trailing after him, no fans sneaking photos behind raised menus, no tight, tense feeling that he had to be ready to bolt at any second. Just one simple meal — that was all he was asking for.

Sometimes, he got lucky. Tonight, it seemed, luck wasn’t on his side.

He had chosen the place carefully: a traditional Korean restaurant tucked on a quieter street, not far from his hotel. It looked promising — cozy, with soft lighting and a small, not on any main roads. He figured he could at least have the comfort of ordering in his own language without fumbling through English. He'd even gone the extra mile to cover his hand tattoos, knowing how easily they gave him away. While he loved them, they were like a neon sign flashing BTS to anyone who glanced too closely.

At first, everything seemed fine. He ordered quickly and quietly, keeping his head down, then slipped off to the bathroom before his food could arrived. That was when things took a turn. On his way back to his table, two young women — early twenties, maybe — caught sight of him. He heard it before he fully understood it: a rush of excited chatter, the words tumbling out too fast. Still, a few things were unmistakable — his name. BTS. His stomach dropped.

Damn it.

He could already see it in their eyes — the disbelief, the beginning of hysteria, the desperate reach for phones. If he didn’t move fast, he’d have a scene on his hands. An entire evening ruined. Jungkook tensed, scanning for the fastest way out without making things worse. He adjusted the cap pulled low over his eyes, preparing to dodge past them—when suddenly, a hand landed firmly on his shoulder.

"Yah, Eun-woo," a voice said, warm and a little impatient. "You really left us sitting there alone forever?"

He froze. Eun-woo? Before he could react, a figure slipped smoothly between him and the two girls — you, stepping up like you belonged by his side. You didn’t even look at the strangers. Instead, you gave Jungkook an exasperated, playful glance, your hand still steady on his shoulder. "Come on, sit down. You’re not getting out of paying for the appetizer again."

The girls faltered. Confusion flickered across their faces. Jungkook, wide-eyed, caught the brief flash of uncertainty in their eyes — was he really Jungkook? Was this just some random guy who really looked like him?

Across the room, just minutes earlier, you had been minding your own business — more or less.

"Oh my god. Guys, don’t look — but I think my screensaver just walked in," you hissed across the table, eyes wide. Pascal barely looked up from his beer, snorting. "Ha! You say that about every hot Asian guy."

"No, listen," you insisted, trying not to move your head as you watched Jeon Jungkook slide into a booth like it was the most casual thing in the world. "I'm serious. I’m pretty sure that's the real one."

Pascal, skeptical but willing to humor you, turned slowly to peek. "The one with the cap?" You nodded, a little too quickly. Pascal grinned. "You wanna go over there? Get an autograph, a picture, maybe his firstborn child while you’re at it?"

"Shut the fuck up!" you hissed, smacking his arm lightly. "I'm not walking over there. He's human. He deserves to eat in peace — just like we do."

You stabbed at the grill, throwing a little more bulgogi onto the sizzling surface, but your eyes kept sneaking glances at Jeon fucking Jungkook sitting a few tables away, as casual as if he weasn’t the biggest star in the world. Pascal and Flora, your two best friends, were used to your dramatics — Flora being the towering but gentle giant of the group, and Pascal the sassy, slightly taller than you, but never impolite energy bomb.

"You’re really not gonna go over?" Flora asked, his deep voice low and amused.

"I want to," you admitted through gritted teeth, "but it’d just be...awkward."

"Why? You’ve been learning Korean with Eumi for months," Pascal chimed in. "You two can actually have conversations now. She said you were good. He'd understand you."

"Not the point!" you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

You peeked again just in time to see Jungkook stand up, making his way toward the back where the bathrooms were. Not long after, you heard the unmistakable chatter of two girls at a nearby table — rapid-fire excitement, the words BTS and Jungkook tumbling out clearly. You tensed.

Shit

You straightened up just as Jungkook reappeared, walking back from the bathroom — tense, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes flicking nervously as the two girls went to him chattering animatedly and making hearth eyes at him. He immediately looked tense and ready to bolt. You didn’t waste another second. You shot a quick look at Pascal and Flora.

"I’m gonna need you to fake it," you muttered under your breath, leaning in. "Pretend Jungkook’s part of our group."

Both of them froze for a second, then nodded sharply, understanding immediately — the chatter from the other table had tipped them off too. You grabbed Dong, your favorite waiter, as he passed by with a tray.

"Hey, can you bring whatever that guy ordered to our table if he sits with us?" you asked in a low voice, flashing your most pleading smile. Dong, ever the professional but also a secret gossip lover, glanced at Jungkook and then back at you. Without missing a beat, he nodded. "Got it."

Relieved, you made yourself ready to intervene, moving casually into his path like it was the most natural thing in the world. As you closed the distance and saw his shoulders with how close the girls approached, you acted on pure impulse — stepping up beside him, placing your hand firmly on his shoulder, and saying, loud enough for the girls to hear:

"Yah, Eun-woo, you really left us sitting there alone forever?" You gave him a playful, exasperated glance, ignoring the stunned look in his eyes. "You’re not getting out of paying for the appetizers again," you said, tugging lightly at his jacket like you'd done it a hundred times before.

The girls looked stunned for a second before one blurted out, "Wait—what are you doing with Jungkook?!" You let out a soft, easy laugh, glancing between them and Jungkook — well, Eun-woo for now.

"Jungkook?" you repeated, shaking your head fondly. "Ahh, you must be mistaken. Happens all the time. He does look a lot like him, right?" You gave a little laugh, warm and natural, and Jungkook — though still looking like a deer in headlights — caught the drift.

You quickly switched to Korean, low and hurried: "You looked uncomfortable. I help."

Your Korean wasn't perfect, but it was enough. Jungkook’s eyes widened, surprised, then softened with instant understanding. He nodded once — subtle, grateful. Unfortunately, the girls weren’t ready to let it go.

"Oh my god, you speak Korean?!" one squealed, inching closer. "Please tell him we’re his biggest fans!"

You turned back to them, switching back to English with the kind of casual patience that comes from telling a lie you’ve told a hundred times. "Sorry, but he really isn’t Jungkook," you said kindly. "You’re actually like the third group of people during his student exchange who think that."

You grinned in a way that invited them to laugh about it too — to feel a little silly, but not judged. For a moment, they wavered. But then one of them pointed sharply, "Yeah, sure. Look at his lip ring and his eyebrow piercing! It’s totally him!"

You could feel Jungkook tense up beside you, his body rigid, caught like an animal about to bolt. The girls were getting too close, practically in his personal space now. You stepped firmly between them and him, hands up in a calming, almost scolding gesture.

"Guys, guys," you said in a low, mock-conspiratorial voice. "I get it. It’s spooky, right? Crazy look-alike level. Even I freaked the first time."

You leaned in slightly, dropping your voice even more like you were sharing a juicy secret. "But trust me. If he were really Jungkook, he would have..." You grabbed his left hand gently, flipping it palm-up to show them his knuckles. Well it was his hand without tattoos. You hoped the girls didn’t know that.

"See? No tattoos," you said smoothly, smiling wide. "Eun-woo just likes to dress edgy sometimes. Doesn’t make him a K-pop idol.", trying to bluff your way through it. You didn’t really have any other way to try and convince them otherwise.

But the girls weren't buying it. "Yeah, right!" one of them snapped, jabbing a finger toward his hand. "On his left he wouldn’t have tattoos!"

Jungkook, still tense and quiet beside you, picked up enough of the fast English chatter to realize the situation was slipping. He glanced down at his own hand — the one you were still holding loosely — and seemed to understand instantly what was happening. Before you could stammer out some wild excuse —Jungkook moved.

He raised his other hand casually, briefly turning it up, then back down again, as if dismissing the whole thing. A quick, confident gesture — Look. Nothing there. You're imagining it. And because it was so natural, so matter-of-fact, the girls hesitated. Having showed them both his hands were tattoo free, for them to see, but not long enough to see one was covered in make-up.

You jumped right back in, "Trust me, we’ve been through this before. Poor guy can’t even go to a grocery store without someone asking for a selfie." You laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Like it was all just a funny misunderstanding.

And finally — finally — the girls started to lose steam. They muttered something to each other, still suspicious, but not brave enough to cause a bigger scene.

"I mean, think about it," you added, tilting your head playfully. "If the Jungkook really came here, don’t you think there’d be like...bodyguards? Cameras?"

The girls exchanged a glance, suddenly unsure, their momentum stalling. You caught Jungkook’s eye and tilted your head slightly toward your table, (where Pascal was calling from, what took you so long) — Move now.

Jungkook blinked, then — catching on fast — nodded. You casually gripped his jacket and steered him away. Jungkook leaned in just slightly, his voice low and warm near your ear: "Thank you," he murmured in Korean.

You straightened, heart hammering hard. You hadn’t realized until now just how close you’d gotten to him. How much his presence seemed to settle over you like a heavy, comforting blanket. Only once you made it safely back to your friends, your heart pounding in your chest, did you let go of his jacket, sliding into your seat like nothing had happened.

You leaned in a little, keeping your voice low and soft so it wouldn't carry. "I’m sorry if I overstepped," you said in careful Korean, your nerves making you speak slower than usual. "You just looked... really uncomfortable. I thought maybe I could help."

Jungkook blinked at you — slow, processing — like he wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up here, surrounded by strangers who weren't trying to mob him. You rushed to add, "If you want to leave, you totally can. But..." You hesitated, glancing toward the girls. They were still peeking over, whispering behind their hands, but they didn’t seem nearly as sure of themselves anymore.

Jungkook followed your glance — having to lean slightly to the side around Flora’s massive frame to even see them. You had, very intentionally, placed him right beside Flora — your towering, gentle-giant of a friend — blocking most of the view and shielding Jungkook from wandering eyes. Meanwhile, Pascal, unfazed as always, continued grilling meat like nothing dramatic had just happened. With casual flair, he plopped a few sizzling slices onto Jungkook’s plate too, playing the part of a friend just sharing food — selling the image that Jungkook was simply part of your group.

Across the table, Pascal gave you a meaningful look, then asked slowly, deliberately, so Jungkook could follow the English easily, "So, what now?"

Jungkook’s gaze flickered between the three of you — you, Flora, and Pascal — something warm and amused beginning to spark behind his eyes. He turned toward you again, answering in low Korean, "Thank you... for helping. Really. But I don’t want to bother you."

You shook your head quickly, heart thudding. "No bother! Honestly..." You smiled, feeling a bit like a kettle about to boil over. "It’s kind of amazing to meet you here."

Jungkook’s brow quirked slightly — not out of arrogance, but like he was bracing for the onslaught of questions, of personal space invasions, of fans pretending to be casual. For a situation just like before. But nothing came. You didn’t start babbling questions hysterically about his music, his tour, his tattoos. You didn’t even ask for a selfie.

You just smiled across the table at him — and yeah, maybe your hands twitched a little like you were physically restraining yourself from peppering him with excitement — but you held it together.

And Jungkook noticed.

The way you were practically vibrating with curiosity, but still giving him space. The way your friends didn’t treat him like a trophy, but just another person at their table. He let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh through his nose. Then he gave a small nod, looking down at his plate — at the freshly grilled meat Pascal had thrown there without a second thought — and then back up at you.

"If... okay, then," he said lightly. "I’ll stay. If that’s alright?"

You grinned, feeling the warmth spread all the way to your fingertips. "Of course it’s alright. We have plenty of food. You can even steal Flora’s if you’re fast enough."

Flora, catching on without missing a beat, rumbled, "Not if I eat him first," flashing Jungkook a wide, toothy grin that was so over-the-top it made the idol chuckle out loud. And just like that Jungkook relaxed into his seat, picking up his chopsticks like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like for one evening, at least, he could just be a guy on holiday.

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You did what you always did when you came here: You overate. By a lot.

The two girls who had hovered and whispered about Jungkook had left ages ago — giving up when it became obvious that Jungkook wasn’t going to break away from your group. Now, the atmosphere was relaxed, warm, and a little sleepy, the grill cooling down after the last round of bulgogi. You groaned dramatically, leaning back against the booth.

"I’m dying. I can’t eat anymore," you announced, one hand cradling your stomach.

"Good," Flora rumbled immediately, grinning as he reached toward your plate. "Then I’ll just have your bulgogi, right?"

You shot forward like he’d just threatened your firstborn, jabbing your chopsticks at him defensively. "Don't you dare!" you cried, and before he could even try again, you grabbed the last sizzling piece of bulgogi and stuffed it into your mouth with a defiant groan of satisfaction.

Flora only laughed, and next to him, Jungkook chuckled too — a soft, genuine sound that made your heart squeeze a little.

It had been shockingly easy to eat with your group. No pressure, no weird tension — just easy laughter, messy chopsticks, and half-argued conversations. Pascal and Flora had made a real effort to slow their speech down, checking themselves so Jungkook could follow without feeling lost. You, meanwhile, translated where you could, your Korean a little clumsy but more than enough to get by. And when even that wasn’t enough, both you and Jungkook had your phones open with Google Translate, passing them across the table like some bizarre relay race.

It was fun — in a way that made Jungkook forget he was supposed to keep his head down.

In a way that felt... normal.

And the more Jungkook learned about your little trio, the more he found himself relaxing. Neither Flora nor Pascal had any real idea who he was. They didn’t listen to K-pop — hell, they barely listened to pop music at all, according to Flora, who proudly proclaimed over a plate of kimchi that "good music died with cassette tapes."

It was only you who had recognized him. You — who had quietly, almost shyly, admitted you were an ARMY, but not in an overwhelming way. You didn’t list off his accomplishments like a resume. You didn’t bombard him with facts you’d memorized from interviews. You didn’t even try to worm your way closer with desperate compliments or too-personal questions.

In fact, you hardly brought it up at all.

It had been Jungkook who pried the truth out — curious after you translated a complicated joke for him mid-conversation without missing a beat. When he’d asked if you were a fan, you had paused, ducking your head slightly, offering only small pieces in response. Guarded. Careful. Like you were trying not to make him uncomfortable, like you didn’t want to remind him of the distance between you.

You even whispered to Pascal and Flora at one point, firm but light-hearted, "No asking him to sing. No asking for autographs. Pretend he’s Flora, just smaller."

Pascal had snorted so hard he nearly dropped a piece of meat onto his lap. It made Jungkook laugh — real and open — because it was funny, yes, but also because it made him feel like he was with his Hyung’s again. It reminded him of the way the Hyung’s used to bicker and tease over late-night meals, eating until you were ready to burst.

He missed that.

He missed them.

And sitting here now, watching you argue half-heartedly with Pascal about how many scoops of matcha ice cream you deserved after dramatically declaring yourself "too full to move," something in Jungkook's chest slowly, quietly loosened.

Dinner was officially winding down. The plates were mostly empty now, only a few stubborn scraps of meat and side dishes clinging to the platters. The air was heavy with the warm smell of grilled beef and soy sauce, mixed with the lazy hum of a Friday night crowd. You’d been chatting casually with the server — Dong — a young man who clearly liked your table a little too much, lingering at every opportunity, refilling your water glasses three times when once would have sufficed.

Jungkook noticed it immediately. He noticed everything about you now.

It was strange.

Even after all this time at the table — after the way you had helped him out earlier, helped him laugh, helped him breathe without a weight on his shoulders — he still felt like he barely knew anything about you. Or your friends.

You were polite to the point of being overbearingly considerate. Every question you asked him was gentle, cautious — if you asked anything at all, that unsettled Jungkook more than if you had been the typical overeager fan. He had braced for the usual flood of attention, the eagerness, the invasive questions. He almost wanted you to break and start peppering him with everything you were dying to know.

It would have been easier. Predictable.

But you didn’t.

You just smiled, careful and kind, carrying every conversation with a deliberate gentleness that made his chest ache a little. It made him want to know everything about you— needing — to know more. What made you laugh until you cried. What you thought about when you stared off into space. What songs you sang when you thought no one was listening.

And yet, Jungkook could feel you holding yourself back, watching him with bright, hesitant eyes whenever a new topic surfaced, like you were trying to calculate what was safe to say, what might be too much.

You wanted to ask him things. He could feel it — the questions trembling on the tip of your tongue. But you were afraid to step over some invisible line. Afraid to be another name on a long list of people who had only wanted pieces of him, not the whole person.

He couldn’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault. But somehow, that made him want to bridge the gap even more. It wasn’t just you protecting him tonight. Without realizing it, he wanted to protect this fragile thing between you, too — this warm, quiet, normal moment.

And maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to make you trust that it was okay to ask him things. That he wanted you to. And as luck would have it, Flora threw him the perfect opportunity.

"So, where are we going first?" Flora asked, stretching his arms wide like he was preparing for battle. You groaned faintly, looking about ready to surrender to your impending food coma. Still, you dutifully pulled out your phone, swiping through what looked like a list of names and places, rattling them off faster than Jungkook could even hope to follow.

He blinked at you, completely lost.

Pascal, noticing his confusion, leaned over and offered a translation — half in English, half through Google Translate — "It's art night in town," he said, flashing a thumbs up like it explained everything. "All the museums and galleries stay open until three a.m.! It’s awesome. You should totally come!"

You looked up at Jungkook instinctively — and the realization hit you both at the same time.

They were inviting him.

Your panic was immediate. Surely he didn’t really want to come? He was Jungkook — he had better things to do than stumble through art galleries with three random weirdos. He could be doing... literally anything else. But Jungkook just tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes pinning you with playful intent. "Can I?" he asked softly in Korean, his voice rich and teasing, like he already knew you wouldn’t dare say no.

And god, it was unfair — the way the restaurant lights caught the faint gleam of his lip ring as he dragged it thoughtfully between his teeth, the way a tiny, almost-shy smile flickered at the edges of his mouth as he watched you.

You huffed — a tiny, strangled sound — and nodded quickly, trying so hard not to burst into flames. Jungkook’s smile widened just a little, victorious, and you knew you had lost whatever silent battle was happening between you.

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When the check came, the server, Dong — who by now was basically auditioning for honorary fourth member of your little group — dropped it neatly at the center of the table with a cheery, "No rush!"

And then all hell broke loose.

Jungkook moved fast, reaching for it without hesitation. You, Pascal, and Flora all protested at once, insisting he was a guest and shouldn’t pay.

"No, no, you’re our guest!" Flora protested immediately, reaching for his bag.

"Absolutely not, man, you’re not paying," Pascal added, doing a frankly embarrassing full-body lunge across the table.

You had your wallet out too, fumbling with your card and a nervous glance at Jungkook.

But Jungkook just shook his head, his stubbornness absolute. He didn't even bother arguing properly — just stood and handed his card to Dong with a polite bow, cutting off all resistance. Pascal leaned over while Jungkook was distracted signing the receipt, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. He spoke just loud enough for you to hear: "Damn... he's kinda hot when he gets bossy. No wonder you listen to K-pop."

You choked on your own spit, slapping a hand over your face as heat bloomed fiercely across your cheeks. Flora snorted his drink up his nose.

"PASCAL," you hissed under your breath, half mortified, half strangling on a laugh.

Unfortunately for you, Jungkook had impeccable timing. He turned back toward the table just in time to catch you covering your face and trying desperately to disappear into the floor. His brow quirked up, a devilish little gleam sparking to life in his eyes. "What - What did he say?" he asked in a mix of English and Korean, voice low and far too pleased, a grin already threatening the corners of his mouth.

You shook your head frantically, mouthing "nothing, it’s fine, please don’t" — but Pascal, grinning like the absolute traitor he was, had already shoved his phone into Jungkook’s hands, Google Translate glowing bright like a sword of betrayal.

Jungkook read the screen, blinked once, then grinned — a slow, lazy smirk that made your stomach do something wildly unfortunate. He chuckled — a low, warm sound that skated down your spine — and cocked his head at you, lip ring catching the light. "You like me bossy, huh?" he teased in Korean, clearly savoring every second of your visible suffering.

You made a strangled, dying noise into your hands as Flora and Pascal cackled at your expense. Even Dong, hanging around a suspiciously long time under the pretense of clearing plates, laughed quietly into his sleeve.

"I— That’s not—" you tried, but you were too flustered to form a coherent sentence. Jungkook just beamed at you, looking devastatingly pleased with himself, before tossing a playful wink your way that nearly finished you off completely.

You were going to perish right here, in the middle of this barbecue restaurant, at the hands of Jungkook’s teasing smile. And honestly, it would be a beautiful way to go.

Jungkook watched you quietly, his heart beating a little faster. You were... lovely like this — bright and real and flustered, your kindness and humor wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

And the best part?

He hadn't even really started yet.

Jungkook tucked his card back into his wallet with a satisfied air and turned to the table, clapping his hands once like a boss. "Let’s go," he said brightly. "Art night is waiting."

"You’re a tyrant," Pascal groaned with a smile, shoving his arms into his jacket sleeves. "You’re a saint," Flora said, with a deep chuckel.

You could only laugh, your heart buzzing in your chest, as you followed Jungkook out into the cool night air. He fell into step beside you almost naturally, his shoulder brushing yours just lightly enough to make you wonder if it was on purpose. When you dared glance up at him, he was already looking at you — smiling — like maybe he didn’t mind spending a little more time in your world after all.

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The city was alive tonight.

The streets buzzed with people, lit in gold and neon, the sidewalks thick with couples, families, groups of students laughing too loudly under the old streetlamps. It was the perfect kind of crowd — big enough, distracted enough, that Jungkook could move almost invisibly through it.

Especially with Flora at his side.

Flora, towering and broad-shouldered, was a natural shield — not even trying, really, but his sheer size meant Jungkook easily tucked into the space behind him whenever the street grew too crowded. It was funny, actually. Jungkook had spent years surrounded by professional bodyguards. But walking behind Flora, who cheerfully blocked people’s lines of sight without even noticing, felt easier somehow. More casual. More... normal.

You and Pascal, though, were another matter entirely.

You caught attention just by existing — a bright spark in the corner of Jungkook’s vision, laughing too easily, moving with that infectious kind of energy that made people glance over without even realizing they were doing it. And Pascal, tall and cocky in his easy, flippant way, was just as bad, tossing sly comments and grins over his shoulder that had strangers double-taking in amusement.

Together, you two were impossible to miss and draw even more attention away from Jungkook. And somehow, impossibly, Jungkook didn’t mind. It was... fun. Real. Messy and alive in a way he hadn’t realized he missed.

Your first stop was a tiny underground art exhibition tucked between two noodle shops. Only ten pieces total, displayed in a narrow, dimly lit space that smelled faintly of fresh paint and old stone.

The theme was "Nature Reclaimed."

Everything was green and rough around the edges — photographs of abandoned buildings overtaken by ivy, sculptures made of twisted roots and river glass. It was quiet inside, hushed in that reverent way art spaces sometimes were, the noise of the city outside muffled like a dream. As you made your way down the shallow stairs to the entrance, a man in a faded hoodie approached, murmuring something quickly.

Without missing a beat, you pulled out your phone, flashed a QR code from a ticket app, and then — smiling apologetically — pointed at Jungkook, indicating him as part of your group. The man nodded, satisfied, and waved you all in without further fuss.

Jungkook, lingering just half a step behind you, blinked in surprise. "What was that about?" he asked in Korean, his voice low enough not to carry.

"He just wanted to see our tickets," you said, switching languages. Your voice was soft, almost careful, but there was a lightness in your eyes that made him feel strangely at ease. Jungkook frowned slightly, processing — and then his eyes widened as the realization hit him. "But… I don’t have a ticket," he said, baffled.

You turned to him fully then, your smile gentle, almost teasing as you answered, "It’s fine. I got you one."

Jungkook stared at you. Like you had just sprouted wings or declared yourself king of Seoul. There was a strange little jolt in his chest — something between touched and ruffled — because he was the one who usually took care of things. He bought the tickets. He paid the bills. He made sure the people around him were comfortable.

He wasn’t used to... this. Someone quietly smoothing the way for him without making a big deal out of it.

"You didn’t have to..." he started, almost defensive without meaning to.

But you just shrugged easily, already drifting a few steps ahead toward the first sculpture — as if it really wasn’t a big deal at all. As if he wasn’t someone you needed anything from. As if he was just... your friend.

"It’s just a ticket." you said over your shoulder, voice warm and a little teasing. "Don’t be dramatic."

Behind him, Pascal snorted. "Oh no. He's learning your secret," he stage-whispered to Flora. "She pretends to be all nice and harmless, and then BAM — she pays for something and makes you feel like a useless piece of trash that’s forever in her debit."

"Happened to me last month at brunch," Flora added solemnly, adjusting his bag strap like he was remembering a war story. "Still not over it."

You turned back around, walking backward now, grinning wickedly. "Shut up, both of you," you said, voice bright with laughter. "I’m a delight."

Jungkook couldn’t help it — he laughed too. Something warm and full that he hadn’t heard from himself in longer than he liked to admit. He jogged a few steps to catch up to you, bumping his shoulder lightly against yours — playful.

"Next time," he murmured in Korean, just for you, "I’m buying your ticket."

You glanced up at him, surprised — and something flickered between you. Something bright and a little reckless.

"Next time?" you said softly.

Jungkook smiled — a real one, crooked and boyish and impossibly endearing — and followed you deeper into the exhibition, the city’s noise forgotten behind thick stone walls. One of the last exhibits at this place was a sculpture — simple at first glance — just a mass of twisted iron and polished driftwood. It looked almost like a bird caught mid-flight, wings half-formed, trapped in metal and wood.

You tilted your head, studying it thoughtfully. Jungkook drifted closer, hands shoved casually in the pockets of his jacket, watching your expression out of the corner of his eye more than he watched the art itself. There was a small part of him — quiet but insistent — that wanted to know what you thought of it. What you saw when you looked. What kinds of things stirred you.

Meanwhile, Pascal, in typical fashion, had already wandered closer to the next piece — a massive tangle of tree roots shaped vaguely like a crouching figure.

"Oh, hell yes," Pascal muttered mischievously, glancing back over his shoulder at you. "Come on, you have to!"

You turned, caught sight of what he was eyeing, and burst out laughing. Without hesitation, you moved over, and the two of you — grinning like fools — immediately contorted yourselves into a ridiculous reenactment of the sculpture: Pascal crouching dramatically, you draping yourself halfway over his back like a sagging vine.

"Hold still!" Flora said, laughing, pulling out his phone with a little huff of effort. He knelt slightly to get the right angle, his giant frame making the tiny gallery feel even smaller. Behind Flora, Jungkook chuckled low in his throat, bemused. He crossed his arms loosely and leaned in toward Flora.

"What are they doing?" he asked, amused but genuinely curious.

Flora shifted a little awkwardly, clearly searching for a way to explain it. "Uh... how to say..." He grimaced slightly, embarrassed, but soldiered on anyway. "Since I know them... there is no sculpture they don't — ehm — copy." He smiled sheepishly. "It's kind of their thing."

Jungkook blinked, then laughed out loud, nodding in understanding. "Tradition?" he teased.

Flora brightened. "Yes! Tradition."

Jungkook turned his gaze back to you and Pascal, who were dissolving into giggles as Pascal dramatically flopped to the floor, still committed to the ridiculous pose. You sat beside him, poking his shoulder, scolding him half-heartedly for "ruining the artistic integrity" of the piece.

They looked close, Jungkook thought. Comfortable. Easy in a way that spoke of long friendship, of thousands of shared jokes and late nights. He hadn’t gotten the vibe that you and Pascal were together — no overt flirting, no lingering glances — but still. Seeing you like this, smiling so freely, leaning on Pascal like it was the most natural thing in the world...

A tiny, unwelcome sting flickered through him.

Beside him, Flora shifted again, glancing down at Jungkook with a knowing twinkle in his eye. He leaned down, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper: "I have a pretty boyfriend, right?"

Jungkook startled slightly, his brows furrowing as he looked back and forth — from Pascal, still lying dramatically on the ground, to Flora, standing there with an easy, fond smile. It took him a beat. Two beats. And then it clicked.

"OH."

Understanding bloomed like a firework behind Jungkook's ribs — bright, stupidly bright — and he turned to Flora with a sudden, warm grin, nodding. Of course. Pascal and Flora were together. They were the couple. Not you and Pascal.

A soft, almost giddy sense of relief — of possibility — unfolded in his chest like a secret he didn’t even know he was hoping for. Without thinking too hard about it, Jungkook pulled out his phone and handed it to Flora.

"Take one more," he said, his voice low but sure. "Of me and her, yeah?"

Flora’s eyebrows jumped, but he grinned wide and took the phone eagerly. You, brushing dust off your knees, glanced up — saw Jungkook approaching — and blinked, startled.

"He wants to—?"

But Jungkook just smiled at you, easy and boyish and a little challenging, and dropped into a crouch beside you, mimicking the awkward, sprawled pose you and Pascal had struck earlier. He looked at you expectantly. "You’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?"

Your heart did a weird, flipping thing inside your chest. Something fluttery and wild and wonderful. Because this was Jungkook choosing to be part of your chaos. This was him wanting to share a stupid, silly moment with you. Smiling so wide your cheeks hurt, you scooted closer, slinging an arm loosely around his shoulders, mimicking the sculpture’s pose with exaggerated drama. Flora laughed, snapping a few quick pictures while Pascal cheered you both on in the background.

"Artistic integrity!" Pascal declared. "Restored!"

Jungkook’s shoulder bumped yours lightly as you both tried (and failed) to hold the ridiculous position without laughing.

"You’re surprisingly good at this," he teased under his breath, his voice warm against your ear.

"I told you," you whispered back, smiling. "I'm a delight."

And as the flash clicked and Flora captured the moment — something unspoken settled between you and Jungkook, bright and sparking and full of possibility. You straightened up from the silly pose, cheeks warm from laughter. Flora grinned down at his phone, satisfied with the shot he had just taken of you, Pascal — and now, Jungkook — tangled together mid-laughter, perfectly recreating the odd sculpture’s awkward, balancing pose. Jungkook flashed you a quick, slightly breathless grin, and for a second, you let yourself just look at him — really look.

You peeked at Jungkooks’s screen. There it was — You and Jungkook, shoulder to shoulder, laughing like old friends, looking so natural. Like it was something you did all the time. Your heart gave a tiny, helpless flutter. You would have loved to have that photo. Loved to have that memory of you and Jungkook together, caught mid-laugh, tangled in a ridiculous re-creation of art. To have a little piece of this impossible evening, something to hold onto later when it felt like a dream.

But...

You hesitated. The thought of asking — of possibly making him uncomfortable, of seeming like some crazy fan who only wanted a trophy photo for social media — made your stomach twist up tight. No.

Better to let the moment pass quietly. Better to keep the memory for yourself.

You swallowed the wish and tucked it away. Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook watched it happen. Watched the way you bit your lip slightly, looked at the photo, then deliberately looked away.

He waited — giving you space — waited, thinking you might still ask.

But after a few seconds, when you said nothing and just smiled and adjusted your bag on your shoulder, he smiled softly to himself. Of course. He was already starting to understand you a little: you didn’t take — you never expected. You just quietly appreciated.

And somehow, that made him want to give you even more. He didn’t press. But he did make a little note in the back of his mind: to get that picture to you later.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

Pascal clapped his hands, dusting them dramatically as if he’d just completed a grand performance. "Alright, children. That’s enough culture inside walls. Let’s go outside and be sophisticated." he declared with a grandiose wave toward the exit. "There’s an installation out in the courtyard, and you must be seen with a glass of wine. It’s, like, mandatory. Très chic." He threw a dramatic arm toward the courtyard where twinkling lights were already coming on and food and wine stalls lined the edges. ”Let’s go be fancy art snobs outside."

You laughed, slipping easily back into the banter, and translated quickly for Jungkook, whose eyebrows lifted in amused confusion at Pascal's theatrical tone.

"Pascal says it’s mandatory to hold wine and look… pretentious," you added, grinning, having just checked the word for pretentious in Korean.

"Can’t argue with that," Jungkook said, lightly bumping his shoulder against yours, adjusting his cap. The subtle disguise doing surprisingly well so far. You didn’t even try to hide your smile.

Pascal was already striding ahead toward a charming little stand selling local wines and small plates, dragging Flora along with him. You and Jungkook followed at a more leisurely pace. Outside, the evening air had cooled just a little, and the courtyard looked like something from a storybook — soft golden light, the rich smells of roasting nuts, spices, and baked goods drifting on the breeze.

As you reached the stand, Pascal was already leaning against the counter, animatedly discussing the wine options with the poor vendor asking which wine would make him look the most "cultured."

You chose a light, fruity glass for yourself — something casual — and reached automatically for your wallet. Before you could even properly find your card, Jungkook was there, stepping in front of you, gently pushing you aside with a soft nudge of his arm.

"I got it," he said firmly.

"No, really, it’s fine," you protested quickly, heat rushing into your cheeks. "You don’t have to —"

But Jungkook just shook his head, looking down at you with that stubborn little smile you were already starting to recognize.

"I want to," he said simply, already tapping his card against the reader before you could argue more. You turned to the older man running the stand, hoping maybe he would help your case — but the man just chuckled, a twinkle in his eye, and said warmly, "Ah, let the gentleman pay, sweetheart. He is insisting."

You blushed harder, feeling the tips of your ears go hot, and Jungkook caught it instantly. He tilted his head slightly, absolutely delighted by your reaction.

"See?" he teased, voice low enough that only you could hear.

Behind you, Pascal — never one to miss a good opportunity for mischief — clutched his chest dramatically.

"She’s blushing! Flora! Flora!" Pascal stage-whispered loudly, grabbing Flora’s arm with faux urgency. "Call a medic! We’ve got a romantic casualty. Look at her blushing like a Victorian maiden! Flora, where’s my fainting couch?"

"Oh my god, Pascal, shut up," you hissed under your breath.

You buried your face in your hands for a second, groaning in embarrassment while Flora just laughed quietly and patted Pascal’s shoulder like he was an unruly child. Jungkook laughed too — not meanly, not mockingly — but warmly, like he was laughing with you, not at you. There was something soft and sincere in his eyes when you finally peeked up at him through your fingers. Pascal patted you patronizingly on the back, still dramatically gasping for breath like he might swoon at any moment.

"Cheers?" Jungkook offered, holding out your wine glass to you with a small, almost shy smile.

You took it carefully, your fingers brushing his just for a moment — enough to send a tiny, electric shiver racing up your spine.

"Cheers," you whispered back, your smile matching his.

You didn’t even notice Flora sneaking another candid photo of the moment — but Jungkook did. And he didn’t stop him.

The art installations out here were larger than life — strange metal trees twisting into the stars, mosaics glittering under fairy lights, even a giant abstract sculpture that looked suspiciously like a melted spoon.

"Clearly," Pascal said solemnly, swirling his wine glass like he was at a five-star auction, "this piece is about the futility of buying matching socks."

You burst out laughing, trying (and failing) to mimic his snooty voice while shaking your own glass dramatically. A tiny drop of wine sloshed out, and you gasped, wiping it quickly against your jacket.

"Careful," Jungkook chuckled, stepping closer, his eyes bright. "You're too fancy now. Gotta protect the image."

You grinned up at him, emboldened by the lightness of the evening. "Oh, absolutely," you said, twirling your glass again with a theatrical flourish. "I’m basically a... more than princess now."

You fumbled for a better word, realizing halfway through that your Korean wasn't good enough for this moment. Jungkook caught on instantly, his smile widening.

"You could say yeowang. Queen," he offered, voice warm.

"Ah, yeowang!" you repeated, beaming, and Jungkook gave an approving nod.

Pascal threw an arm around Flora’s waist and sighed dramatically.

"We are in the presence of royalty. Someone fetch me a fainting couch."

You snickered. "Pascal, what is it with you today and needing a fainting couch?"

"Art moves me," he declared, clutching at his chest. Jungkook shook his head in amusement and, swirling his own wine with a mock-serious air, leaned toward you. "In Korean, if you want to say someone’s showing off, you can say Pom jabn-da." He pronounced it slowly. You tried to repeat it — and immediately mangled the pronunciation. Jungkook burst out laughing, not unkindly. "Again, again," he encouraged, tapping the air like a metronome.

You tried again, slower. "Pom jabn-da...?"

"Much better!" he praised, his eyes crinkling. "Just casual. Like teasing a friend."

You practiced it under your breath a few more times, earning another bright thumbs-up from him. Your heart fluttered stupidly at how delighted he looked. A few installations later, you and Pascal spotted a new sculpture — a chaotic tangle of bronze limbs, like a group of dancers frozen mid-fall.

"This one's asking for it," Pascal declared.

Without even needing to speak, you both clambered into a half-recreation, Pascal sticking his leg straight up in the air and you pretending to trip over him, arms flailing. Flora chuckled and obediently pulled out his phone to take pictures. Jungkook laughed too — the sound bright and real — and watched you both with amused wonder. After a moment, he handed his phone to Flora.

"One more photo?" he asked you, offering his hand with an eager grin.

You took it without hesitation, your palm tingling in his. Together, you struck another ridiculous pose, trying to mimic the bronze chaos behind you. Jungkook leaned into it easily, copying your outstretched arm with exaggerated seriousness. Flora snapped the picture, snorting with laughter as you both tried to hold still.

When you finally broke apart, laughing, you brushed some dust off your coat, cheeks flushed from the cold and the silliness. Jungkook’s phone buzzed insistently in his hand, lighting up the space between you with a soft glow.

He glanced down, his mouth twitching into an automatic smile when he saw the stream of messages blowing up his group chat.

🐿️ (Hoseok): Where r u?? 🐨(Namjoon): You're still out? 😎 (Taehyung): Send pics!!! 🐱 (Yoongi): Did u get lost???

Jungkook huffed out a quiet laugh, fond and exasperated at the same time. His thumb moved quickly over the screen, tapping back a few replies. Then, almost shyly, he tilted the phone toward you, as if wanting you to be part of it too.

"They're checking on me," he said, amused. "I told them I’m out with some... cool new friends."

You smiled so brightly it almost hurt, something easing inside you — that tight, nervous coil you'd been carrying ever since you met him starting to finally loosen— and gathering your courage, you cleared your throat. Maybe it was the wine, or the night air, or just the way Jungkook looked at you— but for the first time, you didn’t overthink to much what you said next. You weren't triple-guessing if it would sound too much like a fan thing. You just... said it. Simple and honest.

"If it's not too weird... could you, um... tell them I said hi?"

Jungkook’s entire face lit up — not just with amusement, but with something warmer, softer. Like you'd handed him something precious without even realizing it. He nodded immediately, eyes bright. "Of course! They'll love that."

There was something a little new in the way he looked at you now — a quiet kind of delight. Like he was seeing you take a step closer toward him, and he liked it more than he probably should. He tapped out a quick message — [My friend says hi 👋🏻] — and sent it off without fuss, then tucked his phone back into his pocket without another glance. He wasn’t distracted. He wasn’t half-present. His attention was all on you.

You didn’t realize you were fidgeting slightly, smoothing the sleeve of your coat, until he chuckled lowly under his breath.

"Hey... random question. Who’s your favorite BT21 character?"

You blinked, caught off guard — and without thinking blurted, "Tata."

There was a beat of stunned silence. Jungkook recoiled dramatically, clutching his chest as if shot. "Not Cooky?! Betrayal!"

Pascal immediately gasped, clutching Flora for support. "Scandalous. How dare you!"

"I'm wounded," Jungkook said, lowering his head in mock despair.

"I didn’t realize there was a quiz," you teased, bumping his shoulder with yours. "And anyway, Tata’s a prince. I’m royalty, remember?"

"Excuses," Jungkook grumbled, though he couldn’t stop smiling.

"You can be my second favorite," you added magnanimously.

"Gee, thanks," he said with a dramatic sigh — but his eyes sparkled.

"And Pascal's favorite is Mang," you pointed out quickly, grinning. Pascal flipped you off over his wine glass, making you laugh harder. As you wandered toward the far side of the courtyard, Flora checked his watch.

"If we want good seats," he said, "we should head to the church soon."

Jungkook blinked. "Church?"

"There’s a little concert," you explained. "Local artists. It’s small, but cool. Flora found it."

He hesitated for just a breath — then smiled, resolute. "I'd love to."

The streets were quieter now as you made your way toward the old stone church, the evening mist curling around the narrow alleys like fingers. Jungkook walked close by your side, hands tucked deep into his jacket pockets, occasionally nudging a stray pebble along the cobblestones with his boot.

Warm yellow light spilled from the church's arched windows, casting long golden pools onto the street. From inside, you could already hear the soft hum of voices and the faint strum of a guitar being tuned.

"Wow," Jungkook murmured, tilting his head back to take it in. The church was small but beautiful, its ancient stones blackened by time, its steeple leaning just slightly, like an old man hunching over against the years.

You smiled. "Pascal said the acoustics here are insane. Like, even a whisper carries."

Jungkook grinned at that, bumping your shoulder playfully. "Guess we better not gossip too loudly, huh?"

You laughed, feeling light, warm. God, it was getting too easy to just be around him. Inside, the church smelled faintly of old wood, wax, and rain-soaked stone. The wooden pews were already filling up fast with people — a colorful, buzzing crowd of locals and a handful of tourists who had clearly stumbled upon the event by accident and decided to stay.

You hesitated, glancing around. You didn’t want to assume anything — maybe Jungkook would prefer some space? Maybe he didn't want you hovering— Before you could finish that worried thought, Pascal clapped a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and gave him a not-so-gentle shove toward the pew where you were standing.

"Here! Plenty of room," Pascal declared with a grin, not noticing (or not caring) about the slight oomph noise Jungkook made as he was practically dumped beside you. Flora shot you a secret wink as he slid in next to Pascal.

Jungkook blinked once, surprised — then let out a soft, helpless laugh, shaking his head as he settled beside you. "Guess this is my spot," he said, throwing you a playful sideways glance.

You tucked a smile behind your hand, feeling giddy and weirdly shy all over again. The bells outside gave a soft, distant chime, and a low murmur of excitement buzzed through the church as more people filed in. The pews were old — carved from dark, heavy wood — and the space between each row was narrow. Cozy.

At first, you and Jungkook sat with a polite little buffer of air between you, your knees almost but not quite brushing. You kept your hands tucked carefully in your lap, too aware of how close he was. But then — fast — the church started filling. People squeezed into every row. An older man with a large coat tapped Pascal’s shoulder, gesturing to the crowd still trying to find seats.

Pascal looked around — then turned back to you with a big, sunny grin. "Hey — scoot up a little? Let's get cozy," he said cheerfully.

Before you could react, Pascal planted both his hands on Jungkook’s side and gave him a strong, enthusiastic shove. The force of it knocked Jungkook sideways — right against you. You gasped, instinctively catching yourself with a hand braced against the pew back. Jungkook let out a startled, embarrassed noise, his whole side pressing into yours for a heartbeat before he awkwardly tried to straighten himself — only to realize he couldn’t. There was no more room.

You were now squished between the cold stone wall and a very solid Jungkook. Your entire side was plastered against him — your coats and sleeves brushing, your knees bumping under the narrow pew rail. His warmth radiated through the layers of fabric, dizzying and so real.

Jungkook froze, obviously realizing the situation at the same moment you did. He turned his head toward you, cheeks visibly flushed even in the dim light, and managed a breathless, sheepish little laugh.

"Uh— sorry," he mumbled, voice low and rough. He tried to shift — to give you space — but there was none. Every inch of the pew was packed now, people squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder in every row. You shook your head quickly, fighting your own rising blush. "No, it's okay," you whispered back, and God, your voice sounded weirdly breathless to your own ears. Jungkook's gaze caught yours for a second — wide, surprised, a little shy — before he gave up, exhaling a soft, helpless little huff.

"I guess we're... stuck like this," he said under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitching like he couldn't quite decide whether to laugh or die of embarrassment. You nodded, biting your lip, pulse pounding. Neither of you moved again.

The rest of the pews were just as packed, a sea of strangers pressed elbow-to-elbow, the whole church buzzing with low chatter and the warm crackle of excitement. But all you could feel was Jungkook — warm, solid, steady — right there beside you, close enough that you could catch the faint, clean scent of his cologne every time you breathed.

It felt crazy. Exciting. A little dangerous, in a way that made your stomach flip. You stole a tiny glance at him — and caught him doing the same, his eyes darting away quickly, a guilty little smile tugging at his lips.

You weren’t imagining it. He felt it too.

The lights dimmed further as the musicians took their places, tuning their instruments with brief, fluttering notes that melted into a respectful silence. You felt the change instantly — the whole church seeming to hold its breath, waiting.

Then the music began. A soft, sweeping melody filled the stone chamber, rising up to the vaulted ceiling like smoke. It was beautiful — a delicate blend of classic orchestral pieces and haunting film scores that sent shivers down your spine. You exhaled slowly, letting your body relax for the first time in what felt like forever.

The concert would last about thirty minutes — not long, technically — but just long enough that sitting stiff and upright like a statue was impossible. Especially when you were packed so tightly in a crowded pew.

Next to you, Pascal was already adjusting — sliding down a little in his seat until his frame rested comfortably against Flora’s shoulder. Flora didn’t seem to mind in the slightest; he barely reacted beyond adjusting his posture slightly, offering a solid, comfortable place for Pascal to rest against. The two of them looked perfectly at ease, making a little more room for themselves without a second thought.

You shifted, too, almost without realizing it — leaning ever-so-slightly more into the narrow space you shared with Jungkook. It wasn’t much — just a subtle change — but it brought you even closer, until the line of your arm brushed his. And neither of you moved away.

Jungkook noticed immediately. He stiffened for half a second, some instinct in him flaring — but when he glanced sideways and saw your face, the tension melted almost instantly. You weren’t tense. You weren't looking around nervously or pulling away. You looked... content.

Happy, even.

Your eyes were half-lidded in peace, your body visibly trying to slump a little more comfortably — but there just wasn’t space to do it properly. Something inside Jungkook twisted sweetly at the sight. He wanted — badly — to just lift his arm and rest it along the back of the pew behind you, maybe even let it fall lightly around your shoulders. It would make it easier for both of you. Give you more space to lean, more room to relax. And... it would feel so natural, so right.

He could already imagine it: your head might lean into his side, both of you fitting together better, finding a little more space to breathe.

But he hesitated. If someone in the crowd recognized him — if a photo made it to the wrong hands — he could already imagine the tabloid headlines. "Jungkook Seen Cozy With Mystery Woman at Church Concert" "Romance Rumors Swirl After Late-Night Sighting"

It wouldn’t just be chaos for him — it would drag you into it too.

But you didn’t shift away. You didn’t stiffen or glance around anxiously. If anything, you looked even more comfortable as the music rose, the corners of your mouth softening in a small, private smile. So he stayed frozen, pulse racing, watching you out of the corner of his eye for any sign of unease. Anything at all. But you didn’t pull away.

If anything, you seemed to be relaxing more with every passing minute — your side melting unconsciously into his, your knee nudging lightly against his under the narrow pew rail. Jungkook’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. Very carefully, he allowed himself to relax — not dramatically, not enough to draw attention, but enough that his side pressed lightly against yours in a way that felt intentional. Enough that if you wanted to lean just a little bit more, you could.

The music swelled around you, rich and deep and almost cinematic in its beauty. Every pew was crammed full of people now, groups squeezing closer and closer to fit. In the row ahead, an older couple sat shoulder-to-shoulder, hands folded together. Farther down, teenagers bumped elbows and whispered with wide grins. Everyone was packed tight — no one would even blink at how closely you and Jungkook sat.

You lost yourself in it a little — the sweep of the strings, the low, steady pulse of the piano — but never entirely. Because you could still feel Jungkook, right there, pressed against your side. Every breath you took seemed somehow linked to him. You didn’t dare move too much, didn’t dare look at him, afraid you’d break whatever fragile, unspoken thing had started to stretch between you.

And Jungkook, for his part, was battling himself silently.

The longer he sat beside you, feeling the faint warmth of your body so close, the harder it became to stay still. The harder it became to pretend he didn’t want more.

Slowly — as casually as he could manage — he shifted. Not much. Just letting his hand fall, loose and heavy, onto his lap. An innocent movement to anyone watching. But he placed it carefully, precisely angled, so that when he next took a deep breath — deeper than necessary, maybe — the motion rocked his hand just enough that the back of it brushed lightly against yours.

It was feather-light. Accidental, surely.

You froze, heart thudding, half expecting him to immediately jerk away in embarrassment.

But he didn’t.

His hand stayed there, the faintest touch between you — just the back of his knuckles against the side of your hand. He didn’t grab you. He didn’t even really move. Only the tiniest twitch betrayed him, a small tremor that made his pinky bump gently against your skin.

Your breath hitched audibly — not loud enough to draw attention, but enough that you felt Jungkook go even more still, sensing it. You swallowed hard, pulse hammering in your ears, and allowed your own hand to twitch in response — a small, almost involuntary movement, nothing that could be called bold.

But it was enough.

Enough to tell Jungkook that you weren’t pulling away. He was tense beside you, vibrating like a tightly wound string about to snap. But emboldened by your tiny gesture, he shifted the smallest fraction, just enough to let his pinky curl — and hook lightly around yours.

It wasn’t hand-holding.

Not really.

But it also wasn’t nothing.

You felt it instantly — that almost imperceptible entwining of pinkies, the barest linking of skin. The smallest possible way to touch you more, without making a scene, without risking everything. And yet somehow, it felt monumental. It felt like the only thing in the world that mattered.

Your lungs burned slightly, your heart hammering harder than the crescendo of the music washing around you. You stared straight ahead, afraid that if you even glanced at him, the spell would shatter. Beside you, Jungkook shifted again — the tiniest adjustment — a breath that somehow pressed his side a little more firmly against yours. His pinky, still entwined with yours, twitched once, almost like a question.

You squeezed yours back — barely — the smallest answer you could give. But it was enough.

It was everything.

The music swelled higher, louder, grander — but you barely heard it anymore. Because Jungkook was there, his pinky tangled lightly with yours, his thigh warm against your leg, his presence swallowing up every breath you took. You had no idea how you would survive the next twenty minutes of this concert. And from the way Jungkook's breathing had subtly shifted — a little heavier, a little faster — he was wondering the exact same thing.

As the last note of the concert faded into the stone vaults of the old church, the first people began to rise from their tightly packed pews, voices low and murmuring as they shuffled toward the exits, eager for their next destination.

You and Jungkook didn’t move.

Neither of you wanted to.

And, realistically, you couldn’t, not yet — Flora and Pascal were still squeezed in on the other side, and the narrow rows left little room to maneuver without tripping over each other. But even without that excuse, you knew you wouldn’t have been ready to let go of him.

Not just yet.

Your pinkies were still lightly hooked together, the smallest bridge between you. You could feel Jungkook’s warmth through that tiny touch, a quiet heartbeat of connection neither of you seemed quite willing to break.

When you dared a glance at him, you found him already looking at you.

His eyes were soft — almost bashful — and a shy, almost sheepish smile curved his lips. You saw the faintest flush creep up his neck to his cheeks, the stage lighting doing nothing to hide it. And before you could say anything, before you could even breathe properly, he gave your pinky one last small squeeze. Your heart twisted almost painfully.

Slowly, regretfully, you both let your hands drift apart.

The group started to shift and rise, Flora stretching his long frame carefully to avoid knocking into the people in front of you. Pascal shuffled sideways, pulling the others with him, and finally you and Jungkook had enough space to stand without causing a scene.

Outside, the cool night air hit you like a balm, carrying away some of the dizzy warmth clinging to your skin. You regrouped under the streetlights, the tall, dark shape of the church behind you casting deep shadows. Jungkook stayed close. Closer than before. Close enough that his shoulder almost brushed yours whenever he moved, Jungkook stayed by your side as the group paused under the yellow pools of light spilling from the church’s old lanterns.

Pascal turned to the group, his voice casual but lively. "What now? We’ve got time for one or maybe two more stops before everything closes. What do you guys think?"

He was speaking fast again and you saw Jungkook's head tilt slightly, his expression attentive but a little hesitant. His English was good, but fast conversation could be tricky, especially when tired or excited. Instinctively, you stepped in, your voice a little softer, more private.

You translated with the help of google again at this point into Korean, glancing at him with a smile — hopefully not too goofily — and pulled out your phone to double-check the night's schedule. “Pascal is saying that there’s still some time, so we can go to one or maybe two more places. He’s asking where we’d like to go.”

Jungkook gave a small, grateful nod, his eyes flickering to you and lingering there for a heartbeat longer than strictly necessary. You could tell he was appreciating more than just the translation. You fumbled quickly with your phone, trying to act casual.

"Alright," you said, clearing your throat, partly for the group and partly for yourself. "We’ve got two options."

"First, bathroom break," you added firmly, shooting a quick grin around the group that made Pascal and Flora chuckle.

"After that, we have two options: There’s a movie museum exhibit — old horror films. Props from Nosferatu, Dracula, 28 Days Later..." You glanced up at Jungkook and saw his eyes light up a little at the mention and understanding. You tried not to let it distract you and continued.

"Or, there's a gallery nearby with a lot of acrylic-on-wood paintings. The theme is supposed to be 'Fever Dream'." You lifted your eyebrows at everyone, feeling their attention drift toward you, and shrugged.

"Vote?"

It wasn’t much of a contest. Flora immediately cast his vote for the horror exhibit — big guy, even bigger love for spooky stuff — Pascal nodded eagerly too, clearly into it. You watched Jungkook's eyes light up just a little at the idea of the horror props, and a small, almost mischievous smile touched his lips. He gave a little nod, confirming his choice without needing words.

You grinned, feeling a little giddy — but not just because of the decision.

“Movie museum it is," you announced, grinning.

You desperately needed that bathroom break. Because the way Jungkook was looking at you, now that you could see his face in the clear, open night — the way he hadn't really left your side even after all the people had spilled out around you — the memory of your pinkies tangled together, not just accidental, not just squished together — all of it made your heart thud against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

You were freaking out. — Internally screaming while trying to look chill. — A classic.

You managed to give a casual little wave toward a nearby building. “Bathrooms that way,” you said, voice just a little too high-pitched to be completely natural. As the group started to wander in that direction, you pulled your phone closer to your chest, trying to hide your flushed cheeks behind it. You weren’t sure if you were overheating from the excitement of almost-hand-holding Jungkook, from the dizzy, half-panicked realization that he hadn’t pulled away — that he had wanted to stay close — or from the way he kept glancing at you now, like he was thinking about it too.

Either way, you were dangerously close to combusting.

And the night wasn’t even over yet.

You were the one who had begged for the bathroom break, but ironically, when you came out fresh-faced and trying to get your heart to beat normally again, it was Pascal who was still missing. The rest of you waited just outside the small public bathroom area, tucked against the side of the church. The cool night air wrapped around you, and without meaning to, you found yourself standing a little closer to Jungkook again.

He was quiet next to you, head slightly lowered, phone in hand. You glanced sideways, trying not to be obvious — but curiosity burned in you. Jungkook was texting, a small, shy smile playing on his lips as his thumbs flew across the screen. Every so often, he would type something, delete it, then retype it with more care.

If you could read Korean fast enough from that angle (which you couldn’t), you might have caught something like:

[🐰] : Hyungs… I’m so nervous I might die. Seriously.

[🐰] : I’ve spent the whole day with them and it’s so good it’s driving me crazy, haha.

[🐰] : It feels like butterflies are throwing a party in my stomach...

He quickly locked his phone when he noticed you looking in his direction, tucking it into his jacket pocket with a slightly embarrassed chuckle. You caught that chuckle and smiled to yourself, cheeks warming again. Finally, Pascal came jogging out, apologizing for the delay, and the four of you regrouped.

“Metro?” Pascal asked the group, glancing between you and Flora. It was just two stations — walkable, sure, but the metro would save time. You translated for Jungkook, and he nodded in agreement.

So the metro it was. The station wasn’t far, but the moment you descended underground, you realized the mistake: it was packed.

Way too many people. Way too little space.

You and Pascal cursed under your breath almost simultaneously — both of you being the smallest of the group and already hating cramped public transport situations. Flora, being tall and broad, carved a space around himself effortlessly, and Jungkook’s strong frame and solid build helped him stay upright even as people pushed and jostled around. But you?

You barely reached the overhead bars and had zero chance of grabbing onto anything. The sea of bodies swayed and pushed around you like a tide, and you knew immediately: this was going to be a nightmare.

When the metro car jolted with a hard start, you stumbled — and without even thinking, Jungkook caught you. His arm shot out, gripping the overhead pole running above the crowd. He positioned himself close to you, making sure if you were going to be squished against someone, it would be him. You leaned slightly on him, trying not to put your full weight against his side — but there wasn’t really a choice.

And then the metro braked hard at the first station.

You were sent flying — a small, helpless yelp leaving your lips — and instinctively you grabbed at Jungkook, fisting the front of his jacket. Even Jungkook had to plant his feet and shift his stance to keep steady, his muscles tensing under you. Without hesitation, he wrapped his free arm around your waist, firm and protective, pulling you flush against him.

He didn’t let go.

You were breathing fast, too aware of the way your hands clutched his hoodie and jacket, the way your cheek nearly brushed his chest, the faint scent of clean laundry and something distinctly Jungkook filling your nose.

You tried — once — to step back. To regain some polite distance.

But Jungkook bent slightly, lips brushing the shell of your ear, and whispered in Korean, voice low and rough: “Just hold onto me. I got you.”

His breath was hot against your ear, his words sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold night air.

Your knees wobbled. Your heart thudded so hard you wondered if he could hear it too.

You gave a small, helpless nod against his chest, too overwhelmed to meet his eyes, and instead, gripped the front of his jacket tighter — knuckles white, fingers trembling slightly. Jungkook tightened his arm around you just a fraction more, anchoring you securely against him for the rest of the ride. He was your solid ground in that chaotic, moving sea of strangers. And somehow, it felt like the whole world had shrunk again.

Just you and him, heartbeat to heartbeat.

As your stop neared, everyone started pressing forward, trying to position themselves near the doors. It was a chaos of bodies, jostling and pushing. Jungkook stayed close. Too close for you to think properly — but it was necessary.

With this many people, if you lost each other now, finding each other again would be impossible. You could just call Flora or Pascal but you hadn’t exchanged phone numbers with Jungkook – you didn’t want to impose. Without a word, Jungkook slipped his hand gently to the small of your back, warm and steady, steering you through the crush of people like you were the most precious thing he needed to protect. His hand wasn’t pushy, wasn’t possessive — it was guiding, reassuring. Like he wanted you to know he had you. That he wasn’t letting go.

You clutched the strap of your bag with both hands to keep from reaching back for him, heart rattling inside your chest like a trapped bird. Finally, the heavy metro doors hissed open, and you both spilled out into the station — breathing again, laughing breathlessly as the cool air of the outside hit your faces.

If someone had asked Jungkook what you looked like right then, flushed cheeks, bright eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips — he would have said, without hesitation: beautiful.

Maybe the most beautiful thing he'd seen all day.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

The museum was only a short walk away, and the fresh air helped you all shake off the claustrophobic energy of the metro. You entered the exhibition hall, and soon you were wandering through corridors of dim lighting, eerie soundtracks playing faintly in the background.

Glass cases displayed old movie props, some beautifully preserved, some delightfully grotesque. Fake vampire fangs, latex severed limbs, crumbling Nosferatu prosthetics — pieces of horror history carefully presented under spotlights. Flora, who until now had been relatively quiet, suddenly turned out to be a bizarre fountain of random movie trivia.

“That arm," Flora pointed at a disturbingly realistic severed hand in one of the cases, "was made with real animal bones inside to make it look more authentic when it moved."

You blinked. Jungkook blinked.

You caught the confused furrow of Jungkook’s brow and leaned close to murmur a translation into his ear in Korean, your breath brushing his skin:

"They used real animal bones inside to make it look real."

Jungkook widened his eyes slightly, letting out a soft, surprised laugh, and whispered back:

"That's crazy..."

You grinned at him, feeling ridiculously giddy that you could be the one translating this strange world for him.

As you moved on, you came to a corner that had been redesigned especially for tonight's event. It was marked with low flickering lights and a small, crooked wooden sign:

"Horror Walk — Enter If You Dare."

Inside, black curtains obscured the view, and occasional flashes of light and small shrieks from earlier participants hinted at what awaited. It wasn’t a full haunted house — more like a cramped hallway with actors hidden inside, ready to jump scare anyone brave (or foolish) enough to walk through.

You all stopped in front of it.

Pascal groaned dramatically, already shaking his head. "No, no, not for me..."

You laughed and turned to Jungkook.

"He hates jump scares."

Jungkook smiled, clearly amused, but his eyes flickered back to the dark curtains with a gleam that made your stomach twist deliciously.

“And you?” he asked softly, tilting his head toward you.

You hesitated, chewing your bottom lip — horror walk with Jungkook? Half of you wanted to die of nerves. The other half wanted nothing more.

Flora, oblivious, was already striding forward to sign the little waiver the museum required. Pascal grumbled but followed. And Jungkook… well, Jungkook just watched you, waiting patiently for your answer.

You hesitated for a second before pushing through the thick black curtain, the material brushing heavily against your shoulders, swallowing you up into the dark.

Immediately, the world changed.

The hallway inside was nearly pitch black, save for faint, flickering lights far ahead. The floor creaked ominously beneath your feet. Somewhere deeper inside, you could hear recorded whispers, quiet footfalls, and the occasional high-pitched shriek that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart hammer against your ribs.

And then — a warm hand slipped into yours.

Properly, fully — Jungkook’s hand.

Strong, a little calloused, fitting into yours like it belonged there. You felt him step close behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his chest to your back. For a moment, you were too stunned to move.

He was just... holding your hand. Not by accident. Not by mistake. Deliberately.

You squeezed back, barely able to believe it was happening, and you felt the slight, quiet tremble of his fingers in yours. He was nervous too. The realization sent a bloom of something so sweet, so fragile through your chest, you thought you might actually float off the ground. Jungkook leaned down, mouth close to your ear.

"Go ahead... I'll be right behind you."

You nodded mutely, and you started forward. Each cautious step you took echoed too loudly in the otherwise dead silence. Jungkook didn’t just walk behind you — he was guiding you, his hand sometimes sliding from your hand up lightly to your shoulder, to your waist, steadying you with feather-light touches whenever you flinched or hesitated. It was so subtle, so careful, like he was afraid to startle you more than the haunted hallway already was.

And then — something moved.

A figure — pale, twitching, all black eyes and sharp teeth — suddenly burst from a hidden panel in the wall beside you.

You shrieked, whipping around instinctively to run — but Jungkook was there, and you plowed straight into his chest. He laughed — a real, full laugh, delighted and breathless — and without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you.

Not just a safe hug — no, Jungkook hugged you properly, one arm strong across your back, the other sneaking under your open jacket, pulling you against him like you were something he couldn't bear to let go.

Your cheek was pressed to the warm cotton of his shirt, his heartbeat thundering in your ear. You whimpered — you couldn’t help it — the sound slipping out, high-pitched and soft and far too vulnerable. You prayed, prayed, that Jungkook thought it was from fear.

(And not because the feel of his fingers brushing lightly over your back, beneath your jacket, was making your knees buckle.)

But Jungkook stiffened for a fraction of a second against you — his breath catching sharply in his chest.

Like he heard it differently.

Like he loved it.

His hand flattened against the small of your back, feeling you, grounding you to him. His nose brushed your hair, and you could have sworn you felt him inhale deeply, a tiny shudder running through his body. You stayed like that — pressed together, hearts hammering, the haunted hallway forgotten — for a few infinite seconds.

In the dimness, only you and Jungkook existed. Only the way his thumb was rubbing slow, barely-there circles at the base of your spine. Only the way you gripped handfuls of his jacket, hiding your burning face against him.

He tilted his head down, whispering into your hair in Korean, voice rough and breathless:

"It's okay... I'm here."

You could only nod — your words were locked somewhere deep in your chest, strangled by the overwhelming way he was holding you like you were precious, real, and somehow already his.

And if you weren't careful... You might never want to let him go.

You finished the haunted hallway clinging lightly to Jungkook’s jacket, every loud noise and sudden shadow making you tighten your grip for a second longer than necessary. You could feel Jungkook's hand still hovering at your lower back, ready to catch you again if needed — though you both moved slowly now, hearts not quite back to normal. When you finally stumbled out through the heavy exit curtain and back into the dim light of the movie exhibit, it was like breaking through to the surface after being underwater.

You gasped a little laugh, immediately stepping a half step away, remembering where you were. Remembering yourself. Jungkook hated it. Hated the tiny, polite distance you carefully placed between you and him again. Because he couldn’t just pull you back. Because even now, there were a few people here, and a badly taken photo would be a nightmare for both of you — and worst of all, you would be the one most hurt by it. He knew it.

But still. His hands twitched at his sides. His heart screamed.

He licked his lips slowly without even realizing it, staring after you — dazed, helpless, and ready to follow you anywhere. And he would have — he was about to — until Pascal suddenly spoke up.

“Pfff… Okay, I’m done. Horror walk has officially killed me,” Pascal groaned, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair. “I need sugar. Then I’m out.”

You and Flora laughed, both nodding — though you covered a giant yawn behind your hand. It was nearly 2 a.m., after all. Even you, energized and excited, were visibly winding down now.

Jungkook’s heart stuttered in panic.

No. No, no, no. He didn’t have your number. He didn’t know where you lived. If you left now, you would just… be gone.

He could already feel it — that yawning space opening between you, the chance slipping away like sand between his fingers. While you and Flora casually debated which sweets stand was the best nearby, Jungkook frantically opened his group chat with his friends. His thumbs flew across his phone.

🐰: what do i do 🐰: i dont have her number 🐰: i cant lose her what do i do i cant just ask in front of everyone 🐰: HELP.

It took all of three seconds before his friends erupted in teasing.

😎 (Taehyung): lololol YOU'RE SCREWED 🐱 (Yoongi): Just ask her idiot. 🐿️ (Hoseok): Confess your undying love immediately. Go big or go home. 🐨 (Namjoon): Maybe just say you wanna text about the museum or something??? Chill bro.

Jungkook groaned under his breath, cheeks burning, still pretending to casually check his phone while you and Flora were oblivious. But Pascal was not oblivious.

🐰: i cant just SAY THAT. everyone is RIGHT HERE. 🐰: AND what if she says no 🐰: AND her friends will KNOW 🐰: AND then ill look like a desperate idiot

Taehyung was instantly bloodthirsty:

😎: you ARE a desperate idiot right now 😂

Hoseok added:

🐿️: Desperate and CUTE tho 🐿️: i believe in u soldier o7 🐿️: shoot your shot 🐿️: or steal her shoe and run so she HAS to find you later 🤡

Jungkook glared at his screen so hard he was sure the pixels would melt. Yoongi, the voice of (grumpy) reason, chimed in again:

🐱: just say you want to send her the museum address or something. 🐱: make it practical. not a confession, dumbass. 🐱: baby steps.

Jungkook thumbed back:

🐰: you make it sound easy hyung

Namjoon:

🐨: bc it IS easy 🐨: you’re just a lovesick mess rn

Jungkook ran a hand down his face, accidentally bumping shoulders with Flora, who glanced over in mild concern. He flinched and smiled a little too fast, tucking his phone behind his back as if he could read it.

Meanwhile, Taehyung was merciless:

😎: tell her you saw a ghost and the only way to be safe is to exchange numbers. spiritual protection reasons. 😎: very serious. 😎: for safety reasons

Jungkook huffed a tiny breathless laugh despite himself — and immediately bit it down when you turned slightly, giving him a small, questioning smile. He coughed into his fist and looked away.

He was losing it.

And then — Out of the corner of his eye, Jungkook caught Pascal watching him. Really watching him. Sharp, assessing — and then… almost kind. Pascal stepped close enough that Jungkook could see the screen of Pascal’s phone when he tilted it forward — a message typed out in clear, simple English with its translation into Korean next to it.

"Normally Flora and I bring her home if it’s this late. But if you want to take her home instead, we will leave you two alone?"

Jungkook froze. His mouth went dry. He blinked — once, twice — rereading it to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating from sleep deprivation or love-induced madness. When he finally looked up, wide-eyed, cheeks glowing bright red, Pascal just grinned at him — like a cat that had stolen the cream.

But Pascal’s smile turned serious in the next second.

He held Jungkook’s gaze firmly, and then, in slow, careful English that even he understood very clearly, he added:

"Just don’t hurt her."

The unspoken "or else" hung heavy between them.

Jungkook nodded immediately. Seriously. From the deepest part of himself. There wasn’t even a fraction of hesitation. He would rather cut off his own hand than hurt you.

Pascal seemed satisfied with that. He clapped Jungkook lightly on the shoulder, nodded once like a silent deal had been struck — and turned back toward Flora and you, who were laughing about how creepy some of the fake horror props had been.

Jungkook finally, finally allowed himself to breathe. He straightened, the panic in his chest easing just a little. He still didn’t know exactly how he was going to ask you — but now, at least, he had more time.

The four of you had gotten your sweet treats from Pascal’s favorite late-night stand — some homemade fudge and steaming paper cones of roasted almonds that perfumed the cool night air with caramel sugar.

You crunched your way through them peacefully, laughing with Flora about the terrible fake blood on one specific prop, while Pascal made dry commentary about how he’d seen scarier things at his tax office. Jungkook stayed close but quiet, occasionally smiling wide enough that the corners of his eyes crinkled, but he was still a little in his own head — winding down slowly from everything.

The walk to your designated tram stop was calm. Different from the chaotic crowd earlier — this station was just a little one, off the main roads. You stood together on the almost empty platform, idly chatting while waiting for your tram to rattle in. Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how the fluorescent lights made your skin look almost soft and glowing. He inched just a little closer, under the weak excuse of hearing you better, his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets to stop himself from touching you again.

When the tram finally rolled in, it sighed and squealed against the tracks, and you all climbed inside together, still half-laughing over Pascal's bad jokes. It was quiet inside. Jungkook had just gotten used to the idea that he'd be sitting next to you for the rest of the ride — half-savoring, half-panicking about it — when it happened.

At the last possible second, just before the doors banged shut, Pascal and Flora jumped out. You both turned — mouths open, stunned — too late to follow. The doors slid closed with a harsh thump, locking the two of you in.

Alone.

The station outside slipped away into the darkness. You stared after them, frozen, and then muttered under your breath, a little stunned, "Fuckers."

Jungkook’s brows shot up — he didn't need any translation for that one. Even without knowing the word exactly, your tone said everything. He flushed immediately, dropping his gaze, rocking awkwardly on his heels.

"I... uh..." he started, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry... about... this situation," he said, clearly flustered, almost apologetic. His English was slow and careful, like he wanted to get it perfect for you. "I didn’t... mean to trap you?"

You blinked at him, heart twisting painfully at how sweet he was being about it — how he looked genuinely sorry, like he was afraid you’d be mad. Quickly, you smiled, trying to reassure him.

"I don’t mind," you said warmly, pulling out your phone. You tapped at the screen, pulling up the tram map, trying to figure out how he could get back to the Korean restaurant where you'd first met — it seemed like a million years ago already. You held it up to him, meaning to make it easy for him to jump ship if he needed. But Jungkook's face fell the second he understood.

He pointed at himself, then at you, his brows furrowing.

"You... don't want... me... to bring you?" he asked, his voice a little small, a little uncertain. His words were halting but sincere.

"If not... okay... I go. But—" He fumbled, gesturing at your phone and then back at you, urgent, "—I... pay taxi. So you get home safe."

You stared at him, completely blindsided.

"You..." You laughed, a little breathless, a little floored. "You want to take me home?"

Jungkook's ears burned visibly. He nodded so fast you were surprised his head didn’t snap off. "Yes," he said. "Yes... I want."

"But..." you faltered, still confused, feeling your heart race, "I don’t want to steal your time..."

He shook his head, frantic, taking half a step closer without realizing it.

"You don’t!" he insisted, voice low and urgent. "You don’t. I... I want... time with you."

He sucked in a shaky breath after that, eyes locked onto yours so fiercely you couldn't look away even if you wanted to.

"I choose." He had said it slower, firmer, so earnest it nearly knocked you off your feet. And you realized then — this was why Pascal and Flora had ditched you two at the last second. This was why Pascal had grinned like a madman. Jungkook had asked for it. He had flushed madly, panicked, but asked to be alone with you.

The tram clattered along the tracks under your feet, a quiet lullaby to the storm inside your chest. Your cheeks burned as you tucked your phone away again, pretending not to notice how Jungkook's hand hovered close to yours, not quite brave enough to touch yet.

He was still trying so hard — speaking English, clumsy but heartfelt, making it easier for you.

You smiled up at him shyly, and said, "We can keep talking in Korean."

Jungkook’s face lit up like a sunrise. He leaned in just slightly, like you had given him the best gift.

"I... want make easy for you, like you made it easy for me," he said, grinning wide, chest puffing up a little like he was proud of himself. "I want... you happy."

God. You felt like you were melting right there in the rattling subway car.

"I appreciate it," you said, voice soft but sure. The train rumbled to a stop a few moments later. You stepped out into the quiet coolness of the late night — your stop. The streets were empty, just the low hum of a far-off car or two, the golden glow of distant street lamps. You started walking, your footsteps echoing softly against the pavement.

Jungkook hovered close to your side, not touching, but close enough that you could feel his body heat seeping through the chilly night air. You risked a glance at him — the way his hands were tucked deep into his jacket pockets, the soft furrow between his brows like he was deep in thought.

Gathering your courage, you blurted out, "Can... can I ask you something personal, personal?"

You rushed to add, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

Jungkook’s mouth curled into a wide, amused grin. He gave a little huff of a laugh, absolutely delighted with you. It wasn’t lost on him how careful you were — how, even now, after all the laughing, the horror walk, the sweets and jokes, you still treated him with so much respect. You hadn’t prodded or demanded like some people did, hadn’t poked at him like a shiny object.

Even now, you offered him the dignity of choice. And without hesitation, he nodded.

"Ask," he said warmly.

You bit your lip for a second, cheeks heating.

"Why are you here?" you asked finally. "I mean... here in this town? It’s not exactly... special."

For a moment, you worried you might have offended him. You searched his face for any sign of irritation. But Jungkook just smiled, slow and a little secret, like you had stumbled into something true.

"Holiday," he said. "Smaller cities... make it easier to blend. Easier to be..." He paused, tapping his chest lightly, "me."

Your eyes widened in understanding. You nodded quickly. "That... that makes sense."

It did. In a small city like this, he could just be Jungkook — not the star, not the phenomenon — just a guy eating sweets at 2am, laughing at terrible horror props, getting fake blood splashed on his shoes. The conversation loosened after that. He invited you to ask more.

You asked him his favorite food (which, predictably, made him light up and ramble about samgyeopsal and ramen), and he asked you about your work. He teased you gently about your horror movie squeamishness, and you teased him back for how much he liked it when you clung to him.

The walk to your apartment passed faster than you thought possible — fifteen minutes that felt like seconds. As your building came into view under the sleepy halo of the streetlights, you slowed to a stop — but your feet didn’t quite want to stay still.

You didn’t want to say goodbye to Jungkook.

Not with how warm the night still felt despite the chill in the air. Not with how close he was — real and quiet and nervously alive beside you.

You turned toward him, heart stumbling in your chest — and that’s when you noticed. He was fidgeting nervously on the spot, shifting from foot to foot like he couldn't settle. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides. He bit at his lip ring — hard — like it had personally offended him.

And he was looking at you.

No — he was looking at your lips.

It hit you like a freight train, how charged the air had become — how close you still were, how much he was holding himself back. Your heart pounded so loud you were sure he could hear it. And suddenly, you were excited all over again — and anxious, and dizzy, and so full of heat you could barely breathe.

Your fingers fumbled with your keys, looking between him and your building and him again, like you couldn’t decide which thing was more terrifying. And Jungkook just stood there, wrecked with nerves, looking like he desperately wanted something but didn’t know if he was allowed to take it.

And then, shy and barely above a whisper, you found your voice.

“Do you… um…” You cleared your throat, cheeks blazing. “Would you like to come up? Just for a bit?”

You gestured toward the building with a tilt of your chin, forcing yourself to keep eye contact. “I mean, the next tram won’t come for a while. Not that you couldn’t just get a taxi or something, obviously, but—”

“Yes.”

His voice cut through your ramble — soft but breathless. Like he’d been waiting. Like he couldn’t let you talk yourself out of it.

“Yes,” he repeated, and stepped just a little closer.

You blushed so hard you almost dropped your keys. Jungkook’s eyes flicked down to them, amused, but didn’t say anything. He just smiled — the kind that made your insides unravel — and waited while you got the door open, heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest.

You stepped inside and let him follow, suddenly hyper-aware of everything: the creak of the floorboards, the faint smell of the candle you’d blown out earlier, the slight mess in the sink you hadn’t quite tackled yet. It wasn’t bad — you’d cleaned yesterday, thankfully — but still, you couldn’t help the little twinge of embarrassment that bloomed in your chest.

Jungkook stepped inside gently, quiet and careful, like he didn’t want to disturb the air. He looked around slowly, eyes drifting over your space — the small bookshelf, the couch, the dish rack, the jacket tossed over a chair. The framed prints on your wall. The mug with the chipped rim on the counter.

Then his eyes caught on something else.

The wall of photos near your kitchen door.

He wandered a little closer after leaving his cap his shoes an jacket at your front door, expression softening as he scanned over them — a chaotic, joyful collage. There were pictures of you with friends, some clearly older and sun-faded. Others more recent, printed in glossy bursts of color. One where you and Flora were mid-laugh in a garden, holding fake knives from a Halloween display. Another where Pascal had his head in your lap while you looked mock-annoyed, eyes rolling but clearly fond.

Several photos showed you and Pascal together, reenacting sculptures — in museums, parks, once even a fountain. Jungkook paused in front of one where a much younger you stood frozen with Pascal beside you, both of you mimicking a classical marble pose with serious faces and ridiculous commitment.

He laughed, soft and surprised. “This really is … your thing?”

You hovered awkwardly behind him, feeling both warm and embarrassed. “We started doing them when we were, like, fifteen? It just… stuck.”

Jungkook smiled. “I like it.”

Then, shifting just a bit, his gaze flicked to the shelf next to the pictures — the one with your music collection. His eyes caught on the row of albums tucked to one side. Some of them were his. Not all, but a few. One of his solo projects. A BTS album with the spine worn from too many plays. Another still wrapped in its original plastic. Even an AgustD album between them all.

He blinked once — and then grinned.

Wide. Mischievous. Almost smug.

You groaned immediately, dragging a hand down your face. Jungkook laughed — really laughed this time — head tilting back slightly, hair falling into his eyes as his shoulders shook.

“You have… good taste,” he teased and pretended to examine the shelf like a judge at an art gallery. “And very supportive heart.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “You’re impossible.”

He looked at you over his shoulder, and smiled softer now — shy, like he couldn’t quite believe he was here either.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “but I’m glad you let me in.”

Your heart was doing ridiculous things in your chest and Jungkook's presence felt too big and too close in your tiny home, you managed to clear your throat and ask, “Do you want something to drink?”

Your voice was light — too light — and you didn’t wait for his answer before turning toward the fridge, using it as an excuse to collect yourself. Trying to be a good host. You needed something to do, anything to stop you from watching the way he leaned against the counter like he belonged there, sleeves shoved up to his forearms, lip ring catching the dim light whenever he bit at it.

Jungkook chuckled quietly behind you, following your movement. “Water’s fine,” he said.

You nodded, grabbing a glass and opening the fridge. The cool air hit your face, grounding, and you took an extra second longer than necessary, using the excuse to breathe. Just as you were closing the fridge door again, Jungkook’s voice broke the quiet.

“Can I ask you something personal?”

You turned around, confused — blinking at him over the rim of the glass. “You’ve kind of been doing that all evening.”

A crooked grin tugged at his mouth, but he looked a little sheepish, running a hand through his hair.

“No, I mean… something different.”

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

He looked at you for a moment — not scanning or judging, just looking, like trying to figure out how best to ask. Then: “Why are you like this?”

You blinked. Paused. Raised an eyebrow slowly.

“…Excuse me?”

The expression on your face made him huff at himself, rubbing the back of his neck, already regretting his wording.

“I didn’t mean it like— Not in a bad way,” he rushed, words tumbling now. “I mean… the way you’ve treated me all night. Like I’m not… you know—me.”

You stayed quiet, curious but cautious.

“You’ve barely mentioned anything about music,” he said, softer now. “You didn’t bring up BTS. You didn’t ask for a photo, or… anything like that. It’s like…” He shrugged helplessly. “You’re trying really hard not to.”

You exhaled, slowly. Set the glass down.

“Oh,” you said, a little caught off guard. “Well… yeah.”

He waited, head tilted, expression open.

You licked your lips, nervous. “I didn’t know if you’d want that. I mean… You’re a person. A really successful one, yeah, but… you seemed like you just wanted to have a normal dinner, a normal night. And I didn’t want to ruin that by acting weird or clingy or making you feel like I only saw you as this… brand.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything, so you kept going, fumbling your way through, but pacing yourself so he could understand you.

“I mean you are that brand but also aren’t. You’re a person first, right? I figured asking for pictures or autographs would be rude. Probably you’re not even allowed to talk about certain things? So I didn’t want to put you in a position where it got awkward or uncomfortable. I didn’t want to cross a line. Even if part of me…” You hesitated, smiled sheepishly. “Okay, yeah, part of me might curse myself later. When this ends and you go back to your world, to being that Jungkook again, is gonna hate myself later for not asking you for a picture or an autograph.”

That earned a small breath of laughter from him.

“But honestly? Just… being with you like this? Talking and laughing and walking around — it’s better than any signed album. Because you are way nicer than I ever imagined.”

You didn’t know what expression you expected from him. Maybe gratitude. Maybe amusement. But you didn’t expect him to look stunned. Utterly stunned — like you’d knocked the wind out of him. He stared for a second longer, lips parted, eyes soft and disbelieving.

And then — without warning — he stepped forward and huggedyou.

Just like that. No hesitation. No awkward shuffle. His arms wrapped around you like he’d been waiting all night to do it, like something fragile inside him had finally let go. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the way he breathed in like he needed to memorize the shape of this moment. Your hands found their way to his back instinctively, curling into the fabric of his hoodie. He smelled like something warm, something clean. His lip ring was cool against your temple where he pressed his face into your hair, exhaling like he hadn’t realized he needed to.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice muffled in your hair. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to… to explain. I just— No one’s ever… not many treat me like that.”

You blinked, hands slowly rising to rest against his sides.

“I didn’t know I needed it.” he added, quieter.

Your heart ached in the best way. You tilted your head just slightly so your cheek could rest against his shoulder. Jungkook’s arms loosened gradually, his body lingering in the space between you. His hands slid down your sides with featherlight care, as though he wasn’t ready to let go — not really. When he leaned back just enough to look at you, his eyes were unreadable for a second. Then they dropped.

To your lips.

And stayed there.

The weight of his stare made it suddenly hard to breathe. You swallowed, heart stammering in your chest as you watched him try — and fail — to drag his gaze back up to your eyes. When he did, it was with effort, as if every fiber of him still wanted to be looking at your mouth instead. He licked his bottom lip slowly — not teasing, not calculated — just hungry, barely restrained. The silver of his lip ring caught on the light, glinting like a warning and a promise all at once.

Your breath hitched.

You couldn't look away. Not now. Especially not when he began leaning in, inch by cautious inch, until you were close enough to feel his breath ghost over your skin — warm and soft and tasting faintly of something sweet he’d eaten earlier.

And then his lips touched yours.

A soft, reverent press. Not hesitant exactly — more like he was savoring it. Like he’d imagined this and didn’t want to rush the real thing. The kiss was gentle at first — his lips pillowy and warm, fitting against yours so naturally it felt like falling into something you’d been meant to find. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, clinging to him without even realizing you’d moved, needing something to hold onto because your entire body felt too light, too giddy, too alive.

A flurry of butterflies erupted in your chest, trying to claw their way out of you.

His tongue flicked out — a slow, tentative kitten lick across your lower lip, as if asking, May I? And when your lips parted on a soft, involuntary sound — a whimper, a mewl, something needy and breathless — Jungkook’s breath caught against your skin.

That was all he needed.

The kiss deepened, hot and slow and aching. His tongue slid against yours, smooth and searching, tasting you like you were something precious. He kissed like he wanted to learn everything — the shape of your mouth, the way your breath stuttered, the soft sounds you made when his lips moved just so.

You trembled in his arms, overwhelmed.

One of his hands clenched gently at your hip, not hard but firm, anchoring you. The other drifted up to your neck, then into your hair near your hairline — fingers threading in softly and holding you still, keeping you close. He tilted your head just enough to fit better against him, to deepen the kiss just a little more, and everything about the way he touched you made you feel fragile and wanted all at once.

When he pulled back, he didn’t go far.

Just enough to let you breathe again. Your eyes fluttered open. You were trembling. Jungkook’s eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips slightly parted and kissed-red, a glint of wetness catching on the silver of his lip ring. His thumb brushed your jaw, and only then did you realize your whole body was buzzing. That you were flushed to the roots. That your knees felt like jelly.

That you might very well throw up your heart onto the floor.

He looked at you like you were art. And all you could do was stare back at him, still holding onto his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. Jungkook didn’t step away after the kiss ended. His breath mingled with yours, warm and shallow between you. His eyes searched your face like he needed to see everything — the tremble in your lips, the flush on your cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell in shaky rhythm with his.

“Was that… okay?” he asked.

His voice was deeper now, rough around the edges — like gravel softened by velvet. You could see the tension in his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed hard as he swallowed, his thumb brushing gently along your cheekbone. He was touching you like he couldn’t help it — like he didn’t even realize he was doing it, just mapping your skin under his fingers.

Your voice caught in your throat.

You nodded, eyes wide, chest tight with everything you couldn’t put into words. It was more than okay — it felt like your entire body had been lit from within, nerves firing in every direction. But Jungkook didn’t accept just a nod.

“Words,” he said, low and hoarse, the demand wrapping around you like silk laced with fire.

Your breath hitched. “Y–Yeah.” It came out as more air than voice. You tried again, voice trembling with sincerity. “Yes. It’s… it’s really okay.”

A slow, satisfied smile curled on his lips — soft and sinful at the same time — and before you could even begin to catch your breath again, he was kissing you. This time it wasn’t tentative. This was deeper, hungrier — his mouth opening over yours like he meant to leave a mark on your soul. His hands gripped your waist as your breath stuttered, and your fingers dug into the soft cotton of his hoodie again. The kiss was slow and consuming, drawing you under like a tide pulling you out to sea.

Your knees buckled, and he noticed — instantly.

Without breaking the kiss, Jungkook moved you. His strong arms wrapped around you like it was effortless, and in a few guided steps, your back bumped softly against the edge of the kitchen counter. Then, with practiced strength and surprising gentleness, he lifted you — one smooth motion — and set you down on the surface.

A startled yelp slipped from your lips, swallowed almost immediately by his mouth returning to yours. Your thighs instinctively parted for him as he stepped between your legs, his chest brushing yours, his warmth enveloping you. His hand returned to your neck, fingers curling softly into the hair at your nape, tilting your head just how he liked it. You sighed into his mouth, long and low, surrendering completely to the feel of him.

He smiled against your lips — you felt it — and it made your heart twist.

You threaded your hands through his hair, fingertips brushing the undercut at the base of his skull. The strands were soft and thick, and he made a low sound at the contact — almost a groan, half-muffled by your lips. One of your hands lingered at the back of his neck, the other trailed across his shoulders, grounding yourself against the solid heat of him.

You locked your legs around his hips without thinking, drawing him in closer. You could feel everything — the tension in his body, the thrum of his heart against yours, the slow burn of something heavy and overwhelming settling low in your belly.

Jungkook’s lips never strayed far, brushing soft kisses across your jaw, down your neck, like he was committing you to memory one breath at a time. His hands began to explore more boldly now, firm but reverent — one anchoring at your hip, the other sliding slowly up your side. The heat of his touch burned through your clothes, every inch of your skin responding as if drawn by static, nerves flickering to life under his fingers.

When his palm swept along your spine, warm and purposeful, you arched into him instinctively — a soft whimper escaping your lips. It wasn’t dramatic or intentional, just pure reaction. A quiet sound of need you couldn’t hold back. Jungkook chuckled low against your throat, lips ghosting your skin.

"So sensitive," he murmured, voice rich with affection and something deeper — hunger laced with wonder. The way he said it made you shiver.

His hands moved again, slower now, more exploratory — like he was discovering a secret. One hand slid around, fingertips grazing the underside of your breast through the thin fabric of your top. He hesitated for a breath, as if waiting for you to stop him, to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, a small, pleased sound caught in your throat, your head falling slightly back, lips parted with your next shallow inhale.

Jungkook pulled back just enough to look at you, to really look — your lips kiss-swollen and pink, your cheeks flushed with heat, your chest rising and falling fast beneath your shirt.

"Still okay?" he asked, voice deeper now, strained at the edges.

You nodded. “Yeah.” You could barely speak. The word came out in a sigh, like it had to push through every beat of your racing heart. And Jungkook looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

His hand found the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping just beneath. His touch on your bare skin was devastating — warm and sure as he slowly skimmed up your sides. His eyes stayed on you the whole time, watching every reaction. When his hand spread over your ribs and moved inward, your breath hitched violently, your back arching again with a sharp, involuntary gasp.

He exhaled shakily. “Fuck…”

“Jungkook…” You said his name like it was a confession, like it was the only word your mouth could remember how to form.

His gaze flickered down.

His fingers had found the curve of your breast now, brushing just along the edge of your bra — testing boundaries, testing your reactions. His thumb slowly traced the line of skin exposed above the cup, and your whole body clenched in response. Your thighs tightened around him, and your hands clutched at his shoulders like you needed something to anchor you.

And still, he looked up at you. Not for permission anymore — for the sheer pleasure of watching the way you unraveled under his hands. You were dizzy. Melting. Your head swam with heat and need, everything in you drawn to the man between your legs.

Jungkook leaned in again, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his voice barely more than breath: “You feel so good under my hands.”

You whimpered, knees falling wider, his hips slotting in deeper between your legs as you clung to him. He was hard now — you could feel it clearly against your center, even through your clothes, and the realization sent a rush of heat crashing through you.

Jungkook’s hand cupped your breast with more intention now, squeezing gently — just enough to draw a soft, breathy moan from your lips. The sound made him groan low in his throat, hips instinctively pressing forward against you, desperate for friction. His other hand slid down, gripping your hip and guiding you closer to the edge of the counter. The shift in position brought you flush against him, and you could feel the hard press of him right where you were aching — it was dizzying, maddening.

Your head dropped to his shoulder as your breath caught in your throat, and you instinctively pressed a kiss to the warm skin of his neck. His scent was intoxicating — clean, musky, something uniquely him — and when your lips brushed over the strong line of his throat, you felt him shudder against you.

He kept touching you, his thumb sliding beneath the edge of your bra, then gently dragging his nail over your nipple in a teasing, deliberate motion that made your body jerk in his arms. You gasped into his neck, breath trembling as you held onto him tighter, your hands fisting the fabric of his hoodie. It was too much and not enough at once — your chest heaved, lips parting in silent pleading as he kept up the slow, torturous rhythm.

The heat between your thighs pulsed in time with the friction of his hips pressed snugly between yours. The thick ridge of him, even through layers of clothing, made your breath catch again. You were soaked. Desperate. A throbbing need built between your legs that had your toes curling, your legs tightening around his hips to keep him there, to keep him close.

You kissed his neck again, slower this time, your lips lingering as you let your hand roam upward, over the hard plane of his chest. Every muscle under your palm felt tense— his heart hammering in time with yours. You wanted to touch more. All of him. But your hand hovered at the space between you, not quite daring to move lower. The friction where your bodies met was too good, too electric to disrupt.

Jungkook’s breath came hard against your ear now, his lips ghosting over your temple as he whispered, almost helplessly, “You’re driving me crazy…” He was losing control slowly — and loving it.

Your answer was a soft whimper, your hips shifting unconsciously against his. He grunted, a ragged sound low in his chest, as his hand moved to cup the fullness of your breast more fully now, thumbing your nipple in slow, aching circles that had you arching into him.

Your skin felt too tight. Your nerves were on fire. And all you could think about was how good his hands felt, how good he felt — everywhere. Jungkook didn’t stop. His hands roamed your body like he was learning it by heart — your curves, your gasps, the places that made you arch and whimper. He was reverent but hungry, like he wanted to devour and worship you in the same breath.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, every inch of you buzzing with anticipation and heat as his thumb grazed your nipple again, sending a ripple of pleasure straight through your core. Your hips rocked instinctively against him, and the friction made you dizzy.

Your hands clung to him, your mouth brushing his jaw as your voice came out barely louder than a whisper — raw and vulnerable and wrecked.

“Please… touch me.”

Jungkook froze for half a heartbeat. His pupils blew wide, his jaw clenched, and his throat worked as he swallowed hard. His voice came out deep, rough, already hoarse with need.

“Fuck… yeah. I—” he faltered, breath catching as he tried to anchor himself, “where?”

At first, you misunderstood. You reached down between you both, your hand shaking slightly — from nerves, from want, from the sheer surreal intimacy of the moment — and you guided his hand, bold and trembling, right between your legs. Over the heated fabric of your pants, pressing him there, where you ached for him most.

Jungkook let out a strangled groan, his head falling to your shoulder for a second like the sensation had physically knocked the breath from him. His fingers flexed instinctively, feeling the heat, even through the layers.

“Jesus,” he whispered, voice shredded with disbelief and need. He kissed you again, rougher this time, a little desperate, and then drew back just enough to stammer, “Bed?”

The word was simple. Hopeful. Because he could take you here — wanted to, ached to — but he didn’t want this to be a rushed, stolen thing. Not when it was your first time like this. Not when it was you. Your eyes went wide, and you suddenly looked flustered, realizing what he had meant.

“Oh… there,” you said softly, cheeks burning. You nodded toward the door to your room, utterly mortified at your mistake, your voice nearly swallowed by your own breathlessness. You shifted, meaning to slide off the counter and find your footing again, to lead him there — but Jungkook didn’t let you go.

He gripped your waist and pulled you in, grinding you against his hardness. Your thighs clenched around him, and the gasp you let out — broken and shameless — made him hiss through his teeth. You couldn’t even breathe, couldn’t think. He grinned against your throat, a cocky glint in his eyes that he didn’t even try to hide.

“God, you sound good,” he muttered, before lifting you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

Your arms locked around his neck as your nose buried against his skin, still dizzy with how fast this was spiraling. But it felt right. Real. Like something that had been waiting to happen for far too long. He carried you through the hallway, pushing your bedroom door open with his shoulder, never once letting you go. The world was muffled. It was just him. Just you.

He set you down onto the bed like you were precious, his, but he didn’t give you space — didn’t even move back an inch. His body hovered over yours, gaze burning down at you, and he let his hand settle low, palming you again through the fabric of your pants. Your hips lifted into his hand involuntarily, and the moan that slipped from your lips was downright filthy. He chuckled darkly, satisfied, eyes half-lidded and gleaming. “So,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, “where do you want me to touch you again?”

You wanted to answer. You meant to answer.

But his hand rubbed slow, teasing circles, and your head fell back into the pillows. All you could do was feel.

He didn’t stay teasing long. After one more slow press of his palm, he pulled back just enough to hook his fingers into the waistband of your pants, silently asking for more. You nodded frantically, lips parted, chest rising and falling as if you’d just run miles.

“Okay?” he asked again, that final, precious line of respect in his voice — even with his body trembling above you. You reached for him, cupping his jaw as you whispered, “Yes. Please, Jungkook.”

He kissed you like he needed to taste those words again.

Then he peeled your pants down with aching care — reverent and focused — revealing more of you to him, inch by inch, as the last threads of restraint started to unravel. His hand moved lower with deliberate slowness, fingers tracing the outline of your panties like he was drawing a boundary he intended to cross — a line of reverence and tension. His touch was warm, electric, his fingertips ghosting along the thin fabric as if memorizing the way it clung to you.

He licked his lips instinctively, then caught the edge of his lip ring between his teeth — his eyes catching the wet sheen of you through the fabric.

“Fuck,” he murmured under his breath, chest rising, voice strained. “You're soaked…wet…”

The wonder in his voice made your stomach flip. Not cocky — awed. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Then his thumb pressed down, slowly, directly over your clit through the damp cloth. The pressure made you jolt, breath catching hard in your throat.

His other hand slid beneath your shirt, and you arched into him instinctively. The fabric pushed up around your ribs and you made quick work of it — pulling it over your head and tossing it blindly aside, leaving your hair tousled and wild. You barely had time to take another breath before your bra joined it, hands shaking slightly with how overwhelmed you already felt.

But Jungkook… Jungkook had stopped moving. His eyes were locked on your body now — unmoving, dark, devouring. His lips were parted, his expression torn between reverence and hunger.

“God,” he said, almost like it hurt. “You're… fuck, you're so beautiful.”

You barely had time to react before he shifted lower, pushing you back onto the bed and settling between your legs. His mouth descended, warm and wet, and he kissed the swell of your breast before taking one of your nipples between his lips — gently at first, sucking just enough to make you moan, and then his teeth grazed lightly. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as the sensation sparked down your spine.

And at the same time — god, at the same time — his hand didn’t stop.

His thumb flicked again over your clit through your underwear, a slow, maddening stroke, before he hooked his fingers around the side and pulled the soaked fabric aside. The sudden exposure made you shiver. His fingers dipped lower — warm, thick — and then, without warning, he slid one finger inside you.

You cried out his name.

It tore from you without shame, your hips bucking against his hand. Your legs shook immediately, the sensation too good, too much. He groaned above you, mouth still warm on your breast, his breath stuttering.

“You’re—fuck,” he swore again, licking his lips as he looked down at the way your body welcomed him. “You’re so wet.”

He worked that finger gently, then added a second with ease. The stretch made your knees jerk, your thighs instinctively trying to close — but Jungkook was already there, pressing one of his hands firmly to your thigh to hold you open.

His head tilted up, eyes locked to yours.

“Don’t look away,” he growled. “Look at me.”

The command in his voice made your breath catch again — and god, the way he stared at you, the way he looked at you, like he could read every twitch of your body and wanted to worship it — it only made the heat coiling in your stomach burn hotter.

You looked at him, lips parted, breath shallow. You could feel it — god, you could feel it — the wetness between your legs only growing with every slow, deliberate push of Jungkook’s fingers. Every time he slid into you, you felt how soaked you were, how easily he moved inside you, how thoroughly your body gave in to him. He had to feel it too — the way your slick coated his fingers, warm and eager.

But then, your thoughts blurred completely.

His thumb dragged down again, pressing more firmly over your clit this time, shifting the soaked fabric aside with a slick sound that made your breath stutter. His fingers inside you twisted slightly, working you open with a rhythm that wasn’t fast, but devastatingly effective — controlled, calculated. His other hand gripped the inside of your thigh, firm and steady, holding you open like you might squirm away if he let up for even a second.

And his eyes — god, those dark, fixed eyes — didn’t leave you.

He wasn’t just watching you fall apart — he was studying you, memorizing how you responded to every inch of pressure.

Then — there.

A rough, almost brutal thrust of his fingers hit something inside you that made your entire body jolt, a raw, uncontrolled moan tearing from your lips as your eyes rolled back. His grip on your thigh tightened instantly, fingers stalling deep inside you. “Eyes on me.”

You gasped, breath catching in your throat, and somehow managed to look back at him — only to find him already smiling. Not cocky. Not smug. But darkly satisfied. Like he’d just discovered your favorite sin.

“There it is,” he murmured, almost to himself. And then he pushed again. Same place. Same pace. Your legs trembled, your back arched. Your breath came in broken gasps, and your eyes fluttered shut—

His hand stopped again.

A soft, amused chuckle met your ears. “Look at me.”

It took everything you had, but you opened your eyes again. And the second you did, he rewarded you — with movement, with pressure, with maddening precision. It was too much. And not enough. And perfect.

You cried out his name, trembling underneath him, your hands scrambling for anything to ground yourself. One hand found your breast, gripping and pinching your nipple as the pleasure became too much to contain. The other clawed at the sheets beneath you.

Jungkook's gaze darkened even more — if that was possible. His eyes darted from your face to your hand on your chest, lips parted in pure, ruined hunger. The hand holding your thigh squeezed tighter, almost bruising — but the way it made you whimper only spurred him on.

He couldn’t help himself.

His fingers with a mind of their own move faster — still deliberate, but harder now, each thrust punching the air out of your lungs, and it hit again, that spot inside you, over and over, as he watched you touch yourself. You shattered with a sob, your body arching, legs trembling uncontrollably as you unraveled beneath him.

And then —as you came apart around his hand — Jungkook’s eyes snapped back up to yours.

He looked stunned. Like he’d surprised even himself.

You tried so hard to keep your gaze locked with his, obedient even through your climax, but it overwhelmed you. Still, the moment your vision cleared, you saw him watching — intensely, reverently — and he slowly pulled his fingers from your heat, making you flinch with the oversensitivity.

You let out a soft hiss, and he soothed it with a small kiss on your thigh.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you like he couldn’t believe what he’d done to you — what you’d let him do. His fingers — the ones that had just been buried deep inside you — rose to his lips, and with maddening slowness, he licked them clean. Every last bit. Tongue curling over the pads of his fingers, tasting you with a groan he barely held back.

And somehow, impossibly, you felt yourself getting wet all over again.

Your chest still heaving, you barely noticed him shift lower until you felt the first brush of his hand against your hips again. The one that had held your thigh open now moved with purpose to your panties — still pushed to the side, soaked beyond reason. He tugged them gently down, over your hips, down your thighs, peeling them from your skin like a gift being unwrapped.

His eyes flicked up, meeting yours again, and his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.

“You want more?”

Like he didn’t already know.

“Yes,” you breathed out, the word little more than a gasp, heavy and desperate. Your hands reached for him, clumsy but determined, trying to push him out of his goddamn clothes. Jungkook let out a low, shaky laugh, letting you tug at his hoodie, your lips barely parting from his as your fingers slipped beneath the hem. The kiss was messy, heated, a collision of mouths and breath as clothes were stripped away.

By the time his jeans hit the floor with a thud, Jungkook was already reaching into his wallet, pulling out some foil packets. His fingers worked quickly to tear one open, but you had other plans. Your hands slid over his hips, under the waistband of his Calvin Kleins, and before he could fully comprehend what was happening, your mouth was on him.

“Shit—” he gasped, his whole body jolting at the feel of your lips wrapping around him, heat and wetness and pressure all at once. His head fell back slightly, one hand tangling in your hair while the other still fumbled with the condom. “Fuck—wait—wait—” His voice cracked, hoarse with restraint. “I—I don’t wanna cum yet—I want to be inside you.”

You slowed, torturously slow, your mouth dragging off of him with one final, sinful swirl of your tongue that made his thighs twitch beneath you. He groaned, deep and guttural, watching you with wild eyes—completely wrecked without even being inside you yet. You smiled, smug and playful, licking your lips as you sat back on your heels.

Jungkook barely took a second before rolling the condom on, his chest rising and falling sharply, eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing that existed.

Then, suddenly, his hand came up, gripping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a bruising kiss. His weight shifted back, and you yelped in surprise as he fell onto the bed, taking you with him, his mouth never leaving yours. You laughed breathlessly against his lips, adjusting, moving to straddle him—knees braced on either side of his hips, your soaked core brushing against the hard line of him through the condom.

The heat between you was unbearable.

You rolled your hips once, slowly, letting him feel exactly how ready you were. His hands gripped your ass, grounding you against him with a low moan. He gave one cheek a firm slap, just enough to make you jump slightly, and you reached down between your bodies to line him up.

With a deep breath, you sank down.

The stretch was delicious, making your eyes flutter closed as he filled you inch by inch. “Fuck…” he breathed, watching where your bodies joined, one hand sliding from your hip to your waist to your chest. He needed something else to look at—anything—because the sight of you sinking down on him so slowly was too much.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his head falling back into the pillow, but his eyes never left you—not as you took him all the way, not as your walls fluttered around him, struggling to adjust to his size.

You stilled when he was fully seated inside you, needing a moment to breathe, to steady yourself. Jungkook’s hands roamed your body—palming your breasts, caressing your thighs—his eyes dark and hungry as he waited for you to move.

Then, slowly, you began to roll your hips.

The sensation made your breath stutter, the friction deep and consuming. Jungkook’s hands gripped your waist, guiding your movement, but letting you take control. Each time you moved, you ground down just a little harder, your pace building gradually, as the room filled with the sounds of slick skin and shared moans.

“You feel so fucking good,” Jungkook groaned, his fingers digging into your hips like he was trying to hold himself together. “So tight… so wet—fuck—just like that.”

You leaned forward, one hand on his chest, the other in his hair, and kissed him again—open-mouthed and breathless—as you began to move faster. The pleasure mounted sharply, your name falling from his lips like a prayer, his eyes glued to the way you moved above him.

Every roll of your hips, every bounce, pulled another broken sound from his throat. He met you thrust for thrust, his hips lifting just slightly off the bed, pushing deeper, harder, chasing the high that was starting to spiral through both of you.

And still—those eyes. Always locked on you.

You could feel the pressure building in your core, heat coiling impossibly tight, threatening to snap. And judging by the way Jungkook’s jaw was clenched, his fingers bruising into your skin, he wasn’t far behind.

“Come for me,” he rasped. “I want to feel you fall apart around me.”

God, you wanted to. You wanted to come so badly it almost hurt. But your body wasn’t quite there yet—your orgasm from earlier still left you shaky, and now riding him, giving him everything you had, your thighs were trembling, legs burning with effort.

But you didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to deny Jungkook the same overwhelming pleasure he’d already given you. You tried to hold on, to keep going, hips rolling weakly as your mind fuzzed over. Your mouth opened, struggling to form the words—not yet, I want to, please—but you didn’t have to say it.

Jungkook saw it. He felt it.

He stilled you with one hard thrust that made you cry out, then suddenly gripped your waist and flipped you onto your back in one fluid movement. The world spun for a moment and you landed with a gasp, your hair fanned out beneath you and your body arching on instinct. Your lungs were already starved for air, but the moment he sank back into you, deep and fast, he stole what little breath you had left.

“Fuck—Jungkook—” You were a mess—sweat-slicked, flushed, clinging to the sheets and to him like a lifeline.

And Jungkook? He didn’t even look winded. Just gloriously wrecked in the most controlled way—his muscles flexing, his jaw set, his skin glowing with a sheen of sweat that only made him look more like a sin carved by hand.

You cursed him—his abs, his stamina, his goddamn focus.

He shifted slightly, lifting one of your legs and hooking it over his arm, pushing even deeper. You cried out, the new angle hitting something devastating. He growled low in his throat, watching where your bodies met, then reached between you—his fingers finding your clit and circling with maddening precision.

“Oh my god—” you gasped, back arching so hard your shoulder blades left the bed.

It was too much. He filled you completely, every thrust striking right against your most sensitive spots, and now—with the added stimulation of his fingers, you were unraveling embarrassingly fast.

Your hands scrambled at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you looked up at him, desperate. He was looking right back, dark eyes locked to yours, watching you come apart like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Jungkook—” his name ripped out of you like a plea, a prayer. “I’m—close—fuck, I—”

“I know,” he rasped, barely holding on himself. “I feel you—God, I feel you—don’t stop—just—”

He was losing it too, you could tell. His rhythm faltered for just a second, his thrusts growing messier, more frantic. Your walls fluttered around him, tightening, pulsing, and you saw it hit him—the way he froze, just slightly, jaw slack as he groaned deep from his chest.

And then—with a desperate, nearly bruising press of his thumb to your clit—he sent you over the edge. The orgasm crashed through you like a wave, ripping a cry from your throat as your body convulsed beneath him, thighs clenching, walls spasming around him. Your nails dug into him, anchoring yourself as your entire body shook.

That—that—was what undid him.

Jungkook let out a hoarse moan as he finally came, hips jerking once, twice, then burying himself as deep as he could go. You could feel it—the way his body tensed, every muscle locked tight as he spilled into the condom, forehead pressing against yours with a strained groan.

You both stayed like that, trembling, breathless. The room filled with the sound of ragged breathing, hearts pounding like drums in sync. Then, gently, he kissed you. Soft at first—barely a brush of lips. Then again, deeper, fuller, the kind of kiss that said stay here, I'm not done, I want this again.

You moaned into his mouth, your body still twitching in the aftermath, his cock still buried inside you and twitching with aftershocks. When he finally pulled out, you whimpered faintly at the loss. Jungkook moved quickly, slipping off the condom, tying it off and tossing it into the bin beside your bed before returning to you immediately.

He lay down next to you, pulled you close, wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed his lips to your temple. His skin was still warm, his breath evening out slowly against your cheek.

Ideally, he would’ve liked to pull you into the shower, maybe wash your hair while he kissed your shoulders, or coax a few more breathy laughs from you as you soaked together under the water. But he didn’t want to leave this—didn’t want to lose the way your body fit perfectly in his arms, how your fingers curled into his chest like you belonged there.

Instead, he stayed right there, legs tangled with yours, his nose brushing your hair, his thumb lazily tracing circles against your hip.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice low and a little hoarse.

You nodded against his chest, still a little dazed. “Yeah. You?”

He chuckled softly. “Better than okay.”

You weren’t sure how long you lay there—hearts slowing, bodies melting into one another—but it felt like time stopped existing entirely. The room was warm with the scent of sweat, skin, and something deeply personal that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the way Jungkook held you afterward.

He ran his fingers lazily over your back, the motion soft and aimless, and every now and then he kissed you or your shoulder like he didn’t want to be anywhere else. You thought maybe that was it—but then you felt it. The slow stir of him, pressing against your thigh, barely more than a twitch, but enough to make your breath catch.

You shifted slightly, lifting your head to look at him. He was already watching you, eyes darker again, but softer this time. Not the same edge from before. Something different.

“Too much?” he asked gently, brushing a knuckle along your cheek.

You shook your head. “Not enough.”

That did something to him—made his jaw flex, his hand press firmer into your waist. He leaned in and kissed you again, this time slow, deep, with none of the urgency from earlier. And you let yourself fall into it.

You let yourself be kissed, be held, be touched like you were something delicate—not fragile, just precious. Jungkook rolled you onto your back again, but slower now, giving you time to breathe, to look at him, to feel every inch of him against you. He kissed down your neck, across your chest, his tongue circling your nipple in lazy swirls until your breath hitched and your back arched again, even more sensitive now.

You whimpered softly, already throbbing. He made his way lower, his mouth moving down your stomach, trailing warmth in his wake until he was between your thighs again—his hands gripping the backs of them gently, spreading you open, worshiping you with his mouth like he had all the time in the world.

You gasped when he moaned into you—like he was the one receiving pleasure from tasting you. It was slow, steady, maddening. He didn’t let up until your thighs were trembling around his head again, your hands buried in his hair, your voice whispering his name like it meant something more than just please.

Only then did he crawl back up your body, kissing as he went, slotting himself between your legs.

This time, there was no rush to put the condom on. He reached for the packet on your nightstand, but the way he looked down at you—your flushed chest, your parted lips, the softness in your eyes—was anything but casual.

He kissed you again as he entered you, slow and deliberate, pressing in inch by inch until you were full of him again, and he was gasping into your mouth like the sensation of you was just as overwhelming the second time.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured against your lips.

This round wasn’t fast. It was longing and worship, of hands exploring and hips moving in lazy, deep strokes that hit all the right spots without the rush. He held your gaze as he moved, his thumb stroking your cheek, your neck, your breast, like he needed to memorize every reaction.

You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, nails digging gently into his back. It was slower, but somehow even more intense. You moaned softly into his shoulder as the pleasure started building again, stronger than you expected, a warm coil tightening low in your belly.

“Jungkook…”

“Mm?” he whispered, not stopping, his pace still slow, devastating.

“I’m—already—again,” you whimpered, cheeks heating from how fast he had you there.

He looked down at you like he couldn’t believe it either. “You’re perfect,” he whispered. “So perfect around me.”

You clung tighter as he picked up just enough speed to push you toward the edge, his hand sneaking between you again, fingers finding your clit with ease. He didn’t need to do much—just a few soft circles, the press of his hips deep inside—and you were unraveling again.

Your orgasm this time came in slow, delicious waves—no sharp peaks, just a deep, rolling release that made your entire body tremble and your breath hitch in your throat. Jungkook wasn’t far behind.

The feeling of you pulsing around him, the way you gasped his name, how you looked up at him like he was the only thing in the world—all of it drove him over the edge again. He groaned deep, nearly a growl, and buried himself one final time, head falling to your shoulder as he came with a shudder, muscles tightening, breath stuttering out of him.

You lay there afterward tangled in sweat and warmth and soft kisses, Jungkook’s fingers tracing gentle lines on your skin. This time, Jungkook needed to clean up. You barely had it in you to open your eyes when he finally—carefully—pulled out of you, the sensitivity making you shudder. He soothed you with a kiss to your cheek and made quick, practiced work of disposing of the condom again.

You lay sprawled across your bed, boneless and warm, blinking at the ceiling like your soul had momentarily floated somewhere above the room. Jungkook chuckled, low and fond, his hand gliding over your side as he nudged you gently.

You murmured, “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slipped an arm under your knees and another behind your back. You barely registered it before he lifted you, bridal-style, out of the sheets.

“Jungkook—!” you squeaked.

He looked down at you with a playful smirk and a gleam in his eyes that wasn’t entirely sinful—just soft. “Shower,” he said. “Unless you want to sleep in… that.”

You caught a whiff of the shared sweat, sex, and faded perfume and made a face. “Okay, fair.”

The bathroom light was soft when he carried you in. The water ran warm while you both washed the night from your skin. And as easily as breathing, afterward, Jungkook towel-dried your hair with gentle hands, threw on one of your oversized shirts like it was his, and tugged you back into bed with him—like there’d never been any other plan.

You’d half-expected him to leave.

But instead, he stayed.

Tucked into your sheets like he belonged there.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

The next morning arrived slow and syrupy, early sunlight spilling in through the edges of your curtains. Your body ached in the best way, wrapped in a lingering warmth that wasn't just from the covers. You stirred only slightly until you felt a hand—warm, familiar, gentle—glide across your bare hip.

“Mmngh,” you groaned, voice thick with sleep, head buried into your pillow.

“Sorry,” Jungkook whispered, sounding almost… sheepish.

He kissed your shoulder, then your neck, the lazy kind of kisses that made you shiver rather than squirm. You turned your face slightly, meeting his lips with your own, soft and slow like the moment demanded. It was indulgent. A morning kind of kiss. And then, just as your brain was starting to register reality again, he spoke.

“Hey… uh…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Could I, uh—get your number?”

You opened one eye.

Then the other.

“…Seriously?”

His ears went a little pink, but his grin was crooked and confident. “What?”

“You’re asking now?” you said, laughing—actually laughing. “After everything we did last night? Now you want my number?”

He leaned in like he had nothing to be ashamed of. “How else am I supposed to reach you? You know, when I want to… assure you that whatever the tabloids say about me is completely false. That I’m actually a very faithful boyfriend.”

Your laughter caught in your throat. “Boyfriend?” you echoed.

He paused. Then looked away like the sunlight had suddenly gotten too bright. “Well—I mean—I’d like to see you again? Take you out?”

It wasn’t a direct answer. But it was definitely not a no.

You blinked once. Twice. Then your brain caught up and short-circuited. “You… want me to be your girlfriend, girlfriend?”

Jungkook looked suddenly very boyish. Shy. He scratched the back of his neck and gave a lopsided shrug. “I mean… eventually? If you… if you want?”

The blush that bloomed across your face could’ve melted the snow off a mountaintop.

“If you ask that nicely,” you said, still a little stunned, “I guess I’ll give you my number.”

He smiled—really smiled. Soft and sweet and bright like he hadn’t expected you to say yes but had hoped with everything in him. Then something flickered in his eyes. A shadow. His smile faltered just slightly.

“There’s, uh… one thing,” he said, voice a little awkward again. “You’d have to sign an NDA.”

You didn’t even flinch.

“An NDA? Sure,” you replied easily. “When?”

Jungkook blinked at you.

“…You’re just okay with that?”

You shrugged, still curled under the blanket beside him, hair a mess, heart full. “Yeah. I mean, I want to see you again. If signing something lets me do that and helps protect you… why wouldn’t I?”

Something shifted in his expression. Something warm. Something deep. And then, like a dam breaking, he moved—rolling over, hovering above you, his eyes dark and wide and soft all at once.

“You…” he whispered, short of breath. “You’re just…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Just kissed you—hard. Like he couldn’t help himself. Like that answer made something in him snap in the best way. You gasped into the kiss, gripping his arms as he pressed you back into the mattress again. And honestly? You didn’t need words. Not right now.

Masterlist

Tags: @hecatesdescendant

A/N: Hi! Just wanted to mention that I use ChatGPT and DeepL to clean up grammar and spelling in my writing, after getting some rude anos. English is my second language, and this tools helps me share stories the way I imagine them, without spending hours double-checking every word. Writing is just a hobby I enjoy after a full workweek—I’m not trying to make money from it. If you’re curious or have thoughts on it, I’d love to have a friendly discussion!

#jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook bts #bts #jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook x you #bts stories #bts imagine #bts imagines #idol jungkook

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sweetvoidstuff · 8 days ago

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where you belong is so good 😭😭

Thank you so much for liking it!

#ask me anything

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sweetvoidstuff · 13 days ago

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The Breaking Point- Steel and Starlight

A skilled mechanic finds themselves entangled with Jungkook, a dangerously efficient fighter who was meant to be nothing more than cargo. As they navigate threats, their uneasy alliance is tested in ways neither expected. But as they face impossible choices, the question remains—who is truly in control here?

Masterlist

Steel and Starlight

Wordcount: 1100

By the time you and Jungkook returned with the parts, the tension on the ship had hit a boiling point.

Jisoo was pacing, her fingers twitching at her side like she was itching to grab her gun. Hoseok looked exhausted, arms crossed as he leaned against the bulkhead, eyes tracking every movement like he was too tired to argue but ready to step in if needed. Taehyung was at the control panel, barely sparing Jungkook a glance, but the way his jaw clenched spoke volumes. And Namjoon—

Namjoon was practically vibrating with impatience.

It wasn’t just the repairs.

It was him.

Jungkook had followed you through the station, barely putting up a fight, but that didn’t mean he’d earned anyone’s trust. And now, as you stepped into the main hold with your pack slung over your shoulder, the weight of every gaze landed squarely on him.

Jisoo had her gun out before you even took another step. "Tell me we’re finally chaining him up again."

Jungkook smirked, completely unbothered. "I’d be offended if I thought you actually had the guts."

Jisoo’s grip tightened. She absolutely did have the guts. That was the problem.

Namjoon’s voice cut through the tension. "We can’t dump him. He’s our cargo. Our prisoner. That means he stays with us."

Jisoo didn’t look convinced. "Then he should be locked up like one."

Jungkook chuckled, shifting his weight slightly. "You could try."

Enough.

You stepped between them, exhaling sharply. "Not now. We’ve got work to do."

Jisoo glared, but after a long pause, she finally huffed and holstered her gun. "Fine. But the second he so much as breathes wrong, I’m dragging his ass back in chains."

Jungkook grinned. "Can’t wait."

Jisoo turned on her heel, muttering something about regretting ever signing up for this job. You sighed, rubbing your temple. This was shaping up to be a headache in every possible way.

But as the others dispersed, Namjoon was still watching you too carefully. His gaze narrowed like he was trying to read something on your face.

You ignored it.

You didn’t want to talk about what happened on the station.

The way Jungkook had bristled at that vendor’s words. The way he’d stepped in without thinking. The way he’d followed you after, without hesitation.

Because it didn’t mean anything.

It couldn’t.

But then Jungkook leaned closer, voice low enough that only you could hear.

"Gonna tell them how much fun we had, sweetheart?"

You stiffened.

And that was all Namjoon needed to see.

His jaw clenched, and suddenly the conversation had shifted into something much more dangerous.

"Outside," he ordered.

Jungkook raised a brow, clearly entertained. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Namjoon stepped forward, his frame tense, his voice eerily calm. "Outside. Now."

For the first time, Jungkook’s smirk faltered.

A flicker of something unreadable passed between them. You’d seen Namjoon angry before, but this was different. There was something personal behind it, something that had been festering for a long time.

Jungkook must have known it too, because for once, he didn’t argue.

The airlock door hissed as it opened, and he stepped out onto the docking bay with Namjoon right behind him.

You hesitated for only a moment before following, pulse pounding, knowing this wasn’t just about what had happened on the station.

This was about something bigger.

Something that had been waiting to explode.

And then, the moment the doors sealed shut behind you, Namjoon swung.

Jungkook dodged just in time, stumbling back with a surprised laugh. "Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?"

Jungkook dodged without effort.

His body barely shifted, but the punch missed completely, Namjoon’s knuckles cutting through empty air. Before Namjoon could recover, Jungkook moved.

A blur.

One second he was standing there, the next he had sidestepped, grabbing Namjoon’s wrist in a vice grip, twisting him around so fast that Namjoon staggered.

"Tch. Slow."

Namjoon jerked back, breaking free, and came at him again, swinging harder, angrier.

Jungkook didn’t even blink.

Every strike Namjoon threw, he saw it before it came. Ducking, sidestepping, slipping around each attack like it was nothing. He wasn’t just faster—he was better. Every move calculated. Every dodge effortless.

Namjoon’s fury was burning him up from the inside, and Jungkook wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

And then, in one swift movement, Jungkook ended it.

His foot hooked behind Namjoon’s knee, sweeping his legs out from under him. In a blink, he had him pinned—one arm twisted behind his back, Jungkook’s knee pressing against his spine, his other hand bracing the back of Namjoon’s head.

If he pressed down harder, he could break his neck.

The realization rippled through the air like static.

Namjoon struggled, but it was useless. He wasn’t weak, but Jungkook was something else entirely.

Jungkook leaned in, voice low. "You’re too angry, Captain." His tone was almost amused, but there was something colder underneath. "That’s why you’ll always lose."

Then, as easily as he had pinned him, Jungkook let go.

Namjoon shoved him off, breathing hard, furious.

Jungkook just stood up grinning, adjusting his sleeves, completely unfazed. "I don’t need to fight you."

Namjoon exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face, trying to pull himself together. "You think this is funny?" he hissed. "You think you can just waltz in here, get under her skin, and walk away clean?"

Jungkook’s grin faltered, eyes flickering toward you.

Namjoon leaned in, voice dropping to something dangerous. "You don’t get to play with her like that."

Jungkook stilled.

For the first time since you’d met him, his smirk was gone.

You felt your breath hitch.

Because this wasn’t just about jealousy.

This was about you.

Namjoon wasn’t just angry. He was protecting you.

And Jungkook —smug, infuriating, unreadable Jungkook —was realizing it.

Namjoon straightened, glaring. "Stay the hell away from her."

Jungkook didn’t move, eyes locked onto Namjoon’s, something shifting behind them.

Then, slowly, he looked at you.

And for the first time, he looked conflicted.

He turned without another word, walking off toward the far end of the docking bay.

Namjoon watched him go, shaking his head. "You know he’s gonna run the second he gets the chance."

You didn’t answer.

Because for the first time, you weren’t so sure.

#jungkook bts #bts #jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #bts stories #bts alien au #jjk x reader #jungkook fanfic

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sweetvoidstuff · 15 days ago

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Deal with the Devil- Steel and Starlight

Masterlist

Steel and Starlight

Wordcount: 1300

The Stellar Hound was barely holding together as it limped toward the docking station. You could feel every groan of the ship’s frame, every shudder of failing systems beneath your feet. The emergency lights flickered, casting an eerie glow over the control panels as you checked the final approach.

Taehyung’s voice crackled through the comms, tight with tension. “We’ve got clearance to dock, but let’s not overstay our welcome. This station isn’t exactly friendly.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. As if things weren’t bad enough. “Noted.”

“We get in, we get what we need, and we get out,” Namjoon reminded the group, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His gaze flickered to you. “You’ll handle the parts?”

“No one else can,” you said simply, already stepping toward the hatch. No one else knew exactly what parts were needed. If they grabbed the wrong thing, they’d be stuck in deep space with a dead ship and no way out. You weren’t about to let that happen.

“I’ll handle the supplies,” Hoseok added, glancing at Jisoo, who nodded in agreement. “And ammo,” Jisoo pointed out. “Let’s not forget that part.”

Taehyung, who had been oddly quiet, sighed. “I’ll see if I can get more fuel. No guarantees, but I’ll try.”

Namjoon let out a slow breath. “We split up. Y/N, you get the parts. The rest of us will handle the rest.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you muttered, shutting off the console. But there was still one problem.

What the hell to do with him.

Jungkook leaned against the bulkhead, watching the discussion unfold with that ever-present smirk. He hadn’t said a word so far, just observing. Waiting. You were about to tell him to stay put when he pushed off the wall and stretched lazily.

“I’ll go with her.”

The room went silent.

Jisoo’s head snapped toward him. “Like hell you will.”

Jungkook rolled his shoulders, unconcerned. “You’re all acting like I wouldn’t have run by now if I wanted to.” He tilted his head at you. “There’s a better opportunity for that later. For now, I might as well be useful.”

“Useful,” Namjoon echoed dryly. “That’s what we’re calling it?”

Jungkook just grinned. “Unless you think she can’t handle me?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Namjoon still looked doubtful. Jisoo looked ready to shoot him. But the longer they hesitated, the more time they wasted.

Namjoon reminded him, voice clipped. “We can’t exactly let you walk around freely. You are a prisoner.”

“Which is exactly why I should go with Y/N.”

You turned to him, narrowing your eyes.

Jungkook stepping closer, his head tilting slightly like he was enjoying every second of this. “Think about it,” he said smoothly. “You need someone to carry all that heavy gear, right? And I know you all don’t trust me, but let’s be real—this isn’t my best chance to run.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Jisoo scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Jungkook replied easily, then turned to you with that infuriating look in his eyes. “Besides, if I’m with you, it’s easier to keep an eye on me, right? Let’s just call it temporary cooperation.”

You hated how much sense it made.

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “Fine. He comes with me.”

Jungkook’s smirk deepened. “Knew you’d see reason, sweetheart.”

You turned sharply toward him, eyes narrowing. “Don’t. If you try anything!”

His smirk didn’t waver, but something flickered in his gaze—something almost amused.

“Then you can shoot me. Now lead the way,” he said, gesturing grandly.

With an annoyed sigh, you stepped out onto the station, Jungkook falling into stride beside you.

You weren’t sure if you believed him, if you could shot him, but the clock was ticking, and you didn’t have time to argue.

“Fine,” you snapped. “But stay close, and don’t make me regret this.”

He gave you a mock salute. “Yes, Captain.”

“But that would be me.” murmured Namjoon.

You rolled your eyes, already regretting everything.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

POV Shift: Jungkook

She walked fast. Purposeful. Determined. Like she was trying to outrun the chaos around her.

Jungkook followed closely behind, hands in his pockets, watching the way she moved through the crowded station. This place was a mess—dark corridors, the stench of burnt fuel, people who looked like they were one bad deal away from pulling a gun.

But Y/N? She fit in here.

Not because she belonged, but because she wasn’t afraid of it.

She weaved through the crowd like she owned the place, sharp eyes scanning the vendors for what she needed.

Jungkook found himself watching more than helping.

Not that she needed it.

She stopped at a supply stall, muttering something to the vendor about hyperdrive components. The guy behind the counter, a greasy-looking man with a mechanical arm, grinned at her.

“Didn’t think I’d see a face like yours out here,” he said, voice thick with something slimy. His eyes dragged over her like she was just another part he could buy. “You sure you’re in the right place, sweetheart?”

Jungkook’s hands clenched into fists.

Y/N didn’t flinch. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”

The vendor chuckled, leaning closer. “Bet I could find you something real nice. You just have to—”

“Back off.”

The words left Jungkook’s mouth before he could think.

Y/N turned slightly, her brows furrowing in surprise.

The vendor blinked, his grin faltering. “And who the hell are you?”

Jungkook took a step forward, his stance relaxed but his expression sharp. “The guy who breaks the other arm when people get too handsy.”

The vendor scoffed but took the hint, raising his hands. “Relax, pal. No harm, no foul.” He turned back to Y/N, still eyeing her with something that made Jungkook’s blood boil. “You want the parts or not?”

Y/N exhaled slowly, ignoring the tension in the air as she got back to business. But when she turned back to Jungkook, there was something unreadable in her eyes.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she muttered.

He shrugged, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “Didn’t like the way he was talking to you.”

There was a pause. Then Y/N suddenly laughed.

Not a little chuckle. A full, amused laugh.

Jungkook frowned. “What?”

She shook her head, her grin infuriatingly smug. “It’s just… funny, really.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “What is?”

She tilted her head toward the vendor, who was already counting credits, oblivious to their conversation. “He called me sweetheart.”

Jungkook’s frown deepened. “And?”

Y/N smirked. “And you didn’t like it.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

Shit.

She was right.

He hadn’t liked it. The nickname sounded wrong coming from that guy’s mouth. Too wrong. Like something dirty, something stolen.

It wasn’t his.

Jungkook looked away, exhaling sharply. “Tch. Whatever.”

She studied him for a long moment, like she was trying to figure out what to do with that answer.

Then she bit her lip, still grinning as she turned back to the merchant. After a bit of haggling, the first round of supplies was secured, and you gathered them into your pack.

Jungkook shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, staring at the back of her head, thoroughly annoyed.

But not with her.

With himself.

Because, for the first time, he was starting to realize something.

It wasn’t just the name.

Satisfied, you turned to Jungkook, still clearly enjoying yourself. “We need to hit one or two more vendors.”

Jungkook followed without another word. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even argue. He just fell into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something between them had shifted.

And he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

#jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook bts #bts #jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jjk x reader #bts alien au #bts au

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sweetvoidstuff · 15 days ago

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Where You Belong - Part 3

Jungkook x Reader I Werwolf x Werwolf I Mates I Slow Burn I Asshole JK I Supernatural Romance I Yoongi I Violence

GIF von jung-koook

Summary : A festival meant to bring unity turns into something far more intimate when you catch the eye of a wolf who never intended to fall. Torn between the freedom to choose and the instinctual pull of a mate’s bond, you face both emotional and political pressure from the pack and outside forces. As loyalties are tested, the question lingers: will you run, or will you stay and claim your place?

Word Count: 35K (all Parts)

Masterlist

A/N: Hi! I’ve been meaning to post this one for a while, but I kept going back and forth on it. Life got a bit hectic, I got sidetracked, and took a few days off—so it took longer than planned. It didn’t turn out exactly how I first imagined, but for now, I’m calling it done. Maybe I’ll revisit and rewrite parts of it in the future, who knows. In the meantime, I really hope you enjoy it—please be kind, but I also welcome honest feedback.

Well, I wanted to post this as one, but Tumblr won’t let me…again... so I’ll be posting Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 back to back. Sorry about that! Hope you still enjoy it!

Part 1 I Part 2

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

For a solid heartbeat, he didn’t move.

Then—after another sharp glance around the area, his ears straining for any nearby movement—he rose to his feet.

And followed you inside.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The tent was small—at least, smaller than he expected.

The inside was simple, with thick blankets piled over a sleeping mat, a few extra layers stacked against the far end in what looked like an attempt at a pillow. It smelled like you, too, but not strongly—not like a normal omega’s tent should. Jungkook’s scent had been muted on you ever since the festival began, and now, without it, the space felt wrong.

You were already curled up on your side, your back to him, as if you were ignoring the fact that he had just stepped inside.

Jungkook hesitated for a second.

Then he crouched near the entrance, unsure if he should lay down or stay seated.

He opted for the latter.

His eyes flickered toward your still form.

After a long pause, you muttered, “If you’re just gonna sit there, you might as well lay down.”

Jungkook bit his lip.

And then, slowly, he shifted, lowering himself onto the extra blankets, laying on his back beside you.

The space was tight.

If either of you moved even a little, you would touch.

And when you exhaled, shifting slightly—your back brushing against his arm—Jungkook nearly lost his damn mind.

Jungkook needed something to ground him—anything.

And the only thing here was you.

The tight space of your tent left no room for hesitation. No space for second-guessing. The moment your back brushed his arm, the fragile thread of his restraint snapped.

He rolled onto his side, one arm snaking firmly around your waist, his chest flush against your back. The heat of him bled through the thin layers of clothing, his grip possessive, securing you against him.

He felt your tense inhale.

"Did you already decide?" Jungkook’s voice was low, a murmur against the shell of your ear.

You hummed, your fingers lightly twitching over the blankets. “Kinda.”

Jungkook’s hold tightened.

"Kinda?" he echoed, voice gruffer now. "What does ‘kinda’ mean?"

You exhaled slowly, your tone shifting into something almost teasing, yet undeniably shy.

"Well, you already decided if you're going to scent me twice a day from now on..." You paused, then added with a smirk, "for safety reasons?"

Jungkook growled.

A soft, dangerous sound, curling around the whisper of your name on his tongue. His fingers flexed, gripping your waist tighter.

“You are my mate,” he rumbled, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

His nose nudged into your hairline, inhaling deeply, and then—

He scented you.

A slow, deliberate drag of his nose from your temple to the base of your neck.

You shuddered.

His chest rumbled, another growl spilling from deep within him.

His teeth grazed the sensitive skin at the curve of your shoulder, his breath hot as his lips parted.

And when you whimpered, Jungkook nearly lost it.

"Don’t promise anything you can’t keep," you whispered, but it sounded weak. Like a plea. A warning. A wish.

"If… If this is just want—fine. But then tell me."

Jungkook’s chest ached.

He wanted to rip the doubt out of you, to prove to you that there was nothing about this—about you—that was temporary.

He exhaled sharply, his fingers skimming the edge of your ribs.

“Mark me.”

Your entire body locked up.

Your heart stuttered.

Slowly, your head turned, the dim light inside the tent casting shadows over Jungkook’s face as you twisted just enough to look at him.

Your eyes were wide.

“What?”

Jungkook growled again, this time more urgent, more raw—needy.

Your movement had shifted you slightly away, leaving a sliver of space between you, and the distance made something feral inside him snarl.

His dark gaze locked onto yours, unflinching. Unshakable.

"Mark me as your mate."

Your breath hitched.

Jungkook's jaw clenched, his pulse pounding.

"You can still leave if you want," he said, voice low, rough, as if the words physically pained him. "But I will follow you."

His fingers brushed up your spine, his touch feverishly warm.

"I will only claim you if you want me to," he swore, and fuck—he meant it. He would never take this from you, never force you into something you weren’t ready for.

But then—

His eyes burned into yours.

Raw. Unwavering.

"I want your mark on me. Now."

Your stomach flipped.

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

You were shocked. Speechless.

And fuck—

You were so goddamn turned on.

Your eyes went impossibly wide, your breath catching as you stared at him.

"Y-You don’t mean that."

Jungkook’s gaze was intense, but gentle, steady in a way that left no room for doubt.

Without hesitation, he moved.

His strong arms shifted you, guiding you until you were under him.

He hovered over you, his body looming, broad and commanding, but he wasn’t caging you in—he was holding you close.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

His weight balanced on his forearm, the one marked with ink and meaning, etched with the responsibilities of his pack. But his other arm?

His other arm was wrapped around you.

A deliberate, possessive grip.

Like he was making sure there wouldn’t be the slightest bit of space between you.

And you could feel him.

The heat of him, the weight of him, the way his scent wrapped around you like a second skin.

The way he wanted you.

Your breath caught in your throat, your body suddenly too warm, too aware of how little separated you from him.

Jungkook’s nose brushed down your neck, slow and intentional, his breath ghosting over your skin as he inhaled deeply.

“I mean it,” he murmured, his voice a dark promise.

“And I can smell that you want it, too.”

Your stomach flipped.

Heat shot through you, every nerve in your body sparking to life, making your limbs tingle.

Your shaky fingers curled into the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt, your grip weak—like your body couldn’t decide if it wanted to pull him closer or push him away before you completely lost yourself. You were practically vibrating with nerves, the weight of his body, the scent of him, the sheer need in his presence overwhelming you.

Jungkook wasn’t rushing you.

But he wasn’t stopping, either.

His nose lovingly dragged up and down your neck, lingering at your pulse point, like he was savoring every inch of you.

And then—

His lips followed.

Soft, warm, achingly gentle.

He pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses against your throat, against the hollow where your neck met your shoulder. Pressing against your pulse, lingering.

His teeth nipped at your skin, not enough to hurt—just enough to tease.

To dare you to move.

To see if you would run or stay.

Your next whimper, the next trembling inhale, the next sharp jolt of your scent pushing into the air around him—

It was too much.

Jungkook rolled his hips into you, slow and controlled, and you felt every inch of him, every sharp, burning line of his need pressed against you through the thin barriers of your clothes.

Your entire body shuddered.

Jungkook’s breath was ragged, his lips barely a whisper from your jaw as he spoke.

His voice was like honey and smoke, thick with need, with restraint, with something wild barely held back. He rolled his hips into you again. A slow, deliberate grind, letting you feel exactly what you did to him.

"Can I kiss you?" His lips ghosted over yours, his nose brushing the tip of yours. His words came out hoarse, desperate. "Please. Let me fucking kiss you, at least."

His fingers tightened slightly where they rested against your ribs.

Your lips parted, air shaking as it left your lungs, and then—

“Please.”

Jungkook groaned, his forehead dropping to yours for just a second before he finally—finally— kissed you, got to taste you.

And fuck—

It was everything.

The first press of his lips was firm, but hungry. He wasn’t just kissing you—he was claiming you, pouring everything into it, his lips moving hot and slow against yours, his tongue teasing the seam of your mouth.

His mouth was hot, urgent, starving for you, but still so goddamn careful.

He kissed you like you were something precious, something he had wanted for so fucking long—something he was desperate to make his. The moment his tongue brushed against yours, he growled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest.

And you melted.

Your fingers dug into his shirt, clutching him, needing him, and Jungkook felt like he was about to lose his mind with how sweet, how warm, how perfect you tasted, against him—

Until—

You made a pained sound against his lips, a small, pained hum muffled by the heat of the kiss.

Jungkook froze.

He jerked back, his breath was heavy, his pupils blown so wide they nearly swallowed the brown of his irises, his brows furrowing in concern.

Your lips were swollen, damp from his kisses, and fuck, you looked so beautiful like this, but—

His eyes locked onto your lips—

A thin red line glistened at the corner of your mouth. The small, still-healing cut from your fight with Yoongi earlier.

Jungkook cursed under his breath, guilt slamming into him. A low, guttural sound escaped him, something close to a frustrated snarl.

"Shit," he exhaled, his fingers lightly gripping your jaw.

Without a second thought, he leaned back in, but this time, his lips didn’t claim yours.

Instead—

His tongue dragged over the cut, gentle, careful, the warmth of him soothing the sting.

A sound rumbled from his chest—low and deep, a vibration of pleasure that was almost a purr.

Your breath hitched.

From something else entirely.

A deep rumble rose from Jungkook’s chest—not a growl, not a snarl—but something softer, so utterly full of warmth and possession, that it made your stomach flutter.

It was close to a purr.

If you hadn’t already been lying down, your knees would have buckled.

Jungkook stayed close, his forehead lightly pressing to yours.

His breath mingled with yours, his fingers twitching against your skin, like he was still trying to memorize you through touch alone.

And then, softly—so fucking softly—

“Say yes.”

His voice was hoarse, thick with something deeper than just desire.

“Say yes, and mark me right now.”

His nose brushed yours, his body still pressed so perfectly to yours.

“Say yes,” he whispered.

“And be mine.”

Your breath came heavy, your chest rising and falling too fast, too unsteady.

And then—

You nodded.

Your voice was shaky, but still, the word fell from your lips, wrapped in something breathless, something undeniable.

“Yes.”

Yes, yes, yes.

Because how could you not?

Jungkook had made your life difficult, had pushed and challenged you at every turn. But now—

Now, he was trying.

He wasn’t just taking, wasn’t just demanding.

He was offering himself to you.

If he meant it—if he let you mark him—then it wouldn’t just be you belonging to him.

He would belong to you, too.

Your fingers trembled as you slowly—so fucking slowly— pushed up the hem of his shirt.

Jungkook’s breath hitched, his entire body going taut at the first glide of your hands under his shirt, the first whisper of your touch against his bare skin.

And then—

A growl rumbled from his chest, and before you could even think, his shirt was ripped off.

Torn away like it was nothing.

Because if you wanted to touch him, if you wanted to claim him, then fuck—

He was going to let you.

Your fingers traced over the warm, hard planes of his torso, his body shuddering beneath your touch.

You were gentle at first, almost shy, your fingertips light as air over his abs, up to his ribs.

But then—

Jungkook let out a low, gravelly sound, his own larger hand capturing one of yours and pressing it flat against his chest, right over his racing heart.

“Mate,” he rumbled, the word vibrating deep in his chest—a vow, a promise, an undeniable truth.

And then he was on you again.

The intensity he couldn’t use on your lips—not with your still-healing cut—he poured into your neck instead.

He kissed you there, savored you, his lips trailing a path that burned in the best way, nipping, licking, tasting you.

You shivered, your hands growing bolder, moving freely over his skin now.

Your fingers skated up his sides, explored the taut muscles of his shoulders, then dipped lower.

And when you flicked your fingers over his nipple—just to see what he’d do—

A deep, guttural growl tore from Jungkook’s throat, his body jerking in response, a sharp inhale dragged through his teeth.

You fucking loved it.

Loved this power over him, loved the way his body shook under your touch, the way his need grew almost unbearable as you teased him. His hips rocked against yours, desperate for friction, for anything.

But then—

Jungkook wanted you in the same state of undress.

His hands moved under your clothes, hot and reverent, his touch just as exploring, just as aching.

First, his fingers glided over your stomach, smoothing over the soft curves, tracing up your ribs—

And fuck—

You fluttered under him, your body shivering at the warmth of his hands.

And when you lifted yourself just slightly, just enough for him to pull your shirt off—

Jungkook didn’t hesitate.

He sat up, gripping the hem, and in one smooth motion, he had your shirt off and discarded.

And then—

Silence.

Heavy, suffocating silence.

Jungkook’s eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide, drinking you in, taking in every inch of your bare skin, every part of you that was exposed to him now.

You should have felt powerful.

You should have felt wanted.

But instead—

Jungkook’s gaze hardened.

His jaw tensed, his nostrils flaring as his eyes locked onto the bruises littering your skin.

There were blue and purple splotches, fresh reminders of your fight earlier.

There weren’t any bandages, you didn’t care to replace them after your little swim, but there didn’t need to be. The ugly mark near your ribs was more than enough proof of what you had been through.

Jungkook growled—

Deep and dangerous.

Furious.

The second he saw your reaction, he regretted it.

Because you weren’t proud, weren’t smirking like you had won a fight.

No.

You looked ashamed.

Your gaze dropped, your body curling in slightly like you wanted to disappear.

A shiver ran over you, but it wasn’t from pleasure.

Jungkook saw it all. Felt it all.

And fuck—

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

You already knew you didn’t smell as sweet as other omegas, your scent too weak to be truly enticing.

And now—

Now, your battered body wasn’t even nice to look at for your mate.

The realization hit you so hard it felt like a physical wound.

Jungkook saw the way your body stiffened, how your shoulders sank, the way you seemed to shrink into yourself, and his chest ached.

Because no.

He couldn’t let you feel like this.

Not for a single second.

A snarl ripped from him—sharp, frustrated, not at you, but at the world for making you think this way.

And then—

His hands grabbed your face, cupping your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.

“Stop.”

His voice was low, commanding, but desperate.

You hesitated, lips parting, eyes still downcast.

Jungkook wouldn’t allow it.

His forehead pressed to yours, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones, soft, reverent, but unyielding.

“Look at me.”

It took a moment.

A long, painful second.

But then—

You did.

And fuck—

Jungkook’s eyes burned.

Because he didn’t see flaws.

He didn’t see imperfection.

He saw you—his mate—beautiful and raw and strong.

And he needed you to see it, too.

Jungkook’s lips found your temple, pressing soft kisses to your skin, down to your cheek, over the curve of your jaw.

And then—

Softly.

Almost pleading.

“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

Jungkook’s fingers traced the outline of your bruise, featherlight, like he was memorizing it, like he wanted to absorb it, take it into himself instead.

And your breath hitched.

He was so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine, something warm and twisting pooling deep in your belly.

But you still didn’t understand.

“Jungkook…”

Your voice was small, almost shy—like if you spoke too loudly, he might change his mind.

Might see what you saw.

Might realize you weren’t worthy of this.

You almost couldn’t say it.

But the words tumbled out anyway, soft, fractured—

“I… I’m black and blue. I’m not… I—”

Your entire body curled inward, as if you could make yourself smaller, as if you could hide from him, from the way he looked at you.

And fuck—

Jungkook felt sick at the sight.

How could you not see?

You weren’t some fragile thing.

You had beaten a strong beta at the festival, had fought with everything in you for your pack.

You weren’t weak.

You weren’t ruined.

You weren’t less.

You were more.

More whole, more unyielding, more alive than anyone he had ever known.

And fuck, he needed you to understand that.

With one swift, careful motion, Jungkook moved—flipping you effortlessly until you were on top of him.

His hands found you immediately—

One curled into your hair, grounding you.

The other gripped your hips, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

A surprised yelp escaped your lips, your hands bracing against his chest, wide eyes staring down at him.

You were straddling him now.

The contrast was dizzying— the way he had handled you with such ease, like he could break you in half—

And yet, beneath you, he was so fucking hard, his need pressing thick between your thighs, hot even through the layers of clothing.

Heat flared across your face, crawling down your neck.

You shifted, trying to put distance between you, your hands pressing into his chest, your knees digging into the mattress to lift yourself.

But Jungkook’s grip tightened.

The hand on your hip yanked you back down, forcing you against him again, another strangled sound breaking from his throat.

The hand in your hair held you firm, tilting your chin so you had no choice but to look at him.

And fuck—

Jungkook, an alpha, the next to lead your pack, was beneath you, hard and desperate, staring at you like you were the moon itself.

Like you were his fucking world.

His voice was low, gravelly, but so fucking sure.

“My mate isn’t some brittle flower.”

His fingers dug in, his body coiling like a predator holding itself back.

“My mate gives alphas a run for their money.”

Jungkook breathed you in, a sharp inhale, a growl deep in his chest, the scent of your arousal spiking in the air.

“Your scent is just for me.”

His hips bucked once, slow, purposeful, grinding into you, forcing you to feel him.

“And every bruise you got, you gave back twice as hard.”

His hand tightened in your hair, his next words a growl—

“Don’t you dare think I don’t want you because of that.”

Your entire body burned, your stomach coiling tight, molten heat spreading like fire in your veins.

“But…”

Jungkook cut you off—his grip firm, unwavering.

“Just because I want to treat you like my fragile little mate, doesn’t mean you’re fragile.”

His fingers slid lower, teasing at the waistband of your pants, gripping at the barrier between you, pulling you harder against him.

His next words were a promise, a growled warning wrapped in heat.

“And if you let me, I’ll show you just how often I can put you back together tonight.”

And fuck—

Your scent spiked again, another wave of arousal washing over you, unbidden, undeniable.

Jungkook felt it immediately.

Felt the way you shivered, the way your body melted just slightly, the way your pupils widened, blown black with want.

His grip tightened.

His fingers curled under your waistband, ready to tear it away—

And his next word was simple, a single command, his voice dark and demanding.

“Off.”

You were both moving.

Fumbling.

Desperate.

Pants were kicked away, clothing discarded, and then—

Jungkook grabbed you again.

But instead of pulling you back onto him, onto his length—

He lifted you higher.

Your thighs trembled as he shifted you up, your core hovering over his face now.

Your breath caught, the realization slamming into you, heat flooding your cheeks as you stammered—

“Jungkook—?”

But his grip was firm, his eyes burning, filled with absolute hunger.

His hands guided you down, his head tilting back, reaching for you, and then—

His tongue flicked against you.

And fuck—

Your legs shook, a strangled gasp ripping from your lips, fingers fisting into the sheets.

Jungkook groaned, the sound low and ravenous, his hands clutching your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

He licked you again.

Long, slow, deliberate.

You were falling. No—flying? Maybe both. Your body no longer felt like your own, overtaken by sensation, by the fire spreading through every inch of you under Jungkook’s relentless touch. His hands, strong and possessive, held you firmly in place, keeping you from escaping the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you. Every brush of his lips, every flick of his tongue sent waves of shivers coursing through you, and the quiet, helpless whimpers slipping from your lips only seemed to feed his hunger.

Jungkook was insatiable, the deep rumble of his pleasure vibrating against your core, sending tremors through your entire being. He groaned against you, drinking in your scent, your taste, every reaction you gave him like it was the only thing he’d ever crave. The way you trembled, the way you gasped and arched above him—he wanted more. He needed more. He wanted to bury himself in every part of you, to pull every sound, every movement, every ounce of pleasure from you until you were entirely his.

His grip tightened, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you in place when instinct had you trying to squirm away. The intensity was too much, yet not enough, and Jungkook wasn’t about to let you escape—not when you were giving him everything he wanted. His mouth worked against you with precision, teasing, stroking, flicking, each motion designed to unravel you, to leave you shaking above him. You tried to find purchase, to hold onto something, but your limbs were weak, and the only thing grounding you was Jungkook himself.

And then he did something different—a new pressure, a shift that made your body jerk in response. He adjusted his hold, pulling you closer, locking you against him as he moved, his nose brushing against your clit, his tongue coaxing more pleasure from you than you thought you could handle. A strangled sound escaped you, somewhere between a gasp and a plea, and Jungkook’s deep growl of satisfaction sent another tremor through you. His grip tightened just a little more, as if reminding you that you were his, that you belonged to him, and the sheer possessiveness in his touch made your head spin.

Your breath hitched, body tightening, and Jungkook felt it—the way you were teetering on the edge, the way your muscles locked as the wave built inside you. He hummed against you, the vibration pushing you closer, and then, with one final movement, he sent you plummeting into oblivion. A sharp cry, a desperate breath of his name—"Kook"—was all you managed before the pleasure overtook you completely, your body shaking with the force of it. Jungkook didn’t stop, didn’t let go, holding you through it, watching with dark, heavy-lidded eyes as you came undone above him, utterly lost in the moment he had created for you.

His chest rumbled with satisfaction, his grip shifting as he slowly brought you back down, grounding you with gentle touches even as his own restraint frayed. Because he wasn’t done. Not even close.

Your breathing slowly evened out, your body sinking into the soft bedding beneath you, boneless and trembling in the aftermath. You barely had the strength to lift your head, but you became aware of Jungkook sitting back on his knees between your legs, his gaze locked onto you with something dark, something primal burning in his eyes. And for a second, you were utterly confused. Why was he still wearing his pants? Why had he held back when he was clearly fighting against every instinct to claim you?

Before you could question him, he pulled you closer again, his hands sliding under your knees, lifting your legs to rest over his thighs. His fingers traced delicate patterns along your skin, smoothing over the trembling muscles he had wrecked only moments ago. The way he touched you now was different—still possessive, still intense—but laced with something softer, something reverent. His touch soothed even as it sent more shivers down your spine. His chin was still wet from your arousal, his lips slightly parted as he caught his breath, his hair tousled and wild from how you had gripped him. And god, he looked beautiful. Absolutely untamed.

The sight made something in your chest tighten, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the heat between your legs. You reached for him without thinking, hands opening and closing in the air, needy, desperate for him.

"Mate," you breathed, the word slipping past your lips before you could stop it. Before you knew what you said.

Jungkook’s gaze snapped to you and froze. His breath hitched, and then a sound—deep, guttural, and dangerously close to a purr—vibrated from his chest. His pupils blew wide, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your thighs as if you had just broken him and put him back together all in the same moment. You hadn’t even realized what you had done. You had given him the one thing he craved the most—you had acknowledged him. Claimed him, even if you didn’t fully understand the depth of it.

A shudder ran through him as he leaned over you, letting you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, letting your scent fill his lungs as though it was the only thing keeping him sane. His lips pressed against your throat, slow and deliberate, before trailing up to your jaw, your cheek, and then finally—your lips.

“Don’t say that,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice raw with restraint. “Not right now. I’m already using everything I have to hold back.”

But even as he spoke, he couldn’t stop touching you. His hands never ceased their slow, torturous exploration, his fingers skimming the inside of your thighs, creeping higher, testing how much more you could take. The contrast was maddening—the way he spoke of restraint while simultaneously unraveling you all over again.

His teeth grazed the shell of your ear, a teasing nip, a quiet growl vibrating against your skin. “One more,” he murmured, his voice thick with want.

Your breath hitched. "I... I—" The words barely made it out before your body betrayed you, another shudder rolling through you, your legs trembling even as he tried to soothe them.

Jungkook only hummed, his grip steady, his patience razor-thin. Because if he had his way, he’d have more than just one.

God, it was embarrassing how fast he could reduce you to this—how easily his fingers found the spot that had you keening for him, how effortlessly he had you spread open and taking him. One, then two, then three fingers, stretching you with slow, deliberate precision, filling you so perfectly that you could barely think, barely breathe. Your body trembled, a shiver rolling down your spine with every slow push and curl of his fingers inside you. You were beyond holding on at this point, your senses overwhelmed, your nerves alight, and the only thing keeping your legs from snapping shut in sheer overstimulation was the weight of Jungkook’s waist between them.

Your hands were desperate, restless, running over every inch of him, gripping at his arms, his shoulders, his chest—anywhere he would let you, anywhere but where you really wanted to touch him. Because Jungkook wouldn’t allow that. Not yet. And it was driving you insane because he sounded just as wrecked as you felt, his breath uneven, his muscles tensed like he was barely restraining himself. And god, the way he looked at you, the way he kissed you—deep and consuming, like he wanted to devour every sound you made—it had you spiraling all over again.

The next slow, deliberate thrust of his fingers sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through you, tightening around him, making your head fall back against the pillows. It was too much and not enough. You needed more. Needed him. And as your pleasure built higher and higher, as you scrambled desperately for something to hold onto, something to ground yourself, a broken whimper fell from your lips.

“Mate.”

Jungkook cursed under his breath, his body jolting as if the word had physically struck him. His control was slipping fast, but he didn’t care—not when he could feel the way your walls fluttered around his fingers, gripping him so tightly, so sweetly, as you shattered beneath him once more. Not when you were shaking in his arms, when you were looking up at him like that—fucked out and dazed and so incredibly beautiful.

His head spun, his blood roared in his veins, and the need to claim you, to take you completely, burned through him like wildfire. But he couldn’t let you touch him. Not yet. Because if you so much as brushed against his cock right now, he’d come in seconds. He was painfully hard, so fucking close just from watching you fall apart again and again, and as he finally shed the last barrier between you, he had to take a moment—one shaky, grounding moment—not to lose himself at the sight of you.

You were still catching your breath, your body soft and pliant, your legs trembling in the aftermath of your release. But then—god, you were a fucking minx—you looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, gaze dropping to where he was thick and aching for you, were he held himself not to come undone just by watching you, and without a word, without even a moment’s hesitation, you slowly spread your legs just a little wider. A silent invitation.

And that was it.

Jungkook was over you in an instant, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss so deep it stole what little breath you had left. His hands framed your face, holding you with a reverence that contradicted the raw hunger in his movements, his groan vibrating against your lips as he completely lost himself in you.

He gave you whiplash—his touch still grounding, still careful, his fingers tracing over your bruises with a tenderness that sent shivers racing down your spine. But there was something barely restrained in him, something trembling at the edge of control.

"Mate," he growled, voice raw, the word vibrating from his chest like a snarl, like a plea, as if he might snap in half if he didn’t sink into you this very instant.

You met his eyes, still hazy from pleasure, still dazed from the intensity of it all, but you knew what he needed—what you needed. Without a word, you lifted one leg over his hip, opening yourself to him, guiding him closer. And slower than you ever thought possible, he began to push in.

The stretch was overwhelming, the feeling so intense it nearly knocked the air from your lungs. You could feel him everywhere, in every part of you, in every nerve ending, in the very marrow of your bones. Both of you groaned in unison, bodies trembling at the sheer overwhelming sensation of being joined like this, and fuck—you had never felt more full, more complete, more utterly his than in this moment.

But then Jungkook stilled.

You whimpered, your walls fluttering around him, pleading for him to move, to give you more. But Jungkook’s body trembled, his grip on your hips tightening—not enough to hurt, but enough to anchor himself. Unintentionally, his fingers pressed just a little too hard against one of your bruises, and the sharp gasp you let out had him groaning. He pulled back instantly, cursing under his breath.

“Fuck. Wait—don’t… don’t move.” His voice was strained, wrecked. His forehead dropped against your shoulder, his breath searing down the slope of your neck, over your collarbone, making your nipples harden further. His body shuddered. “You feel too fucking good.”

You didn’t care. You needed him to move.

“Jungkook,” you pleaded, trembling beneath him, body taut with need. “Please—move.”

He was shaking. He was trying so hard to hold himself back, but after a long, painful moment, he finally nodded, voice wrecked.

“Yeah… fuck.”

He pulled out agonizingly slowly, the drag of him against your walls, against every sensitive nerve inside you, making your toes curl and a desperate mewl escape your lips, making you whimper, your thighs trembling around him. Jungkook groaned—a deep, guttural sound—and his grip on your hips tightened, holding you still, not trusting you, not trusting himself—not right now, not with how tight and warm you felt around him.

And then he thrust back in.

Your breath hitched, a broken moan tearing from your throat, and Jungkook’s control snapped completely. His movements were still slow, but deep, hard, relentless in their precision. The force of each thrust sent pleasure crashing through you, your body arching into him, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto. Your nails raked down his back, over his arms, but Jungkook didn’t let up. He was lost in you, drowning in the way you clenched around him, the way you took him so perfectly, as if you were made for him.

Your eyes rolled back, pleasure so sharp it left you breathless, and Jungkook wasn’t fairing any better. His hair clung to his forehead, sweat beading along his temple, his breath ragged against your ear. He didn’t dare look down, didn’t dare watch where his cock was disappearing inside you, because just the thought of it was almost enough to undo him.

He needed more.

His hands roamed greedily over you. One hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, dragging you against him, against the heat of his skin. His scent was thick in the air, intoxicating, wrapping around you like a drug.

“Fuck, I want you,” he rasped, his voice barely more than a desperate groan.

You gasped against his throat, shivering at the sheer need in his voice. Your lips brushed against his skin, soft and warm and reverent.

“You have me.”

A tremor ran down Jungkook’s spine, his hand tightening in your hair as he fought for control. But then—

“Where will you mark me?”

The question sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through you, your walls clenching desperately around him involuntarily. Jungkook let out a broken moan, his rhythm faltering. He was holding on by a thread, his entire body trembling with restraint, waiting—pleading for your answer.

"I—" Your voice faltered, your mind hazy with pleasure, with need, with the overwhelming gravity of what he was asking.

But there was no hesitation in him.

"Mark me, my mate,"

His voice was rough, commanding, leaving no room for doubt. And you didn’t hesitate any longer. You tilted your head, lips brushing over the spot that had drawn your attention from the moment he had leapt after you, the spot where his pulse thundered beneath his skin. You parted your lips, tongue flicking over the skin once, twice—

And then you bit down.

Jungkook shattered.

A deep, guttural growl tore from his throat as he slammed into you one final time, his entire body locking up as he spilled inside you, his pleasure hitting so hard it sent you spiraling after him. Your own release crashed over you like a tidal wave, your vision whiting out, your body shaking as you clenched around him, milking him for everything he had.

His body covered yours, his hips rolling through the aftershocks, prolonging both your highs, until the pleasure finally faded into a warm, blissful haze.

You could feel him throbbing inside you, feel the way his breath shuddered against your skin, feel the way his hands still held you like he was afraid to let go.

You had claimed him.

And he was yours.

Jungkook collapsed against you, panting, shuddering, his lips pressing feverish, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone—anywhere he could reach. His breath was still uneven, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his release, but he never stopped touching you, never stopped grounding himself in the reality of you beneath him.

You had marked him.

There was no going back now.

He was yours.

But as you slowly came down from the high, your mind clearing in the hazy warmth of his embrace, a realization settled over you—one that made your chest tighten unexpectedly.

He hadn’t marked you.

Just as he had promised, he had held himself back, had given you the choice to wake up in the morning and decide for yourself. He had been careful, considerate, exactly as he had sworn he would be. And yet… you found yourself wishing he hadn’t. Wishing he had been selfish, had lost control, had claimed you the way you had claimed him.

Your body betrayed you, walls fluttering involuntarily around him at the mere thought.

Jungkook groaned, his body jolting in response. His head dropped to your shoulder, a soft chuckle vibrating through his chest as he realized what you had just done.

You gasped, your face burning. “That— I didn’t mean—”

But Jungkook lifted himself up, still nestled deep inside you, still keeping you close, and the look on his face nearly made you forget how to breathe. His dark eyes drank you in, half-lidded and lazy with satisfaction, yet still burning with something deeper—something raw and unfiltered. He looked wrecked in the best way possible, his skin flushed, his damp hair falling into his eyes, his lips still swollen from kissing you. And yet, it was the way he gazed at you, the way he took in every inch of you, the way his scent wrapped so thickly around you, mixing with yours—it made your stomach flip.

And, of course, the bastard knew it.

A slow, wicked smirk curled at the corner of his lips. “You’re a menace,” he murmured, voice still rough from pleasure.

You let out a breathless laugh, your body still too spent to do anything more than weakly swat at his arm. But Jungkook was faster, capturing your wrist and pinning it beside your head, his nose brushing teasingly along the curve of your throat before he playfully nipped at your skin. You squeaked, squirming, but he only chuckled again, his hands steady on your hips, making sure he didn’t slip from you just yet.

After a moment, his voice softened.

“You good?”

You took a slow breath, nodding. And then, as you met his gaze, the question that had been lingering in your mind slipped out before you could stop it.

“You didn’t mark me.”

It wasn’t an accusation, wasn’t even disappointment, just a quiet observation.

But Jungkook’s reaction was immediate.

His gaze dropped to your neck, to the exact spot where he already knew—without a doubt—his mark would one day belong. His fingers twitched against your skin, as if barely restraining himself from reaching out, from pressing his lips to that spot, from sinking his teeth in and sealing the bond.

“You want me to?”

The roughness of his voice sent a fresh shiver down your spine, but before you could even answer, you felt him twitch inside you.

A startled yelp left your lips, and now it was his turn to chuckle, clearly pleased with himself as he nosed at your throat, dragging his lips over the sensitive skin.

“Jungkook,” you whined, still sensitive, still overwhelmed.

He hummed in amusement, pressing another kiss to your neck. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Yes,” you admitted, breathlessly. “But… but not today.” You swallowed, suddenly shy. “Thank you. For… for letting me choose.”

Jungkook stilled for a moment, then pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze softened, and something warm, something dangerously tender flickered in those dark irises.

“Don’t mistake me, little mate,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “If you decide to leave the pack in the morning—which would be a fucking terrible decision after all the work it took for them to recognize you—I’d simply follow you.” He smirked, eyes dark and unwavering. “I’m yours now.”

Your heart swelled, a feeling too big, too all-consuming wrapping around your ribs, threatening to steal the breath from your lungs. You barely had the strength to say it, to let the word slip from your lips in a whisper so soft it barely existed between you.

“Mate.”

And then you kissed him, slowly, deeply, reverently, brushing your nose against his before your lips met.

Delighting in the warmth of him.

Delighting in the fact that he was yours.

Jungkook adjusted you carefully, rearranging your limbs so you could rest comfortably for the night. But even with all his care, a hiss of protest left you both when he slowly, begrudgingly, slipped out of you—dragging out the inevitable as long as he could.

Still, he helped you clean up, albeit reluctantly. Even as he wiped you down, his hands lingered, his touch reverent, his lips brushing over your skin as if he could somehow preserve the moment. And when he finally let you settle back into the furs, his scent still clung to you—enough to satisfy him, though not nearly enough for his liking.

Jungkook tucked himself against you, his nose buried in your hair, his arms wrapped protectively around your waist. Your lips hovered near his neck, your hands resting over his heart and around his shoulder, holding him just as much as he held you. Your legs tangled together beneath the blanket draped lazily over you—not that you needed it. Jungkook’s warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the safety of his presence—it was all you needed to lull you into sleep.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

It was early when you stirred, blinking against the soft light creeping through the tent. Jungkook was still wrapped around you, his body heavy with sleep, his grip unyielding. With a sleepy groan, you tried to sit up, pushing away the haze of drowsiness.

Jungkook mumbled something incoherent, his arms tightening around you as he buried his face deeper into your neck.

You chuckled, trying again—only to be rolled onto your back, his weight pressing you down. His nose nudged against your throat, his breath warm against your skin, still lost in the remnants of slumber.

A laugh bubbled from your lips as you tried to wake him with kisses to his neck. He grumbled in response, pressing closer instead of pulling away, a deep sound of protest rumbling in his chest.

“Don’t start anything,” he muttered, voice thick with sleep, comfort, and something dangerously close to temptation.

You huffed, nudging him playfully. “I need to get up. I have to pack.”

The reminder brought reality crashing back in. The festival was coming to an end. Soon, the packs would return to their lands, carrying stories back to their elders. And for the first time, you weren’t bound to leave with them.

You had a choice.

A choice that both thrilled and terrified Jungkook.

Because he had meant every word—if you chose to leave, he would follow. His heart had already decided. But still, a sliver of anxiety gnawed at him. Would yesterday—everything he had done, everything he had given—be enough to make you stay?

With a deep, reluctant sigh, Jungkook finally rolled off you, though not without a few more mumbled complaints.

He helped you pack, though his mood darkened when you disappeared to freshen up. And when you returned, smelling like soap and morning air instead of him, a displeased growl rumbled low in his throat.

His scent wasn’t entirely gone—he could still catch traces of it on you. But had you deliberately left it there? Or had he marked you so thoroughly last night that no amount of scrubbing could erase him?

He didn’t know.

But what he did know was that he had no interest in finishing the rest of his morning tasks—not when he could be pulling you back into bed, pressing his scent into your skin all over again.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Before Jungkook could act on his impulse to pull you back into bed and mark you all over again, two wolves arrived. And unlike you, he wasn’t particularly happy to see them.

Namjoon and Yoongi.

They greeted you warmly, their smiles easy, their presence familiar. And Jungkook—who, just moments ago, had felt content in the lingering haze of your shared night—now found himself gritting his teeth.

It wasn’t fair, but it still made his chest tighten to see you smile at them like that, to witness the genuine affection on your face. He understood, of course. Yoongi and Namjoon had been kind to you, had offered you a place where you wouldn’t have to fight to be recognized.

But understanding didn’t make it easier to watch Yoongi hover so damn close to you.

Jungkook dropped the tent pole he’d been holding, nearly bringing the entire structure crashing down on Jimin in his haste to move toward you. Yoongi barely spared him a glance, smiling as he met your gaze.

“So, Thunder, have you decided?”

You blinked. “Thunder?”

Yoongi looked just as confused as you. “Yeah. You smell like it. Didn’t you realize?”

Your brows furrowed, and you shook your head. Jungkook’s hand hovered just over your lower back, the heat of his presence grounding you, even as you remained puzzled by Yoongi’s words.

Then, Yoongi’s sharp gaze flickered to Jungkook. His expression shifted slightly, as if piecing something together. His eyes dipped to the collar of Jungkook’s shirt—where, if one knew what to look for, they’d see the faintest hint of your mark. Barely visible, easy to miss.

Yoongi chuckled under his breath.

“So?” he pressed.

“I…” You faltered, fumbling with your words.

Jungkook clenched his jaw.

He wanted to step in, to tell Yoongi off, to grab you, scent you, take you home before anyone else had the chance to make you second-guess your choice. But this wasn’t his decision to make.

Then, just as he braced himself for your answer, you took a step toward Yoongi.

And hugged him.

Jungkook’s heart lurched.

It wasn’t a possessive hug, not the kind that sent fire roaring through his veins. It was soft. Grateful. A gesture of appreciation rather than hesitation.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you murmured, stepping back. “Really.”

Then, you turned—your gaze sweeping over the rest of the pack.

Jimin looked like he was vibrating with nerves. Hana seemed as though she might faint. Seokjin was gripping Hoseok’s hand so tightly that his knuckles had gone white, as if awaiting the decision of a lifetime.

You chuckled.

“Thank you for seeing me,” you said, voice steady now. “But I want to truly see them before I can go anywhere. So, I have to decline.”

Yoongi nodded, hands tucked into his pockets, his smile warm but knowing. “Thought so.”

His gaze flickered to Jungkook, unreadable for just a second.

“But the invitation still stands,” Yoongi added, meeting your eyes again. “If you ever see something you don’t like—if you ever need a way out—come looking for me.”

A low, dangerous growl rumbled from Jungkook’s chest before he could stop it.

You only chuckled, nudging him in warning.

With that, Yoongi and Namjoon left.

Jungkook barely gave you time to breathe before he had you back in his arms, pulling you flush against him. His grip was firm, his lips pressing against your temple, his body curling around yours in a way that left no room for argument.

You laughed, struggling half-heartedly against his hold. “Jungkook—”

“You smell like that mutt,” he grumbled, voice dark, but not truly angry. His lips ghosted over your skin, his teeth grazing just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Jungkook,” you scolded, half amused, half exasperated.

“Not my fault he got too close,” he muttered, his hands sliding over your hips, as if physically reclaiming you. “Gotta fix it.”

“You can’t just—”

His nose brushed against your neck, inhaling deeply. “I can. And I will.”

But before you could say anything he continued “I meant what I said,” his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, quieter now, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “If you’d left, I would’ve followed.”

“I know.” Your hands moved from his hair to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. “But I didn’t want to leave. I want this. I want—”

“Me,” Jungkook finished for you, and there was a hint of something teasing in his voice, but mostly, there was relief.

You rolled your eyes but smiled, brushing your nose against his. “Yes, you, idiot.”

A deep, pleased sound rumbled from his chest. “Then let me fix this.”

You huffed. “At least let me finish packing first?”

Jungkook let out a displeased sound but, begrudgingly, let you go—“Put your stuff with mine,” though not without grumbling under his breath as you moved to help your pack. You exhaled a soft laugh, warmth spreading through your chest.

And it didn’t take long for the teasing to begin.

“Oh, he’s not letting you out of his sight, huh?” Jimin snickered, watching as Jungkook hovered near you like a restless shadow.

“You better not run off,” Seokjin called out, smirking. “I don’t think he’d survive it.”

“You’re lucky, you know,” Hoseok added, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “He never acts like this. Usually, he just scowls at everyone.”

Jungkook growled, yanking you out of Hoseok’s hold with a glare.

Hana, still looking slightly overwhelmed, gave you a hesitant smile. “I guess that means you’re really staying?”

You glanced at Jungkook, at the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the entire world. His fingers curled around yours instinctively, possessive but warm.

A slow smile spread across your lips.

“Yeah,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I’m staying.”

Jungkook exhaled, relief flooding through him, though he tried not to show just how much your words meant. But when you leaned in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, his entire body melted against yours. And as the pack continued to tease and celebrate, as laughter and warmth surrounded you, you realized—this wasn’t just Jungkook’s pack anymore.

This was your home.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Part 1 I Masterlist

#jungkook x reader #jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook bts #bts #jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #jjk x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts stories #jungkook x you #jungkook smut

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sweetvoidstuff · 15 days ago

Text

Where You Belong - Part 2

Jungkook x Reader I Werwolf x Werwolf I Mates I Slow Burn I Asshole JK I Supernatural Romance I Yoongi I Violence

Word Count: 35K (all Parts)

Masterlist

Well, I wanted to post this as one, but Tumblr won’t let me…again... so I’ll be posting Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 back to back. Sorry about that! Hope you still enjoy it!

Part 1 I Part3

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

You were crying.

Not sobbing. Not wailing. But the quiet, shaking kind.

The kind that hurt.

And he would not let you go through this alone.

His jaw clenched, instincts screaming at him to move you, to take you somewhere safe, somewhere away from prying eyes. His tent was only a short walk away, tucked at the far edge of the festival grounds, where the fires burned low and the noise didn’t claw at your ears.

But he couldn’t move you.

Not without taking. Not without pushing. Not without making this worse.

So he did the next best thing.

Slowly, carefully— he dipped his head.

Brushed his chin—his throat, his scent gland—against the top of your head.

The action was soft, unspoken.

The barest pressure, his jaw gently pressing against your hair.

It was subtle, a barely-there movement, but the effect was immediate. His scent—warm, strong—clung to you now, burying itself in your hair, overpowering everything else.

Yoongi.

The festival.

The doubt.

And Jungkook—Jungkook finally let himself breathe.

Your fingers curled tight into the front of his shirt, holding on like you would fall apart if you let go.

His grip tightened, his arms strong, unyielding, as if he could somehow physically hold you together. As if his presence alone could keep you from falling apart completely.

And then—

A broken, shattered sound left your lips.

You tried to speak, tried to force something out between shaking breaths.

And when you finally did—Jungkook wished you hadn’t.

“I’m a freak,” you whispered. “An outcast. The weirdest Omega there is.”

Jungkook stilled.

“You—” your throat burned, voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t—”

You sucked in a sharp breath.

“You can’t want me.”

His grip on you tightened.

“You don’t,” you whispered. “Not really.”

Jungkook’s heartbeat was loud against your ear.

Your voice cracked as you continued, words spilling out like an open wound.

“No matter how good your reputation is, no matter how strong you are—you can’t entertain this.” Your breath shuddered. “This isn’t fun for me anymore.”

His arms tightened.

Tighter than before, tight enough to make his knuckles go white.

And Jungkook felt something ugly rise in his chest.

Rage.

Not at you.

At them. At him.

At every single person who had ever made you feel like this. Like you weren’t enough. He wanted to rip them apart.

Break bones.

Make them beg.

Jungkook growled.

The sound, deep and low in his chest, rumbled against you.

He swallowed, trying to force the anger down, to bury it beneath the need to comfort you.

But his voice—his voice was steel. And then—his grip tightened.

“If anyone—” he growled, his lips grazing the top of your hair, “ever makes you feel like that again—”

His grip tightened, his body trembling with the effort to keep himself in check.

“I will fucking break them.” His voice was dark, voice vibrating through his chest. “I don’t give a fuck who they are.”

His next breath was ragged.

“No one treats my mate like that again. No one.”

The sounds reach you first—footsteps, voices, the easy, careless laughter of wolves who don’t have to think twice about where they stand in the pack. You stiffen instinctively, though it’s not like you had truly relaxed in Jungkook’s hold to begin with. The weight of his arms around you had been grounding in a way you didn’t want to admit, the warmth of his scent something that soothed the sharp edges of your thoughts even as you tried to fight it.

But now—now that comfort was gone.

Jungkook sensed the shift immediately. His hold around you tightened, the muscles in his arms flexing as if to keep you from slipping through his fingers. A low, irritated sound rumbled in his chest, something close to a growl, and you weren’t sure if it was directed at the approaching voices or at himself for failing to keep you at ease.

Then they were there.

At first, they couldn’t see you, tucked against Jungkook the way you were, hidden by the broad shield of his body. But you could hear them clearly. The relaxed banter, the teasing undertone that meant they weren’t expecting anything serious.

Then, Jimin’s voice cut through the air, playful and sharp.

“Damn, Jungkook, you finally got rid of the defect?”

Everything inside you turned to ice.

The words hit like a punch to the gut, sudden and breath-stealing. Your body went rigid, breath catching in your throat. A familiar weight settled in your chest, heavy and suffocating, a feeling you had carried for years. You weren’t even surprised, not really. You should have expected it. Should have known that no matter what Jungkook said, no matter how many times he whispered reassurances in your ear, this was what they thought of you.

Jungkook moved before you could even register his reaction. His entire frame tensed, his chest expanding as he sucked in a sharp breath. The warmth of him against you changed—still burning hot, but now in a way that promised destruction. His head turned slightly, the motion shifting his arms just enough, giving you the smallest sliver of space.

A window of movement.

You bolted.

You didn’t think—you just moved.

One second you were pressed against him, the next you were twisting out of his grasp, slipping through the opening like a ghost. The sound Jungkook made—a curse, sharp and furious—was nearly drowned out by the surprised exclamations of his packmates as you tore away from him. Your feet hit the ground hard, your body propelled forward by nothing but instinct, nothing but the desperate need to be anywhere but here.

The scent of him still clung to you.

You hated it.

Hated that it was already familiar, that it was starting to feel safe when it shouldn’t.

Behind you, chaos erupted.

“What the—who was that?”

“Wait, was that—”

“Jungkook—what the hell—”

But you didn’t stop to hear the rest.

Jungkook’s reaction, however, was immediate.

“Jimin.”

The single word carried weight. Enough to silence everything, to kill the easy camaraderie in an instant. The laughter, the teasing, the amusement—all of it died.

Jimin, still trying to process what just happened, turned toward Jungkook with a frown, clearly expecting some kind of explanation. But when he met Jungkook’s eyes—his entire body went still.

Because Jungkook wasn’t playing.

For a moment, Jimin actually thought Jungkook was going to kill someone—him.

The look in Jungkook’s eyes was something dark, lethal. His pupils had blown wide, his entire body coiled with barely restrained fury. The muscles in his jaw clenched hard enough to crack, his shoulders squared in a way that made it clear he was holding himself back by sheer force of will.

Jimin had seen Jungkook angry before. Had seen him in fights, seen him after a failed hunt, seen him when something really pissed him off.

But this—this was different.

This was dangerous.

Jungkook took a slow, measured step forward, and every single wolf present stiffened. His head tilted slightly, a movement eerily reminiscent of a predator deciding whether to chase down prey.

“Say that again,” he said, voice low, guttural.

Jimin opened his mouth, then hesitated. His mind raced, piecing things together too fast for his own liking. The scent—Jungkook’s scent—it had been all over you. Heavy, unmistakable. Not just from proximity, not just from a casual brush of skin.

Jungkook had scented you.

Claimed you.

And Jimin—Jimin had just insulted you right to his face.

Fuck.

Jimin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, a slow realization creeping over his features.

“This isn’t a joke, is it?” he asked carefully, his tone much more cautious now.

Jungkook’s hands curled into fists.

“Does it fucking look like a joke?”

Jimin exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, finally understanding just how badly he had fucked up.

The moment the words left Jimin’s mouth, Jungkook moved.

There was no warning. No snarl, no buildup—just pure, unfiltered instinct driving him forward. One second Jimin was standing there, realization barely dawning in his widened eyes, and the next—Jungkook’s fist connected with his face.

The crack of bone breaking was sickening.

Jimin staggered back with a choked sound, blood immediately gushing from his nose, dripping down his chin, staining his lips. He clutched at his face, blinking rapidly, dazed, struggling to process the searing pain exploding across his features.

“Fuck—” he hissed, but Jungkook wasn’t done.

A vicious snarl ripped from his throat as he grabbed Jimin by the collar, yanking him close.

“You fucked up,” Jungkook growled, voice low, lethal. His breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling with the effort it took to contain the rage coursing through him. His entire body vibrated with fury, barely restrained violence coiled tight beneath his skin.

Jimin winced, blood still pouring down his face, but he didn’t fight back.

He knew he had made a mistake—a bad one.

“You’re going to find her,” Jungkook continued, his grip tightening like a vice, “and you’re going to apologize.”

Jimin nodded, fast, frantic.

But Jungkook wasn’t finished.

“And you better pray to the fucking moon she is more forgiving than I am.” He leaned in closer, voice dropping to something dangerous, quiet. “Because if she doesn’t forgive you, Jimin—if I so much as see a hint of distress on her because of you—I will break every single bone in your fucking body.”

Jimin swallowed thickly, genuinely afraid now.

Jungkook wasn’t bluffing.

And he wasn’t done making his point.

He turned his head slightly, glaring at the other packmates who had been present, the ones who had laughed, the ones who had stood there and watched as Jimin threw his careless insult into the air.

“This applies to you as well.” Jungkook’s voice was razor-sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. “You think you get to stand here and laugh at my mate without consequences?”

A few of them had the decency to look ashamed. Others looked wary, unsure how to react. But Jungkook didn’t care.

His tone final, absolute. “If she doesn’t forgive Jimin—if I find out that even one of you so much as made her hesitate to stay here—” He exhaled sharply, teeth bared in a snarl.

“I will make sure you regret it.”

Silence.

The tension in the air was suffocating. No one spoke. No one dared to.

And then—Jungkook released Jimin, shoving him back roughly.

“Go,” he ordered. “Now.”

Jimin didn’t hesitate.

With his nose still bleeding, his heart pounding, he turned on his heel and ran.

Because for the first time in his life—Jimin was afraid of Jungkook.

And he had never been so fucking determined to find someone and beg for forgiveness.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Jungkook watched him go, chest still heaving, muscles still tense. He could feel the eyes of his pack on him, the weight of their silent questions, the shift in their perception.

And he didn’t give a single fuck.

His priority was you.

Because you had run from him again.

And this time—it was because of them.

Jungkook exhaled harshly, raking a hand through his hair, his mind a whirlwind.

If you didn’t forgive Jimin, if you didn’t want to stay—what then?

The thought hit him like a hammer to the chest, sudden and unwelcome.

If you left the pack…

Jungkook’s throat tightened.

Would he—would he leave with you?

The very idea made his heart clench painfully. He had never considered it before, never even entertained the notion of leaving his pack.

But you…

Fuck.

Jungkook clenched his fists, jaw set.

He still had time.

And he was going to spend every second of it making sure you didn’t want to leave.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Jimin was fast.

But you were faster.

The only reason he could track you at all was Jungkook’s scent. It clung to you now, thick and undeniable, a guiding thread through the night air. Without it, he wouldn’t have had a chance.

Still—you made him work for it.

His lungs burned as he ran, his feet pounding against the dirt, the sounds of the festival fading behind him. The chase had taken you both further into the forest, where the moonlight barely reached, shadows stretching long between the towering trees.

And then—he saw you.

Just ahead, your form moved swiftly between the trunks, darting through the undergrowth with practiced ease.

“Hey!” Jimin called out, breathless. “Just stop for a second—”

You didn’t.

Jimin clicked his tongue in irritation. He wasn’t trying to make this harder than it needed to be. He needed to apologize, to smooth things over—mostly so Jungkook wouldn’t make good on his threat and actually break every bone in his body.

Honestly, Jimin didn’t care about you. He wasn’t heartless, but he’d never spent a second of his life thinking about you. And yet—here he was, bleeding, bruised, and chasing after you like his life depended on it.

Because, in a way, it did.

Jimin pushed himself harder, lungs straining, legs burning, until—finally.

He was close enough to grab you.

He reached out—

And in the blink of an eye, you moved.

One second, Jimin was certain he had you. The next—you had almost completely stopped, shifting your weight with expert precision. Before his mind could even process what was happening—

You flipped him.

Hard.

The moment his fingers brushed your arm, your body twisted, moving in a way no omega should have been able to. You used his own momentum against him, your balance near-perfect as you hooked your arm under his and leveraged his body into the air.

Jimin had barely half a second to realize—fuck, oh shit—

Then he was airborne.

And then—

The ground came up fast.

Pain exploded through his back as he slammed into the dirt, hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

For a long, awful second, Jimin couldn’t breathe.

His vision blurred, chest convulsing as he struggled to inhale, to force air back into his stunned lungs. His body throbbed, shockwaves of pain radiating from where his spine had connected with the ground.

Fuck.

By the time he could process what had just happened—you were already gone.

Jimin barely managed to lift his head, still gasping for breath, just in time to see you disappear into the trees, changing direction so fast he had no hope of catching up if he hesitated.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

You weren’t a normal omega.

Jimin had thought Yoongi had let you win. He had thought maybe Yoongi was weak.

But this?

He had completely underestimated you.

A part of him felt genuine awe. The rest of him—the larger, more immediate part—felt absolute fucking terror.

Because now, Jimin knew something for certain.

You weren’t easy prey. You were a predator.

And if Jungkook had scented you this much—if Jungkook had claimed you as his mate—

Then Jimin had really, really fucked up.

Forcing himself upright with a groan, Jimin staggered to his feet.

No more half-assed apologies. No more underestimating you.

If he didn’t find you, if he didn’t make this right—

Jungkook would kill him.

So, Jimin gritted his teeth, shook off the pain, and ran.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

You had decided.

Fuck your pack. Fuck all of them.

You couldn't—wouldn’t—stay another second.

Not when Yoongi’s invitation still stood.

For a moment, you had believed Jungkook. Wanted to believe him. His words had seeped into the cracks of your heart, into all the places left raw and aching from years of being cast aside. Had even entertained the thought of you being his mate. But the reality was the pack would never let you live this down.

Even if Jungkook meant it, even if his words weren’t just some twisted joke—they would ruin it.

Best-case scenario? You truly were Jungkook mate, and he wanted you.

Worst-case? You were the broken omega who got fooled around and had her heart shattered.

No, thank you.

So, you ran.

For the first time in your life, you fought back. Had defined the order of your pack. You had thrown Jimin to the ground, and you had kept running. The weight of your decision pressed heavy on your chest, adrenaline fueling your every step.

But Jimin was persistent.

An alpha, like Jungkook.

It didn’t take him long to catch up again. And this time, he cornered you.

Shit.

Your feet skidded to a stop as you reached the edge of a steep clearing. The ground disappeared into nothingness.

A waterfall.

The drop wasn’t extreme—maybe five to seven meters—but the water below was dark and unknowable, swallowing the moon’s reflection whole.

Your heart hammered against your ribs.

Behind you, Jimin’s footsteps slowed. He came to a panting stop, hands braced on his thighs as he took in your surroundings.

He huffed a sharp breath, straightening. “Fuck, you’re fast.”

You ignored him.

Your eyes flickered back down to the water. It wasn’t shallow—not completely—but you couldn’t see the bottom. Couldn’t tell what waited beneath the surface.

Jimin followed your gaze—and his expression shifted.

His eyes widened.

“Hell no.” His voice was sharp, slicing through the night air. “Y/N, don’t even think about it! Jungkook will fucking kill me.”

You turned to him with a sharp glare, your decision already made.

“Well, why would I care?”

And before he could stop you—

You jumped.

For a split second—you fell.

Air rushed past your ears, wind tangling through your hair, your stomach dropping with the weightless, terrifying feeling of freefall.

And then—impact.

Jimin watched in shock and horror as you leapt over the edge, disappearing into the darkness below.

Where you fucking mental?!

His heart lurched, and he bolted forward, nearly tripping over himself as he reached the cliff’s edge.

And there you were.

Alive.

Swimming, already halfway to the shore, your body cutting through the water like you had done this a thousand times before. Jimin exhaled hard, running a shaky hand through his hair.

“Holy shit.”

You were daring. Fearless.

Or just crazy.

He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. A fucking omega did that, and he didn’t even dared to.

Fuck.

Jimin glanced at the drop once more, then squared his shoulders.

He backed up a few steps, bracing himself—then he sprinted forward and jumped.

The wind ripped past him, and suddenly, regret clawed at his throat. His arms flailed, his legs kicked out wildly—fuck, fuck, fuck—

Impact.

He hit the water hard, the cold swallowing him instantly. He sank, bubbles bursting around him, his lungs seizing at the shock.

And then—nothing.

Seconds stretched.

One.

Two.

Three.

You had barely reached the shore when you noticed.

Jimin wasn’t coming up.

A flicker of alarm went through you.

You hesitated for all of a second before diving back in.

The water was heavy, dark, but you forced yourself deeper. And there—Jimin. His body tensed, struggling against the weight of the dive, limbs sluggish.

Your hands grabbed his arm—strong, steady.

And with a forceful kick, you pulled him up. The moment his head broke the surface, Jimin gasped—harsh, ragged, choking on air. You dragged him toward the rocks, your muscles screaming in protest as you pulled him out of the water.

He collapsed onto his back, panting, his chest heaving. You weren’t faring much better. Dripping, exhausted, you flopped onto the shore beside him, breathing just as hard. Silence stretched between you.

Then—Jimin laughed. A breathless, nervous chuckle, his hand scrubbing over his face.

“You are one hell of an omega.”

You turned your head, glaring at him through wet lashes.

“Fuck you.”

Jimin’s lips stretched into a lazy, lopsided smirk. “No, really.” He exhaled deeply, tilting his head back against the dirt. “After this? I think all other omegas might be defective.”

You didn’t even think.

Your foot shot out, kicking him hard in the side.

Jimin let out a pained grunt, rolling onto his side, groaning.

Still, he chuckled through it. “Fair.”

You tried to move.

Your body ached, cold water dripping from your clothes, but you weren’t about to sit here and listen to whatever bullshit excuse Jimin was about to give.

But he grabbed your foot.

Not hard, not enough to hurt—just enough to stop you.

“Wait.”

Your glare snapped to him, fury burning behind your eyes.

“Let go, Jimin.”

You tried to yank your foot free, but his grip held firm.

“No, wait—really. At least let me apologize.”

You scoffed. “Oh? And why, exactly? So Jungkook doesn’t punch you again?”

You took a pointed look at his nose—bruised, swollen, slightly crooked. Jimin winced.

“Well—yes. I mean—no!” He exhaled hard, frustrated, struggling to string his words together.

You tried to kick him again, but he caught your foot before you could make proper contact.

“Give me a second, shit.”

And then—he exhaled, his grip loosening.

His voice dropped, quieter now.

“Fuck, I don’t care about you.”

Something in his tone was different this time.

And for the first time, you believed him.

So—you stopped struggling.

Jimin noticed immediately. His fingers uncurled, letting your foot rest in the dirt, but you didn’t bolt this time.

Instead, you waited.

His chest rose and fell, his breathing still uneven, but when he spoke again, his voice was steady.

“I don’t care about you.” He shook his head, finally pushing himself upright. His gaze flickered toward you, and for the first time since meeting him, there was something else in it. Recognition. Respect, maybe.

His lips parted, and he continued, “You could stay. You could go. Doesn’t matter to me, honestly.” A slow breath. “But it matters to Jungkook. And he’s my friend.”

Jimin tilted his head back, looking toward the cliff you both had just jumped from. The muscles in his jaw flexed, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

“For some crazy reason, he likes you.” His brows pulled together, his expression somewhere between bewilderment and understanding. “He even called you his mate. And, fuck—after this?”

He huffed out a small, breathless laugh, shaking his head.

“I kind of get why he does.”

The words hung between you, weighty. Unshakable.

Jimin turned back to you, shoulders relaxing.

“Stay, go—both are fine with me.” He exhaled sharply. “But I’m honestly sorry for misjudging you.”

For a long moment, you just stared at him. No hesitation. No mockery. Just the truth. You let out a small huff, looking away. And then—you blushed.

Embarrassing.

This was probably the longest conversation you had with anyone without being insulted. The first conversation where you actually believed every single word. So, finally—you nodded. Jimin let out a breath.

And for the first time, he smiled at you.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Jungkook was pacing. His boots carved restless circles into the dirt, his hands flexing at his sides. How long had it been? You had bolted into the woods, Jimin on your heels, and there was still no sign of either of you.

He should have gone after you himself. Instead, he had been stuck here, left with his own thoughts, and fuck, he hated it.

His nerves were raw, wound so tight that the smallest thing could set him off. He had seen Yoongi and Namjoon walk past twice now, their sharp eyes scanning the crowd. They were looking for you.

Giving you another chance to leave. And right now? They had the worst fucking timing. Because they had noticed you weren’t with him.

Jungkook clenched his jaw, his body tensed like a wire. He needed to see you. Needed to know that you hadn’t just disappeared into the night with them.

And then—You walked out of the tree line.

Jungkook’s head snapped up. His body moved before he could even think, his eyes locking onto you like you were the only thing that mattered.

And for a moment, he felt relief. Then he saw Jimin walking beside you. Not dragging you. Not forcing you back. You were talking. Softly.

Jungkook froze. That was – good?

There was no tension in your body—at least, none that he could see. And Jimin? Jimin wasn’t smirking, wasn’t gloating. He looked almost… relaxed.

But you were drenched. Both of you. Soaked to the bone, hair dripping, clothes clinging tightly to your skin. Jungkook’s brows pulled together, anger flaring to life inside him. What the hell happened out there?

His first instinct was to march over to you, but something in the way you and Jimin looked at each other stopped him. A quiet chuckle passed between you. The sound sent a fresh wave of confusion crashing over him.

Because he knew what he was looking at.

Jimin and you weren’t friends, not really. But Jimin wasn’t mocking you anymore. He was treating you normal. And then he realized something else. Your scent. Or rather—the lack of it.

The scent he had painstakingly marked you with was already fading. The water had washed it away.

Again. His teeth ground together, his hands curling into fists. He didn’t even notice Yoongi and Namjoon approaching—not until Namjoon’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“Why are you wet?”

Jungkook’s eyes snapped to him, his irritation bubbling over.

“That’s what I wanna know, too.” His tone was sharp, almost a growl. His gaze raked over you, scanning for any injuries. “Are you hurt?”

But you just gave Jimin a look. And the asshole had the audacity to look pleading. Jimin knew Jungkook was pissed—knew that if you didn’t explain, Jungkook would actually kill him.

“Please, say something.” Jimin’s voice was half-joking, half-serious. “Or he’s going to rip my head off.”

But instead of answering, you grinned. Jungkook’s scowl deepened. And just as he was about to demand an explanation—

Yoongi sighed, already shrugging off his outer layer. "You need something dry."

Before you could protest, he was already extending the fabric toward you. Jungkook’s jaw ticked. His muscles coiled with tension. His first instinct? Rip Yoongi’s hand clean off. His second? Turn to Jimin and finish what he started. Jimin must have felt it too, because he subtly shifted a step away to you as if he wanted to hide behind you.

But just as Jungkook was about to explode, you spoke.

And you were smiling.

A real smile—not forced, not tense.

Jungkook stilled.

The light teasing in your expression as you glanced at Jimin made something unfamiliar stir in his chest. You were mocking Jimin?

Not angrily, not defensively—just mocking.

Jungkook didn’t know how to feel about it.

On one hand, it was good. It meant you were more comfortable around your pack. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? But on the other—what the fuck had happened out there? He hated being out of the loop.

"No, thank you, Yoongi. Actually—"

You turned to Jimin, something unspoken passing between you.

"You sure?"

Jimin nodded. And then, you genuinely smiled at Jungkook. Jungkook froze. It was small. But it was real. He barely had time to process it before you placed your pinky fingers in your mouth and let out a sharp, piercing whistle.

The reaction was immediate. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. Every wolf in earshot snapped to attention. Then—your next words.

"There’s a waterfall over there. Seven-meter drop." Your voice rang clear – not an alpha voice but, challenging. "Who’s daring enough to do what Park and I did?"

Silence.

Then—chaos.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, then outright exclamations.

"An omega jumped off a waterfall?"

"No way."

"Bullshit."

Jungkook barely registered the noise.

Because for a second—just one second—his expression broke.

His carefully guarded composure cracked. And when he turned slowly to Jimin, his voice came out in a low, dangerous growl.

"You made her do what, Jimin?"

Jimin winced.

"Man, I couldn't do anything about it!" he hissed back, voice quieter than yours had been. "I told her not to, but she just—she fucking—jumped!"

Jungkook gritted his teeth. Before he could respond, someone from the crowd called out—

"Sure, honey. You got yourself wet and now you need an excuse."

Laughter rippled through the pack. Jungkook’s fists clenched. You simply raised your chin. And boldly declared, "If you don’t believe me—watch me do it again."

Jungkook’s heart stopped. And then—you turned. And you started jogging back toward the waterfall. For half a second, the pack just stared.

Then—chaos.

Excitement exploded through the crowd. A mad rush of bodies followed your lead, wolves shoving past each other to keep up Jungkook fucking lost it. His body moved on pure instinct, sprinting after you. Fast.

"Are you insane?!"

He barely registered Jimin, Yoongi, and Namjoon hot on his heels. And the pack? They were following too. He could hear them behind him—dozens of them. The energy was electric, wild, the excitement infectious. But Jungkook’s mind was on one thing only. You. And making goddamn sure you didn’t actually jump again.

Jungkook was losing his mind. At first, it had just been you and him. Just him jogging beside you, trying to reason with you, trying to talk you down.

“Y/N, just—just stop for a second.” His voice was tense, breath steady despite the fast pace. “You don’t have to do this.”

And you—you laughed.

Not just at him—but at all of them.

Not a nervous chuckle. Not an uncertain, breathless giggle. A full, open laugh that rang through the trees.

You were leading a fucking parade.

Because now—there were many.

Jungkook could hear them. The pounding of feet, the shifting of bodies, the murmur of dozens of voices. Jimin following close behind. Namjoon and Yoongi that had ran after you just as fast.

Not just your pack. Not just wolves from your own home.

No—this had caught the attention of others.

Curious wolves from neighboring packs. Spectators drawn by the commotion.

Jungkook could hear them, the murmurs, the laughter, the taunts.

They wanted to see this. They wanted to mock you. They wanted to watch you fall. They wanted a good show.

But fuck that.

Jungkook’s blood was boiling.

Because he knew better.

This wasn’t a game to you.

And fuck, you were fast.

Jungkook’s teeth clenched as he kept pace, eyes locked on you, of course. Your movements were sharp, fluid, perfectly measured.

Your breathing? Controlled. Your footing? Flawless. Your speed? Increasing.

And then—

The scent hit him. Water. Jungkook’s stomach dropped.

“Y/N, slow down—”

You didn’t. You ran faster. Jungkook cursed under his breath and lunged, snatching your wrist in his grip. But you didn’t stop.

And you—You didn’t even flinch.

And he—he didn’t pull.

He just—held on. Like maybe, if he just kept holding on, you’d finally listen. But instead—You didn’t look scared or startled or cornered.

No. And for the first time since you started running, you met his eyes. You just looked at him. Your gaze was steady. Calm. Gentle. And then, softly—

“Trust me.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched. You smiled. This was real. This was raw. You looked at him. And then—you ripped away. Jungkook’s grip faltered, his body hesitating just a fraction of a second too long—

And you were gone.

Faster than before, feet pounding against the earth as you laughed. Laughed as if this wasn’t insane. As if this wasn’t reckless. As if you hadn’t just made his heart stop. And Jungkook’s chest constricted.

Then, at the top of your lungs—

"I DARE ALL OF YOU, YOU WHINY ALPHAS!"

And before Jungkook could even process what was happening—

You leapt. His heart stopped. For a split second. For a fraction of a moment—Everything inside him screamed.

And —

Without hesitation, Without thought, Without a single ounce of fear—

Without anything except the raw, gut-wrenching need to follow—

Jungkook jumped after you. The wind ripped past his ears, the air stolen from his lungs as he plummeted. The fall was fast, brutal, endless.

The second his body broke the surface, Jungkook sucked in a sharp breath.

The water was freezing, biting at his skin as he surged upward, breaking through with a gasp. For half a second, the impact had stunned him, the weightlessness of the fall vanishing the moment the water swallowed him whole. His heart was still hammering, his pulse erratic, his body already scanning for you.

And the first thing he heard—

Your laughter. And fuck—he had never heard anything like it.

A splash beside him—

Jimin.

Jungkook blinked water out of his eyes, turning just in time to see Jimin crash into the lake beside him, his yelp muffled by the water.

His second jump was less clumsy, but still followed by a cursing, sputtering, "Fuck, not again." Jimin gasped, blinking furiously as he pushed his wet bangs out of his face.

You were just a few meters ahead, floating easily, your body loose and relaxed. Your hair was a wet, tangled mess, strands clinging to your skin. The water shimmered around you, catching the moonlight in rippling streaks of silver. You looked alive in a way that stole his breath.

A sharp, incredulous laugh burst out of you as you swept a hand over your face, pushing your soaked hair out of your eyes. You threw your head back, shoulders shaking, laughter echoing against the rocky cliffs. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t calculated. It was genuine, filling the space around you with something electric.

Jungkook barely took a breath before moving.

His arms pushed through the water, cutting through it like it was nothing, his legs kicking strong as he closed the distance between you.

You must have heard him coming, because when he was just within reach, you turned, eyes gleaming. “That was a good jump.”

Jungkook huffed, still breathless, but there was something wild in his expression as he reached for you. “You—”

You grinned, twisting just out of his grasp, playful.

And then—

More splashes.

Jungkook turned his head just in time to see the others jumping.

Some were hesitating at the top, staring down with wide eyes, uncertain.

At the very edge—

Yoongi and Namjoon.

Jungkook could see the calculations behind their gazes.

See the way Yoongi looked down at you—

Then at Namjoon—

Then back at the drop.

And then, Yoongi shrugged.

He jumped.

Namjoon, sighing heavily—

Jumped after him.

Jungkook’s jaw slackened.

What. The. Fuck.

His gaze snapped back to you.

And you were smiling.

Not just at him—

At all of them.

Because holy fuck.

They were jumping.

Jungkook twisted to look up.

The wolves that had chased after you, the ones who had mocked and laughed—

Some hesitated at the edge—he could see the flicker of uncertainty in their postures.

But many were jumping after you.

Jungkook felt something snap inside him.

Something he couldn’t even begin to name.

You were mad.

Completely, unapologetically, beautifully mad.

And Jungkook—

He was going to follow you.

Wherever the fuck you ran next.

The water parted as Jungkook closed the distance between you, his strokes powerful but controlled. He wasn’t chasing you this time—not exactly. But he was coming closer, his dark eyes locked on you like he needed to make sure you were real. But instead of running, you turned toward him fully, watching him close the distance between you.

You felt the heat of his presence even through the cool water. The way the intensity in his gaze softened into something he didn’t quite have the words for yet.

He reached out—not grabbing you, not pulling—but hovering, just barely touching your wrist beneath the surface.

Not that you needed him to.

You weren’t struggling. You weren’t afraid. You had just done the impossible. And Jungkook, for all his strength and dominance, seemed at a loss.

His mouth opened, but before he could put any of this into words—

A splash broke the moment.

“Told you that would definitely change their view of you.”

Jimin.

He swam toward the two of you, grinning. His nose was still bruised from where Jungkook had broken it, but there was no malice in his expression. If anything, he looked almost proud.

You smirked, nodding in agreement but still keeping close to Jungkook, who had yet to let go of you. Jimin’s eyes flicked between the two of you, amusement flickering across his face before he sighed dramatically.

“Can’t believe I had to nearly die twice just to help you with something this crazy.”

“You didn’t nearly die.” You rolled your eyes.

Jimin gave you a look. “I wasn’t breathing for a solid five seconds, thank you very much.”

Jungkook growled, voice low. “And yet you’re still talking.”

Jimin snorted. “And yet I’m still talking.”

He grinned, ducking under the water to shake his hair out before coming back up, still smug. “You should’ve seen their faces.”

And that’s when you heard it.

Murmurs.

Voices carrying over the water, alphas speaking amongst themselves. Not mocking. Not dismissive.

Confused. Impressed.

“She really did that?”

“Shit—did you see the way she jumped? Not a second of hesitation.”

“That’s the kind of omega we need—”

“She would make a strong mate. Respect.”

Jungkook stiffened beside you, the words sinking into him like stones in a river.

They weren’t seeing you as less anymore. They weren’t seeing you as defective.

They weren’t even seeing you as just an omega.

They were seeing you.

Jungkook’s grip tightened, his body instinctively shifting between you and the voices, protective even when he didn’t need to be. Even when you had just proven, in front of everyone, that you give them a run for there money.

But then—

A dark chuckle rippled through the water.

Yoongi.

He swam up alongside Namjoon, grinning like he’d just witnessed the most entertaining shit of his life.

Namjoon, of course, was slower, more calculated, taking in the scene with sharp eyes. But even he had that look—that impressed, knowing look.

Yoongi snorted, as he floated lazily.

“And here I thought we’d have to drag you out of this hellhole. Turns out you just had to make them piss themselves a little first.”

You laughed, tilting your head back into the water, utterly breathless.

Yoongi grinned, his best gummy smile breaking across his face as he swam toward you—too close for Jungkook’s liking.

You could feel it in the way Jungkook’s fingers twitched against your skin, his body still tense from everything that had just happened. But Yoongi, as always, didn’t give a single shit.

“Still hoping you decide to leave with us by morning.” His voice was casual, but his gaze was sharp—too sharp. Like he already knew what your answer would be.

His eyes flickered past you, scanning the water.

Some of the wolves were now swimming lazily, finally relaxing, as if trying to process what they had just witnessed. Others still stood at the cliff’s edge, hesitant, trying to gather the nerve to jump.

Yoongi took it all in with one glance, then turned away. He let the water carry him toward the shore, Namjoon close behind.

As they reached land, you could still hear them talking.

“Was that really necessary?” Namjoon asked, shaking his head as he wrung water from his hair.

“What?” Yoongi chuckled. “It was fun.”

Their voices faded as they walked further inland, but their presence still lingered.

Jimin, now back on shore, had already begun talking to some of your packmates—his voice low but animated. You couldn’t hear the conversation, but the way they were listening, their stances no longer hostile or dismissive, said enough.

You exhaled slowly.

You had done it.

They were finally seeing you.

You turned, intending to swim toward land yourself, but—

Jungkook’s grip tightened.

Before you could move, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in.

The water rippled around you as he held you against him, keeping both of you afloat with ease.

His chest heaved, his breath brushing against the side of your face, his heartbeat—wild, erratic—pounding against your back.

“You’re crazy.”

His voice was low, rough around the edges, like he still hadn’t fully recovered from watching you leap off that cliff.

“Absolutely fucking crazy.”

You just smiled, tilting your head slightly to glance at him over your shoulder. “You followed me.”

Jungkook huffed, his grip tightening just a little more.

“Do you even know what you did?” His voice was quieter now, almost disbelieving.

The water swayed around you, cool and weightless, but the way Jungkook held you made it clear—he wasn’t letting go.

You had done something impossible. Something that had changed everything.

And Jungkook—his voice, his hold, his very presence—made it clear.

You weren’t getting away that easily.

You stared at Jungkook, confused.

His dark eyes were locked onto yours, his expression dead serious, as if he needed you to understand the full weight of his words.

“Do you even get what you just did?” His grip on you was firm, his voice low, almost vibrating through your bones. “You just carved yourself a fucking big place in the pack.”

You swallowed.

Jungkook’s fingers flexed against your waist.

“After this, no one is gonna talk shit about you ever again.” His voice turned almost feral, his possessiveness seeping through every syllable. “And if they do—” His jaw tensed, his muscles coiling under the water. “—my offer to break some bones still stands.”

Your face flamed, heat rushing from your chest to your ears.

You already knew what you had done. Knew what this moment meant. But hearing Jungkook say it so plainly, with such conviction, made something in your stomach twist.

You averted your gaze, suddenly shy, the high from the jump, from the run, from everything that had happened—it was still there, but this was different.

This was real.

Jungkook saw your reaction, and for the first time, a grin—soft, teasing—pulled at his lips.

He leaned in slightly, nuzzling the side of your temple in a way that made your heart stutter.

“I’m a little offended, though,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You frowned, glancing at him. “What?”

“That you planned all of this with Jimin.” He gave you an exaggerated pout, though the amusement in his voice was unmistakable. “Not me.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head.

“I was kinda hoping you’d be pissed about it.”

Jungkook scoffed, tilting his head. “Oh, I am.” His fingers tightened, his hold on you growing more possessive. “But I’m also fucking happy, so I’ll let it slide.”

A warmth spread through your chest at his words, at the raw pride in his voice. His nose brushed against your cheek, and suddenly his teasing tone vanished, replaced by something deeper, rougher.

“But you need to stop getting rid of my scent.”

Your breath hitched.

You blinked, looking up at him, pulse hammering against your ribs.

The way he said it—low, commanding, unmistakably Alpha—sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt the burn of your own blush creeping up your neck.

You scoffed, looking away. “You’re still sure about that?”

You didn’t dare ask the real question—the one pressing against your tongue, the one you were almost too afraid to hear the answer to.

Are you still sure about me?

But Jungkook understood anyway.

His growl was quiet, but it rumbled through the water like distant thunder.

And then—

He yanked you closer.

So close that you couldn’t even hold yourself afloat anymore.

But you didn’t need to.

Jungkook had you. Held you. Kept you so securely against him that there was no space between you at all—your chest pressed against his, legs tangled beneath the water, his arms locking you in a grip so unyielding it was as if he was afraid you’d disappear.

Your heart pounded as his lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot, shaky.

“I am so fucking serious about you.”

His voice was like gravel, raw with emotion, with something darker, deeper.

His fingers dug into your hips, pressing you against his solid, wet body, his scent flooding your senses despite the water.

“My omega.” His lips ghosted over your temple, his teeth grazing your skin.

��My mate.”

Your breath stuttered.

Jungkook pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes ablaze with something wild and primal.

And then—his expression shifted.

A sharp, dangerous smirk curled his lips.

“And you better give me some kind of reassurance, little one.” His grip on your waist tightened, his thumb stroking slow, firm circles into your bare skin. “Because if not, I swear to fucking god—”

His gaze flickered past you, toward the shore.

Where too many alphas were watching you now.

Some were just talking.

Some were still stunned.

And some—too many—were looking at you like they had just realized something they hadn’t before.

Jungkook’s fingers flexed against your skin, and his voice dropped to a snarl.

“I’m gonna have to fight off every single one of those bastards.”

Your eyes widened.

Jungkook wasn’t joking.

You swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of the way he was holding you—how tightly, how completely. You felt small against him, but not in a way that made you feel weak.

Just… wanted.

Protected. Claimed.

And you weren’t sure how to handle it.

You had been so ready to leave this pack—so sure that you didn’t belong here, beside your feelings.

And yet, now…

Now, Jimin was defending you, laughing with you.

Now, your pack was looking at you with something close to admiration.

Now, Jungkook was holding you like he’d never let go.

You suddenly felt shy.

Your fingers curled slightly against his chest, your body tense with something you didn’t know how to process.

You had told Yoongi you’d give your decision in the morning.

But pressed against Jungkook like this—

Surrounded by the approval you’d craved your whole life—

Jungkook let out a soft huff, sensing your hesitation, sensing how overwhelmed you felt.

And just like that, the tension in his body eased.

He wouldn’t push you.

Instead, he just nudged his nose against your cheek, inhaling softly.

“At least…” His voice was lower now, rough but gentle. “Don’t get rid of my scent again.”

Your stomach flipped.

You blushed harder, looking away.

Jungkook chuckled.

“It should keep most of the other wolves away from you.”

And with that, he guided you toward the shore, leading you to land.

Leading you closer to Jimin, to his friends.

Your face was burning.

Not from embarrassment, but from the way so many eyes were on you now.

For the first time in your life, your pack wasn’t just looking past you, through you, around you.

They were seeing you.

And not just your pack.

Jimin was in the middle of a dramatic retelling to a group of alphas and betas, his hands waving wildly as he animatedly described how you had thrown him over your shoulder and sent him crashing into the ground.

And the moment you had first jumped—reckless, wild, free.

Some wolves were still hesitant, still adjusting their views of you. But others…

You could see it. The shift.

You still weren’t what they would call a normal omega.

Your scent wasn’t alluring in the way omegas were supposed to be. It wasn’t sweet, wasn’t gentle.

But the first time ever, you weren’t some defect to pity—you were something else entirely.

Something bold. Daring. Fearless.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel like an outsider.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The festival was in full swing now.

The massive campfire at the center of the grounds blazed high, its flames crackling into the night air. Shadows flickered across the gathering of wolves—packs mingling, old rivalries being temporarily set aside, stories being shared.

And for the first time, you weren’t standing on the sidelines.

You were part of it.

You had changed into dry clothes, the warmth of the fire against your skin soothing after the cold water. Most of your pack had done the same, and as you stood watching the fire rise, the hum of conversation around you shifted.

People wanted to talk to you now.

Not just Jungkook, not just Jimin.

Other omegas had started approaching you, their eyes gleaming with something new—admiration, curiosity.

One of them, a smaller omega named Hana, grinned at you, her eyes flickering mischievously.

“You know, I might be a little jealous of you.”

You blinked.

Jungkook—standing close enough to touch, but still giving you space, space for them to approach—stilled.

Hana smirked at your confusion.

“Your scent.” She gestured toward you, shaking her head. “It’s so faint—barely there unless someone’s really trying to find it.” She huffed. “Do you know how perfect that is for sneaking up on people? It’s not fair. I could never get away with half the shit you probably can.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“Trust me, it wasn’t exactly a blessing before today.”

Jimin suddenly joined the conversation, his arm draping lazily around your shoulders as he smirked at Hana.

“Yeah, but let’s be real.” He squeezed your shoulder, his voice mock-serious. “I never had a single chance of finding her. Not without Jungkook’s scent still on her.”

Your eyes snapped to Jungkook, who immediately tensed.

Hana’s gaze widened in realization, before giggling.

“Oh my god. That’s true, isn’t it?”

And then—to your horror—she turned to Jungkook, her grin mischievous.

“So is that why she smells like you? So she can’t get lost or so she can’t be a menace?”

Jungkook grumbled something, crossing his arms.

And then—as if on cue—two of Jungkook’s friends, Seokjin and Hoseok, swooped in.

Hoseok pretended to be concerned, his brows furrowing dramatically.

“That’s actually kind of dangerous.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “What if we can’t find her next time?”

Jimin grinned, his eyes flicking to you.

“Obviously, we need to just scent her at least twice a day from now on. You know, for safety reasons.”

“The hell you will,” Jungkook snapped.

Seokjin grinned wide.

“Fine, then. Jungkook needs to do it.”

The group erupted into laughter.

Your entire face went up in flames.

Jungkook growled.

Not because he was angry, but because he was watching you blush so fucking beautifully, and it was driving him insane.

Hoseok clapped a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, his smile all teeth.

“No choice now, man. It’s for the good of the pack.”

Jungkook just exhaled, watching you.

Watching the way you laughed, the way you tried to hide your burning face, the way you fit so perfectly here now.

The festival was still alive with laughter, music, and the steady crackle of the bonfire. The flames flickered high, casting golden light over the gathered wolves, shadows dancing across their faces as voices rose in conversation. The scent of roasted meat, woodsmoke, and the mingling scents of different packs filled the air.

And for the first time, you stood at the center of it all.

Wolves kept approaching you—some curious, some excited, some just plain in awe.

Many of them were omegas, their expressions filled with something that made your chest ache—admiration, maybe even relief.

One, a tall girl with soft brown curls, hesitated before stepping forward, her eyes darting around nervously before settling on you.

“I just—” She took a breath. “I just wanted to say thank you. For what you did today.”

Your brows lifted. “Thank me?”

She nodded.

“I’ve… I’ve always been scared to do things like that. To fight back. To push my limits.” She swallowed, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “But after today, I think—no, I know—I want to be stronger. So… thank you.”

A strange warmth settled in your chest, and you opened your mouth to respond—

Only for another omega, a smaller boy with freckles across his nose, to step in, grinning.

“You made all the alphas shit themselves a little, too.”

Laughter rippled through your little group.

“It’s true,” another voice chimed in—this one deeper, a beta with sharp features and amused eyes. “I heard one of the Silverfang alphas muttering about ‘unstable omegas’ and looking like he’d swallowed a lemon.”

That made you laugh.

You had never thought you’d see the day when people looked at you like this—like you were something more than a fragile thing meant to be protected, claimed, or controlled.

And then—of course—some of the more cocky alphas had to make an appearance.

One of them—a broad-shouldered guy from another pack—strolled up, arms crossed, smirking.

“Alright, alright, we get it. You’re a badass. But let’s not pretend like you’re some kind of invincible warrior.”

But before you could say anything—

“Shut the fuck up, Taejin,” someone cut in sharply.

You blinked.

It hadn’t been Jungkook or even Jimin.

It was one of your own packmates—a beta, normally quiet, his eyes flashing in annoyance.

And just like that, the tension in your shoulders unraveled. Because it wasn’t just you standing up for yourself anymore. Your pack had started defending you, too. Taejin raised his hands in mock surrender, but the cocky edge in his smirk faded.

Jungkook, who had been watching all of this closely, relaxed a little.

He had stayed close to you all night—a constant presence at your side. But unlike before, he didn’t try to pull you away, didn’t try to stake his claim or keep you isolated.

He let your pack come to you.

Let them befriend you like he should have let happen ages ago.

And yet—he never strayed far.

Even as you laughed, even as you talked, his warmth was always there, lingering just close enough to remind you he was watching, waiting.

But giving you the space to choose.

The fire had burned lower, the embers glowing red and gold against the dark night. The steady hum of conversation had softened as wolves either drifted off to sleep or curled together in smaller groups, talking in low voices.

Across the clearing, Namjoon and Yoongi stood at the edge of the festival grounds, watching the interactions unfold.

Watching you.

Namjoon let out a slow breath, arms crossed over his chest.

“You still think she’ll come with us?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Yoongi didn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes traced the scene in front of him—your pack, gathered around you, laughing, talking, nudging your shoulder like they should have years ago.

Jungkook was close, but not overbearing.

He wasn’t acting like he was claiming you.

But he was there.

Hovering at just the right distance, never letting you out of his sight.

Yoongi hummed, taking his time before replying.

“… Nah,” he finally said, slow and thoughtful. “I wish—but now that they see her? I don’t think they’ll let her go.”

Namjoon let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

“You should have let her win easily and asked her afterward.”

At that, Yoongi let out a sharp huff of amusement, tilting his head in acknowledgment.

“Probably.” His gaze slid back to you. Then, without meaning to, he felt another set of eyes on him.

Jungkook.

Yoongi smirked when he saw the younger wolf shift his weight, his expression darkening slightly in that subtle, protective way.

Then, without looking away from Jungkook, Yoongi muttered, “Yeah, but look how happy she seems.”

Namjoon followed his gaze—to you.

Your laughter carried through the air, light and carefree, as you elbowed Jimin for whatever joke he had made. One of your packmates had an arm slung around your shoulders, and someone else—an omega from another pack—was leaning in, their expression open and friendly.

For the first time, you looked like you belonged.

Namjoon sighed. “Yeah… I see it.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

As the night stretched on, the festival slowed.

Wolves started retreating into their tents, exhaustion creeping in after the long day. Some alphas, already paired with their mates, had wandered off well before now, their scents lingering in the air—faint traces of warmth, affection, and possessiveness all mixed together.

The fire had burned low, leaving the clearing bathed in shadows and dying embers. Jungkook, who had been watching you the entire night, felt something in his chest shift when you finally let out a yawn, stretching your arms above your head.

You were tired.

Ready to go to bed.

But when you grabbed your bag and started walking—not toward the main cluster of tents, but toward the farthest edge of the camp—Jungkook’s stomach dropped.

Your tent was too far away.

His jaw clenched as he followed you with his eyes, something uneasy curling in his gut.

He had been fine—or at least, he had convinced himself he could be fine—letting you go to sleep on your own if your tent had been close to your pack.

But now?

Now, he couldn’t.

Now, you weren’t just an omega.

You weren’t just some outsider anymore.

You had half the alphas in the festival either intrigued by you, impressed by you, or already considering how they could get close to you.

And you had barely a scent to track you.

Jungkook’s entire body tensed.

There was no fucking way he was letting you sleep alone.

Not out here.

Not tonight.

Before you could disappear into the dark, Jungkook was already moving.

Jungkook appeared beside you so suddenly that you startled, your tired mind still caught in the comfortable haze of warmth from the festival fire. You blinked at him, eyes a little bleary, surprised despite knowing he'd been near you all night.

“Jungkook?” you murmured, slowing your steps slightly.

His expression was stiff, his jaw set—like he was uncomfortable with what he was about to say.

“Your tent,” he said, voice low. “It’s too far off.”

You frowned, glancing toward the darkened corner of the camp where your tent had been set up. The spot had been chosen deliberately—back when your pack still saw you as an inconvenience, something to be pushed to the outskirts so they wouldn’t have to deal with you.

Some of Jungkook’s friends had even joked about it earlier.

“We put you so far away, we don’t even have to see you,” someone had muttered, back when the festival had just begun.

Jungkooks lips pressed into a thin line, and his grumble was almost frustrated, as he saw you hesitate. “Yeah, I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “When we were setting up for the festival, I thought it was funny. I laughed about how we put you so far away.”

His fingers twitched.

“Now, I fucking hate it.”

Your chest tightened.

Jungkook shifted closer. “You can’t sleep there.”

His voice left no room for argument.

Your gaze flickered back to the tent, then to him.

“Why not?”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed.

“It’s not safe.”

For some reason, that made you snort.

You were an omega—but tonight had proven that you weren’t the fragile, helpless thing some of them still thought you were. And Jungkook knew that better than anyone.

So you lifted a brow, lips twitching.

“Then where do you think I should sleep?”

The moment the words left your mouth, Jungkook froze.

And then—

He blushed.

Furiously.

A dark, red flush crept up his throat, warming his ears, his cheeks, his entire face.

He looked caught.

You still hadn’t said anything about becoming his mate. You hadn’t even said if you were going to stay with his pack.

And yet—

Jungkook swallowed hard, ears still burning.

“It’s fine,” he said stiffly. “I’ll just keep watch.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“Oh?” you mused, your lips quirking at the edges. “You’re going to stay up all night? Watching my tent?”

Jungkook glared.

“Don’t try to change my mind.” His voice dropped lower, more serious. “I’m watching over my mate.”

Your breath caught.

Jungkook’s eyes burned into yours, steady and unwavering.

His next words sent a shiver down your spine.

“I saw how some of the others looked at you.”

His jaw clenched.

“So yeah. I’m keeping watch.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Jungkook had been content.

It had been about thirty minutes—long enough for you to shuffle around inside your tent before going still. Long enough for him to settle into his post, his arms crossed as he kept watch over the darkened festival grounds. He had already caught the lingering scents of alphas from other packs passing too close for his liking. They had turned away eventually, but Jungkook wasn’t sure if it was because of his scent keeping them at bay or if they had just changed their minds.

Either way, he wasn’t risking it.

So he stayed put.

The night air was crisp but not unbearable, the distant sounds of celebration fading into the soft crackling of the massive bonfire still burning at the center of the camp.

Jungkook exhaled slowly.

And then—

Movement.

His ears twitched as he heard rustling from inside your tent. Even before you poked your head out, he was already looking at you.

Your sleepy, skeptical gaze met his.

“You really wanna sit there the rest of the night?”

Jungkook didn’t even hesitate.

He nodded.

Your annoyance was immediate. You huffed, rubbing your forehead like he was being unreasonable.

“Do you at least want to get yourself a blanket?”

Jungkook only grinned. “Not risking it.”

You groaned, exasperated.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, your entire body tensing like you were debating something serious.

Then—

You sighed.

Your expression flattened, your lips pressing into a thin line.

And then you muttered, “Fine. Come inside.”

Jungkook froze.

His brain short-circuited.

Had you just—

His heartbeat stuttered.

And then—

You disappeared back inside.

Jungkook sat there, stunned, staring at the now-closed flap of your tent.

Had you just invited him in?

For a solid heartbeat, he didn’t move.

Then—after another sharp glance around the area, his ears straining for any nearby movement—he rose to his feet.

And followed you inside.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Part 3

#jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jungkook bts #bts #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jeon jungguk #bts stories #jungkook fanfic #jjk x reader

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sweetvoidstuff · 15 days ago

Text

Where You Belong - Part 1

Jungkook x Reader I Werwolf x Werwolf I Mates I Slow Burn I Asshole JK I Supernatural Romance I Yoongi I Violence

Word Count: 35K (all Parts)

Masterlist

Well, I wanted to post this as one, but Tumblr won’t let me…again... so I’ll be posting Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 back to back. Sorry about that! Hope you still enjoy it!

Part 2 I Part 3

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The air was thick with the scent of wolves—dominant, eager, waiting for the blood and spectacle that the Great Festival promised. Fires burned high, casting flickering shadows on the hardened faces of warriors, their fur bristling under the golden glow of the full moon. Packs from all across the region had gathered, their strongest fighters ready to prove their dominance.

You had never belonged here.

The festival was a celebration of strength, a chance for alphas to assert their power, for betas to prove their worth. And yet, here you were, thrust into the lineup not because of your skill or beauty or alluring scent but because Jungkook and his friends thought it would be amusing to watch you struggle.

"Try not to embarrass us too much," Jungkook sneered, arms crossed over his broad chest as he loomed over you. His sharp brown eyes glowed faintly in the firelight, his lips curled in the smirk you had grown to hate. "But don't go down too fast either. Wouldn’t want the others thinking our pack raises cowards."

His friends snickered beside him. Jimin clapped a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, his grin wide. "If the beta kills her by accident, at least it'll save us the trouble."

It was the same cruelty as always, the same reminders that you were nothing in their eyes. The only omega in the lineup, your presence was already an insult to the tradition of the festival. Not just an omega, a half-blood with barely any pheromones, You had been chosen simply because, should you fall, no one would care.

But you cared.

Your father had taught you better than that. He had taught you that strength wasn’t just muscle or dominance—it was resilience, skill, and the will to stand when others wanted you on your knees. And right now, in front of the whole festival, you would not kneel.

The first match of your pack had gone to Jungkook, as expected. He had torn through his opponent without breaking a sweat, his wolf a fearsome sight of black fur and burning rage. Jimin had followed, his win just as decisive. Now, it was your turn.

Jungkook’s voice was low, meant only for you, Jimin, and the betas standing nearby.

"Request to fight in wolf form."

The weight of his words pressed into you, unspoken consequences laced between each syllable. He didn’t bother explaining himself, didn’t need to. You already understood. A fight in wolf form was chaos—claws, fangs, and wild instincts taking over. It would drag the match out longer, and that’s all Jungkook wanted from you.

A spectacle. A joke.

Not giving him a reason to lash out at you, you only nodded. Submission, on the surface. But your decision had already been made.

Stepping into the ring, your heart pounded against your ribs, adrenaline pulsing under your skin. Min Yoongi, a beta from another pack stood across from you, relaxed but watchful, the golden glow of his eyes sharp and curious. He was smaller than most betas, lean rather than bulky, but you weren’t fooled by that. He had no stake in your humiliation, no reason to hate you. But he would fight you seriously—that much you could tell.

The elder overseeing the match raised his voice, echoing across the festival grounds. "Omega, how will you fight?"

Jungkook’s burning gaze drilled into the side of your face, Jimin beside him watching expectantly. They thought they had you cornered, controlled. That you’d obey, as you always had.

You turned to the elder and, with a steady voice, declared, "Human-to-human fight."

A hush fell over the gathered wolves. While fighting in wolf form was a spectacle, but fighting as humas was always more brutal.

Jungkook cursed under his breath, barely audible, but you felt it like a lash against your spine. His fingers twitched at his sides, his entire body stiff with frustration. You weren’t supposed to do that.

Jimin clicked his tongue in irritation. "Loves making things harder for herself, doesn’t she?"

Yoongi let out a quiet exhale, tilting his head slightly. His gaze flickered between you and Jungkook, your pack, taking in the way the air crackled with silent fury. His lips curled just slightly, as if amused.

The elder hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Very well. Human-to-human combat it is."

Jungkook said nothing, but the rage rolling off him was suffocating. This wasn’t just defiance. This was a direct, rejection of his order. But with the entire festival watching, he had no way to retaliate. Not yet.

And that was enough for you. Now he couldn’t make a joke out of you. They needed to look at you.

The moment the fight started, you dropped into a boxing stance—knees bent, fists up, weight balanced just right. It wasn’t the stance of a desperate omega trying to survive. It was the stance of a fighter.

Yoongi’s golden eyes flickered with intrigue before he lunged.

He was fast. Most betas were. But you had spent years dodging, training. You saw the way his shoulder twitched before a punch, the slight shift in his weight before a kick. You blocked the first hit with a quick guard, absorbing the impact, then pivoted to avoid the second.

A sharp jab came for your ribs—you twisted, catching his wrist mid-motion before driving your own fist into his gut. Yoongi exhaled sharply but laughed under his breath.

Jungkook had expected you to crumble within seconds, to be thrown around like a ragdoll, but you weren’t going down easy. You weren’t going down at all.

Each punch you took, you gave back just as hard. Like your father had trained you too.

He had done it not because he wanted you to fight, but because he had known—before you even understood it yourself—that the world around you would never be kind. You were a child of love, raised by a human mother and a wolf father, but love did not shield you from cruelty. Your peers had never accepted you. They rejected your scent, your blood, your place among them. And though your father had tried to seek help, even from his oldest friend—Jeon Hyunkook, Jungkook’s father—the response had been... disappointing.

All he could do was make you strong.

So, he trained you. Relentlessly. In secret. In the quiet hours of the morning and the long stretches of night, he taught you how to block, how to counter, how to never cower, how to never take a hit without returning one twice as vicious. You didn’t want to fight your pack – but he made sure if you ever needed to, you could.

And now, as Yoongi came at you again, fists cutting through the air with practiced precision, you moved the way your father had taught you. Your body absorbed the impact of his blows, but you struck back just as hard, just as fast.

Jungkook, from where he stood, froze.

It was the stance. The positioning of your feet, the way your weight shifted with every hit—it was familiar. It wasn’t just some random street-fighting technique. It was his father’s.

The same stance Jungkook had been trained in. The same one he had watched his father and his father’s best friend use when they had sparred together in their youth.

For the first time in years, Jungkook saw you with something other than disdain.

He saw you in awe.

The realization hit him like a hammer to the chest. You weren’t just throwing punches wildly, trying to survive. You were trained. Disciplined. Dangerous.

And the fact that he had never noticed before—that he had spent years mocking you, pushing you down, underestimating you—made something twist inside him.

Jungkook clenched his jaw. His nails bit into his palms as he watched you, his pulse pounding.

Who the fuck were you?

And why the hell had he never seen you like this before?

Jungkook was still as stone. His hands were clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, the muscles in his jaw flexing. His entire body was tense, shoulders squared, but his face—his face was unreadable.

Jimin, standing beside him, glanced over and smirked. He had spent years watching Jungkook sneer at you, ridicule you, not caring that the pack treated you like dirt beneath their paws. So, naturally, he assumed Jungkook’s silence was rage.

He chuckled, low and amused, before tilting his head toward the fight. “Man, this is embarrassing,” he drawled, loud enough for the surrounding wolves to hear. “An omega actually putting up a fight? What’s next, they gonna start challenging alphas?”

A few of the betas snickered.

But Jimin wasn’t really trying—his words lacked their usual venom. Because the truth was, you weren’t losing. And it was hard to mock someone who wasn’t just surviving but holding their own.

Still, he tried.

“Maybe Yoongi’s just going easy on her,” Jimin mused, tilting his head. “Bet he—”

“Shut the fuck up, Jimin.”

Jungkook’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

Jimin blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I said shut up,” Jungkook snapped. His eyes were sharp, dark, something unreadable burning beneath them. Jimin studied his expression, confused. Jungkook’s usual cocky smirk was gone. He wasn’t sneering, wasn’t watching with amusement. He was just... watching.

Jimin’s lips parted slightly as he realized it. Jungkook wasn’t mad. He wasn’t disgusted. Jungkook watched you fight—his own father’s technique in every block, every strike, every calculated movement—he had to face a truth he had never considered before.

You were by far a normal omega, but you weren’t nothing.

In fact, your technique might even be better than his own.

Because while Jungkook had always had his strength, his dominance, his powerful wolf to fall back on, you never did. You had no overwhelming physical advantage, no alluring sent to bewitch, no natural-born dominance to carry you through a fight. Every skill, every movement, every counterstrike you delivered had been honed through sheer necessity.

You had never had the luxury of relying on brute force.

You had only ever had your precision.

And that made you lethal.

Jungkook’s smirk had long since faded. He was frozen, watching the fight unfold with something that wasn’t amusement anymore—it was shock. Disbelief. You were an omega, the weakest of the weak, someone that normally would be protected, but here you were, fighting like you had something to prove.

Maybe you did.

You barely felt your feet hit the ground before you were launching forward, meeting Yoongi’s charge. Flesh met flesh. His fist slammed against your ribs, rattling your bones, but you didn’t buckle. You didn’t fucking falter. Instead, you twisted with the impact, riding the force, and then swung back—

CRACK.

Yoongi came at you again, but this time, you met him halfway, slamming into his chest with a hard shove. Your voice tore from your throat before you even realized you were screaming—

"If you want me down, you have to do fucking better!"

Jungkook felt the words strike something deep inside him, because he knew—he knew—that you weren’t screaming at Yoongi. You were screaming at him, the boy who had spent years mocking you. At the Alpha who had made sure you stayed beneath his boot. At the pack that had treated you like nothing more than a whisper of a wolf, a mistake of mixed blood, something not even worth the dirt beneath their paws.

And yet—here you were.

Standing in the ring. Thriving in the fight.

You weren’t just holding your own.

You were fucking commanding it.

Yoongi, to his credit, only grinned. His gaze burned with something wild, something dark and delighted. He lifted a hand to his lip, swiping away the smear of blood, his teeth flashing as he let out a short, breathless laugh.

“Oh, fuck yes,” he exhaled, nodding at you.

Then, without another word, he launched himself at you again.

Your fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. His mouth split open, blood speckling the air, but the bastard only grinned.

He moved fast—too fast. You barely had time to register his next strike before pain exploded along your temple, a white-hot flash in your vision. You staggered back, breath heaving, sweat dripping into your eyes, but you refused to give him another second.

You lunged.

Your knee rammed into his gut, forcing a guttural grunt from his throat. Yoongi gritted his teeth, hands snapping out like a viper—he grabbed you by the wrist, twisting viciously, but you let it happen. Let your body move with it, rather than against it, spinning into his hold.

Then you drove your elbow into his ribs.

He let out a sharp oof, his grip loosening just enough—just fucking enough—for you to wrench yourself free. Your feet barely hit the ground before you struck again.

A left hook.

A right jab.

A kick to his side so hard his breath hitched.

Yoongi laughed through the pain, his eyes burning like dying embers in the torchlight.

“Fuck, you hit harder than most of the alphas I’ve fought,” he panted, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.

His hand came away red.

So did yours.

Your knuckles—split open. Raw. The skin torn, blood dripping down your fingers in sluggish trails. Every punch you threw sent a fresh wave of pain up your arms, but it wasn’t enough to stop you.

Because Yoongi looked just as bad.

His own knuckles were just as ruined, just as bloody. There was a gash above his brow, leaking a slow, thick trail of crimson down his cheek, and his lip was swollen where your punch had landed earlier. His breath came sharp, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his chin. His silver hair was a mess, strands sticking to his forehead, tangled and wild.

And fuck—you were sure you looked just as wrecked.

Your head throbbed. Your ribs ached. Sweat stung your eyes. You could taste blood in your mouth—bitter, coppery, your own and Yoongi’s.

And yet—

And yet, your lips curled.

A slow, dangerous, feral grin.

The rage. The hunger. The fire in your blood that they had tried to smother since the day you were born.

And Yoongi—Yoongi fucking loved it.

“You could give up?” you asked sweetly.

You flexed your bloodied fingers. Lifted your hands again. Set your stance.

And Yoongi did the same.

“And miss this?” a gummy smile so contrasting to your situation appeared on Yoongi’s lips.

A sharp strike to your stomach—your body bent, but you retaliated with a brutal uppercut, sending Yoongi stumbling. You barely had time to straighten before he came back at you, his foot hooking behind your ankle, trying to take you down—

But you caught yourself—barely—your fingers scraping against the dirt, twisting your body at the last second to break free. You didn’t stop moving, even as you saw Yoongi’s fist flying straight for your face—

You ducked. Just in time.

His knuckles whistled past your ear. Your hair whipped in the force of the motion, and without thinking—without even meaning to—you laughed.

A breathless, wrecked, exhilarated laugh.

Yoongi’s sharp gaze snapped to you.

And something flickered in his expression—recognition. Understanding. Approval.

And then—he laughed too.

Just like that, it was no longer just a fight.

Jungkook, standing on the sidelines, did not know what the fuck he was feeling.

Couldn’t understand why his fingers were digging into his crossed arms.

Couldn’t comprehend why the sight of you—bloody, grinning, wrecked but refusing to fall—was making something in his chest coil, tight, too tight.

He should have been irritated. Furious. Should have wanted to throw you out of the ring himself for the audacity of standing toe to toe with a beta.

But instead—

Instead, he watched the way you grinned through the blood and sweat.

The way your eyes burned, your whole body thrumming with fire.

The way you and Yoongi relished the violence, reveled in the clash of fists and force, as if the rest of the world didn’t even exist.

And it made something dark and possessive curl in his stomach.

Why the hell couldn’t he look away.

Jimin shifted beside him, still watching the fight, and huffed. “They’re really enjoying this, huh? Kinda twisted for an omega, don’t you think?”

Jungkook’s teeth ground together.

Yoongi hit the ground hard.

The impact sent a shockwave through the dirt, dust kicking up as his back slammed against the packed earth. You didn’t let him breathe.

The moment he fell, you were on him.

Your thighs locked around his waist, knees digging into his sides, pinning him down with everything you had left. His wrists were caught in your hands, shoved down against the dirt beside his head. His breath was ragged beneath you, his chest rising and falling in rapid heaves, muscles taut as if he was considering another attempt to throw you off—

But he didn’t.

For the first time in the fight, Yoongi’s struggle faltered.

For the first time, he couldn’t move.

Your breath came in ragged gasps. Sweat dripped from your chin onto his bruised chest. Your arms ached, your knuckles raw and split, smeared with his blood and your own.

Even the elders hesitated, as if their mouths had forgotten how to form the words. As if their brains refused to process what had just happened—that an omega had just taken down one of the strongest betas in the tournament.

The murmurs rippling through the crowd, disbelief crackling in the air like static before the elders finally—finally—called it.

“The winner—”

Their voices barely registered.

Because beneath you, Yoongi grinned.

Grinned.

Like a wild thing, like he was thrilled that you had just slammed him into the dirt and stolen the win right out of his hands.

“Shit,” he panted, his chest rising against yours, breath fanning across your face. His eyes, dark with something you didn’t quite understand, locked onto yours, something dangerously close to admiration. “That was fun.”

Jungkook felt it like a stone in his gut. This was their victory. Your victory. But as he watched you sitting over Yoongi, the way your chests heaved in sync, the way Yoongi looked at you—not like an omega, not like a weakness, but something precious like an equal—

His jaw was clenched. His lips pressed together, nearly bloodless. His dark eyes, normally sharp with ridicule whenever he looked at you, were unnervingly blank.

He should have been satisfied.

You were a win for the pack. A win for him. Not the weak, undesirable omega without a scent he thought you to be. He was supposed to look at you and feel triumphant—they had pushed you into this fight as a joke, an amusement, and now, you were something to be paraded around.

But all he could focus on was you and Yoongi.

Too close.

The way you hovered over the beta, smirking, panting, wild, covered in sweat and blood—

And the way Yoongi grinned right back at you.

Like he saw you.

Like he fucking wanted you.

Your arms ached. Your knuckles burned. Your ribs protested with every breath, but none of that mattered. You had won. With a final exhale, you rolled off Yoongi, your body hitting the ground beside him, sweat and dirt clinging to your skin. The fight had been everything. Raw, violent, unhinged—but for the first time, it hadn’t been survival.

It had been yours.

Beside you, Yoongi groaned, the sound thick with exhaustion but laced with satisfaction. “Fuck,” he muttered, running a bloodied hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Haven’t had a fight like that in a long time.”

You let out a breath that could almost be called a laugh. Your body was shaking, but not from fear—from the rush, the fire still licking at your veins.

Yoongi shifted, groaning again as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Almost instantly, his pack was there. Hands reached out to help him, guiding him upright, murmuring words of approval, of camaraderie. They even respectfully nodded at you.

And your pack?

Nothing.

Not a single hand. Not a single voice.

Jimin, standing beside Jungkook, scoffed. “Well, that was fucking unexpected.” His tone was light, amused, but there was an edge to it. “Guess even mutts can learn a few tricks.”

Jungkook didn’t respond.

Jimin’s smirk wavered slightly as he glanced at Jungkook, expecting to see him pleased—expecting to see that familiar condescension in his leader’s gaze.

But Jungkook’s expression was strange.

Unreadable.

His jaw was tight, his body coiled like a wire pulled too taut, his eyes locked on you and Yoongi.

Because Yoongi was reaching for you.

Still breathing hard, still wearing that goddamn grin, Yoongi turned toward you, extending a hand.

You hesitated.

Not because you didn’t want help—but because no one had ever offered it. And Yoongi must have noticed because something flickered across his face, something that almost looked like understanding. He didn’t move his hand away, just waited.

So you took it.

Yoongi’s grip was firm, warm, grounding. He pulled you up, steadying you when your legs threatened to buckle from exhaustion. And yet, he didn’t let go.

Not right away.

His fingers lingered, thumb brushing over the bloodied skin of your knuckles, something unreadable in his gaze.

And Jungkook hated it.

His hands twitched at his sides, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he watched the way Yoongi held onto you for just a second too long.

And then, to make it worse—to make everything worse—

Min fucking Yoongi opened his mouth.

Yoongi leaned in slightly, voice low but sure, eyes locked onto yours as he said—

“You should come with me.”

Before you could answer, Jungkook was suddenly there.

At your side.

It wasn’t aggressive, not like the countless times before when he had shoved you to the ground, knocked you aside like you were nothing—like you were less than nothing.

This time, it was gentle.

A simple brush of his shoulder against yours as he stepped closer, a slow, deliberate motion. Not enough to push you, not enough to hurt. Just enough to touch.

Just enough to get his scent on you.

The contact was brief, but the effect was immediate. His scent clung to your skin, seeping into you like a brand, the undeniable mark of an alpha on an omega. And not just any omega—you.

The weak one. The freak. The nobody.

For years, your pheromones had been barely detectable—too diluted, too faint, the consequence of your human mother’s blood. No one had ever tried to scent you before. No one had ever wanted to.

And yet, Jungkook just had.

You stiffened.

His voice was low, controlled, but sharp as a blade.

“She’s already claimed.”

Yoongi turned to Jungkook, his gaze unreadable.

You turned too, but unlike Yoongi, you didn’t hide your confusion.

What the hell had he just said?

What the hell had he just done?

Your pack didn’t want you. Jungkook sure as hell didn’t want you. He and his friends had made that clear for years—mocking you, pushing you down, humiliating you. Reminding you at every turn that you were beneath them, an omega barely worth acknowledging. They had treated you like a burden since the day you were born.

And yet, the moment someone—anyone—saw you, Jungkook took it away.

You could almost laugh.

Not because you actually found this funny, but because what the fuck else were you supposed to do? It wasn’t like you had planned to pack your things and leave.

No, you were sure that they would’ve already had your things packed for you.

But now? Now you weren’t even allowed this?

Jungkook wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were locked onto Yoongi, his expression calm—too calm. Like steel pulled so tight it was moments away from snapping.

“Claimed?” Yoongi’s voice was slow, skeptical.

His gaze flickered from you to Jungkook, sharp with something dangerous. “That’s funny,” he said lightly. “Because for someone who’s supposedly claimed, she looks just as confused as I am.”

Jungkook didn’t respond.

His jaw was locked tight, his entire body radiating something just barely restrained.

Jimin, still at his side, gave a half-hearted scoff. “Hah. Well, she’s not as worthless as we thought.”

Jungkook’s head snapped toward him so fast Jimin actually stepped back. But before anyone could challenge him further, a new voice cut through the tension.

Namjoon.

From the other side of the ring, the beta’s alpha—Yoongi’s alpha—had been watching. And now, the moment Jungkook spoke those words, he stepped forward.

Jungkook did not look at him.

But Namjoon looked at Jungkook, hard.

“You don’t get to throw that word around lightly, Jeon,” Namjoon said. His voice was even, calm—but beneath it heavy with authority, there was a weight. A warning. “She isn’t claimed. And if you’re saying otherwise now, you better have a damn good reason.”

Jungkook’s muscles coiled beneath his skin.

You could almost feel the conflict raging inside him. He was trapped. If he admitted the truth—that he had never given you a second thought before today—then you would have the right to leave.

To leave him.

To go to Yoongi.

And that, apparently, was something Jungkook was unwilling to let happen. His hand found your wrist. A grip on your wrist, tight, possessive.

Jungkook still didn’t acknowledge Namjoon.

“We’re done here,” Jungkook bit out, finally breaking his silence. “She needs her wounds checked.”

“Come on,” he muttered, already pulling you away. Already making the choice for you.

You tried to yank your arm back. “What the—?”

“Your wounds,” Jungkook cut you off, voice flat. “I’m checking them.”

You fought him.

Not outright—you weren’t that reckless. But you resisted.

Jungkook’s grip was tight around your wrist as he dragged you through the festival grounds, his body tense, his pace relentless. You pulled back, twisting your arm, trying to slip free without making a scene.

But his hold didn’t budge.

Not once.

Your breath came ragged, your body protesting every movement. The fight with Yoongi had left you battered—your lip was swelling, the metallic taste of blood coating your tongue. You could feel it—warm and sticky—dripping down your cheek from somewhere near your temple. Every step made your ribs ache, your knuckles screamed, and still, Jungkook pulled you forward, unyielding.

You didn’t speak.

The medical tent loomed ahead, tucked at the edge of the festival grounds. When Jungkook reached it, he finally stopped, releasing your wrist with a sharp exhale.

For a moment, you considered questioning him.

But then you saw his face—his expression sharp, his gaze hard, his whole body radiating a quiet, dangerous frustration. And suddenly, your words caught in your throat.

Your whole body hurt. You didn’t want a confrontation.

So you stayed silent.

But Jungkook wasn’t.

“You went against my order.”

His voice was low, but there was no mistaking the anger behind it.

“You were supposed to fight in your wolf form.”

You blinked.

For a second, you thought you had misheard.

Of all things—was this what he was pissed about? Not that you had won, not that you had shown a strength none of them ever thought you possessed, not that another pack’s beta had seen value in you and openly invited you to leave—but that you had disobeyed? Really?!

A humorless chuckle left your lips.

Your shoulders shook with the force of it, your lungs burning. Your hands moved before you could think—pushing your hair out of your face. The motion sent a fresh wave of pain through your battered knuckles, and you winced.

But the movement disturbed the air.

And with it, your scent.

Jungkook froze.

He hadn’t meant to inhale, hadn’t meant to care—but he did. It was barely there—soft, subdued, almost fragile. Not like the other omegas—not thick with honeyed warmth, not something that lured or demanded attention, not an instinctual pull. Delicate but lingering. It smelled like something distant, something just out of reach. Like a memory trying to surface—gentle earth after the summer rain, the faintest trace of something cool and sharp, an undertone of metal from the blood that still ran from your wounds.

It had never been enough to catch his attention before. Never been enough to register.

But now, with your sweat thick in the air, with your blood mixed into it, he could smell it.

Under his scent.

Under Min Yoongi’s scent.

It was gentle. It was inviting. It was meant to protect. And it made his head spin. Jungkook’s jaw tightened. His stomach turned. Had he really never noticed before?

Or had he noticed—but never associated it with you?

Jungkook swallowed hard, shifted where he stood, suddenly restless. He hated this.

Hated that he could still smell Yoongi on you. Hated that Yoongi had touched you, that his scent had settled into your skin, that he had smiled at you like you were something worth looking at, something worth keeping. Hated how he had to fight the instinct to pull you closer. Hated how he had to stop himself from brushing against you again, grounding you in his scent until nothing else—no other pack, no other alpha—could ever stake a claim on you.

Jungkook shifted his weight, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake something loose, but it didn’t help.

You didn’t even look at him.

Instead, you were staring at the ground, lips parted slightly, split, breathing still labored from the fight. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, but steady.

“…I’m sorry for disobeying.”

Jungkook’s fists clenched. The words were soft, too soft.

You weren’t trembling, you weren’t crying, you weren’t begging—but somehow, this felt worse.

You straightened your posture, shoulders squared despite the obvious pain it caused you. Your voice didn’t waver.

“I’ll take whatever punishment you see fit, alpha,” you continued, “but I thought… I thought a win would be more beneficial for the pack.”

Jungkook just stared.

His stomach turned again.

You weren’t wrong. A win was beneficial. Even he had to admit that you had fought well—fought harder than anyone had ever expected.

And yet, here you were. Apologizing.

Not for failing. For not being weak.

Something twisted deep in Jungkook’s chest, an unfamiliar kind of discomfort. Because they had set you up for failure. But you went anyway.

And how had they repaid your devotion for your pack?

By letting you bleed alone.

By not even coming to your side when you won for them.

His stomach twisted, the weight of it all sinking in.

But then—he saw your eyes. The way you weren’t really looking at him at all.

That distant look. That lingering pain. That longing.

Like you were already thinking about something else.

Someone else.

You were already calculating your next steps, weren’t you?

Taking your punishment, enduring whatever he threw your way and then—what?

Maybe you’d go to Namjoon. He had seemed open to the idea of taking you in. Maybe you’d go to Yoongi. He had invited you. Maybe—for the first time in your life—you could be wanted somewhere.

And why not?

Jungkook understood why Yoongi had done it, what had made him say those words so openly—but the thought of you considering it made Jungkook’s hands curl into fists. Now that he got a whiff of you he didn’t want to lose it.

And you were considering it.

Jungkook’s breath caught.

He felt like an absolute fucking asshole.

His jaw locked. His shoulders stiffened.

He could force you to stay.

He was Alpha. His word was law. You were part of his pack.

He could put his claim on you by force—not Yoongi, not Namjoon, not another soul in this fucking festival—would ever dare question it.

But for once… he didn’t want to make it worse for you.

He didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know how to fix this.

Didn’t know how to make you stop looking so—like that.

That look in your eyes, that quiet, tired sadness, that distant acceptance that told him you had already started imagining your life somewhere else. Somewhere away from him.

And fuck, he hated it.

He hated that he felt anything about it at all.

Jungkook wasn’t supposed to care. He wasn’t supposed to feel this tight, aching something settle in his chest when you stood there, avoiding his gaze, looking so fucking alone.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, body taut with something too tangled to name. He didn’t understand. He didn’t get why his pulse was loud in his ears, why his throat felt tight, why he cared.

Then, without thinking—he stepped closer.

Not aggressive, not like before. Not like he was trying to intimidate you. But something else. Something… unsure. Something unfamiliar.

Something hesitant.

For a split second, his body tensed. But then you shifted—just slightly, not a step back, not a step closer. And it hit him all over again. Yoongi’s scent on you.

Jungkook didn’t like that.

Didn’t like that Yoongi’s scent had been there first. Didn’t like that he hadn’t been.

So he did what his instincts told him to.

Slowly, carefully—he lifted a hand, hesitating for a fraction of a second before he touched you.

Not rough. Not like the harsh, punishing grips from before.

Gentle.

Warm fingers brushing over your wrist before trailing up, barely there, a question more than a touch.

And when you didn’t flinch, when you didn’t move away, when you only exhaled a slow, uncertain breath in confusion—he closed the distance.

He pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a firm, solid embrace.

Your body stiffened immediately, breath catching, and for a moment, he thought you might shove him away. But then—slowly, cautiously—you exhaled, your muscles gradually unwinding as you settled against him.

Jungkook barely resisted the urge to bury his face against your neck.

To inhale deeply, to mark you with nothing but himself.

Instead, he tightened his hold just a fraction, protective, grounding.

Claiming.

It wasn’t the same as scenting you. But it was something.

Something that said—stay.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The female wolf approached, her scent warm and neutral, a balm against the suffocating weight of Jungkook’s presence. You barely heard what she was saying, barely registered the way she reached for your arm, gently guiding you deeper into the tent.

You were just relieved to be away from him.

Jungkook and his friends had spent years tearing you down, humiliating you, making sure you knew exactly where you stood. So why? Why had he hugged you, brushed his scent onto you twice in such a short amount of time?

It made no sense.

And you were too exhausted to try and make sense of it now.

Behind you, footsteps entered the tent. Yoongi. He also came to the medical tent.

He looked like shit. Bruised and bloody, his lower lip split from where your knuckles had caught him. His cheekbone was swollen, and his dark eyes flicked toward you as he exhaled, sinking onto a nearby cot.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders back. “You sure know how to land a punch.”

You huffed out something between a laugh and a groan, wincing as the healer inspected your lip as she moved you along. The sting barely registered. Your body was too numb, too exhausted.

Your mind reeled as you stepped into another part of the tent, the fabric shifting behind you, cutting off the weight of Jungkook’s gaze. You weren’t naive enough to think that this moment of peace would last—Jungkook wasn’t one to let things go. His scent was still clinging to your skin.

You shot a final glance over your shoulder that made you lock eyes with Yoongi. Yoongi eyes linger on you, posture relaxed despite the open wound on his brow still sluggishly bleeding, offering you a parting nod before you disappeared from his sight.

Jungkook tensed at that, his entire body coiling like a spring. But he said nothing, only watching as you left.

For now, you could breathe.

Meanwhile, the air inside the tent was thick enough with hostility to chock on.

Jungkook stood with his arms crossed, his shoulders drawn tight. He had been tense ever since the nurse got you, since Yoongi had stepped into the tent. Namjoon stood beside him, expression unreadable, while Jimin —fucking Jimin—, ever the mood-breaker, let out a scoff and shot Yoongi a smirk.

"Man, I still can't believe it," he snickered. "You really lost to an omega? That’s embarrassing."

Yoongi didn’t even blink.

"If that omega had been fighting you, your sorry ass would have lost too," he shot back easily, not even dignifying Jimin with a glance

Jungkook stiffened.

Jimin wasn’t expecting that answer.

He rolled his eyes, trying to recover. "Yeah, sure—”

Yoongi didn’t take the bait. Instead, the beta smirked, his gaze sharp as he glanced toward Jimin.

"You can suck a dick, man," Yoongi interrupted lazily, his tone bordering on bored. "If you really think that fight was a joke, then you're a bigger dumbass than I thought."

Jimin's expression darkened.

Jungkook's fingers twitched.

Then, Yoongis tone dropped, words hitting their mark like a well-placed strike. “If you’re too stupid to realize how fucking amazing she is, then she’s wasted in your pack.”

Jungkook froze. The words rang out like a challenge. Because for some reason, Yoongi defending you like that pissed him off more than Jimin mocking you.

Much more.

Too much.

Jimin’s expression twitched, irritation flashing in his eyes, but Jungkook barely registered it. His mind was still repeating the last thing Yoongi had said.

She’s wasted in your pack.

Something deep inside him—something primal—recoiled at the thought.

Yoongi had been watching you the entire fight, had taken every single one of your hits and still looked like he would’ve gone another round with you just for the thrill of it.

And then he had the fucking nerve to tell you to come with him.

No.

Jungkook couldn’t let that happen. Because there was something gnawing at the edges of his mind—a realization that he refused to let fully form.

He needed to put Yoongi in his place.

To tell him to back the fuck off.

To stay away from his omega—

Fuck.

The thought struck like a whip, burning through his mind like fire.

Mine.

His teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.

He hadn’t meant to think that.

Hadn’t meant to let it form.

His fingers twitched at his sides, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t join in on Jimin’s mockery.

Because he couldn’t.

Because he knew.

Yoongi was right.

You were too strong to be treated the way you were.

And yet.

Yet, he was standing here, fists curled at his sides, listening to someone else talk about you, see you, acknowledge you. Someone who wasn’t him.

And it fucking bothered him.

Namjoon, standing beside him, must have sensed the shift. His gaze flicked toward Jungkook, voice even. “Don’t start a fight.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched.

What the fuck was happening to him?

He forced himself to unclench his jaw. Forced himself to relax his stance.

Namjoon was right. And yet.

As he stood there, chest tight, body rigid, waiting for you to return, he couldn’t shake one singular, suffocating thought.

You were considering leaving.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The female wolf had been kind—efficient but distant, the way pack healers usually were when tending to someone who wasn’t truly their own. She patched you up, wrapped your bruised ribs, cleaned the gash on your lip, and handed you a bowl of cool water and a cloth.

“You can wash up before you go,” she had said, then excused herself.

You should have been relieved to have a moment alone, but as you ran the damp cloth over your skin, wiping away the grime of sweat and blood, you hesitated.

The scent.

Yoongi’s scent still clung to you from earlier, faint but present, threaded into the fabric of your torn clothes. But the one that lingered strongest was Jungkook’s.

It had settled on your skin like a second layer, a stark contrast to how he had always treated you. His scent was warm, rich, something inherently dominant and grounding—comforting, even.

And that was the problem.

You had never thought of Jungkook as comforting.

The scent didn’t belong on you. He had no right to leave it there, and yet he had—twice.

Huffing, you pressed the cloth to your neck and scrubbed it away.

Even though a part of you—a tiny, traitorous part of you—had liked it.

But you weren’t naive. You didn’t understand why he had done it, and you weren’t about to let yourself read into something that wasn’t real.

As the last traces of him faded from your skin, you took a breath, forcing down the unease curling in your stomach. You were bandaged and clean. Ready to go.

Except…

You weren’t ready to step back into that tent.

Not with him. Not with Yoongi. Not with Namjoon, whose invitation still hung in the air, the one you weren’t sure you’d refuse.

So you did the only thing you could.

You slipped away.

Before leaving, you stopped by the healer. “Please let Alpha Namjoon and his Beta know that I’m grateful for the invitation. I’ll make a decision soon.”

And then, before the suffocating weight of that tent could pull you back in—you disappeared into the festival night.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The moment the healer returned to the tent to take care of Yoongi and relayed your message, Jungkook stopped breathing. Everything inside him went still, frozen in the suffocating grip of one brutal, searing thought.

You were considering leaving.

His ears rang. His pulse pounded against his ribs, his veins, his skull—too loud, too hot.

And then—white-hot rage.

The fuck—you slipped away?!

The fuck you would tell some other fucking beta that you were considering his offer?!

Something deep inside him snapped, cracked open, left him bare and fucking raw. His body locked up, every instinct screaming at him to move, to find you, drag you back, remind you who the fuck you belonged to.

To him.

It shouldn’t have been true. But it was.

His omega.

His fucking omega.

Not Yoongi’s. Not Namjoon’s. Not anyone else’s.

His.

Across from him, Yoongi grinned—grinned, like he already had you.

If it wouldn’t provoke war with Namjoon’s pack, he would have put the smug bastard down right then and there.

Beside him, Namjoon must have sensed it—the impending explosion—because his voice was a sharp, cutting warning.

“Jeon.”

His head snapped toward the alpha, feral.

“Don’t. Fucking. Start.”

His breath was harsh, uneven. He forced his body still, forced himself to stay put, forced himself to swallow down the hurricane raging inside him.

But his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

He needed to get away from Yoongi’s fucking stare,

Jungkook moved before he could stop himself, shoving past the tent’s threshold, out into the cool night air. The night air was cold against Jungkook’s skin, but he barely felt it. The weight in his chest—the suffocating, clawing sensation pressing against his ribs—was all he could focus on. His lungs burned from how hard he was breathing, his body rigid with tension as his mind reeled over the situation.

You were gone.

You’d slipped away.

And Jungkook was unraveling.

It wasn’t just that you’d walked off. It wasn’t just that you had managed to leave without him noticing. It was that you had done so after telling another beta—not him—but fucking Yoongi that you were considering the invitation. Leaving. The word lodged itself inside his chest like a knife twisting between his ribs, making it hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to fucking stand still and not go feral with the need to find you.

Jungkook's fingers curled into fists at his sides. His instincts clawed at him, screamed at him to hunt you down, track you, drag you back where you belonged. He didn’t even know what that meant anymore—all he knew was that the idea of you slipping further from his grasp was driving him to the brink of madness.

And then—

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Jimin’s voice cut through the thick haze of rage flooding Jungkook’s system, sharp and irritated.

Jungkook’s head snapped to the side, eyes locking onto Jimin with a barely restrained snarl curling in his throat. Jimin stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a scoff on his lips, looking at him like he was some kind of deranged idiot.

“Seriously, why the fuck do you even care so much?” Jimin asked, incredulous. His gaze burned into Jungkook like he was trying to see into his mind, trying to pick apart the tangled mess of emotions that even Jungkook himself couldn’t fully understand. “Sure, she’s not as weak as we thought, but she’s still—”

Still an abnormal omega.

Something inside Jungkook snapped.

The next thing he knew, Jimin was pinned against a tree.

Bark cracked under the force of Jungkook’s grip as he shoved Jimin back, forearm pressing into his throat. A startled grunt left Jimin’s mouth, his hands flying up to grab at Jungkook’s wrist, but he wasn’t struggling. Not yet. He was stunned. His wide eyes stared into Jungkook’s, searching, trying to process the sheer fury he saw there.

Jungkook’s voice was low, guttural, dangerous. “Say that again.”

Jimin blinked. “What—”

“Say that shit again, Jimin.” Jungkook’s fingers curled tighter in the fabric of Jimin’s shirt, his grip unforgiving. “Say she’s ‘abnormal’ one more fucking time.”

The growl that rumbled from Jungkook’s chest was borderline feral. His body trembled with the effort to contain himself, to not let his instincts rip Jimin apart.

Jimin, to his credit, didn’t back down. He let out a breath, his expression shifting from shocked to frustrated. “You act like you hate her half the time,” he bit out, his voice rough from the pressure against his throat. “You—”

“You ever say that shit about her again,” Jungkook breathed, voice guttural, deadly, “and I’ll fucking break your jaw.” The words left Jungkook’s mouth before he even realized he’d spoken them.

Jimin swallowed, but there was no mistaking the disbelief in his scent—disbelief and realization.

A heavy silence settled between them.

Jungkook’s breath was uneven, his heart hammering like war drums in his chest. He didn’t know what the fuck he was saying, what the fuck he was feeling—only that it was true.

He didn’t hate you.

But he had made you think he did—for years.

And that was worse.

Jimin’s gaze flicked over his face, looking for something—understanding, maybe. Clarity. But all he found was frustration. Confusion. Possession. Jungkook finally released his hold, stepping back abruptly. Jimin sucked in a sharp breath, rubbing at his throat, his brows drawn in exasperation.

“Shit,” Jimin muttered.

Jungkook didn’t wait to hear what else he had to say. He turned, his body thrumming with tension, his instincts screaming.

Find her.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

You were impossible to track by scent alone.

Jungkook’s breath came faster, his chest tight with something dangerously close to panic. His mind raced as he moved through the festival grounds, scanning every inch of the crowd, turning over every fucking stone. He checked the food stalls, the bonfires, the gathering circles—but you were nowhere. His frustration mounted with every passing second, the suffocating weight of the unknown pressing down on him.

And then—

He saw you.

At the edge of the festival.

Watching.

His feet halted. His breath hitched.

But he didn’t run to you.

Not yet.

Because, he saw what you were watching.

A small group from your pack—your own pack—laughing together, eating from a food stall, talking and joking and existing without you.

Like you weren’t there.

Like you weren’t one of them.

Jungkook didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He only watched you.

Watched the way you lingered on the edges, distant, separate, apart. Watched the way your shoulders slumped just slightly, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves—as if holding yourself together. Watched the way your eyes, usually sharp, usually guarded, turned soft with something somber.

Something that hurt.

And fuck—

Jungkook felt it.

Felt it in a way he had never let himself feel before.

Because deep down, he knew.

You might have been an outcast even without his bullying, but he sure as hell hadn’t helped.

Any chance you might have had at forming bonds with others—with other omegas who could have been open to you, to your differences—he had crushed with him and his friends being so openly against you.

And now, you were considering leaving.

Because you had no place here.

The air left his lungs.

And then—The wind shifted.

He caught your scent.

Subtle, light, but there.

Familiar. Calming. Now that he knew what to look for.

You felt it before you saw it—the weight of his gaze, the shift in the air. A tension, thick and charged, creeping up your spine like an unseen force tightening its grip around your throat. Your body reacted before your mind even had time to process it, muscles coiling, senses sharpening as if bracing for a fight, a command, a punishment.

And yet, when you turned your head, expecting the familiar sharpness of his scorn, the arrogant sneer that usually curled his lips, what you found instead was something entirely different.

Jungkook was walking toward you, but not like he normally did—not with the sharp, purposeful strides of an alpha ready to corner their prey. His movements were slow, measured, careful. Like he was approaching something that might spook, something fragile that he didn’t want to risk losing.

And then—he raised his hand.

Not to grab you. Not to pull you. Not to force you into submission.

But to hold it palm-out, a silent request.

Stay.

Your stomach twisted, confusion bubbling in your chest as your instincts warred with your logic. This was wrong. This wasn’t how Jungkook acted. He didn’t ask—he took. He didn’t approach with caution—he cornered. And yet, here he was, standing a short distance away, his body visibly tense but his expression void of cruelty.

Your gaze flickered over him warily, taking in the way his nose subtly twitched, the way his brow furrowed just slightly. You knew what he was doing. Smelling the air. Searching for something.

And when he didn’t find it—when his jaw ticked just barely, when his fingers curled the slightest bit before he forced them to relax—you understood.

You had washed off his scent.

The realization sent a strange kind of satisfaction through you. He didn’t look like he like it—not one bit. His scent had been stripped from your skin, erased as if he had never laid claim in the first place. But then, another realization hit just as quickly, one that made something deep inside you twist.

Yoongi’s scent wasn’t there, either.

Jungkook’s eyes flickered over you, assessing, processing. His expression barely shifted, but you knew him well enough by now to see the signs—the small, fleeting flicker of relief in his gaze, the way his shoulders lost a fraction of their tension. He hated that his scent was missing from you. But at the very least, no one else’s remained either.

You swallowed hard, torn between wanting to question him and simply pretending he wasn’t there at all. You didn’t get the chance to decide before he moved, his body lowering with an ease that felt unnatural for him, for what you were used to.

Jungkook sat beside you.

Not in front of you, not looming over you, not crowding you into submission.

Beside you.

And then, for the first time, he looked at his pack the way you did.

You weren’t sure what was more unsettling—the fact that he was sitting next to you without hostility, or the way he wasn’t part of the fun. Just watching the others with you. He wasn’t sneering. He wasn’t acting like the untouchable alpha you had always known him to be. He was simply watching. Watching them talk, watching them laugh, watching them exist together in a way you never had.

It made something sharp wedge itself inside your chest.

You didn’t know what to say.

You didn’t know what to expect.

This entire situation was too strange, too wrong. You weren’t used to being this close to Jungkook without fear. Without waiting for the ridicule, for the belittlement, for the inevitable moment he reminded you just how different you were. How much you didn’t belong.

And yet, the silence stretched. And it never came.

Instead—

“I’m sorry.”

The words were so quiet, so impossibly foreign, that you almost didn’t recognize his voice at first. Your body went rigid. Your breath caught in your throat. Your brain struggled to comprehend.

Jungkook didn’t apologize. Jungkook didn’t admit fault.

And yet, he was sitting here beside you, his gaze still fixed on the pack in front of you, his posture stiff but open. And he had just apologized.

It took a moment for you to understand—to even believe it.

But then, he continued, voice low, rough, edged with something that sounded almost hesitant.

“I misjudged you,” he admitted. His hands curled into loose fists against his thighs before he forced himself to relax them. “You’re not weak. You were just you.” His head tilted just slightly in your direction, eyes searching for yours, but you refused to meet them, your own gaze locked forward, jaw tight. He exhaled through his nose, fingers twitching. “Your scent…” His voice grew quieter. “It’s calming.”

Something inside you twisted.

You didn’t respond.

You couldn’t.

Because what the fuck were you supposed to say?

This was the man who had spent years making you feel like nothing. The man who had made sure you never had a place in your own pack, who had crushed any hope of you ever forming connections, who had made you feel like you were something to be ridiculed, avoided, dismissed.

And now, he was telling you he had been wrong.

That he was sorry.

That your scent—the very thing they had used to demean you, to remind you of how you didn’t belong—had calmed him.

Your lips parted slightly, but nothing came out. Your hands clenched against your lap, your chest tight with too many emotions, too much history, too much fucking pain.

The silence stretched between you, thick, suffocating.

Jungkook waited.

For an answer. A reaction. Anything.

The silence between you stretched impossibly long, thick with something neither of you could name. Jungkook had never been a patient man, but for once, he did not demand, did not press, did not try to force an answer from you. Maybe he thought you wouldn’t answer him at all—maybe a part of him feared you wouldn’t. And yet, even if you had chosen silence, he wouldn’t have left your side.

But then—you spoke.

Your voice was quiet, slow, careful. Not hesitant, not weak—measured.

“I am an omega,” you said, your lips parting just slightly before you pressed them together again, licking them as if trying to decide whether or not to keep speaking. You weren’t looking at him. Wouldn’t dare look at him. Not Jeon Jungkook. Not the alpha, not the son of your pack’s leader.

Not the one who, with his friends, had made sure your life had been nothing short of awful.

Not the one who had scented you today—twice.

Not the one who had apologized.

And yet, despite the fact that you refused to meet his gaze, you didn’t stop talking.

“Even unpure, I am still an omega,” you continued, the weight of those words pressing against your tongue, curling around your ribs. “I am unwanted in my own pack. Unclaimed. But I was invited.” You exhaled slowly, staring at the people in front of you, at the way they laughed, how they leaned into each other with ease. How they had everything you didn’t.

How they had never once thought to include you.

Your throat felt tight, but you forced the words out anyway.

“I was invited to join Yoongi,” you said, nodding toward them, toward everything you could have. Toward everything Jungkook had helped make sure you could never have here. “I could finally have something like this.”

Jungkook followed your gaze, watched the pack through your eyes, saw what you saw. Saw what you had been missing for so long.

And then, you turned to him.

For the first time since this conversation started, you finally looked at him.

“Why would you apologize now, Jungkook?” The words were soft, but sharp, piercing straight through him. “Can’t you just… let me go?”

Jungkook felt his lungs seize, felt something inside him coil so tight it hurt. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Because—fuck, he understood. He understood exactly what you meant, exactly what you wanted. He understood the words you were saying, the quiet plea hidden underneath them. And at the same time, he didn’t.

Because no.

He couldn’t let you go.

Jungkook clenched his jaw, fingers curling into fists against his thighs as something ugly, something primal, twisted inside him at the mere thought of you leaving, of you running to another pack, of you going to him.

The image of Yoongi’s hand gripping your wrist, of his scent lingering on your skin, of his invitation—his fucking offer—wrapped around Jungkook’s ribs like barbed wire, sinking deep, tearing at his insides, making his vision darken at the edges.

He hated it.

Hated the idea of you walking away. Hated the thought of another pack looking at you, claiming you, seeing what he had been too fucking blind to see. And for the first time, he let himself acknowledge the thought that had been clawing at the edges of his mind, the one he had been too fucking scared to face.

What if you weren’t just his omega?

What if you were—fuck.

What if you were his mate?

And he had ruined it before it could even begin?

A slow, shaky breath left his lips, his fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. He turned to you, and when you finally met his gaze, his dark eyes were filled with something heavy, something raw—something real.

Vulnerability.

“I can’t,” he admitted, voice rough, edged with something dangerously close to desperation. “I can’t let you go.”

You didn’t interrupt him.

You listened.

And Jungkook realized—you were giving him something he had never given you.

A chance.

A chance to explain. A chance to fix it.

A chance he didn’t fucking deserve.

Jungkook had never struggled with words before. He had never needed to. He was an alpha, the future leader of his pack—his presence alone commanded obedience.

But as he looked at you now, sitting stiff and guarded, waiting for him to say something worth listening to—for once, words failed him.

He didn’t know where to start.

Did he start with the moment he really saw you? The moment when the scent he had ignored for so long finally reached him properly, made his head spin?

The moment when Yoongi’s bloodied knuckles had slammed into your face, when you had spit blood onto the ground and still stood your ground?

The moment he realized that—fuck—you weren’t weak, weren’t something lesser, weren’t something meant to be mocked or scorned?

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook finally said, his voice lower than before, rougher. He wasn’t looking at you. Couldn’t. Not when he felt this exposed. This bare.

“I’m sorry that it took me so long to realize it. To really see you.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he forced himself to meet your gaze.

“I don’t think I ever wanted to see you,” he admitted, voice raw. “Not really. I told myself you were lesser. That you were different. That the way the others treated you was just—how things were supposed to be. I never questioned it. Never questioned myself.”

He hesitated, inhaling deeply, gathering his thoughts before continuing. “But when you fought—when you stood your ground—I realized I had never actually looked at you. Never tried to understand. And that—” his jaw clenched, hands curling into fists at his sides. “That was my fucking mistake.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, his expression tightening with something close to frustration. Not with you—with himself.

Jungkook had spent years pushing you aside, treating you like something beneath him, something unworthy of his attention. Now he couldn’t ignore you.

Would never ignore you again.

He inhaled, your scent reaching him, steadying something inside him. The realization had been clawing at his insides since the moment he finally noticed you, since he finally let himself notice you. And still, it was terrifying to say out loud.

Jungkook hesitated. Then—

“I don’t know what this is,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, his eyes flickering across your face, searching for something he couldn’t name. “I don’t know if I—if we—” He exhaled harshly, shaking his head. “I just know that I can’t let you go.”

Your breath caught.

Jungkook swallowed, his fingers twitching at his sides before he finally gave in, getting closer—not to crowd you, not to intimidate, but because he needed to.

“Maybe,” he said carefully, slowly, “if things had been different—if I had been different—I would have figured it out sooner.”

Your brows furrowed. “Figured what out?”

He swallowed. Hesitated—

“I could see it,” he murmured, his voice thick with something you didn’t recognize. “I could, can see myself being your mate.”

Silence.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

You stared at him, stunned, shocked, unsure whether to laugh or cry or push him away.

Jungkook… wanted to be your mate?

Jungkook, the alpha who had spent years making sure you knew your place, now wanted you?

The idea made your head spin.

Your scent spiked with uncertainty, and Jungkook felt it, saw it in the way you shifted, in the way you didn’t reach for him, didn’t lean closer despite the way his body was pulling toward yours.

But you didn’t reject him either.

Jungkook clenched his jaw, exhaling harshly, as if trying to settle something inside himself. “I don’t expect you to believe me,” he admitted, voice rough. “I don’t even expect you to forgive me.” His fists clenched at his sides, his whole body tense. “But I don’t want to lose you.”

Your lips parted, but no words came.

You didn’t know what to say.

And Jungkook, for the first time in his life, looked at you and realized—he was afraid.

Afraid that he had ruined this before it had ever begun.

His hands twitched at his sides, fighting the urge to reach for you, to grab your wrist and drag you closer, to scent you again. He wanted to. Fuck, he needed to. It wasn’t right, you walking around without his scent, without something that marked you as his. If someone else came near you, if someone tried to—

No.

He wouldn’t force it-you.

Not this time.

Not until you wanted him to.

Jungkook swallowed down the instinct, forcing himself to push past it. He got up, took a step back instead, motioning toward the festival.

“Come with me.”

You hesitated.

Jungkook didn’t blame you.

But after a moment, you moved.

You fell into step beside him, neither of you speaking as you walked deeper into the festival. Music and laughter filled the air, scents of grilled meat and spiced drinks curling into your senses. The sounds of packmates laughing, bonding made something tighten in your chest, a dull ache you had long since grown used to.

Jungkook saw the way you glanced toward a small food stall, the brief flicker of interest before you shut it down.

It was so natural, so ingrained in you to deny yourself.

Before you could pull away, before you could convince yourself you didn’t belong here, Jungkook was already moving. He pulled you toward the stall, barely giving you time to react. The vendor greeted him with a knowing smirk, already preparing something without needing to be asked.

Jungkook glanced at you, watching your reaction carefully.

"You haven’t eaten, have you?"

You tensed but said nothing. You didn’t want to admit it.

Jungkook scoffed, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. The touch was warm, careful. Not rough, not demanding. Just—grounding. Before you could argue, the vendor handed Jungkook two portions, and he pressed one into your hands, giving you no choice but to take it. You stared down at it, unsure of how to respond. Jungkook didn’t push. He just started eating his own, as if this was normal. As if it had always been this easy.

The food felt heavy in your hands.

Not because of its weight, but because of what it meant.

Jungkook had never done this before. Had never even come close. No mockery, no sharp-edged words hidden behind smirks, no underhanded glances exchanged with his friends at your expense. There was no cruelty, no trick lurking beneath the surface, waiting to snap around your throat the moment you let your guard down.

And yet—you hesitated.

Because it didn’t make sense.

Because this—this warmth, this softness, this small moment of normalcy—couldn’t be real.

For years, Jungkook had seen to it personally, had mocked and humiliated you whenever the opportunity arose. Why would he stop now? Why would he suddenly be so… kind? Did he really want you as a mate? Were you really meant for him?

It was easier—safer—to assume this was another joke. Some elaborate, twisted game where he played nice just to see if he could break you in a different way. But when you looked at him, at the way he just stood there, eating his food like this was something he had done a thousand times before, you couldn’t see it. There was no glint of amusement in his eyes, no carefully hidden malice behind his actions.

He wasn’t laughing at you.

And that made something uneasy twist in your stomach.

Because it meant you wanted to believe him.

And you didn’t know how to feel about that.

Jungkook nudged your shoulder lightly, his voice pulling you from your thoughts.

“You fought. You should eat,” he said simply. His tone was different—calmer, like this was just an obvious fact. “That’s what the others do, isn’t it? They celebrate. They enjoy the festival. You should too.”

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh, shaking your head.

“I don’t really do that,” you admitted, voice quieter than you intended. You forced yourself to keep your gaze on the food in your hands, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I don’t really… have someone to do that with.”

Jungkook stilled.

For a long, heavy moment, he didn’t say anything. But you felt it—the shift in the air, the weight of his gaze as it burned into you, the tension that coiled so tight it was suffocating. His throat bobbed, a muscle in his jaw clenching as something dark flickered across his face.

Because this—this was his fault.

He had done this to you.

Maybe not alone, but he had made sure you were alone, had pushed you so far to the edges of this pack that there was no place left for you. And now—now, he hated it.

Hated that you looked at your own pack with longing, with that quiet, resigned acceptance of your isolation. Hated that you had been forced to convince yourself you didn’t want something as simple as friendship.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his shoulders tight with the urge to reach for you, to pull you closer, to—

Jungkook swallowed hard, his voice coming out lower, rougher.

“Then celebrate with me.”

Your breath caught in your throat, fingers tightening around the food in your hands.

Jungkook must have sensed the shift in the air—or maybe, for once, he was just paying attention.

Because instead of letting the weight of your words settle between you, heavy and suffocating, he did something unexpected. He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders back as if physically shaking off the tension. Then, with a pointed tilt of his head, he motioned toward the festival stalls ahead.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice lighter now, easier. “Let’s do something fun.”

You hesitated, still off-balance from the strange, unfamiliar warmth of the moment before, but Jungkook didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed your wrist—not hard, not demanding, just firm. Certain. And before you could think to pull away, he was already leading you toward the stalls.

The air around you shifted as he walked, the tension from before unraveling with each step. The festival’s bright lanterns cast a warm glow over everything, their light flickering against the deep hues of the night sky. Packmates bustled around, laughter and cheers blending into the rhythmic hum of music. It should have felt suffocating, overwhelming even, but somehow, Jungkook made it lighter.

Like you could actually breathe.

He stopped in front of a game stall—a simple one, lined with targets and darts, where the prizes ranged from cheap trinkets to extravagant stuffed animals far too big for anyone to reasonably carry around. Jungkook crossed his arms over his broad chest, surveying the prizes with an exaggerated air of contemplation before glancing at you.

“So,” he drawled, his tone dipping into something playfully arrogant, “what should I win my omega?”

Your heart stopped.

Jungkook must have heard it too, because the moment the words left his mouth, his entire body went rigid. His eyes widened a fraction, and then he fucking blushed. A pink hue crept up his neck, dusting his cheeks, his usual confidence cracking just enough for the moment to hang between you, raw and unguarded.

You stared at him, stunned.

Not because of the claim—no, that wasn’t what shocked you the most. It was the way he reacted to it. The way it had slipped out so naturally, so thoughtlessly, like it was something he had already accepted, something that was already settled in his mind.

Like it was something he wanted.

Your stomach twisted.

It was too much. Too heavy. Too real.

So you did the only thing you could think to do.

You looked away, fixing your gaze on the prizes as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. “Whatever’s fine,” you muttered, trying to evade the weight of the moment. Trying to evade the mere thought of being his.

Jungkook nodded stiffly, the blush still lingering on his face. But internally—internally, his mind was a fucking mess.

Because "whatever" wasn’t fine.

Not when it came to you.

No, he wanted to get you the best fucking prize there was. The biggest, the best, the one that would make everyone look twice and know exactly who you belonged to. Because he had already decided—whether you realized it or not—you were someone he definitely wanted as his mate. And that meant you deserved the best.

His lips curled into a grin, the usual cocky tilt of his smirk returning as he grabbed the darts, rolling one between his fingers before glancing at you.

And for the first time ever, your heart fluttered.

Just a little.

The realization made your stomach flip. Made your breath catch in your throat.

And then—the spell shattered.

“Hey, look at this,” a voice sneered from behind you.

You stiffened immediately. Too immediately.

Jungkook’s grin fell the second he saw your shoulders go rigid, the way your fingers curled around the hem of your sleeves. The way you prepared yourself.

He turned, eyes narrowing at the approaching group—packmates, his packmates. And the moment they saw him standing beside you, standing with you, their expressions twisted into something ugly.

“Oh, come on, Jungkook,” one of them laughed, clapping a hand against his shoulder. “Really? You’re making it too easy.”

Another chuckled, arms crossing as he eyed you with an amused smirk. “What, is this your new way of keeping her in line? Pretend to be nice, get her hopes up, then drop her harder than before?”

Jungkook’s blood turned to ice.

He barely registered the words—all he saw was you.

The way your breath hitched. The way your fingers curled tighter. The way your body tensed as if bracing for impact, as if you had already accepted their mockery before it had even fully left their mouths, as if you believed them.

Like you had done this a hundred times before.

And Jungkook—hated it.

Hated the way you didn’t fight back, hated the way you still defaulted to this, to expecting it. Hated that you were more than capable of wiping the fucking floor with half of them but you still—still—

Instinct took over.

Before he could think, before he could stop himself, Jungkook moved.

A step forward—not away from you, but in front of you.

The shift was immediate.

The laughter faltered. The sneers wavered. They weren’t expecting that.

Because never—not once—had Jeon Jungkook ever placed himself between you and them.

The air turned thick, charged with something heavy, something dangerous.

Jungkook didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. He just stared.

And for the first time, his packmates hesitated.

Because this wasn’t the Jungkook they knew.

The Jungkook they knew laughed at you, mocked you, threw you to the wolves because it was fun, because it was easy. This Jungkook wasn’t laughing.

This Jungkook was looking at them like he was one second away from tearing their fucking throats out. His jaw clenched, his shoulders squared, his presence radiating something that was no longer just posturing—it was a warning.

And still—still, he hated that it had taken him this long to feel this way.

Hated that only now did the need to protect you consume him.

That only now, when it might already be too late, did he realize you had always been worth protecting.

The packmates who had been so quick to sneer, so confident in their mockery, suddenly found themselves hesitating, uncertain. Their eyes flickered between Jungkook and you, as if trying to make sense of what they were seeing—as if they couldn’t comprehend the sudden change in him.

Jungkook could practically hear the gears turning in their heads, trying to fit this moment into the narrative they had always believed. Because in their eyes, there was no way—no fucking way—that this was real. That Jeon Jungkook, their golden boy, their alpha, was actually standing between them and you.

He could feel their confusion, their disbelief, thick in the air between them. And then—the moment of hesitation broke.

One of them scoffed, shaking his head. “Alright, Jungkook. We get it.”

Another smirked, though there was a flicker of unease in his expression. “Yeah. You had us for a second.”

Jungkook’s jaw ticked, his muscles coiling tight.

They didn’t get it.

And when they turned to each other, exchanging knowing looks, their laughter starting up again—as if this was all just some elaborate new joke at your expense—something inside Jungkook snapped.

His voice came out low, dangerous. “Do you think I’m joking?”

The laughter stopped.

Jungkook took a slow, deliberate step forward, his expression dark, his presence suddenly suffocating. The easy confidence that usually radiated from him was gone—this was something else entirely. Something cold, something sharp, something that carried weight.

“You think this is me fucking around?” His voice was quiet, but it carried, slicing through the air like a blade. “That this is just some new way to mess with her?”

No one answered.

Jungkook let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. “You don’t get to laugh.” His gaze cut through them.

One of them shuffled uncomfortably, but before they could speak, Jungkook cut them off.

“I mean it,” he said, voice like stone. “You don’t fucking laugh at her again. You don’t talk down to her. You don’t fucking touch her.”

A pause.

“You do, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

It wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise.

Silence stretched between them, thick and charged. And then—one by one, they backed down.

Jungkook didn’t move until they turned, murmuring amongst themselves as they walked away, their laughter now uneasy, their jokes less certain. He heard the words slip between them, muttered under their breath—“This is just Jungkook’s new game. Give it a few days.”

Jungkook’s teeth ground together.

He wanted to tear the thought from their skulls. Wanted to shake them until they understood—until they saw what he saw, felt what he felt.

But it was too late.

And as he turned back to you—the shift hit him like a blow to the chest.

You were staring at him, your body stiff, your expression carefully blank. But it wasn’t the usual guarded neutrality you wore around the pack.

This was different.

This was wary. This was uncertain.

Jungkook felt his stomach drop.

No.

He had felt it before—just for a second. That fragile, delicate moment when you had started to let your guard down, when you had begun to step into something lighter with him, something that almost—almost—felt safe.

And now, just like that, it was gone.

His throat bobbed as he tried to figure out what to say, how to fix this, how to reach you again.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer now, quieter. “Are you—”

“Why did you do that?”

Your voice cut through him—not angry, not accusing. Just... uncertain.

Jungkook hesitated. He could still feel their words clinging to the air, their doubts sinking into the space between you. This is just Jungkook’s new game.

Fuck.

How could he make you believe him when even his own packmates didn’t?

He swallowed, forcing himself to meet your gaze, to hold it steady despite the way his chest ached.

“Because they were wrong,” he said simply. “About you. About me.”

You inhaled sharply, but you didn’t look away.

Jungkook’s hands twitched at his sides, desperate to reach for you, to do something—anything—to ease the wariness in your eyes. Instead, he took a slow breath, forcing himself to think. To find something, anything, that could break the tension, that could pull you back from whatever edge you were teetering on.

Then, suddenly—he knew.

A spark of something familiar flickered in his chest, and he let out a breath, forcing a small, lopsided grin.

“C’mon,” he said, tilting his head toward the game stall behind him. “I still owe you a prize, don’t I?”

Your brows furrowed. “Jungkook—”

“Let me win you something,” he interrupted, stepping closer—not enough to overwhelm, just enough to ground. “It’s only fair, after all.”

You hesitated.

And for a moment, he thought you might refuse.

But then—slowly, cautiously—you nodded.

Jungkook’s chest loosened just the tiniest bit.

It wasn’t enough. Not nearly.

But for now—for this moment—it was something.

For the next two hours, Jungkook did everything he could to make you feel comfortable.

He made it his personal mission, dragging you from stall to stall, challenging you to games he was far too skilled at—only to pretend he wasn’t, just to see the flicker of determination in your eyes as you tried to best him. He let you win once, and when you narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously, accusing him of letting you, he only smirked and shrugged.

(He had let you win. Of course, he had. But he wouldn’t admit it, because he liked the way it made you scoff and roll your eyes, the way it made you—just for a second—drop your guard.)

He won you prizes. Too many. More than you could carry. Every time you tried to refuse, he would only smirk, placing them in your arms with an ease that left you grumbling under your breath.

And he got you food—again.

The first time, you didn’t protest. The second time, you huffed but accepted. The third time, you stared at him, bewildered.

“Jungkook.”

His grin was all too pleased as he handed you something sweet, a smug glint in his eyes. “Eat.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “I’ll explode.”

A beat of silence. Then—the quietest huff of laughter.

It was barely there. So small, so fleeting.

But it was real.

Jungkook’s breath caught, his heart hammering so hard he thought it might betray him. Because fuck, he wanted to hear nothing else. He wanted to hear you laugh again. And again. And again.

His grin softened into something else entirely, something genuine. Something he didn’t think he had ever shown you before. “Then I guess I’ll have to carry you home when you do.”

You scoffed, nudging his shoulder lightly—but you took the food.

Jungkook ached at how easy this felt.

For the first time, he felt like he was on solid ground with you.

His moment shattered the second Yoongi appeared.

It was subtle at first—just a flicker of movement in the corner of your eye, a figure leaning against one of the wooden stalls. Arms crossed, gaze steady, watching.

But Jungkook felt it the instant you tensed.

The warmth between you both—the fragile, tentative peace he had spent the past two hours carefully piecing together—vanished. The soft laughter, the playful bickering, the easy moments he had crafted, gone in an instant.

Jungkook watched—seething, helpless—as you looked at Yoongi and smiled.

Not forced. Not polite. Real.

A smile you hadn’t once given him.

His jaw clenched so hard it ached.

Yoongi pushed off the stall, moving toward you with a familiar ease that made Jungkook’s stomach twist. He walked like he belonged at your side, like he had the right to step into your space without hesitation.

Jungkook had spent the last few hours carefully earning every inch closer to you. Yoongi didn’t have to.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Yoongi said, his voice smooth, measured.

Jungkook bristled.

Because Yoongi was looking at the prizes Jungkook had won you. At the way you were carrying more than you could possibly hold, arms full of his gifts, his offerings, his proof that he was trying, that he was changing, that he was someone you could trust.

But Yoongi—Yoongi was amused.

Like it was a joke.

Like Jungkook was a joke.

“I suppose I am,” you replied, adjusting the weight of the prizes in your arms.

Jungkook clenched his fists.

He wanted you to say it was because of him.

And then—Yoongi touched you.

It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t nothing.

It was deliberate, under the pretense of checking your injuries.

His fingers brushed against the inside of your wrist, barely there, light but firm, enough to feel the warmth of his skin against yours. Enough for his scent to cling.

Jungkook’s vision blurred. His body tensed, instincts screaming, but he couldn’t react. Not yet. Not when you didn’t seem the least bit bothered.

But Jungkook knew better.

Yoongi’s fingertips lingered too long. His eyes flickered too knowingly. And when he spoke—when he murmured, “I thought only you had left a mark on me, but my ribs still hurt with every breath I take”—it was too much.

Jungkook barely contained his growl.

Then, you chuckled.

You chuckled.

Jungkook’s nails bit into his palms.

“You did get a few good punches in,” you admitted, casual, easy, like it didn’t kill Jungkook to see you so comfortable with him. “I’ll feel them for a while.”

Jungkook wanted to rip Yoongi’s hand off of you.

Instead, he clenched his teeth and forced himself to breathe.

Yoongi hummed, finally releasing your wrist—but the damage was done.

His scent clung to you now. Not just faintly, not just a passing trace—it was fresh. Strong.

And you—you didn’t even notice.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay still.

To not grab your wrist, drag you away, wipe the smell off you himself.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, the back of his jaw aching from the tension he held.

He could feel his wolf pacing, snarl curling at the edges of his mind, demanding—fix it. Remove it. Make it right.

Yoongi didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did. Maybe he just didn’t care.

“Have you thought about what I said?” Yoongi asked, his voice quieter now. More serious.

Jungkook’s chest tightened painfully.

Because he knew exactly what Yoongi was asking.

Yoongi had asked you to leave.

To come with him. To his pack. To his home.

And now—now he wanted your answer.

Jungkook forced himself to look away, to breathe, to keep his hands at his sides and not tear you away from Yoongi and demand that you never fucking leave.

“I want to wait until morning.”

Yoongi’s head tilted slightly, gaze sharp. “Morning?”

You nodded, shifting on your feet. “When the packs leave the festival grounds.”

Jungkook’s heart nearly stopped.

You weren’t saying no. But you weren’t saying yes.

You were giving yourself time. Time to think. Time to question whatever this was. To understand your feelings. And maybe, to say goodbye.

One thing became clear to Jungkook in that moment—he wasn’t going to waste a single second he still had with you. Because if you were still questioning him, still wondering if he was loyal to you—if you had a place within your pack that had made you doubt him so easily—then he would prove it to you.

He would make you stay.

Jungkook finally exhaled, stepping closer—not aggressively, but firmly. The air between him and Yoongi was tense.

“This conversation can wait until morning,” Jungkook said, finality in his tone.

Yoongi raised a brow, gaze flickering between the two of you before he exhaled. He didn’t say anything else, but Jungkook could feel the doubt in his stare. Then, Yoongi tilted his head, considering something.

“We’re having a BBQ later,” he said, his eyes flickering between the two of you. “You should come.”

Jungkook stiffened.

Yoongi wasn’t talking to him.

He was talking to you.

And you—you were actually thinking about it.

Jungkook didn’t let you answer.

“We already ate.”

The word cut through the air like a blade, sharp and final.

Yoongi raised a brow, gaze darkening, but Jungkook didn’t care.

He was done.

He was done with the way Yoongi looked at you. With the way Yoongi spoke to you, like you already belonged to him, his pack. With the way you let his scent stay on you.

The way it twisted something deep in his gut, something raw and uncontrollable.

Yoongi held his stare for a long moment, unreadable. Then, finally, he sighed, lifting his hands in a mock surrender.

“Your loss.”

Jungkook said nothing. Just turned. It was pure instinct when he ushered you away from Yoongi, away from the weight of his gaze, away from the scent he had left on you like a stain Jungkook couldn't fucking ignore. When he finally stopped, it was in a quieter part of the grounds, where the festival noise hummed rather than roared, where the air wasn’t thick with the weight of too many bodies pressed close together.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable. “Show me your wrist.”

Jungkook exhaled sharply, eyes flickering over your face, searching, as if looking for something he couldn't quite name. Then, just as quickly, his gaze dropped.

To your wrist.

To the place Yoongi had touched.

His jaw tightened.

Before you could react, before you could even question it, his hand reached out, hovering just above your skin.

"Show me," he muttered.

You blinked, still rattled, still trying to process what just happened.

"What?"

"Your wrist," he said, voice low, edged with something unreadable. "Where he touched you."

You hesitated, instinct screaming at you to pull away, to leave before this became something you couldn't take back.

But—fuck.

He was looking at you like that again.

Like you were important. Like you mattered. Like you were something he could lose.

And for some stupid, ridiculous reason—you wanted to be just that to him.

Still, you slowly lifted your wrist, offering it to him, confused. Wary.

Jungkook didn’t immediately touch you. Instead, he let his fingers hover over your skin, the warmth of him so close, yet not quite there. You expected something rough, something forceful, something to remind you exactly who he was.

But instead—

He was gentle.

His fingers brushed against your pulse point, barely-there, softer than you ever thought him capable of.

And then—his expression shifted.

His brow furrowed, frustration flickering over his features as his thumb ghosted over the spot where Yoongi’s scent still clung.

A sharp breath left his lips, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“You barely smell like yourself,” he muttered, voice tight. “Not with the festival, not with—” he cut himself off, jaw clenching. “I can’t—fuck, I can’t even smell you properly.”

His gaze snapped to yours then, dark, searching.

“Let me fix it.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?”

Jungkook’s fingers twitched. His grip on your wrist didn’t tighten, but he didn’t pull away either.

“I want to lay my scent over his,” he said, voice steady, unwavering. “I want to—” he hesitated, inhaling sharply before forcing himself to continue. “I need you to smell like me again. Please.”

Your breath hitched.

Because—no.

No, no, no.

This wasn't happening.

This—this whole thing, this night, his sudden kindness, the games, the way he looked at you, the way he touched you—

The scenting. The gifts. The food, earlier. The way he had asked. The way his voice had softened when he said it, like it was something that actually mattered.

This—this was how Alphas behaved around their omegas. How they courted their mates.

And Jungkook had to know that.

It couldn’t be real.

It had to be a joke.

A cruel, twisted joke.

Even for Jungkook.

“Are you—” your voice faltered, cracking as you shook your head. “Are you serious?”

His jaw tightened.

“You’re telling me you suddenly care?” your voice was sharper now, rising, your heart hammering. “After years of treating me like shit—this? This is what you expect me to believe?”

Jungkook didn’t look away.

“Yes.”

You scoffed, taking a step back, forcing him to let you go. Losing some of the gifts on the ground.

“This is cruel,” you whispered, something raw bleeding into your voice. “Even for you.”

Jungkook flinched.

For a moment, just a brief moment, you saw it—the flicker of something in his expression. Guilt.

And then, just as quickly, determination.

“No,” he said, firm.

You blinked, startled by the intensity of his voice.

“I don’t want you to think that,” he continued, his tone rough, almost desperate. “I know I have no fucking right to ask for anything from you, but I swear—I will spend every single fucking day proving to you that I mean it.” His breath was uneven, his eyes dark and unreadable. “That if you even honestly consider staying—I will be the best goddamn mate you could ever have.”

Your heart stopped.

Mate.

He said it.

Not as a joke, not in passing, not with a smirk or a cruel edge—he meant it.

He actually, genuinely meant it.

Your stomach twisted, breath shaking as you tried to process his words.

Because this—this was too much.

This was too real.

And Jungkook—Jungkook must have realized it.

Because just as quickly as he had spoken, his gaze shifted.

Softened.

And then, he sighed.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck—I didn��t mean to scare you.”

You said nothing, still too caught up in your own spiraling thoughts, still trying to understand what the hell was happening.

Jungkook hesitated, then looked back at you, his voice quieter this time.

“I love your scent,” he admitted, the honesty in his tone knocking the breath from your lungs. “I just—” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I hate not being able to smell it.”

His throat bobbed, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

“I hate that he covered it up.”

Your chest ached.

Because—fuck.

He really, really meant it.

You were shaking.

And you didn’t even know why.

Jungkook’s presence was too much.

His words. His touch. The weight of his gaze pressing down on you like a storm, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to stay standing.

Your mind felt like it was folding in on itself, twisting with every word Jungkook had said, every inch of space he refused to give you. The festival, the laughter, the distant hum of celebration—it all turned cruel.

The festival had felt warm before, alive with laughter and the scents of grilled meats and spiced sweets. The lantern lights had flickered gently, welcoming, the hum of voices wrapping around you like an embrace. The way walking, talking with him through it made you feel like you belonged.

But now?

Now, the sounds of the festival felt cruel.

The laughter in the distance mocked you.

The warmth of the festival fires burned too hot, too close.

The prizes Jungkook had won you hung heavy in your hands, their weight an anchor you hadn't asked for. The small stuffed wolf, the silly little trinkets—they meant nothing. But Jungkook had won them for you. Had looked at you with something akin to pride when he handed them over, grinning like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t.

He was too much.

All of it—too much.

You were still shaking.

And Jungkook must have realized it.

Your scent changed, the shift barely noticeable under the layers of festival smoke, grilled meat, and—worst of all—Yoongi. But it was there.

And it was panic.

Jungkook’s heart clenched. His instincts screamed at him to fix it. To calm you, to make you feel safe—to make it stop.

His own body went rigid.

Because fuck.

That was the last thing he wanted.

All he had wanted—all he had been trying to do for the past hours—was make you feel safe.

So, slowly, carefully, he moved.

So slow, you didn’t realize it in your panic.

Like he was approaching a startled animal, as if the slightest movement could send you bolting.

And then, before you could fully process it—his arms wrapped around you.

Engulfed you.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t demanding.

It was careful.

And it was warm.

Shielded you.

One arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other pressing between your shoulders, tucking you against him. Firm but careful, his touch uncertain but solid—so solid.

You froze.

Because what was this?

What the hell was this?

He didn’t try to scent you. He wouldn’t. Not without you allowing it. But he had to do something.

So instead, he just—held you.

His breath, steady and warm, brushed against your ear, his voice low, soothing as he whispered. Low, steady words against your ear, softer than you thought he was capable of.

“You’re okay.”

You weren’t.

“I’ve got you.”

He shouldn’t.

“Just breathe.”

And you hated him for it.

Hated that his voice was soothing. Hated that his arms felt safe. Hated that you felt wanted. Hated that you were longing for this. Hated that he smelled calming. Hated that, despite every inch of your mind screaming at you to pull away—

You didn’t.

Instead, your breath hitched, throat tightening as something inside you cracked.

You sniffled.

A small, tiny sound—barely there.

But Jungkook heard it.

Felt it.

And his whole body tensed, muscles locking as if a single wrong move could shatter you completely. His Omega was crying.

His Omega.

Fuck.

It didn’t matter if you hadn’t accepted it yet—if you were still fighting it, still trying to deny what was standing right in front of you.

Because fuck—

You were crying.

Not sobbing. Not wailing. But the quiet, shaking kind.

The kind that hurt.

And he would not let you go through this alone.

--------

Part 2

#jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook bts #bts #jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #werwolf #jjk x reader

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sweetvoidstuff · 18 days ago

Text

The Brink of It All- Steel and Starlight

Masterlist

Steel and Starlight

Wordcount: 1800

The walk to the medbay was too quiet. The usual hum of the ship’s systems felt duller somehow, drowned out by the tension lingering in the air. Every step echoed, each sound punctuated by the weight of too many unspoken words. You didn’t need to look to know Jungkook was close behind you. He wasn’t touching you anymore, but you could still feel his presence—steady, solid, unsettlingly calm.

Jisoo and Taehyung flanked either side of you, both gripping their weapons a little too tightly, their eyes darting toward Jungkook every few seconds as if expecting him to suddenly turn on you.

He didn’t.

He just walked.

Like he belonged there.

That pissed you off.

You didn’t understand how he could be so at ease in the middle of all this. After everything that had happened—after the chaos, the near-death experience, the way your whole goddamn crew had barely made it out alive—he still had the audacity to act like this was just another day for him.

And maybe it was.

But you didn’t like that.

"Sit," you ordered when you reached the medbay, ignoring the way your arm was starting to go numb. You weren’t about to let Jungkook take charge of anything, no matter how much he seemed to know. "I’ll handle it myself."

Jungkook raised a brow but didn’t argue. He perched on the edge of the nearest examination table, arms crossed, watching as you yanked open the medical cabinet and grabbed supplies with a little more force than necessary.

"You always this stubborn?" he mused.

"Only when I have to be." You didn’t spare him a glance as you set out the disinfectant, gauze, and a small injector for anti-toxin. Your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled off the rest of your shredded sleeve, but you forced yourself to ignore it.

Jungkook didn’t.

"You’re shaking," he observed.

"Shut up," you snapped, pressing the gauze against your wound with a sharp inhale. The sting was brutal, but you grit your teeth and powered through it.

Jungkook just watched you. He wasn’t smirking anymore.

"You’re doing it wrong," he said after a moment.

You shot him a glare. "Excuse me?"

He gestured toward the anti-toxin injector. "You need to angle it properly or you’ll bruise like hell. Here."

Before you could protest, he was standing in front of you, reaching for your arm. You tensed as his fingers brushed your skin, but his touch was careful—precise. He didn’t hesitate as he adjusted your grip, guiding the injector to the right spot.

"Just press here," he murmured.

You hated that he was right.

You hated it even more when you followed his instructions and felt immediate relief as the serum worked its way into your system.

Jungkook stepped back, satisfied.

"See?" he muttered. "Not so hard, is it?"

You clenched your jaw. "I didn’t ask for your help."

"Didn’t need to."

You exhaled sharply, your patience wearing thin. "Are you always like this?"

"Like what?"

"Annoying."

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "Only when I like someone."

Your brain short-circuited for a moment.

The silence stretched.

Jisoo coughed.

Taehyung muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like what the fuck?

And Jungkook—Jungkook just grinned, like he knew exactly what he’d done and was reveling in the chaos.

You huffed out a breath, shoving the medkit back into place with more force than necessary. "You wish that worked on me."

"Guess we’ll see," he replied smoothly.

You turned to face him fully now, your fingers tightening into fists at your sides. You wanted to strangle him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The ship was on the edge—barely holding on. Every warning light flashed red, the walls creaking under the pressure. You stared at the terminal in front of you, your fingers flying over the controls, trying to keep the systems from completely failing.

But you knew it was a losing battle. The Stellar Hound was barely limping through the void, and if you didn’t get the parts you needed, the next malfunction would be the last one.

The crew had their stations, working as fast as they could. Namjoon and Hoseok were making sure the engines held together. Taehyung was navigating, desperately trying to find a course that would keep you alive. Jisoo was on alert for any stragglers and her eyes never far from Jungkook, but more often than not, she seemed to be keeping her gun trained on him. The atmosphere was thick with distrust and tension, but it had been this way ever since the creatures had made their unwanted appearance.

And Jungkook... He didn’t leave your side.

You glanced up for a moment, catching him at the edge of your vision. His dark violet eyes were locked on you, watching every movement with a sharpness that could cut. His hands were still at ease at his sides, the plasma pistol never far, but it was his eyes that unsettled you. They followed your every move, waiting for a decision, for something—though you couldn’t tell what it was.

The harsh buzz of the comm crackled to life, and Taehyung’s voice came through, unusually strained. "Y/N,I can't keep us flying much longer in this condition."

You didn’t look up from your terminal. "Yeah, I’m aware of that," you muttered under your breath. It wasn’t like you didn’t know the ship was falling apart. It was practically screaming at you to do something, to fix it, to save it.

Taehyung’s voice was steady despite the circumstances, but you could hear the tension in his words. “There’s a station on the edge of the outer rim, just a few lightyears away. If we’re lucky, we might find something we can use.”

You paused for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. A detour. You hated the idea. The risk of stopping—of being exposed, stranded in the middle of nowhere—was too great. But you also knew the ship wasn’t going to survive much longer if you didn’t get those parts.

Namjoon’s voice cut through the silence before you could respond, practical and firm, the leader you couldn’t ignore. “A stop at a station sounds like a risk we can’t afford,”

You clenched your jaw, resisting the urge to snap at him. “We’re exposed as it is. If we stop, we’re sitting ducks.” you said, fingers still moving over the terminal, as if fixing this mess could somehow keep it all together. “If we don’t we are one bad day away from drifting death throw space.”

The silence on the other end was heavy, but Namjoon’s voice didn’t waver. “We don’t have time for a detour.“

You slammed your fist down on the console, frustration boiling up inside you. “If we don’t make a detour, we’re not going anywhere. We’re already exposed, Namjoon. I need spare parts to do at least something. I don’t like it as much as you, but we don’t have a choice.”

The ship was too far gone. If you didn’t make the stop, you could be the next ones to not make it.

You gritted your teeth, your fingers still flying over the terminal. You didn’t like the idea of stopping, of being vulnerable. But the risk was undeniable. The ship wasn’t going to last much longer if you didn’t get the parts you needed. The strain on your body from the fight was still there, a dull ache in your muscles, but you ignored it. You had a job to do.

“Fine,” Namjoon said, a touch of annoyance creeping into his voice. “We make the stop, we’ll get the parts. But I’m trusting you to fix this, Y/N.”

Your resigned voice answered, “Understood.”

The ship groaned again, and you felt it deep in your chest—just how fragile this all was. You weren’t sure if the ship would even survive the detour, but you had no choice. You had to try.

As you began inputting the necessary course adjustments for Taehyung to read, a movement caught your eye— Jungkook had moved closer, still keeping a careful distance, but now standing at your shoulder, watching your every move. His presence was... unsettling. But you couldn’t deny it—it was also comforting in a strange way.

"Guess you’ve decided, huh?" he said, his voice low but not mocking this time. There was a hint of something else in it, something you didn’t quite understand.

You didn’t look at him, keeping your focus on the controls. “It’s the only option. We need the parts but it doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything more. He just watched, standing at the edge of your peripheral vision, as if he was waiting for something—something you didn’t want to deal with right now. Not with everything else on your mind.

Your gaze flicked up to him. His eyes were still on you, unwavering. You could see the subtle shift in him—less the cocky, self-assured man who was always waiting for a challenge. Now, there was something else—something closer to... loyalty?

You couldn’t bring yourself to trust it.

Taehyung’s voice came over the comm again, this time more clipped. “Course is set. We’re on our way.”

You nodded but didn’t respond, still consumed by the frantic need to fix what was broken. But you could feel Jungkook’s gaze burning into you. It was like he wasn’t just watching the ship's systems; he was watching you. And that—that—was starting to get under your skin in ways you didn’t want to think about.

A small, unexpected chuckle rumbled in his chest.

You raised your eyes to meet his, momentarily losing yourself in the intensity of his gaze. He hadn’t moved. Not once.

“You’re... close,” you muttered. “You’ve been sticking around me like glue. You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

Jungkook’s smirk softened. He was quiet for a long moment, then his voice, as usual, broke the silence, still lighter than the situation warranted. “No.”

You didn’t respond to that. Instead, you turned back to the console, ignoring the pang of uncertainty that had settled in your chest. When the ship lurched again, the urgency of your task snapped you back into focus. There was no room for distractions, not now. You had too much to do.

And if you didn’t manage to get the parts you needed? Well... there was no telling how much longer you could keep this ship in the void.

“We’re almost there,” you said, mostly to yourself.

Jungkook didn’t offer any reassurance or sarcastic comment. His eyes flicked to the main screen, his lips pressing into a thin line, but he said nothing.

For a brief moment, it was just the sound of the ship groaning, the comms crackling in the silence, and the low hum of the engines straining under the weight of their broken state.

It would be close.

And Jungkook? He stayed right by your side, watching you.

#bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jeon jungguk #jungkook bts #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #bts #jungkook x y/n #bts alien au #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #masterlist

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sweetvoidstuff · 18 days ago

Note

are you planning to write bound by fate drabbles? it would be so good

I would love to! I’ve actually been thinking about it, but I’m a little unsure what to write a drabble about. Since I’m currently working on a few other stories, I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get to it—but if you have a specific idea or something you'd like to see, feel free to send in a request! I’ll definitely keep it in mind and try to get to it as soon as I can.

#ask me anything #bound by fate

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sweetvoidstuff · 26 days ago

Text

Bound by Fate, Chosen by Love I Part 1

Jungkook x Reader I Werwolf x Witch I Fated Mates I Slow Burn I Strangers to Lovers I Supernatural Romance I Protective Jungkook

Summary : A witch bound by duty. A werewolf bound by instinct. When fate intertwines their paths, they must decide if love is worth defying expectations. Hunters threaten their people, forcing them to fight side by side. As tensions rise, so does the pull between them—soft moments turning into something far more intense. A quiet invitation, a lingering touch, a whispered question that changes everything. In the end, choice matters more than destiny. But with danger still lurking, will they have the chance to choose each other?

Word Count: 42K

Masterlist

A/N: Well, I wanted to post this as one, but Tumblr won’t let me… so I’ll be posting Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 back to back. Sorry about that! Hope you still enjoy it!

Part 2 / Part 3 / Epilog

The scent of blood clung thick in the air, mingling with the dying embers of the village’s fires. Jungkook stood at the center of the devastation, his hands clenched into tight fists, nails still lengthened into claws from the fight. Sweat and blood coated his skin—some his own, but not all of it. Far from it. His chest heaved as he struggled to steady his breath.

Around him, his pack moved swiftly—gathering the wounded, checking the fallen. They had fought hard, but the ambush had been unexpected. Hunters had found them.

Namjoon lay motionless on the ground, his usually strong and commanding presence dimmed by the severity of his wounds. Seokjin knelt beside him, pressing firm hands against a deep gash along Namjoon’s side, his face tight with worry.

“We can’t treat this here,” Seokjin said, his voice rough with strain. “The wound is poisoned, cursed, I don’t know. Normal healing won’t work.”

Fear clung to his words. If their Alpha, their leader, there friend died… there would be others to take Namjoon’s place—Jungkook and Seokjin among them. But so soon after such a devastating attack, a power struggle would only weaken the pack further.

Jungkook cursed under his breath. He knew what had to be done.

“The witches,” he said, the words tasting forbidden on his tongue.

Seokjin’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “You know it’s forbidden to cross the valley,” he murmured, voice low, as if even speaking of it would summon trouble.

“I don’t care,” Jungkook growled. “If there’s even a chance they can help, I’ll take it.”

The werewolves had always been wary of the witches who lived beyond the valley, deep within the hidden grove. Myths claimed they were descendants of the devil, that they meddled in dark magic. But Jungkook had never put much stock in those stories. The truth was, their kinds hadn’t mixed for centuries. Not enemies, not allies—just strangers who respected the unspoken boundary between them.

But he would break that boundary tonight.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The night was heavy with mist as Jungkook approached the village hidden within the thick embrace of the forest. The air hummed with a power he had never felt before—subtle but undeniable. The trees seemed taller, the shadows deeper, longer, as if the very land itself was old but alive. He shifted back into his human form as he neared the entrance, not wanting to provoke a reaction by approaching as a wolf.

Jungkook barely made it past the first set of dwellings before three hooded figures emerged from the darkness, surrounding him. Their movements were precise, silent, and before he could decide whether to fight or speak, one of them grabbed his arm.

“You will come with us.”

Jungkook didn’t resist. He went willingly—fighting would do nothing but worsen his chances. He was here to plead, not to battle. His people had suffered enough.

The witches led him through winding stone paths, deeper into the heart of their village. Eventually, they reached what looked like a grand council hall, its high ceilings glowing with floating candles, its walls lined with ancient symbols that pulsed faintly with power—none of which Jungkook had ever seen before.

At the center of the room sat an elderly woman, her hair white as snow, neatly pinned in a bun. Her wrinkled eyes held a sharpness that spoke of wisdom and experience. She wore a simple black dress, a dark brown knitted shawl draped over her shoulders, her presence both commanding and eerily calm. She spoke in hushed tones with someone seated beside her—someone who caught Jungkook’s attention for only a second before he was shoved forward, forced to his knees before the elder.

The old woman studied him with knowing eyes.

“A werewolf in our village is an unusual sight,” she said. “Why have you come?”

Jungkook took a deep breath, his voice steady but urgent.

"My pack was attacked by hunters. Our leader, Namjoon, is dying. The wound – we have no way to heal him, but your coven might. Please—I am asking for your help."

Hushed whispers filled the hall. The mere mention of hunters sent a ripple of unease through the gathered witches. A long silence stretched between them before the old woman finally sighed, shaking her head.

"I am sorry for your inevitable loss," she said, her tone laced with genuine sympathy. "But we will not spare a healer. Not when the risk is so high."

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides. Fury burned hot in his chest. "You would let someone die when you could save him?" he snapped. "What kind of magic do you practice if it lets you turn your back on those in need?"

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides. Fury burned hot in his chest.

Before anyone could say more, you spoke.

“I will go.”

The room erupted.

“You cannot!”

A man standing near you—clearly a guardian of some kind, given the leather tunic and sword at his hip—stepped forward in protest. His dark eyes flashed with barely contained anger. “You are to be the next coven leader! You can’t risk yourself like this.”

His voice, though laced with frustration, carried a melodic smoothness that could captivate anyone who listened. If Jungkook hadn’t had heightened hearing, he might have missed it.

The old woman beside you—your grandmother, Jungkook realized—looked equally outraged.

“We will not allow it,” she said firmly.

But you didn’t waver.

“This is not up for debate, Jimin, Grandma,” you said, voice unwavering. “If we don’t value life, then why teach me compassion in the first place?”

Your grandmother exhaled through her nose, clearly displeased but knowing she could not sway you. Jimin, however, wasn’t done fighting. He stepped even closer to you, his presence protective, his stance firm. Jungkook clenched his jaw, a sharp irritation flaring within him. It was unreasonable—he knew that—but the way your guard hovered so close to you made something in him bristle.

"Then I’ll come with you," Jimin insisted, his voice tight. "I will not let you go unprotected."

"The journey will take three long days on foot," your grandmother agreed. "Through dangerous terrain, and the risk of hunters seems high. If you leave at sunrise, you may have a better chance of avoiding them. I will ward you with protection.”

Jungkook forced his focus back to the conversation, though the irritation lingered beneath his skin. "We won’t be going on foot," he said. "In my wolf form, I can carry you. We’ll be way faster that way. My people… many were already at the brink of dead when I left for help."

Jimin’s expression darkened snapping at Jungkook at the suggestion, his lips pressing into a thin line. Jungkook could practically feel the waves of protest rolling off him. The idea of you leaving with a werewolf clearly did not sit well with him, and for some reason, that only aggravated Jungkook further.

You, however, had already made up your mind.

"Then we leave in an hour," you said, ignoring the tension between the two men. "I need time to gather what I might need—medicines, supplies, charms for protection." Your eyes flickered to Jungkook. "You should use that time to rest. You look like you need it."

Jungkook exhaled slowly, nodding. He wouldn’t argue. His body still ached from the battle, and if they were to travel fast, he would need his full strength.

Jimin wasn’t ready to back down. He stepped closer, voice edged with disbelief.

“This is reckless,” he argued. “You—of all people—leaving with a stranger? A werewolf? In the middle of the night?” His tone was sharp, laced with concern and anger. "Do you even hear yourself?"

Jungkook was on his feet in an instant. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation struck him—did they really think he would harm you? He had come here, humbled himself before your people, and still, your guard stood as if he were some mindless beast ready to strike. His irritation flared, but he pushed it down, focusing instead on what truly mattered.

Jimin moved swiftly, placing himself between you and Jungkook, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. The air in the chamber grew thick with tension, the silent challenge crackling like fire between them.

Jungkook squared his shoulders, meeting Jimin’s stare head-on. His voice was no longer just steady—it was unshakable.

“I swear on my life and the honor of my pack,” he declared, his gaze locking onto yours. “As long as you are with me to help my people, I will lay down my life before yours. No harm will come to you—not while I still breathe.”

The words rang through the hall like iron striking stone, unwavering and absolute. Jimin’s fingers twitched against his sword, his instincts screaming at him to remain wary. But before the tension could spiral further, your hand came to rest on Jimin’s shoulder.

It was a small gesture, yet Jungkook watched with silent irritation as the effect was immediate. Jimin stiffened, then exhaled sharply, lowering his hand from his weapon.

Jungkook pushed his tongue into his cheek, fighting the unreasonable annoyance curling in his chest. Why did it take you to calm him? Why did the sight of your hand on someone else—your trust in someone else—bother him? He shoved the thought aside, focusing instead on you.

You turned your gaze to him, your voice steady and sure. "I believe in the wolf standing before me."

The words settled deep inside him, quieting some of the storm in his mind.

"What is your name?" you asked. Voice gentle.

For a moment, Jungkook just looked at you. Then, finally, he answered. "Jungkook."

A small nod. "I am Y/N."

Your guardian pressed his lips together but said nothing more, stepping back begrudgingly. Jungkook ignored the strange sense of satisfaction that settled in his chest at that.

He would rest. And then he would take you with him—away from here, away from the witch who stood too close, and back to his people where he knew, without a doubt, that you were meant to be.

You watched as Jungkook was led to a quiet, secluded resting area, tucked just behind the stone walls of the ancient temple where he could rest and refresh. His figure was striking even in the fading light. His broad shoulders were slightly hunched, a subtle sign of the exhaustion that weighed on him, but there was an undeniable strength to his presence that couldn't be overlooked. Beneath the dark fabric of his tunic, his muscles shifted with each movement—taut, coiled, ready.

When his right arm flexed, the intricate tattoos etched into his skin caught your eye. Black lines, sharp and deliberate, curled around his bicep and stretched down his forearm, their design a seamless blend of power and artistry. They weren’t merely decorations; they were a story—one inked into his very flesh, speaking of battles fought, victories earned, and oaths sworn. There was a rawness to them, a quiet energy humming beneath each mark, as if the wildness within him had been woven into his very skin. You found yourself wondering about their meaning, about the stories they told. About what it might be like to hear him speak of them in that low, gravelly voice.

His steps were steady, though they carried a weariness, as if every movement he made was deliberate, measured. His raven-black hair, damp with the sweat of the day’s battles, fell slightly over his forehead in messy strands, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to the sharpness of his jawline, defined and strong, yet softened by the tension that gripped him. His eyes, dark and intense, seemed to absorb everything around him, calculating each moment, each movement. They flicked over his surroundings with a restless energy that mirrored the storm raging within him. But despite the tension in his posture and the storm brewing in his eyes, there was something almost magnetic about him—something that made your chest tighten with a deep, instinctive need to help.

You couldn’t help but follow his movements with your gaze, a knot in your chest that you couldn’t quite explain.

You forced yourself to turn away, breaking the hold he had on your thoughts. There was no time for hesitation. Swiftly, you gathered what was necessary for the journey—water, herbs, bandages, protective spells small enough to carry. A few potions to ward off fatigue, perhaps, and to keep danger at bay. A change of fresh clothes. Your mind was already calculating what else you might need, but you didn't want to over-pack and burden Jungkook with the extra weight. You needed to travel light, to move swiftly.

As your hands worked with practiced efficiency, your mind wandered back to the way his gaze had lingered on you earlier, to the quiet intensity of it. And to the strange sense of steadiness you found in his presence.

A glance at the hour told you it was nearly time.

You changed into something more suited for travel—comfortable, form-fitting clothing, easily allowing for movement. No time to waste now. You gathered the small satchel and backpack with your essentials and moved toward the door.

When you found Jimin outside, he was pacing, his brows furrowed in agitation. As you approached, he stopped and eyed you critically. His concern for you was as obvious as his mistrust of Jungkook.

“Are you sure about this?” Jimin’s voice was low, his tone edged with uncertainty. “You can’t just trust a wolf pack, no matter what promises they make. They’re dangerous. This—this whole situation—it’s too risky. I don’t like it.”

You met his gaze head-on. “Jimin, I trust Jungkook. I don’t know why but I do. He promised to keep me safe, and I believe him.” You paused, watching the flash of skepticism in his eyes. “I won’t be alone. I’ll have him with me.”

Jimin’s jaw tightened as he shook his head. “How can you? We don’t know him! And I’m still coming with you. No matter what you say, I don’t trust any of this. Not the wolves. Not the way you’ve been acting... I’m not leaving you to deal with that on your own.”

You didn’t argue further. Jimin was stubborn, and you knew he would follow you regardless. But you could see the worry in his eyes—he was protective, and though you appreciated it, you had already made up your mind. With a final glance at him, you turned and strode toward the temple’s back entrance.

“Just tack us,” you said firmly. “We need to move quickly.”

Jungkook was already waiting in the clearing, the silver moonlight carving his silhouette from the shadows. He stood taller now, more at ease, though his eyes still carried the weight of unspoken thoughts.

As you approached, his sharp gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, it was as though time itself slowed.

“You’re ready?” he asked, his voice low, a soft growl underlining the words as he stood tall. His wolf was closer to the surface now, the tension of his form palpable.

“I’m ready,” you answered, nodding. There was no more hesitation, no more doubt. The air between you seemed to hum with an energy you couldn’t name.

You nodded. The space between you seemed to hum with something unspoken.

Jungkook exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Climb on after I shift. Sit between my shoulders—that will be the most stable. Hold on tight. I won’t drop you."

You nodded, preparing yourself to ride with him, Jimin stepped forward with a sharp glance at Jungkook. “I’m coming with you, too,” Jimin said firmly. “I’ll follow behind you—don’t think I’m just going to let you take her off with you, no matter what promises you’ve made.”

Jungkook’s gaze flicked briefly to Jimin, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. But there was no argument. He simply nodded, understanding the need for caution your people held, though it was clear he wasn’t thrilled about having Jimin follow.

Without saying another word, Jungkook began to shift. His muscles rippled beneath his skin as the transformation started. The air around you grew tense, and a low, resonating growl rumbled deep from his chest, even as his body expanded and contorted in ways that felt unnatural. You stepped back instinctively, your heart pounding in your chest as you watched him.

And then he was there—a massive wolf, his midnight-black coat gleaming under the moonlight. His sheer size stole your breath, a creature built for speed and strength, every movement fluid and deadly. His eyes, glowing with an ethereal green, a piercing intensity that seemed to look straight through you.

Jungkook’s form was stunning. His wolf was a creature of power and grace, exuding an aura of raw, unbridled energy. There was an elegant savagery to him, and yet, in his eyes, there was still something familiar, something that made your heart skip in your chest.

Jungkook’s gaze met yours, steady and unwavering. Slowly, he lowered himself, his body still, waiting. The weight of his presence was overwhelming, and you could feel it in your bones. Jungkook’s eyes softened as he studied you for a moment longer before his body tensed again. He let out a soft huff, almost as if in a silent communication.

You stepped forward, your heart racing as you placed your hand gently on his back. His fur was impossibly soft, but beneath it, you felt the solid strength of muscle. For a brief moment, a thought flitted through your mind—what would it feel like to touch him like this in a moment not marked by war and urgency?

You swallowed, pushing the thought away, and climbed onto his back. With a deep breath, you swung one leg over, your body steadying as you positioned yourself on his back. Jungkook’s massive form shudder and shifted slightly, adjusting for you. The moment you were fully settled, he rose slowly to his feet, making sure not to jostle you. His patience was unexpected, his careful movements at odds with his sheer size and power. His wolf was patient and aware, moving with a grace that belied his size. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath you.

Jungkook took a cautious step, testing your comfort level. You relaxed slightly into his back, gripping his fur more securely, and with that, he picked up his pace, moving forward with a slow, powerful jog. You felt his muscles ripple with each stride, his movements precise and fluid, the ground beneath you blurring as he gained speed.

The hours stretched on, the landscape shifting from dense forest to open plains. The journey ahead was marked by quiet but steady progress. As Jungkook's powerful form cut through the forest, the world around you seemed to blur with speed. The trees and the shadows that once felt imposing now seemed like mere silhouettes, passing by in the blink of an eye. His powerful legs pushed him forward with a grace that made the air hum around you. The moonlight filtered through the canopy above, casting pale beams that illuminated the path, guiding him as naturally as if the forest itself had parted to make way.

You settled into the rhythm of the journey, allowing yourself to simply experience the moment. The first part of the trip was uneventful, save for the occasional snap of a twig beneath his paws or the distant hoot of an owl. It was almost peaceful, the kind of serenity that seemed almost too perfect to last.

Jimin had fallen back, fast. As the hours passed and the night wore on, you couldn’t help but notice how steady Jungkook's movements were. Despite the urgency of his mission, there was something almost meditative about his pace. It wasn’t rushed, but rather deliberate, as though every step was carefully planned to ensure both of your safety. His breathing was steady, his heart beating in sync with the rhythm of his movements.

The landscape around you began to change slowly. The dense forest gave way to more open terrain, where the trees were spaced farther apart and the underbrush gave way to dry grass and wildflowers that swayed gently in the wind. The journey had already taken hours, but the night was still young. The stars above sparkled brightly, as if even the heavens had conspired to light the path ahead.

The pace never wavered. Despite the exhaustion weighing on both of you, the steady rhythm of Jungkook’s run, coupled with the cool night air, kept you energized. Occasionally you spoke softly to him, asking if he was alright, but each time, he simply grunted in response. A little later, Jungkook began to slow his pace. You didn’t protest. Your muscles ached, and your eyes were heavy, though your mind remained alert.

His muscles rippled beneath his fur as he lowered himself into a seated position, gently lowering you to the ground. You slid off his back, feeling the familiar earth beneath your feet. The forest around you was peaceful, almost too still, and you felt a brief, unsettling silence settle in.

Jungkook shifted back to his human form almost immediately, his movements smooth and deliberate. He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping for just a moment before he straightened, his eyes scanning the surroundings.

"We should rest," he said, voice rough. "You’ll fall off if we go any further."

"I can keep going," you protested, but even you weren’t convinced. Your body ached from the unfamiliar ride, your legs screaming in protest.

He gently shook his head." I need a break as well. I’ll take the first watch."

You nodded. You settled down beside him, trying to ignore the gnawing exhaustion creeping into your bones. As Jungkook moved into a watchful stance, his eyes scanning the surroundings, you finally allowed yourself to lean back, staring up at the sky.

In the stillness of the night, with the sound of Jungkook’s steady breathing beside you and the distant rustling of the wind in the trees, you finally allowed yourself to close your eyes.

Jungkook sat against the trunk of a tree, his sharp eyes flicking between the darkness of the forest and your sleeping form. His ears, still heightened even in his human state, picked up the soft rhythm of your breathing, the way it had finally evened out now that exhaustion had won over your wary mind.

You slept, oblivious to the war raging inside him.

A witch. His mate was a damned witch.

The bond was undeniable. The second you’d touched him, he had known. But did you? Or were you oblivious, unaware of the pull tethering you to him?

His fingers twitched, resisting the instinct to reach out. The need to touch you was maddening, but what would it change?

You shifted slightly in your sleep, the soft rise and fall of your chest impossibly steady, as if you weren’t lying beside a wolf who was questioning everything he knew about fate.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. There was no escaping this, no denying what had been set in motion. His jaw tightened as he tried to reason with it—as if rationalizing it over and over would make it more bearable. It didn’t.

He had heard of mates bonding outside their own kind. Shifters mated to humans, vampires, and even once, an old elder claimed a siren had been bonded to a wolf long ago. But never a witch. Not in any history he knew. And it had to be him.

Not only that, but you weren’t just any witch. You were someone important, someone powerful. You had defied your own coven, risked a lot to help his pack, and now, whether you knew it or not, you were his.

What did that mean? For him? For you?

Would you accept it, or were you like some humans, oblivious to the bond, requiring time—or worse, never recognizing it at all?

His fingers curled into the dirt, suppressing the urge to reach for you, to brush his skin against yours and feel the bond’s pulse again, just to be sure. But what was the point? The fact remained: you were a witch, and he was a wolf. And right now, you were his only hope.

Jungkook sighed, forcing himself to rest, even as his mind refused to quiet. Instead, he listened to you, to the even rhythm of your breathing, to the small, unconscious sighs you made in sleep. He hated how much it soothed him.

His attention flicked to Jimin. He didn’t want to be impressed with Jimin, but he was. The man had trailed you both far longer and closer than Jungkook had expected. His nose and ears should’ve caught Jimin falling behind immediately, struggling to keep up. Instead, Jimin had barely made a sound, his scent present for quite a while but never overstepping for the first two hours. That kind of skill wasn’t common, even among their kind.

Jungkook let the night pass, letting you rest as long as possible before the first streaks of gold kissed the horizon. He turned toward you, placing a careful hand on your shoulder.

You jolted awake, blinking up at him, eyes still hazy with sleep.

“Is’t’time to switch?” you mumbled groggily.

Jungkook shook his head, hiding a small, almost amused smile. “No, we keep moving. By midday, we’ll reach my village.”

You sat up quickly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before nodding. “A’right.”

Without another word, he shifted, his massive wolf form towering over you once again. You climbed onto his back, hands gripping his thick fur.

Jungkook took off, the forest blurring around you as he ran.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The closer they got to the village, the more the air changed. Jungkook smelled it before he saw it—the thick, coppery scent of blood, the acrid sting of burnt wood and fur. Even from a distance, his stomach twisted. The attack had been worse than he thought.

But there was no time to dwell. His pace never slowed, his focus never wavered. He didn’t stop when distant figures noticed him and called out. He didn’t stop when the pack members turned, some running to greet him, others frozen in shock at the sight of the stranger riding on his back. He didn’t even acknowledge the murmurs that rippled through the village as he raced straight to the Pack House.

He only stopped when he nearly slammed into the doors.

You jumped off his back just as he shifted, barely taking a second to regain his human form before grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside. The scent of sickness, of suffering, was even worse in here. Bodies lay in makeshift beds, wolves in both human and shifted form, their wounds bandaged but still raw. A few heads turned, weak eyes barely registering his arrival before exhaustion pulled them back under.

He barely had a moment to breathe before a figure blocked his path.

Jin.

And beside him, Hoseok—whose face was twisted in fury.

“A witch?!” Hoseok snarled, stepping forward, his teeth bared. “You really left us to go get a witch! For all the problems we have, you thought bringing one into the mix would help?”

His glare snapped to you, and before he could move, before he could even think about lunging, Jungkook was there. His body moved on instinct, stepping between you and his furious friend, his own teeth bared in a low, guttural growl.

Hoseok froze. His amber eyes flicked to Jungkook’s face, the realization dawning like a slap across the face.

“No,” he breathed, barely above a whisper. His eyes darted between you and Jungkook, horror creeping into his features. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He just kept his stance firm, his growl deepening as his fingers twitched at his sides, ready to strike if necessary.

A moment of heavy silence passed before Jin sighed, rubbing his temples. “We don’t have time for this,” he muttered. “If she can help, she stays. If she can’t, then this argument is pointless.”

Hoseok didn’t look convinced, but he took a step back, his lips still curled in frustration. He shot you a final glare before turning on his heel. “If this backfires, it’s on you,” he snapped at Jungkook before storming off.

Jin exhaled heavily, looking at you with far less hostility but no less wariness. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

You didn’t hesitate. Instead of answering Jin’s wary question, you turned to him with crisp authority. “I need a lot of hot water, at least two sets of helping hands—people who will follow my orders without hesitation—and as many of your local healing plants as you can gather.”

Jin blinked, caught off guard by your sudden command. He hesitated for a second, clearly unused to being ordered around, but you didn’t give him the time to argue. “Get to it,” you said sharply, already moving.

You pulled your hair into a quick ponytail as you retrieved a piece of chalk from your satchel. With quick, practiced strokes, you began writing intricate symbols on the door behind you, then moved to the windows, murmuring under your breath as you worked. Protective runes, sealing wards, and cleansing scripts—each one carefully placed to strengthen the space around you, to keep the sickness from spreading and the darkness from lingering. Jungkook watched you with a furrowed brow, confusion flickering across his face, but he didn’t interrupt. There was something about the way you carried yourself—an unshakable presence that made even the strongest warriors in the room hesitate to question you.

Then, the work began.

The next several hours blurred together in a haze of movement and whispered incantations. You barely had time to think as you worked, your hands steady, your magic sharp. Jungkook remained by your side, assisting without hesitation. Whether it was holding down a thrashing patient, keeping pressure on a wound, or simply fetching what you needed before you asked, he was there. Others, however, were less trusting. When one of his pack members hesitated too long, questioning your methods instead of acting, you threw them out without a second thought. There was no room for doubt, no time for superstition. Every move you made was precise, every incantation purposeful, as if everything you did from the moment you entered was one long healing ritual. The tension in the room was thick, but you ignored it.

Hoseok entered once. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his sharp gaze watching and waiting for you to make a mistake. If you noticed his presence, you didn’t let it show. You had no time for petty pack politics—not when lives were on the line. Eventually, even he had to acknowledge that whatever you were doing, it was working. The air in the Pack House shifted. The stench of death and decay lessened, the oppressive weight of sickness lifting, if only slightly.

Jungkook had seen magic before—had fought against it, had learned to be wary of it. But he had never seen this. You moved through the room like a storm contained in human form, commanding not just the space but the people within it. Never had he seen a witch walk into a den of wolves and take control like the very air bent to their will.

It made his skin crawl.

Not out of fear. No, the unease twisting in his gut was something far more dangerous than fear.

It was recognition.

Because as he watched you move—commanding the space like you had been born to lead, unwavering even under the weight of distrust and still showing compassion—something inside him whispered the truth.

Mine.

It was infuriating.

Because you weren’t just any witch. You were powerful. Respected. Feared. And now, for better or worse, you were his mate.

The idea that fate, that anything, could have decided for him that a witch of all people was meant to be his mate. His future. The thought unsettled him. Witches and shifters did not mix. It was unheard of. And not just any witch, but you. The next in line to lead your coven if he heard right. Someone who, from the moment you had stepped into this house, had taken control with an ease that made his pack uneasy.

It made him uneasy.

By midday the next day, after working non-stop since the moment you stepped into the Pack House, much had changed.

Of the seventeen wounded, seven were finally strong enough to sit and speak—even Namjoon was coming by. Three had insisted on leaving, eager to return to help with the aftermath of the attack. But one life still hung in the balance—a child, their small body ravaged by a cursed weapon. You had done nearly everything you could. Every herb, every spell, every ounce of magic you possessed had been poured into saving them. Now, the rest was up to the child’s spirit.

But not everyone was willing to accept that answer.

“You saved the others. Why not my son?” a voice snapped from the corner of the room. It was a woman, her face drawn with exhaustion and grief. You turned slowly, your own exhaustion heavy in your bones, but your expression remained unreadable. “Magic is not a quick fix, it means sacrifice, it means willpower.” you said, your voice steady. “I have given him every chance, more would be reckless. Now, he must choose to fight.”

The words hung heavy in the air, met with silence and barely concealed tension.

“There has to be something more you can do! ” the woman demanded more from you, her voice sharp with grief and desperation, Jungkook felt the tension in the room spike. The mother’s pain was suffocating, but the Pack’s suspicion was heavier. It was clear what they were thinking. That you had chosen who to save and who to let die.

That you had let the boy suffer.

Jungkook stiffened, ready to step in, to defend you. But before he could, another voice cut through the space like a blade.

Hoseok.

His closest friend. One of Namjoons most trusted like himself. And the one person he knew would not let this go easily.

“Can’t,” Hoseok said, his voice low and sharp. “Or won’t?”

Jungkook stiffened, was about to snap—was about to remind Hoseok that you had spent the last day and night healing their wounded without so much as a break.

This situation was dangerous.

Hoseok wasn’t just questioning you—he was challenging you.

And yet, instead of backing down, instead of shrinking under the weight of an entire pack ready to turn on you, you moved.

Fast.

Around Jungkook. Right in front of Hoseok.

A bold, reckless move.

No one challenged Hoseok like that—not unless they wanted a fight. But you stood before him, meeting his glare without flinching. Your voice, when it came, was cold. Calculated.

For a split second, Jungkook forgot to breathe. For a split second, everything in him went tight—instincts roaring to life at the sight of you placing yourself between two wolves. He almost grabbed you, almost pulled you back, but you weren’t afraid.

Not of Hoseok. Not of anyone.

Instead, you lifted your chin and met his glare with something colder. “What would you willingly give to save the child?”

A beat of silence.

Then, a scoff. “What?”

You turned away from him, eyes locking onto the mother. “His name,” you demanded.

The woman hesitated, confused, but answered in a shaky breath. “S-Sunwoo, a-and I would give anything.”

The shift in the room was immediate. Tension coiled tighter, like a wire pulled to the breaking point.

Jungkook saw it—saw the way something flickered across your face at the name. It was gone in an instant, replaced by something unreadable, but it was there.

Hoseok noticed too, but he didn’t take it seriously.

“What, you think saying his name is gonna fix this?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You’re not a god, witch.”

The snarl in his voice was met with something colder in yours. “I never claimed to be.”

Then, before anyone could react, you grabbed Hoseok’s wrist.

Jungkook saw it happen in real-time, and yet, he still couldn’t believe it.

Your fingers locked around Hoseok’s wrist.

The entire room reacted.

Wolves tensed. Muscles coiled, teeth bared. A ripple of aggression spread through the Pack like a match to dry grass. Hoseok froze for a split second—shocked, furious—but before he could yank back, you pulled him forward, dragging him to the child’s side with an ease that sent a whisper of something dark through the watching crowd.

Jungkook was stunned.

No one touched Hoseok like that. No one dared.

And yet, here you were.

Gasps echoed around the room. The Pack’s unease morphed into outright hostility. Several wolves growled low in their throats, eyes flashing with warning, but you ignored them all.

You had everyone’s attention now.

“A miracle,” you said, voice laced with something ancient. Something powerful. “Fine! You’ll get a miracle. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You offered a gentle hand to Sunwoo’s mother, inviting her to take a leap of faith.

And she did.

Slowly, carefully, her trembling fingers found yours.

Jungkook felt it before anything else.

As you started to murmur, the air shifted. The words you spoke were unintelligible, a language he had never heard before. Even your breathing sounded melodic, weaving through the tension like a song long forgotten.

The magic curling through the room, thick and cold, the air turning sharp enough to taste. His wolf bristled beneath his skin, instincts screaming danger. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to stop this, to protect.

But he didn’t.

Because he didn’t know how to protect you from something you were obviously the cause of.

He swallowed down the urge to growl, but others weren’t as restrained. A ripple of unease spread through the pack, some baring their teeth, others shifting on their feet like they were fighting the urge to move.

Then the sky outside darkened.

Not like nightfall. No, this was unnatural—shadows stretching long where there should have been light, the temperature in the room plummeting.

Hoseok stiffened. “What the hell—”

He tried to pull away, but you tightened your grip. “If you move, the boy dies.”

The mother trembled. A dead silence.

Then—

A flash of silver.

Jungkook lunged, instincts overriding thought, but it was already too late. Before he could react, you had already moved.

The blade cut clean across Hoseok’s palm.

Not deep. Not fatal. Just enough.

Blood welled up on Hoseok’s skin. Another on the mother’s hand.

Then—

Yours.

The scent of it filled the air, sharper than the rest. Jungkook’s wolf reared in his chest, nearly throwing him forward, but he held himself back.

Your blood hit the boy’s skin, mixing with the others.

The second it did, the world lurched.

A pulse of magic ripped through the room, snapping against his senses like a whip.

Hoseok’s breath hitched, muscles locked like he was fighting something unseen. The mother gasped, eyes going wide as her fingers trembled in yours.

Jungkook fought the overwhelming wrongness of it all, his wolf howling in protest, instincts screaming—

Then you looked at him.

It was brief. A single glance.

But it was enough.

Because in that moment, as the spell took its toll, you knew.

For better or worse, he would be the one to keep you alive.

Then you collapsed.

His body moved before his mind caught up.

One second, you were standing—the next, you were falling.

Jungkook caught you before you hit the ground, his arms locking around you instinctively.

Dead weight.

Limp.

Too pale.

Too still.

For a single, horrifying moment, he thought—

No. No, you were still breathing.

Hoseok snapped out of his daze, golden eyes flashing with fury. “She—”

Jungkook could already hear it coming.

“Jungkook,” Hoseok growled, voice sharp with rage. “She attacked us! She—”

“Enough.” Jungkook’s voice was steel, sharper than fangs.

But the argument never even started.

Because behind them—soft, barely audible at first—a sound shattered the tension.

A sob.

The mother.

And then—

A small, shuddering inhale.

Jungkook turned just in time to see the boy’s eyes flutter open.

The Pack House fell into stunned silence.

Sunwoo was alive.

You had done the impossible.

But as Jungkook looked down at your unconscious form in his arms—too fragile, too vulnerable—he knew one thing for certain.

Whatever you had done…

It had cost you.

And now, unconscious in his arms, you were more vulnerable than ever.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Warmth.

That was the first thing you noticed as you slowly drifted back into consciousness.

Not the suffocating, burning heat of magic consuming you from the inside out, but something gentler. Something that cradled you rather than scorched. A soft, steady warmth, surrounding you like a cocoon.

You shifted, blinking slowly as your vision swam into focus. The ceiling above you was wooden, dark beams stretching across a thatched roof. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and something clean. Not sterile, but fresh—like newly laundered clothes, like herbs hanging to dry.

You inhaled deeply.

Bad idea.

Pain lanced through your chest, raw and sharp, like your ribs had been scraped raw from the inside. A low groan left your lips as you tried to push yourself up, but the aftermath of the spell was still weighing you down. Blood magic was always nasty. You had known it would take a toll, but even this was worse than you had expected.

The sound of movement snapped you from your haze.

A shadow shifted in the corner of your vision, and before you could react, Jungkook was at your side.

You blinked up at him, startled. He had moved fast, so fast you hadn't even registered it. His dark eyes were locked onto you, sharp and searching, but his touch was careful as he slid an arm behind your back, steadying you as you struggled to sit upright.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice low, unreadable.

You stared at him. Really looked at him.

His face was tense, jaw set tight like he was barely keeping himself from saying something else. His brows were drawn together, but the emotion in his eyes was harder to pin down. Frustration? Relief?

You swallowed, glancing down at yourself. You were covered with a thick, woolen blanket, the rough texture oddly grounding. Beneath it, you could feel the stiffness of dried blood clinging to your skin and gauze placed on the cut you forces on yourself.

“I am not dead?” you finally rasped, voice hoarse.

Jungkook blinked, momentarily thrown. “…Why would you be?”

You exhaled a weak, humorless laugh. “Well, I did cut two of your—what is it called? Mates? Pack friends?”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t let himself smile. “Pack members.”

“Right.” You frowned, trying to make sense of it all. “And they didn’t kill me in my sleep?”

Jungkook’s expression hardened. “No one was going to touch you.”

You searched his face, trying to understand. They had been furious with you earlier—cautious, wary, resentful of what you were – he had been. And yet, here he was. Sitting beside you, supporting your weight, his voice steady and protective.

“…Why?” you finally asked.

Jungkook’s jaw flexed, something flickering behind his eyes. “I swore to protect you, didn’t I? Not that you make it easy for me.”

You studied him for a long moment. He wasn’t lying. But something about the way he said it made you uneasy. Not in a fearful way, but because it felt… too certain.

Your gaze flickered around the room. It was small but cozy. The wooden walls were lined with shelves, neatly stacked with supplies—herbs, dried meat, woven baskets filled with folded blankets. A fire crackled in the corner, its glow casting flickering shadows across the space.

“You are in my home,” Jungkook told you, watching your expression carefully. “You were unconscious for a few hours.”

You exhaled. “Only hours? Lucky. I feared it could take days.”

Jungkook leaned forward slightly, his dark brows furrowing. “What did you do?” unsettled by your remark.

You sighed, shifting against the pillows. “A spell like that—one tied to blood and life—it doesn’t simply heal. It rewrites fate. But magic is never free. Something had to be given in return.”

Jungkook’s expression darkened. “And what did you give?”

You hesitated. That was the question, wasn’t it? You felt the price deep in your bones. You had rewritten the boy’s fate—tied it to his mother’s love, to the wolf’s strength, and to your belief in the old ways. It would keep him alive, for as long as all three remained. But how to explain it that it made sence?

Jungkook seemed to sense your reluctance, but he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face before speaking again.

“The boy woke up minutes after you collapsed,” he finally said. “His mother… she was beside herself. Crying, thanking you, thanking the gods.”

You nodded slowly. “And the rest of the Pack?”

Jungkook’s jaw ticked. “Weren’t as forgiving.”

That didn’t surprise you.

“Hoseok wanted me to kill you,” he admitted bluntly, watching your reaction.

You snorted, shaking your head. “That tracks.”

Jungkook didn’t look amused. “Namjoon woke up before it came to that.”

You straightened slightly. “The Pack leader?”

Jungkook nodded. “The Alpha” helping you jet again with the terminology of his people “He wasn’t happy about the blood magic, but he told me to stay with you until we could all talk. He wants answers.”

You let out a slow breath. That was better than you expected. “Then I suppose I should clean up before I meet him.”

Jungkook hesitated, his wolf bristling. You felt the shift in him, the restless energy rolling off him in waves.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, voice lower now, softer.

You met his eyes, really met them this time. Despite everything, there was something grounding in the way he looked at you—like no matter how much he didn’t understand you, he was still there with you.

“I will be,” you finally said.

It wasn’t a lie.

Jungkook studied you for a long moment, then nodded. Without another word, he stood and helped you up, steadying you when you wavered on your feet.

“This way,” he murmured.

He led you to a small adjoining room, where a simple wooden tub sat against the far wall, filled with water still warm from the fire. The room smelled of clean linen and dried lavender.

Jungkook hesitated in the doorway, his muscles still taut with tension. His wolf wasn’t at ease—not at all.

“I’ll be close,” he said, his voice almost a warning. “Call if you need anything.”

You nodded, and with one last, reluctant glance, he stepped away.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

When you finally emerged, fresh and wrapped in a black dress, Jungkook was waiting. His dark eyes scanned you once, checking for any lingering signs of weakness. But only found you stunning. Then, without a word, he gestured for you to follow.

The walk to Namjoon’s home was not a quiet one.

Some villagers greeted you with cautious nods. Others weren’t as welcoming.

A low growl rumbled in the chest of one passing wolf, his lips curling in an unmistakable snarl.

Jungkook was on him in an instant.

A single warning glare was all it took—the wolf backed down immediately, lowering his gaze. But Jungkook didn’t move until the threat had completely passed, his posture stiff as he resumed walking beside you.

By the time you reached Namjoon’s home, you could feel Jungkook’s closeness, his silent protectiveness pressing against you like a shield.

Inside, Namjoon sat at the head of a long wooden table. Beside him stood two men—Jin, whose gaze was neutral, and Hoseok, whose was not.

You took a breath, then stepped forward, bowing slightly. “Leader of the wolves,” you greeted with as much respect as you could manage.

Namjoon studied you for a moment, then nodded.

“Witch from the valley. Sit,” he said.

Jungkook, still hovering close, pulled out a chair. You sat.

Hoseok exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “So, we’re really trusting her now?”

You didn’t react.

Namjoon silenced Hoseok with a sharp glare before turning to you, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Regardless of what happened,” he said, voice steady, “you saved lives today. My life included. For that, you have my thanks.”

A small flicker of surprise crossed Jin’s face at Namjoon’s words, but it was gone just as fast. Hoseok, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to argue, but Namjoon’s authority weighed heavier than his temper.

Still, gratitude aside, there was something else Namjoon wanted to know.

“But that still leaves the question—why are you here?” His dark gaze settled on you, unwavering. “What brought you to us?”

Before you could answer, Jungkook shifted beside you. “Hyung, after the attack, after Jin told me that with our healing there wasn’t a chance for you and the others to survive…” He exhaled sharply, hands clenching at his sides. “I went and got help.”

Namjoon’s brows lifted slightly. “Help.”

“Yes,” Jungkook confirmed. His jaw tensed, the weight of something unspoken pressing against his ribs. He had found you. His mate. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—blurt that out. Not yet.

Namjoon, however, wasn’t interested in hearing the story from Jungkook. His attention remained on you, gaze steady. “And what about you?” he asked. “Why did you come?”

You met his eyes without hesitation. “Because I wasn’t going to sit back and do nothing when I could save a life.” There was no waver in your voice, no doubt. “More than that, our people—your pack and my coven—have an unspoken truce. A natural understanding. You know it as well as I do.”

The reaction to that was immediate. Jin’s lips parted slightly in surprise. Hoseok’s entire posture stiffened, his jaw going tight. Even Namjoon blinked once, as if processing your words.

“Your coven,” Jin repeated, carefully.

You nodded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, then smoothly changed the subject. “But I didn’t come here to debate history. I came here because you were attacked, and such attacks are never random. We need to talk about it.”

Namjoon leaned forward slightly, but before he could respond, Hoseok’s temper snapped.

“Oh no,” he growled, stepping forward, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “We’re not just moving on like that. You think you can wave your damned magic around, bind me to some spell, and walk away without explaining a damn thing?”

Jungkook’s body tensed beside you, ready to step in if necessary, but you didn’t seem the least bit rattled. Instead, you simply turned to Hoseok with a look that nearly belittled him. His misconceptions about magic, about what you had done—it was almost amusing.

But you didn’t explain. Not really. Not the way you had to Jungkook in his home, when you had taken the time to tell him why blood magic was what it was. Hoseok didn’t deserve that much.

Your silence only seemed to enrage him further. “If you could heal the kid that way,” he snapped, “why didn’t you do it from the start? Why not remove all spells while you’re at it?”

Your lips curved into something that was not quite a smile. “You’re under the impression that magic is a game, wolf.” Your voice was calm, but there was something sharp beneath it. “That I pick and choose on a whim. If I could take away all spells, don’t you think I would have? Or do you think I enjoy exhausting myself to the point of collapse?”

Hoseok opened his mouth to argue, but you didn’t let him.

“I came here to help,” you continued, voice steady. “But if my presence is such a problem, I can leave.”

Jungkook hated that. The very idea of you leaving made something raw claw at his chest. His wolf snarled inside him, restless, angry. But then you added something else.

“My guard has been following me,” you said, ignoring the way Jungkook’s entire body went rigid. “he’ll arrive within the next two days. That will give me a safe way back.”

Jungkook hated that more.

Because your guard meant one person in particular.

Jimin.

A cold possessiveness curled in his gut at the thought of you leaving with him.

But it wasn’t just Jungkook who disliked the idea. Namjoon exhaled slowly, considering you for a long moment before shaking his head.

“You’re already here. You saved too many of my people for me to let you walk out without proper thanks.” Namjoon’s voice was firm, final in a way that left no room for argument. Then, after a brief pause, his eyes flickered to Hoseok with disapproval. “But maybe we should talk without an audience.”

Jungkook tensed beside you, his shoulders coiling tight. He knew what that meant. He was about to be sent away. Away from you.

And he hated it.

His wolf snarled in protest, the very idea of leaving you unprotected—even with Namjoon—feeling like the worst kind of mistake. Rationally, he knew you weren’t defenseless, but rationality had never done much to quiet the instincts ingrained in his very bones.

But before he could argue, you spoke.

“Sure,” you said, tone as even as ever. “But I would like Jungkook to be present.”

Jungkook barely had time to register the words before a rush of satisfaction surged through him. If he were in his wolf form, he was sure his tail would have wagged like an idiot’s.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “You want Jungkook here?”

You nodded once. “My… guard entrusted his duties to him while we went ahead. If you trust him with what we will talk about?”

The corner of Namjoon’s lips twitched slightly, amusement barely concealed beneath his otherwise unreadable expression. Jin, who had been silent up until now, let out a quiet hum, something knowing in his gaze as he glanced between the two of you.

Hoseok, on the other hand, looked utterly disgusted.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me—”

“Hoseok.” Namjoon’s voice was sharp. A warning.

Hoseok exhaled harshly through his nose, but this time, he didn’t argue. He just folded his arms across his chest and looked off to the side, jaw tight with barely restrained irritation.

Namjoon turned his attention back to you, giving a single nod. “Alright. Jungkook stays.”

Jungkook swallowed back the irrational relief that flooded through him. He refused to acknowledge why the thought of being away from you had filled him with such tension in the first place.

As Jin and Hoseok moved, Hoseok was outright hostile. But Jin nodded in silent acknowledgment. Recognition.

You had saved many of their own.

And, whether they liked it or not, that meant something.

You weren’t leaving.

And neither was he.

The discussion with Namjoon had been more productive than you’d expected.

The Pack’s leader was measured, sharp, and wary, but he wasn’t unreasonable. By the end of the conversation, you had secured safe passage through the village under his protection. He had also agreed that your arriving guard—Jimin—would be granted the same privileges.

Of course, not all wolves would warm up to you overnight. Trust, especially among werewolves, was a hard-won thing. Some still viewed you with outright hostility, others with silent wariness. But Namjoon had made his stance clear. You were not to be harmed. And as long as Jungkook upheld his promise to keep you safe, you had no doubt that promise would be honored.

Then came the question of where you would stay.

Namjoon, ever the pragmatic leader, had offered you a room in the Pack House. It was logical. The Pack House was the safest place in the village, close to the highest-ranking wolves, the center of their power.

But before you could accept, before Namjoon could even finish explaining the arrangements—

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jungkook’s voice cut in, firm and decisive.

You blinked at him. Namjoon raised an eyebrow.

And Jungkook—well.

Jungkook realized what he had just said a second too late.

His ears turned red.

“With some wolves still hostile,” he quickly added, looking anywhere but at you, “it would be better if she stayed with me. That way, she wouldn’t have to deal with suspicious packmates glaring at her all night.”

There was a heavy silence.

Then—

Namjoon hummed. Amused. “Oh?”

Jungkook stiffened. “I— I just meant—”

“You meant that her safety is your responsibility,” Namjoon said, voice neutral but his gaze anything but. His eyes held something knowing, something that made Jungkook shift uncomfortably under its weight. “Good.”

Jungkook hated that look.

You, on the other hand, weren’t as flustered as Jungkook clearly was. Instead, you just tilted your head slightly, gaze lingering on him for a moment before nodding. “That’s fine with me.”

Jungkook swallowed hard.

Then came the next topic.

The hunters.

You had no doubt that the last attack had only been the beginning. If they had struck once, they would strike again. And when they did, both your coven and the werewolf village would be in danger.

Namjoon agreed.

Which was why you made your offer.

“I can ward the village,” you said simply. “Every protection spell I know, every barrier I can weave. It won’t stop a full-blown assault, but it will make it harder for them to get close without us knowing.”

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And what would you want in return?”

Your answer was immediate.

“A friendship.”

The room went silent.

You met Namjoon’s gaze without flinching. “Your people and mine don’t need to love each other. But we can help each other. Like now. Like this. When it matters.”

Something shifted in Namjoon’s expression.

After a long moment, he nodded.

“That,” he said, “I can agree to.”

With the terms settled, Namjoon and Jungkook had wanted to take you around the village to begin placing protection spells.

Except—

Your stomach had other ideas.

A quiet, traitorous rumble filled the room.

For a second, no one said anything.

Then—

Jungkook turned to look at you, blinking.

Heat immediately flooded your face.

You pressed a hand against your stomach as if that would somehow take back the sound, but the damage was done. Namjoon’s lips twitched in amusement. And Jungkook—

Jungkook grinned.

His wolf preened at the sight of your flushed face.

You cleared your throat. “Perhaps… a break before we start?”

Jungkook was already pushing up from his chair. “I’ll get food.”

Namjoon nodded. “Eat first. We can go after.”

And just like that, you found yourself following Jungkook to a smaller, more private space—a cozy, open room in the Pack House where food was often shared among the higher-ranking wolves. It wasn’t the main dining hall, where the majority of the pack ate together, but it wasn’t entirely secluded either.

Jungkook grabbed a plate and started piling food onto it—grilled meat, roasted vegetables, thick slices of bread. He moved with ease, almost unconsciously, as if he had done this a hundred times.

Which, you supposed, he had.

“You don’t have to serve me, you know,” you pointed out, watching him.

Jungkook didn’t even look up. “You just fainted a few hours ago. You’re eating.”

You huffed but said nothing as he handed you a full plate.

Then—before you could react—he grabbed a piece of bread and ripped it in half.

You stared.

“…Are you always this aggressive with your food?”

Jungkook paused mid-chew, eyes flicking to you.

Then he grinned, mouth still full. “Hmph.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitched.

You sat down at one of the wooden tables, and Jungkook took the seat beside you—right beside you, not across, not with space between. His thigh was close enough to brush against yours, his presence a warm, solid weight beside you.

You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you took the first bite. The food was simple but good. Well-seasoned, filling. It grounded you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

Jungkook watched you, a small flicker of satisfaction in his expression.

“You like it?” he asked.

You nodded, swallowing. “It’s good.”

Jungkook watched you eat with a quiet, deep satisfaction.

It wasn’t just relief that you were eating after what you had been through. It was something older, something ingrained into his instincts, something wolfen.

You were eating his food.

Food he had picked for you. Food he had given you.

And you liked it.

A low, pleased hum rumbled in his chest, too deep to be entirely human. His wolf settled, tail-wagging levels of happy, as you took another bite, clearly enjoying the meal.

He knew, logically, that you didn’t understand the significance. That you weren’t one of them.

But in his world, in his nature, providing for a mate was instinctual. Offering food wasn’t just kindness—it was a sign of care, protection. It was a wolf’s responsibility. Making sure you had everything you needed, that you were safe and fed, felt more fulfilling than it should.

Jungkook glanced at your plate—mostly empty now—and felt a surge of satisfaction so strong it almost startled him.

You had eaten everything.

Jin, who had silently slid into the seat across from you at some point, noticed.

Noticed the way Jungkook was sitting a little too close. The way his eyes flickered with something warm and possessive. The way his body was angled protectively toward you, even though there was no immediate threat.

And Jin, being Jin, did what he did best.

He grinned.

Jungkook shot him a glare, but it lacked heat.

Jin just picked up a piece of meat and bit into it lazily. “So,” he mused, glancing between you and Jungkook, “you’re really staying with him, huh?”

You swallowed the last bit of food, nodding. “Apparently.”

Jin’s grin widened. “Interesting.”

Jungkook groaned.

After you finished eating, Jin pushed himself up from his seat, stretching. “Namjoon’s caught up with other things,” he said, “so I’ll be the one following you while you work on the protection spells.”

Jungkook immediately frowned.

You gave Jin a small smile, genuinely pleased to have him accompany you. “You’re welcome to come, but I should warn you—it’s probably going to be boring.”

Jin gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Boring? Do you not know who I am? I am the life of every gathering. I bring light to the darkest of days. I—”

“You talk too much,” Jungkook muttered, rolling his eyes.

Jin ignored him, grinning as he leaned slightly closer to you. “Besides, if I wasn’t there, who knows what kind of trouble you and Jungkook would get into all alone?”

Jungkook kicked him under the table.

Jin howled, clutching his shin. “See?! This is the treatment I get for trying to protect your reputation?”

Jungkook scowled, but his ears were turning red.

You just shook your head, standing up chuckling. “Let’s just go.”

Jin, still grinning despite the pain, followed with a smug expression. Then, after one last glance at your empty plate—Jungkook’s wolf practically purring at the sight—you set off to begin your work.

The afternoon passed in a blur of whispered incantations and flickering air.

Some spells were nearly invisible, their effects subtle and woven seamlessly into the land. Others were more obvious—the air shimmered in places where barriers strengthened, the light bending as if the very world was shifting to accommodate your magic.

Jungkook watched you with open awe.

He had never seen magic like this before.

Of course, he had always known witches could do things wolves could not. But witnessing it firsthand—watching you shape the world with your hands, bend energy with nothing but your will—was entirely different.

You were unlike anything he had ever encountered.

And the pack was beginning to see it too.

At first, they had simply observed from a distance, hesitant and wary. But as the day went on, some wolves grew bolder. A few approached, curiosity outweighing suspicion.

Jungkook was tense at first. He didn’t like the way some of the wolves hovered nearby, their eyes locked onto you as you worked. Even if they weren’t outright hostile, they were still watching—still wary, still uncertain.

It made his wolf restless. Protective.

But as the day stretched on, something began to shift.

At first, the wolves had simply observed from a distance, hesitant and cautious. But curiosity was a powerful thing, and eventually, it overpowered their distrust. A few wolves stepped closer, drawn in by the strange yet mesmerizing sight of your work.

Jungkook kept his stance firm, his expression unreadable, but Jin nudged him lightly.

“Relax,” Jin murmured under his breath. “Look at them. They’re not snarling. They’re not snapping their teeth. Give them a chance.”

Jungkook exhaled slowly, glancing at you.

You were so focused, so calm, tracing unseen lines in the air with your fingertips, murmuring soft incantations that made the very atmosphere flicker. Your magic left shimmering traces behind—sometimes invisible, sometimes shifting like heat waves. It was beautiful.

And, surprisingly, some of the wolves thought so too.

One finally stepped forward, hesitant but determined. “What… exactly are you doing?”

Jungkook stiffened slightly, but you only turned to them with quiet patience.

“I’m warding the village,” you explained simply, pausing in your work to meet their gaze. “Strengthening the defenses so if hunters come again, we’ll have early warnings and protections.”

The wolf frowned, shifting on their feet as if processing your words. Jungkook held his breath, waiting for them to sneer, to challenge, to reject.

But instead—

“…That’s good,” they admitted.

Jungkook blinked.

The wolf didn’t say anything else, but they stepped back, watching you work with less wariness than before.

Jin shot Jungkook a knowing look. See?

And as much as Jungkook hated to admit it, Jin was right.

For the first time since you had arrived, it felt like a small part of the Pack was beginning to accept you. And though Jungkook wouldn’t let his guard down completely—though he still watched every wolf that got too close—he allowed himself to breathe.

It wasn’t acceptance. Not yet.

But it was a start.

Jungkook felt something warm settle in his chest as he observed the shift.

You were changing things here.

For the first time, his pack was beginning to see you not as an outsider, not as a witch—but as someone helping them.

And then—

“You should stop.”

Your hands stilled mid-gesture as Jungkook’s voice cut through the evening air.

You turned to look at him, confused. “What?”

The sun was dipping lower now, staining the sky in deep oranges and purples. The air was cooling.

Jungkook’s jaw was tight.

“You should stop for today.”

You frowned. “I can keep going.”

“No.”

The word was firm.

Your frown deepened. “Jungkook, I’m fine—”

“You fainted earlier.”

The reminder sent a ripple of stubbornness through you. “That was from a blood spell, not this.”

“I don’t care.”

His voice was steady, but his eyes—

His eyes were intense.

Frustrated. Worried.

His wolf was pacing beneath his skin, restless. The memory of you collapsing, unconscious and pale, was still too fresh.

You hesitated.

He took a step closer, his expression dark and serious. “You’re not pushing yourself past your limit again.”

The protective edge in his tone caught you off guard.

Jin, standing a few feet away, watched with open amusement but said nothing.

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Jungkook—”

“No.”

You huffed under your breath, muttering, “You’re worse than Jimin.”

It wasn’t meant to be a big deal, just an exasperated complaint, but the second the words left your mouth, Jungkook’s expression darkened.

Worse than Jimin?

Jungkook, was not amused.

“Worse than Jimin?” he repeated, voice flat.

You blinked at him, only now realizing what you had done.

Jungkook didn’t like being compared to Jimin. But even more than that, he didn’t like the implication behind your words—the one that suggested you needed someone to stop you, that you wouldn’t stop on your own. That you had the same reckless streak that Jimin always scolded you for.

His jaw clenched. “That supposed to mean something?”

You hesitated. “It means you’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic?”

Jin snorted. “You are being a little dramatic, Jungkook.”

Jungkook shot him a glare, but it lacked real heat. Then he turned back to you, his sharp eyes searching your face.

“Stop pushing yourself,” he said firmly.

You exhaled, dragging a hand through your hair. You hadn’t even done that much. But something about the way he was watching you—like you were one wrong move away from collapsing again—made it impossible to argue.

You exhaled slowly. Then, finally, you gave in. “…Fine.”

Jungkook’s shoulders relaxed just slightly.

You hadn’t noticed how tense he had been.

Jin snickered. “Didn’t know you were this bossy, Jungkook.”

Jungkook ignored him.

Instead, his gaze softened as he looked at you. “Come on. You’ve done enough for today.”

And just like that—before you could argue further—he reached out, wrapping his fingers around your wrist, tugging you gently in the direction of his home.

You let him lead you.

And behind you, Jin’s grin only widened.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Jungkook didn’t let go of your wrist the entire walk back.

It wasn’t until you stepped inside his home—until the door shut behind you, sealing you both in the quiet warmth of his space—that he realized it.

His body tensed. His grip slackened.

And then, as if burned, he let go.

Too fast. Too abrupt. He had been so preoccupied with keeping you close, with making sure you didn’t push yourself too hard, that he hadn’t thought about what he was doing. About what it meant.

His whole body tensed as he stepped away, putting deliberate distance between you. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking near his temple, and you could practically see the war waging inside him. Something unsettled flickered in his eyes, like a question he wasn’t willing to ask.

His heart pounded in his chest, restless and uneasy, his wolf scratching just beneath the surface, urging him to pull you close again. To feel that warmth, that connection.

But he didn’t.

Because that would be reckless. And selfish.

You hadn’t chosen him. Hell, you might not even know.

Jungkook swallowed, his throat bobbing, before his gaze snapped away. "You should take the bed."

You turned to him, one brow arching. "What?"

"You heard me." He gestured toward the small but comfortable-looking bed in the adjacent room. "You're still recovering. Take the bed."

You blinked at him, then let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, absolutely not. You should take the bed. This is your home."

"It's my home, which is why I'm saying you should take it."

You crossed your arms, leveling him with an unimpressed look. "I'm a guest. Guests take the couch. That’s just common courtesy."

"And hosts take care of their guests," he shot back, expression firm. "That’s just common sense."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You’ve already taken care of me enough."

"You passed out from that spell earlier," he reminded you. " And then spent the entire day working." He took a slow step closer, voice dipping into something softer. "You need proper rest."

"So do you."

Jungkook exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling smug for a moment—until you saw the way his ears had turned pink.

Jungkook didn’t care about himself. He cared about you.

And that realization made something unfamiliar twist low in your stomach.

Still, you weren’t about to let him win so easily.

"You’re taking the bed," he insisted.

"I’m taking the couch."

"You’re so damn stubborn."

You smirked. "Thank you."

"It wasn’t a compliment."

"Sure sounded like one."

Jungkook let out a low, frustrated groan, rolling his eyes skyward like he was asking the moon for patience.

This shouldn’t be such a big deal. It was just a bed. But the thought of you sleeping out here on the couch while his bed sat empty didn’t sit right with him. Not at all. You deserved comfort. Safety. The best he could offer you.

And…

And if he was being completely honest, part of him liked the idea of you sleeping in his bed.

Because then, when he went to sleep later—when he laid his head on the pillows and inhaled deeply—your scent would still be there, woven into the fabric, lingering in the space around him.

His wolf purred at the thought, tail practically wagging.

He swallowed thickly, pushing down the surge of want that threatened to rise to the surface.

"You’re taking the bed," he said, tone final.

You huffed. "No, I'm—"

Jungkook growled.

It wasn’t loud, wasn’t threatening—but it was warning.

You froze for half a second, eyes narrowing at him, then sighed. He was serious about this. And honestly… you were exhausted. The last two days had taken more out of you than you wanted to admit. The thought of sinking into a real bed instead of stiff cushions… well. That was tempting. And if Jungkook was going to be this insistent, you might as well accept the offer.

"Fine," you muttered.

Jungkook barely contained his victorious smirk.

Then, before you could change your mind, he turned toward the small storage space in the corner, pulling out a spare blanket for himself. "Good. Now go to sleep."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you turned and headed toward the bedroom, the scent of pinewood and something distinctly him wrapping around you as you stepped inside. It was simple but comfortable—neat blankets, a small table near the window, and pillows stacked against the headboard.

It was undeniably his space.

And you were about to sleep in it. You already had, but now you would do so on your own.

And as you walked past him, heading toward his bedroom, Jungkook couldn’t help but glance at you—at the way your presence fit so easily into his home, like you belonged here.

Like you belonged with him.

His chest ached.

He turned away before he could think about it too much.

Tomorrow. He’d think about it tomorrow.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Jungkook woke up to the soft sounds of clinking utensils and a faint hum of a melody he couldn't quite place. The smell of something warm and comforting filled the air, making his stomach grumble, even though he wasn't quite awake yet.

He blinked slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light streaming through the small window. For a moment, he was disoriented, not fully sure where he was. But then the memory of the night before came rushing back—everything from the blood spell to your stubborn insistence on taking the couch. And now, here you were, in his kitchen, cooking.

He rubbed his face and pushed himself up, wincing slightly at the soreness in his muscles from the events of the last few days. His eyes fell on you, bent over a skillet, the faint sound of sizzling filling the silence between the two of you. You were humming lightly, focused on your task, completely at ease in his space.

The sight of you so comfortable, so... at home, made something warm stir inside him. He couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. This—this felt like peace. Like everything had settled into place. His mate, in his kitchen, cooking breakfast.

A low chuckle escaped him, and you turned slightly, catching the sound as you noticed him. His gaze met yours, a mix of amusement and something softer, unspoken, in his eyes.

"Good morning," you said, your voice calm and steady, though there was a hint of playfulness in your tone.

Jungkook stretched, his muscles protesting, but he ignored it. "I didn’t realize I was the guest here," he teased softly, trying to keep the mood light. "Shouldn't I be the one making breakfast for you?"

You didn't look up from the stove as you replied, your voice warm but firm, "I'm fine. The breakfast will be ready soon."

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, watching you with a mix of amusement and admiration. There was no winning with you. "What kind of tea are you drinking?" he asked, a change of subject to keep the conversation going.

You paused for just a beat, considering whether you should tease him or not. Your eyes flickered over to him, and with a knowing smile, you said, "Lavender. I hope it’s okay I used yours. And something from the herbs I brought along. It’s meant to help with fatigue."

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but the soft laugh that followed was immediate. "Of course it’s okay. You don’t have to ask, you know." He stretched, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and a smile tugged at his lips.

You gave a small, appreciative smile, then turned your attention back to the tea. As you listed the herbs you had brought, Jungkook raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a mix of curiosity and something like suspicion.

"What exactly did you bring?" he asked, his voice teasing. "Are you making potions instead of tea?"

You met his gaze and couldn’t help but laugh lightly. "Nothing that extreme," you teased back, though there was a glint of something serious in your eyes. "Just a blend to help with your energy levels. It’ll give you a little more balance."

"You should try it," you said, your voice gentle as you poured him a cup of tea and passed it to him.

As his fingers brushed yours, a strange, electric feeling ran through him. It was subtle at first—just the briefest of touches—but it sent a jolt of warmth straight to his chest. His heartbeat quickened, his breath catching as the sensation seemed to settle deep inside him. It felt like home, like peace had washed over him.

You froze for a fraction of a second, the weight of the moment hanging between you, but neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved.

Jungkook’s breath faltered as he glanced down at your fingers, now both holding the cup in your hand, feeling the lingering warmth of your touch still dancing along his skin. His wolf stirred restlessly, but Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to break the silence.

He wanted to. He wanted to ask you if you felt it too. But he couldn’t.

You finally broke the moment with a soft, steady exhale, your fingers retreating slowly as you handed him the cup. The air around you felt heavier, charged, but neither of you acknowledged it.

"Do you like it?" you asked, your voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

Jungkook chuckled, though a small part of him still wondered what other strange remedies you had hidden among those herbs. He took a sip of the tea, letting the warm liquid settle over him. He couldn’t deny it was soothing.

"It’s good," he murmured, looking at you with a playful glint. "Maybe you should just make all my tea from now on."

For a moment, you both stood there, silently sharing the quiet of the morning, the tension between you simmering just beneath the surface. Jungkook glanced at you again, wondering if you knew what had just passed between you. Wondering if you could feel it too.

But he didn’t ask. And you didn’t say anything more.

The air hummed with unsaid words. With possibilities neither of you was ready to confront.

Yet.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Jungkook was still watching you when the sharp knock at the door made you both jump slightly, shattering the fragile moment between you.

Jin’s voice carried through the wood. “Jungkook, open up! You too, witch, I know you’re in there.”

Jungkook groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hyung, it’s too damn early for your nonsense.”

“Too early?” Jin scoffed. “Half the pack has been awake since dawn. Now open the door before I break it down.”

You exchanged a glance with Jungkook, who rolled his eyes before getting up and swinging the door open.

Jin stood there, arms crossed, looking entirely unimpressed. His sharp gaze flickered over you before settling back on Jungkook. “The pack house needs you both. Some of the wounded need another check, and others specifically asked to thank the witch who healed them.” He gave you a pointed look. “Try not to look so surprised. You did save their lives.”

You shifted, pushing your tea cup aside. “I don’t mind helping,” you said after a pause.

Jin nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”

The walk to the pack house was quiet, though Jungkook stuck close to you, his presence steady beside you. The moment had been disrupted, but you were almost grateful for it—because the longer you spent with him, the harder it was to ignore the lingering dread creeping in. The moment you finished here, you’d have to leave. Jimin was expecting you back home. And the thought of walking away from this place, from Jungkook, left a weight in your chest that you weren’t ready to unpack.

At the pack house, things quickly became busy. You checked over wounds, reinforced healing spells, and even brewed a potion for revitalization—something to help the injured regain their strength faster. Some of the wolves you’d treated were hesitant at first, still wary of a witch in their midst, but others, grateful for your help, actually sought you out to thank you.

Jungkook remained by your side the entire time. Whether it was intentional or not, you weren’t sure, but you could feel him—his presence, his gaze, his silent reassurance. It made it easier to breathe, even as your mind churned with thoughts you didn’t want to face.

Jin stayed behind at the pack house as you and Jungkook left to continue warding the village. You had just reached the edge of the territory when another familiar voice cut through the air.

“You really have no shame, do you?”

Hoseok.

You turned just in time to see him approaching, his expression unreadable but his tone laced with irritation.

Jungkook immediately tensed beside you.

“I’m busy, Hoseok,” you said evenly, refusing to let him get under your skin.

“Oh, I can see that,” he said, eyeing the way Jungkook stood close to you. “Busy playing house with our second-in-command?”

Your jaw clenched, but before you could say anything, Jungkook moved.

He stepped between you and Hoseok, his posture rigid, shoulders squared. “Watch it,” Jungkook warned, voice low and dangerous.

Hoseok raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “What? I’m just wondering when exactly we started trusting witches so easily. Or is she just an exception?”

Jungkook’s muscles coiled, his hands clenching into fists. “I don’t need to explain anything to you.”

Hoseok scoffed, crossing his arms. “Right. Of course not. Just like you don’t need to explain why you’re acting like she’s more important than the pack.”

The accusation sent a sharp wave of tension through the air. You could feel the way Jungkook’s anger crackled beneath the surface, restrained only by a thin thread of control.

“I swore to protect her,” Jungkook said, his voice quiet but firm.

Hoseok’s expression darkened. “Why?”

Jungkook’s grip tightened at his sides. “Because she could saved us.”

Hoseok took a slow step forward, looking past Jungkook to meet your gaze. “Did she? Or did she just do what was convenient for her?”

That was the final straw.

Jungkook lunged first.

The impact was sudden, raw. The two of them crashed to the ground, rolling through the dirt as fists flew. Hoseok wasn’t weak, but neither was Jungkook—especially not when he was this furious.

You barely had time to react before they were locked in a vicious struggle, growls ripping through the air. Jungkook fought like he had something to prove, like he was defending something that went far beyond just you being a witch in their territory.

Because this wasn’t just about the pack anymore.

It was about you.

And though Jungkook wasn’t ready to admit it—to himself or to anyone else—he wouldn’t let anyone talk to his mate like that.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Jungkook barely had time to process his own fury before he was moving. His body acted before his mind could catch up, instincts taking over in a single, explosive movement.

One second, he was standing between you and Hoseok, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles ached. The next, he lunged.

The impact was immediate—bone and muscle colliding with raw force. They hit the ground hard, rolling through the dirt as the force of Jungkook’s tackle sent them skidding across the clearing. A snarl tore from Jungkook’s throat, his wolf dangerously close to the surface.

Hoseok wasn’t weak. He recovered quickly, twisting his body mid-roll to break free from Jungkook’s grip, and in the next heartbeat, he retaliated.

A fist shot out, catching Jungkook just under the ribs, but it wasn’t enough to make him back down. If anything, it only made him more determined.

Jungkook shoved back, hard, knocking Hoseok onto his back before pinning him down with a knee to his chest. His breath came heavy, his heart pounding in his ears, but he barely noticed.

"You don’t get to talk about her like that," he growled, voice rough with warning.

Hoseok scoffed beneath him, gritting his teeth as he struggled against Jungkook’s hold. "So that’s what this is about?" he spat. "Not the pack, not the safety of our people—just her?"

Jungkook’s grip tightened, fingers curling into the fabric of Hoseok’s shirt. "She saved us," he bit out, his tone lethal. "She saved Namjoon. She saved me. And you still act like she’s the enemy."

Hoseok’s eyes flashed, his own anger simmering beneath the surface. "She’s a witch," he snapped. "You don’t just forget centuries of bloodshed because of one act of kindness."

Jungkook’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. "And you don’t blame someone for things they didn’t do."

A tense silence stretched between them, their harsh breaths the only sound in the air. The pack house wasn’t far—others would have heard the commotion by now. But neither of them moved, neither willing to be the first to back down.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Jungkook saw you take a small step forward. You weren’t afraid, not of him, not of Hoseok. But there was something in your expression—something wary, something uncertain.

And it made Jungkook’s fury deepen.

Because you shouldn’t have to look at his pack like that. You shouldn’t have to defend yourself every time you turned around.

His fingers twitched against Hoseok’s collar, but he forced himself to release his grip, shoving himself back just enough to let the other man breathe. Hoseok coughed, rubbing his chest as he sat up, but his glare didn’t waver.

"She doesn’t belong here," he said, his voice lower now, but just as sharp.

Jungkook’s hands curled into fists at his sides. "She belongs wherever she wants to be," he said firmly. "And if she chooses to be here, then that’s her choice. Not yours."

For a long moment, Hoseok didn’t reply. He only stared at Jungkook, then at you, as if weighing something unspoken. Then, with a heavy exhale, he pushed himself to his feet.

"This isn’t over," he muttered, brushing dirt from his clothes.

Jungkook didn’t look away. "It is for now," he said, voice cold.

Hoseok cast one last glance between the two of you before turning on his heel and walking off, his posture stiff with lingering tension.

The second he was gone, the air between you and Jungkook shifted.

His shoulders were still taut, his body wound too tight, but when he turned to look at you, something softened in his expression.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges.

You blinked, caught off guard. "I—yes," you said slowly. "You didn’t have to do that, you know."

Jungkook exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, I did."

You studied him for a long moment, something unreadable passing through your eyes. He was still tense, shoulders squared, fists flexing at his sides like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of the fight.

Your gaze flickered down to where Hoseok had landed a solid punch just under his ribs. A faint shadow of pain crossed his face before he schooled his features again.

"Are you alright?" you asked, tilting your head slightly. "That hit looked like it hurt."

Jungkook scoffed, shifting his weight. "It’s nothing."

You frowned. "That’s not an answer."

His lips twitched, but when you stepped forward, reaching a careful hand toward his side, he stiffened. Not because he didn’t want you close—but because the moment your fingers brushed his shirt, something in him nearly unraveled.

"Should I take a look at it?" you asked, voice softer now. "Just to make sure it won’t bruise too badly?"

Jungkook swallowed, throat bobbing. He should say no. He knew he should. But you were standing so close, the scent of lavender and something warm filling the space between you, and for some reason, he didn’t want to move away.

He wanted to say yes.

And that terrified him.

But before he could answer, the sound of footsteps broke the moment, distant but approaching. His jaw clenched as he turned his head, knowing it was probably another member of the pack coming to check on the fight.

You took a small step back, hands dropping to your sides.

"Later, then," you murmured.

Jungkook wasn’t sure if you meant the check-up or something else entirely.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Jungkook barely had a moment to catch his breath before another set of hurried footsteps approached. A younger wolf, barely past his first shift, skidded to a stop in front of them, panting.

"Jungkook," the boy gasped, eyes darting between you and the beta. "Alpha Namjoon needs you. Now."

Jungkook’s entire body tensed. "What happened?"

The boy hesitated, glancing at you, before lowering his voice. "There’s been movement near the eastern border. Strangers. We don’t know if they’re hunters or rogues, but Namjoon wants you there."

A growl rumbled deep in Jungkook’s chest. His instincts screamed at him to stay—to keep you within reach, where he knew you were safe—but the pack came first. And if there was a threat near their borders, he couldn’t ignore it.

His gaze snapped to you, his brow furrowed in hesitation. "You go stay with Jin," he ordered, voice rough. "Don’t go anywhere until I get back."

You sighed, offering a small, reassuring smile. "I’ll be fine, Jungkook. It’s just for a moment."

He didn’t look convinced.

You stepped closer to Jungkook, voice lowering. "Really, go. Your pack needs you. I’ll be right here with Jin when you get back."

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. His wolf didn’t like this—not one bit. But he forced himself to nod, eyes lingering on you for a second longer before turning away.

The moment he disappeared into the trees, you went to find Jin. It didn’t take long for you to find him and tell him why you were without Jungkook.

"You know," Jin mused, leaning lazily against a tree. "I think that might be the first time for Jungkook to hesitate to follow an order."

You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes. "He’s just protective."

Jin hummed, looking at you with a knowing glint in his eyes. "Oh, sweetheart. That’s not just protection. That’s something else entirely."

You opened your mouth to argue—but then closed it again. Because deep down, you knew Jin wasn’t wrong.

And that realization was almost as terrifying as the thought of Jungkook being forced away from you.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The minutes stretched longer than you expected. Jungkook still wasn’t back, and though you weren’t worried for your safety, you couldn’t shake the unease creeping in. Jin, ever the social one, kept you occupied with stories about the pack and his long-standing friendship with both Jungkook and Namjoon.

“You know, Jungkook wasn’t always the brooding, silent type,” Jin mused, leaning against a tree. “When we were younger, he was the first to pick fights, but not out of aggression. It was just his way of proving himself. Namjoon always had to drag him out of trouble.”

You smiled faintly, picturing a younger Jungkook, all wild energy and untamed defiance. “And you? Were you the responsible one?”

Jin scoffed. “Me? Absolutely not. I just had the best excuses to get us out of trouble.” He smirked, then his expression softened. “Jungkook’s loyalty is fierce, though. If you have him on your side, he’ll never let anything happen to you.”

You hesitated. “I know.”

Jin watched you for a moment before changing the subject. “Hoseok, by the way? I have a theory about why he’s been so difficult with you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”

Jin chuckled. “He doesn’t trust outsiders, sure. But it’s more than that. He thinks you’re going to take Jungkook from the pack.”

You blinked. “What?”

“He sees how Jungkook looks at you,” Jin continued, voice casual but sharp with meaning. “Even if Jungkook doesn’t realize it yet, Hoseok does. And he’s scared of what that means.”

Your lips parted, a denial forming, but before you could say anything—

A sharp whistle tore through the air.

Then, chaos erupted.

Shouts and growls filled the village as figures clad in dark clothing emerged from the tree line. Hunters. Again.

Your stomach lurched. Jin’s posture changed instantly, his easygoing demeanor vanishing as he grabbed your wrist. “Stay close.”

Chaos erupted almost instantly. The pack members still recovering from the last attack scrambled to evacuate the children and elderly while others shifted mid-run, lunging toward their attackers.

You nodded, but already, your thoughts raced. Not because you feared for yourself—you could handle this. But because Jungkook wasn’t here. If he were, you’d at least know he was safe.

The battle broke out in full force. Wolves, still recovering from the last attack, fought through their injuries to defend their home. Children were ushered away, their cries blending with the clashing of steel and snarls of wolves mid-shift.

You moved quickly, helping where you could. Spells left your lips, defensive barriers flashing to life, potions thrown to heal the wounded. Jin fought beside you, sharp and ruthless.

Then, in the chaos, you lost him.

You turned sharply, searching, but before you could find him, movement caught your eye. A hunter—a man clad in dark leathers, blade gleaming—rushed toward a small girl with pigtails, frozen in fear.

You didn’t think. You moved.

One hand grabbed the child, the other reaching into your pouch. As the hunter’s blade swung down, you twisted, pulling the girl with you, and hurled a vial of shimmering powder at the attacker’s face.

He screamed, clawing at his eyes, stumbling back in agony barely missing you.

But before you could react further, the unmistakable sound of crystals shattering on stone sent a cold dread through you.

Two glimmering stones landed behind you, their shards glowing faintly.

Binding Crystals.

A barrier flared to life, sealing you inside a confined space—cut off from the rest of the pack.

Two hunters were with you.

"Looks like we caught ourselves a little witch," one sneered.

You exhaled slowly, grounding yourself. "Stay exactly where you are," you murmured to the girl. "And close your eyes."

The hunters chuckled. "You don’t seem to understand your situation."

A small smile curved your lips as you reached into your pouch once more. "No," you said calmly, pulling out another vial, this one filled with a thick, black inky liquid.

"You don’t understand yours."

With a flick of your wrist, you uncorked the vial.

Black smoke poured out instantly, thick and unnatural, swallowing the space whole. The hunters cursed, stumbling back as the darkness consumed everything in its path.

And then—

Jungkook arrived.

He and his patrol burst onto the scene just in time to see the last of you disappear into the smoke.

Not one, but two hunters with you.

Rage, cold and absolute, filled him.

"No."

Without thinking, he lunged toward the barrier—only to be thrown back violently, skidding across the ground as the magic repelled him.

"No!" His roar shook the trees, his wolf raging against his skin, furious and desperate.

You were gone.

And he couldn’t reach you.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ Part 2

@somehowukook

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