1. Please make sure to check all previously reblogged posts before asking about a writer.
Or see following list of reblogged writers (alphabetical order):
adelinakim
astralkookie
bambiyoonz
belleeebelleee
bloodred-jk
bobbyseyesmile
borahaedarkly
chwrrybby
g|00s
gloriousstarfishcoffee
ggukgcf
guupie
hwaloverrr
igotnojamzzz
imnoomin
inkedwithcharm
itssskimiiii
jeonlic
jeonsdeerbaby
jikookncity
jjkarmy091
jjkvisions
jkwrites-m
jungkoode / kikiskook
kooklovee
kookquettes
kryia-g
luvismenu
luvvjayk
melancholy-of-nadia
minalous
mrsvante
myseachell
outrokoo
personasintro
pojkyo
unknowncyn
rosalescent
seokbite
ssbb-22
tarathetic / jungkoostar
words-in-purple
youthguk
yufawnz
2. You will also find excerpts from writers here; some had already blocked me before I had the opportunity to reblog their work, while others have not and were included because their writing exhibits the characteristics discussed in the respective post.
3. Asks recommending potential ai writers are generally not answered directly and will instead be addressed through corresponding reblogs (please refer to 1. and 2.). I reserve the right to make exceptions.
4. I cannot and will not guide every individual through whether or why I consider someone an ai writer. My explanations and methodology can be found here. Please make use of them and feel free to draw your own conclusions.
5. When reading fics independently and/or consulting my recommendations, it is important to remember that it is not the use of these linguistic patterns in itself that is indicative (after all, as is often said, âai learns from human writingâ), but rather the frequency with which these recurring structures appear within a single chapter, one-shot, or throughout an entire series. This can serve as an almost perfect indicator of ai-generated writing and its highly standardized semantic patterns.
To put it as clearly and simply as possible: if a single word typically associated with ai or one isolated sentence appears in a large work with a high word count, it is very likely not ai-generated. E.g. if a fic exceeding 150k words and spanning multiple chapters contains only a handful of sentences resembling the examples shown in my post on ai elements, itâs probably not ai.Â
6. I am generally available for questions, including technical questions and discussion. However, I reserve the right not to respond immediately, particularly as I am not chronically online.
7. You can find answered asks here.
8. I do not support or promote ai in art and fics.
9. If anything is missing, feel free to let me know through an ask. Thank you.
Hi! It was me who asked about reasonable dispute process and your answer did answer my questions, and made me more confident in your processes. I appreciate the thoroughness in your answer.
I have two questions for you please answer. And if you have answered I hope you don't mind answering again because I did not see. What you guys do if you see a story that looks may be 30% Ai? Maybe the author was AI assisted or just writes like AI. What you do? And another I have to say/ask there are stories on here that look very AI but you guys have not rebloged it. I know you can be busy but what if the author already has you blocked? And maybe you can't see the story?
We talked about this issue here. In summary, we wonât be reblogging these fics.
For blogs that have already blocked us, weâll probably post screenshots of the fics instead.
⏠you're holding a star, and eventually, he's going to realise you're just a rockââżïž”â§Ëââč
Pairing: Jungkook x Female!Reader
Summary: Jeon Jungkook's entire universe revolves around the girl who holds his heart, but when a cruel influence weaponises her unspoken insecurities, she begins to quietly unravel from the inside out, leaving him to pull her back before she is consumed entirely.
Genre/Tags: university au, romance, angst, fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort, soft Jungkook, crying Jungkook, domestic fluff
Word Count: 12.3k
Warnings: substance use, smoking cigarettes and joints, inferiority complex, overthinking, panic attack, manipulation, gaslighting, toxic friendship, fear of abandonment, emotional breakdown (pls lmk if i have missed any)
Notes: i really enjoyed writing this, literally binge wrote it in like a night and a bit, hope you like it!! oh, and if you notice any timeline inconsistencies... no you didn't. also i saw bts and holy shit... i've actually peaked in life... i fear it doesn't get better than this
Requested By: @poetryrosee
â°âș fanfic masterlist
Morning arrives not with the harsh rattle of an alarm, but with the slow warmth of a thumb tracing the curve of your cheek.
You stir against the covers, the crisp scent of his laundry detergent and his distinct, sun-warmed skin enveloping you. When you blink open your eyes, the world is a soft, blurry haze of amber morning light filtering through the sheer curtains, yet his face is in perfect, sharp focus. And, of course, he is already looking down at you. He has clearly been awake for a while; you can tell by the way his silken hair is messy but softly pushed back from his forehead, and by how his eyes are clear, dark, and utterly consumed by the sight of you.
"Morning," he murmurs. His voice is a low, raspy velvet, thick with sleep but entirely focused on your face. He doesn't just look at you; he anchors himself to you, as if waking up and verifying you are still here is the most critical part of his day. His warm hand slides from your cheek down to the nape of your neck, his long fingers tangling into your hair, gently guiding your face closer to press a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead. Then to your closed eyelid. Then to the very tip of your nose.
"Jungkook," you giggle, the sound muffled against his bare chest. You attempt to pull the thick duvet over your head, a desperate, instinctive shield against the glaring sunlight and the violent flusters you get from the sheer intensity of the man beside you.
But he simply laughs at your feeble attempt. Itâs a low, rumbling vibration that echoes right against your ribs, and with an effortless flex of his arm, he pulls you right back against him. He holds you tightly, your front flushed against his chest, his strong arms locking around your waist with a firm but incredibly gentle grip: the possessive, protective hold you've grown entirely accustomed to over the past year and a half.
"Don't hide from me," he whispers into your hair, kissing the crown of your head, his breath warm and comforting. "Let me look at you. I haven't seen your face all night."
"I was sleeping right next to you the entire time," you point out, a small, sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you rest your chin on his chest, looking up at his sharp jawline.
"Doesn't count," he declares shamelessly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Your eyes were closed. You weren't talking or looking at me. And you were turned the other way. It was pure torture," He dramatically states before leaning down to capture your lips in a deeply sweet kiss. Itâs a possessive sort of affection, the kind that makes your knees weak even whilst lying down, making you feel like you are the absolute centre of his universe, the axis upon which his entire life rotates. To Jungkook, you hang the moon, and he looks at you as if every piece of literature you study, every mundane, passing thought you voice, is absolute gospel.
He pulls away just an inch, his doe eyes searching yours. "Are you hungry? I made breakfast. Oatmeal with the berries you like, and I brewed the dark roast."
"You didn't have to do that," you say softly. Heâs a fourth-year law student with a mock trial preparation checklist that could double as a legal encyclopaedia, and yet he spends his precious morning minutes curating your breakfast.
I must've been a saint in a past life to have him, you think. But right on the heels of that thought, a cold, heavy weight drops into your stomach. Or maybe I'm just living on borrowed time before the universe realises a mistake was made.
"I wanted to," he corrects easily, shifting his weight so he can pull you up into a sitting position against the headboard. He reaches over to the nightstand, lifting a perfectly presented bowl of oatmeal, steam still rising from it in lazy curls, alongside a heavy ceramic mug of coffee. He places it carefully on your lap, watching your face with an expectant, eager expression that reminds you of a golden retriever waiting for praise. "Eat up. You have that long seminar today, right? The automatic modernism one? You need energy."
"And you have IP at nine," you say, taking a slow, steady sip of the coffee. Itâs perfect, the exact amount of milk, the perfect temperature. Of course it is. Jungkook doesn't do anything halfway. He doesn't know how to fail. "Did you finish revising your brief?"
"Finished it at two," he says casually, stretching his arms high over his head. He shrugs it off as if staying up until the early hours of the morning to master a legal brief while maintaining a perfect GPA and a leading role in the upcoming campus theatre production were simply light work. "Itâs fine. Iâm ahead of schedule. Tell me about your day instead. Are you going to finish your Pavlov draft?"
"Iâm trying to," you murmur, your enthusiastic tone slipping away as you stare down at the dark blue berries in your bowl.
The sudden, suffocating weight of your own academic pressure settles heavily in your chest, instantly souring the sweet taste of the breakfast. Being a second-year Literature major, a field which is volatile, entirely subjective, and agonisingly hard to prove yourself, has had you drowning more times than youâd like to admit. Yet at the same time, Jungkook operates in a world of absolute, ruthless metrics, and he dominates every single one of them without breaking a sweat.
He reaches out, his thumb catching a stray crumb near your lip, his gaze softening into something so profoundly tender it almost hurts to look at. "You will draft it beautifully. Youâre the smartest person I know, Y/N. You make my rigid law arguments look like child's play. No need to stress about it."
He means it. Thatâs the most terrifying part of this: he genuinely, truly believes you are his equal. He looks at you through a warped, beautiful lens of blind devotion, completely blind to the vast chasm between his effortless perfection and your frantic, and practically undignified, sprint just to stay in his peripheral vision. Every compliment he gives you feels less like praise and more like a debt you have no idea how to repay.
You force a tight nod, swallowing past the bitter lump of inadequacy in your throat, and quickly finish the food he prepared so he won't see the panic starting to manifest in your eyes. The clock on his wall ticks forward, cruel, mechanical, and relentless. Itâs 7:45 AM.
"I need to get ready," you say, setting the empty bowl aside on the nightstand and shifting your legs to swing them out of the warm bed.
Jungkook instantly hooks a firm hand around your wrist, his grip warm and unyielding as he pulls you right back into his space for one more desperate, lingering hug. He buries his face deeply into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. "Stay. Five minutes. Please."
"Jungkook, I don't even have my clothes here," you laugh, though the sound is noticeably strained now.
He groans into your skin, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second, his possessiveness flaring, before he reluctantly lets you go. "Fine. But Iâm walking you down to the lobby."
"No, don't," you say quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly, the words slipping out in a sharp, defensive spike. You soften your voice immediately, forcing a playful, easy smile onto your face to cover the slip. "You need to prepare for your formal debate later. I don't want the star of the society looking rumpled and distracted because he was escorting his gremlin girlfriend back to her residence hall. Stay here. Focus." You punctuate your words with a kiss to his cheeks.
He huffs, a sweet, exaggerated pouting expression crossing his handsome face, but he relents under your touch, leaning forward to press one final, firm, breathless kiss to your lips. "Call me the second your seminar ends. I want to have lunch with you. I'll buy you that pastry you like."
"I will," you promise, the word feeling heavy.
You gather your scattered things, slipping into his navy-blue university hoodie that completely swallows your frame. It smells strongly of him: rich, clean, and safe. You slip out of his apartment quietly, the heavy wood door clicking shut behind you with a solid click.
The moment you enter the sterile hallway of his block, the protective warmth of his presence evaporates entirely. It is replaced by the icy, creeping reality of who you are when he isn't around.
You walk briskly down the stairs, pull the heavy hood low over your eyes, step out into the morning air, and cross the wide, bustling quad. You pull the fabric tighter around yourself, feeling entirely like a thief, an imposter who managed to survive another night in a world where she simply doesn't belong. You aren't matching his pace; you are just a ghost wearing his clothes, desperately praying no one notices the difference.
The lecture hall you have found yourself in is grand, old, and suffocatingly prestigious. Wood-panelled walls rise up to high ceilings, and the tiered seating is packed to the brim with students, professors, and esteemed guests. Even the air smells of old paper, leather, and the distinct electricity of competitive intellect.
You sit near the back of the auditorium, your hands shoved deep into the pockets of your jacket, trying to make yourself as small and inconspicuous as possible. You shouldn't even really be here; you have a mountain of reading for your contemporary prose class, but Jungkook had looked at you with those wide, pleading eyes last week, asking if youâd come watch his debate. âI speak better when youâre in the room,â he had told you, entirely earnest.
Down on the stage of the hall, Jungkook is standing behind a heavy mahogany podium. He is dressed in a crisp, tailored black suit, the uniform of the universityâs law debate society. He looks terrifyingly striking. His broad shoulders fill out the jacket perfectly, and his hair is neatly styled away from his face. He is currently adjusting his microphone, speaking casually to one of his teammates, completely devoid of the nervous tremors that are currently plaguing every other speaker in the room. He is entirely in his element.
"Is anyone sitting here?"
You blink, jolting slightly out of your thoughts as a girl gestures to the empty seat next to you. She is fashionable, carrying a sleek leather tote bag and a tablet, looking every bit a pristine student.
"No, go ahead," you say softly, offering a polite, small smile.
The girl sits down, smoothing out her skirt, and immediately focuses her gaze down on the stage. She sighs, a dreamy, slightly envious sound. "Thank god I managed to grab a seat. The turnout for these competitions is always insane when itâs the senior tier."
"Yeah, itâs really crowded," you agree, keeping your voice neutral.
The girl turns her head to look at you, her eyes scanning your casual attire, a plain tee paired with an oversized jacket and jeans, a stark contrast to the numerous sharp blazers surrounding you. She tilts her head. "Are you a law first-year? I haven't seen you around the faculty building."
"Oh, no," you say, a familiar tightness squeezing in your chest. "Iâm a Literature major. Iâm just... visiting."
"Ah, an arts student," she says, her tone perfectly pleasant but carrying that subtle, unvoiced condescension that STEM and law majors always seem to harbour. "What brought you all the way over to this side of campus? Just curious about legal rhetoric?"
You hesitate. You could lie. You could say you were just bored or that you were researching classical speech structures. But a small, stubborn part of you, the part that loves Jungkook and wants to claim the space he so willingly gives you, makes you speak the truth.
"Iâm actually here to watch Jungkook," you say, pointing a finger toward the podium where he stands. "Iâm his girlfriend."
The girlâs eyes instantly widen. They snap from you down to Jungkook, then back to you, scanning your face with a brand-new, hypercritical intensity. The casual friendliness vanishes, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated shock.
"Ohhh," the girl says, the syllable stretching out, heavy and loaded. "So, youâre the golden boy's girlfriend?"
The phrase lands like a physical weight in your lap. The golden boy's girlfriend. Not Y/N. Not a person with her own merits, her own thoughts, her own identity. Just an attachment. An anomaly.
"Yeah," you say, your voice dropping a fraction.
"Wow," she says, a forced, tight laugh escaping her lips as she looks back down at the floor. "Everyone on campus talks about him, you know. Heâs practically a myth in the law department. Top of his class, literally won the regional theatre showcase last semester... people joke that heâs a synthetic human created in a lab because nobody can actually be that perfect at everything." She pauses, her eyes lingering on Jungkook as he confidently shuffles his note cards. "You must feel... incredibly lucky."
Lucky. The word feels like plastic in your mouth.
"I am," you whisper.
The debate begins, and the hall falls into a dead silence. When it is Jungkookâs turn to speak, he steps forward with an effortless grace that commands the entire room. His voice rings out through the auditorium: clear, articulate, layered with a brilliant, biting sarcasm that makes the professors nod in approval, and the students chuckle. He navigates complex legal precedents as if heâs recounting a simple childhood story. He doesn't look at his notes once. He looks entirely, utterly flawless.
At one point, during a brief pause while his opponent frantically searches through papers, Jungkookâs eyes sweep across the crowded tiered seating. He searches the back rows, scanning the sea of faces until his gaze lands directly on you. The sharp, intimidating glare of the star debater melts away for a split second, replaced by a tiny, private smile meant only for you. He gives a barely perceptible nod, a silent acknowledgement that he knows youâre there, before turning back to crush his opponent's argument.
The girl next to you lets out a soft, defeated breath. "See? Effortless. Heâs just... on a completely different level than the rest of us."
You don't reply. You can't. Your throat feels tightly constricted. As the auditorium erupts into thunderous applause at the conclusion of his speech, you feel yourself shrinking smaller and smaller into your seat. You look down at your hands, rough and stained faintly with ink from your afternoon lectures.
In this grand, wood-panelled room full of brilliant minds and high ambitions, you feel like a ghost. A plain, monochromatic background character accidentally spliced into a vibrant, high-definition movie about a boy who can fly. You love him, god, you love him so much it scares you, but looking at him down there, bathed in the adulation of his peers, the insidious whisper in the back of your mind grows into a deafening roar: You don't belong here. You are holding a star, and eventually, heâs going to realise youâre just a rock.
The evening is supposed to be a celebration. The society booked out a student lounge, which is filled with the warm glow of string lights and the low hum of indie music playing from a mini speaker hooked up to someone's phone. A small group of you are gathered around a low coffee table: you, your friend Leah, Jungkook, and a few of his friends. Some of them you've come to know quite well, Jimin, and Taehyung; others you guess are from his lectures and the society. Jungkook has his arm slung casually over the back of your chair, his fingers occasionally playing with the sleeve of your shirt, his presence a constant, anchoring weight.
"Iâm telling you, the judge was practically ready to hand Jungkook his degree right there on the spot," Jimin laughs, leaning back against the worn leather sofa, a plastic cup of cheap cider in his hand. "The other guy looked like he wanted to cry by the third rebuttal."
"He was just unprepared," Jungkook says modestly, though a proud, boyish smile breaks across his face. He bumps his shoulder against yours, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "Did I do okay? Truly?"
"Are you kidding me? You were amazing, Kook," you say, and you mean it. You turn your head to smile at him, forcing the shadows from your eyes. "They had no chance."
He beams, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he presses a quick, sweet kiss to your cheek, utterly shameless about his affection even in front of his closest friends.
Taehyung snorts from across the table, tossing a peanut at Jungkook. "Get a room, you two. Seriously. A year and what later, and you guys are still acting like youâre in a romance drama. Itâs sickening. Let us single people breathe."
Jimin chuckles, shaking his head. "Let them be, Tae. Honestly, we should all be grateful to Y/N. Do you remember what Jungkook was like before he met her? A complete menace. Driving his motorcycle at ungodly hours, staying up all night, smoking a pack a day behind the engineering building because he was stressed out of his mind..."
"Oh, god, the smoking," Taehyung groans, laughing. "He smelled like an old pub twenty-four-seven. And then he meets Y/N, and boom, overnight transformation. The bad boy becomes a model citizen. Itâs a miracle he hasn't touched a cigarette since their first official date.â
"It wasn't a miracle," Jungkook says softly, his gaze dropping to look at you, his eyes filled with a raw, intense seriousness that makes your breath catch. "I just realised I wanted to be clean for her. I didn't want her to have to taste ash every time I kissed her. She deserves better than that."
The comment is entirely harmless. Itâs meant to be a testament to his love, a beautiful, romantic declaration of how much you mean to him. Jimin and Taehyung let out collective coos, teasing him for being the hopeless romantic that he is.
But inside your head, the words twist. They warp and morph into a grotesque, jagged mirror.
She deserves better than that.
Your stomach drops, a cold, heavy lump of guilt settling deep within your ribs. You remember that night, eighteen months ago, sitting on the steps of the humanities building. You had both been stressed and exhausted, huddled together under his jacket. You had both pulled out a cigarette, lit them, and watched the smoke rise into the crisp night air. And then Jungkook had looked at you and said, "Letâs stop. Together. Itâs bad for us, and I want to be better. For you. Letâs make a pact."
You had agreed. You had smiled, kissed him, and thrown your lighter into the trash.
Except you didn't stop.
The laughter of the guys fades into a dull, white noise as the phantom taste of tobacco fills your mouth. You think about the crumpled pack hidden at the very bottom of your makeup bag in your dorm room. You think about the secret, shameful moments on your building's fire escape late at night, your hands shaking as you light it, inhaling the toxic, calming smoke just to keep your racing thoughts from tearing you apart.
Jungkook thinks he changed for you. He thinks he became a better, cleaner version of himself to match the pristine, perfect girl he thinks you are. He has stayed entirely clean for over a year, exercising his iron willpower because his love for you is that pure. And you? Youâre a liar. A fraud who couldn't even keep a simple promise, who uses a toxic vice as a crutch because you are too weak to handle the pressure of being loved by him.
"Hey," Jungkookâs voice breaks through your spiral. His hand shifts to rest on your thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles through your jeans. "You okay? You look a bit pale."
"Yeah," you force a voice out, your throat dry. "Just... a little tired with all the lectures and that seminar."
"Do you wanna leave?" he asks instantly, completely ready to abandon his friends, his celebration, everything, just because you look a little worn down. "We can go back to my place. I'll make you tea."
"No, no," you say quickly. "Don't be silly. Stay and celebrate. I actually have a couple of library books I need to return before the night drop closes anyway. I'll just head back to my dorm early."
Jungkook frowns, his eyes darkening with immediate reluctance. "I'll walk you."
"Jungkook, stay," you say, your voice carrying a rare, firm edge that surprises him. You soften it immediately with a gentle touch to his cheek. "Please. I'll go with Leah. Hang out with the guys. Iâm just going to go straight to bed. I'll call you in the morning, okay?"
He stares at you for a long moment, searching your face for whatever secret youâre keeping, but you force your expression into one of serene exhaustion. Finally, he sighs, leaning forward to press a long, heavy, almost desperate kiss to your lips. "Fine. But text me the exact second you get into your room, or Iâm getting a search party."
"I will." You chuckle. He would.
Ten minutes later, you aren't in bed. You are standing on the freezing, rusted metal of your dorm's fourth-floor fire escape, the wind biting through your thin tee; you shouldnât have left your jacket on your chair. Your hands are trembling violently as you flick a silver lighter, the flame illuminating the dark, empty alleyway below. You press the cigarette to your lips and inhale, the harsh, burning smoke flooding your lungs. It stings, it tastes bitter, and it makes your chest ache with profound, suffocating waves of guilt.
You lean your forehead against the cold metal railing, staring out at the distant lights of Jungkookâs building across the quad. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, hot and angry, as you take another long drag. You are lying to him. You are rotting from the inside out with secrets and self-doubt, while he sits over there, completely, purely, and terribly in love with a girl who doesn't exist.
The university library is supposed to be a sanctuary, but today it feels like a cage. You are surrounded by towers of leather-bound volumes, literary journals, and half-empty cups of lukewarm coffee. Your laptop screen glows blankly back at you, a cruel, flashing cursor mocking your complete inability to string together a single coherent sentence.
Your essay on medieval science fiction is due in forty-eight hours. You have written three paragraphs, and every single one of them reads like absolute garbage. You delete the last sentence for the fourth time, letting out a sharp, frustrated breath that cuts through the dead silence of the humanities floor.
âCome on,â you mutter to yourself, tapping your pen aggressively against the desk. âYouâre a lit major. This is the one thing youâre supposed to be good at. Just write the damn analysis.â
But your brain feels entirely blocked, clogged by a thick, suffocating fog of inadequacy. You keep thinking about Jungkookâs perfect legal brief from earlier this week. You keep thinking about how he handles his workload with a calm, systemic efficiency, while you are here, unravelling over a mere two-thousand-word analysis.
"Staring at a blank document won't magically make the words appear, you know."
You flinch, your head snapping up. Standing at the end of your study desk is a girl. She is older, probably a fourth- or fifth-year, dressed in a perfectly tailored tweed blazer and carrying a stack of texts. Her hair is sleek, her makeup flawless, and she carries herself with that distinct, high-class confidence that practically screams that she has her life together. The more you look at her, the more familiar her face becomes.
Oh.
Sheâs in Jungkookâs year. Serena..? Sheâs the vice president of the Competitive Debate Society.
"Iâm aware," you say, your voice carrying a sharp, defensive edge. You are too tired for polite pleasantries, and your naturally snarky instincts tend to flare up when cornered. "Thanks for the profound psychological insight, though."
Serena doesn't look offended by your bite. Instead, she lets out a soft, elegant chuckle, pulls out the chair opposite you, and sits down without being invited. She sets her heavy law books down with a soft thud. "Don't snap. Iâm just offering some sympathy. I see you here all the time, huffing and puffing over those literature books. Iâm Serena, by the way. I work with Jungkook in the society."
"I know who you are," you say, closing your laptop slightly, an instinctive gesture to shield your failure from her eyes. "Jungkook mentioned you helped organise the regional tournament."
"Oh, did he?" Serena's eyes flash with a strange, fleeting look of satisfaction before she settles into a warm, patronising smile. She tilts her head, looking at your cluttered desk, the crumpled sticky notes, the highlight-stained pages. "You look completely overwhelmed, sweetie. Are the undergraduate lit modules really that brutal? I always assumed arts degrees were a bit more... flexible."
There it is. The first tiny prick. Itâs subtle, buried under a sweet tone and an endearing nickname, but the jab lands perfectly. Arts degrees are flexible. Arts degrees are easy.
"They require a different kind of critical thought," you say smoothly, your eyes narrowing just a fraction. You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. "We actually have to formulate original arguments instead of just memorising legal codes written by dead white men from the nineteenth century. It can be quite taxing."
Serena's smile tightens for a microsecond before smoothing out into a soft, airy laugh. "Oh, absolutely. I didn't mean to minimise it. Itâs just... cute to see how hard you try. Youâre always buried in these books, sprinting to catch up. It reminds me of myself when I was a first-year. So young, so inexperienced, just desperate to prove that you belong in a university setting."
"I'm a second year, actually."
"Oh." She reaches across the table, gently patting the back of your hand. Her touch is warm, but it feels like ice against your skin. "Don't stress yourself out to the point of a breakdown, Y/N. Jungkook's a very understanding guy. He knows you operate at a different academic level. He doesn't expect you to match his pace, and thatâs perfectly okay."
Your heart hitches in your chest. He doesn't expect you to match his pace.
The words are delivered under the guise of elder-student comfort, a senior reassuring a stressed junior, but they carry a terrifyingly potent poison. Serena is stating out loud the exact nightmare that keeps you awake at night. She is confirming your deepest, darkest fear: that everyone looks at you and Jungkook and sees a brilliant, mature man babysitting a struggling, inferior child.
You pull your hand away from her touch, your fingers curling into tight fists under the table. Your defensive snark dries up in your throat, replaced by a sudden, choking wave of panic.
"I have to get back to work," you say, your voice dropping into a flat, cold register.
"Of course," Serena says easily, standing up and gathering her books. She offers you one last, beautiful but destructive smile. "Good luck with your little essay, Y/N. And tell Jungkook I'll see him at the mixer tonight, okay? Don't forget to take a breath."
She walks away, her heels clicking softly on the library's linoleum floor. You sit entirely frozen in your chair, staring at the blank laptop screen. You picked up on the bite in her words; you aren't stupid. You know she was throwing passive-aggressive shade. But instead of dismissing it as the petty jealousy of a rival student, you can't help but let the words sink into your skin. You don't dig into it immediately; you don't want to admit that she got to you. But as you open your laptop again and stare at the blinking cursor, Serena's voice echoes in your head, loud and clear, drowning out every original thought you had left: He doesn't expect you to match his pace.
The universityâs Arts and Culture Alliance mixer is held in a historic courtyard on campus, illuminated by heavy iron lanterns and the warm glow of string lights woven through old ivy. Itâs a joint gathering between a few departments and societies, an attempt to foster interdisciplinary collaboration. The air is alive with the chatter of students, the clinking of glasses filled with cheap wine, and the soft strains of a student jazz quartet playing in the corner.
For the first hour, everything is wonderful. Jungkook is by your side, his hand firmly locked with yours, completely ignoring the various law professors and senior debaters who keep trying to pull him into serious conversations. He is completely, utterly focused on you.
"Look at this," he whispers, leaning down to show you a small, terribly drawn caricature of his constitutional law professor he had sketched on a napkin while someone was giving an opening toast. "If I fail my finals, Iâm joining the fine arts department. What do you think?"
You let out a genuine, bright laugh, the tension in your shoulders melting away. "Itâs terrible, Kook. Truly. Please stick to the law. For the sake of visual arts everywhere."
"Harsh," he pouts, wrinkling his nose in that sweet way that completely contradicts his intimidating campus reputation. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, entirely unbothered by the hundreds of people around them. "But I'll do whatever you say. Youâre the boss."
You turn your head to kiss his cheek, a warm, fluttering feeling blooming in your chest. In moments like this, when his warmth is physical, and his laughter is loud in your ear, the doubts feel small. They feel like distant shadows.
"Jeon!"
The loud, commanding voice breaks your bubble. A senior professor from the Faculty of Law, a notoriously stern man who rarely speaks to undergraduates, is standing a few yards away, gesturing sharply for Jungkook to come over. Next to him stands a prominent local judge who had acted as an alumnus guest for the debate tournament.
Jungkook sighs, his grip on your waist loosening with visible reluctance. He looks down at you, his eyes filled with an apologetic, frustrated expression. "Iâm sorry, sweetheart. Professor Kang has been trying to corner me all week about an internship placement. I need to quickly greet the judge. Will you be okay for five minutes?"
"Of course," you say, offering a reassuring smile. "Go. Itâs important. I'll just grab another cider and wait by the fountain."
"I'll be right back. Five minutes, I promise," he says, pressing a quick, firm kiss to your lips before turning and walking away, his posture instantly shifting into that confident, professional demeanour as he approaches the elders.
You watch him go, your smile slowly fading as the cold night air fills the space he left behind. You walk over to the refreshment table, pouring yourself a plastic cup of cider, feeling suddenly very exposed without his large frame shielding you from the crowd.
"Left all alone so soon?"
You don't even need to turn around to know who it is. The voice is smooth, sweet, and entirely toxic.
Serena steps up beside you, holding a glass of white wine. She is dressed in an elegant silk blouse that perfectly matches the sophisticated atmosphere of the faculty guests. She looks down at your casual denim jacket, her expression one of gentle, masking pity.
"Heâs just networking," you say, keeping your voice steady as you take a sip of your drink. "Itâs part of his career."
"Oh, I know," Serena says, leaning against the table, her eyes tracking Jungkook across the courtyard. He is currently bowing politely to the judge, speaking with an elegant, mature eloquence that has both older men smiling in deep approval. "Jungkookâs a natural. He fits into that world seamlessly. Itâs just a shame he has to constantly worry about leaving you behind in the corners while he does it."
Your grip tightens around the plastic cup, the plastic crinkling slightly under your fingers. "He doesn't worry about that."
"Are you sure?" Serena turns her head to look at you, her eyes sharp and predatory beneath her soft makeup. "Because from where Iâm standing, it looks exhausting. He has to balance a high-profile academic career, a massive future in the legal field, and a girlfriend who looks like a lost freshman every time he steps away for five minutes."
She takes a slow sip of her wine, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial, whisper-soft tone that makes it sound like sheâs sharing a painful truth for your own good. "Don't get me wrong, Y/N. Itâs sweet that he loves you. But look at him over there. He belongs with the best. He needs someone who can stand beside him at these dinners, someone who can converse with judges and partners, someone who understands the weight of his world. Instead, he spends half his time checking his phone to make sure you aren't having an anxiety attack in the library. Itâs... a bit of a burden, don't you think? Youâre keeping him tethered to the ground when he could be soaring. Iâm not saying itâs your fault or anything, but you do want whatâs best for him⊠right?"
The words hit you like a series of physical blows to the chest. A burden. Keeping him tethered to the ground.
Your breath stutters. You want to snap back, you want to use the sharp, biting literature-major wit that usually protects you, but the terrifying truth is that her words align too perfectly with what you've been thinking this whole time. She isn't planting a new seed anymore; sheâs watering a plant that has been growing in the dark corners of your mind for eighteen months.
Before you can force a response, a heavy, warm hand settles on the small of your back.
"Sorry I took so long," Jungkookâs voice cuts through the freezing air. He steps into your space, his presence an immediate shield. He nods politely to Serena, his tone completely professional but distinctly cool. "Serena. I didn't know you were over here."
"Just keeping your lovely girlfriend company," she says, her toxic edge vanishing instantly, replaced by a bright, friendly colleague smile. "We were just talking about how wonderful your debate performance was. I mean, itâs you, youâre always amazing.â He shyly chuckles at this, âAnyway, I should go greet Professor Lewis. See you both around."
She glides away, disappearing into the crowd of law students.
Jungkook immediately turns all his attention back to you, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his brows furrowed with deep concern. "Hey. Are you okay? Your hands are freezing, and you look like youâve seen a ghost. Did something happen? Did she say something to you?"
"No," you lie, your voice sounding small, distant, and hollow even to your own ears. You force a bright, synthetic smile onto your face, looking up at his perfect features. "No, she was just being nice. Iâm just... the cold is hitting me, thatâs all."
Jungkook doesn't look entirely convinced, his dark eyes searching yours with that desperate, analytical intensity, but he accepts the excuse, pulling you tightly against his chest, wrapping his coat around your shoulders. "Letâs go home. Forget the mixer. Iâve had enough of these people anyway. Letâs just go back to my place and lock the door."
You bury your face in his chest, nodding silently. He holds you so tightly, so sweetly, but as you walk out of the courtyard with his arm securely around your waist, you can't shake the freezing, terrifying chill in your bones. You look at his profile in the moonlight, and all you can think is: Sheâs right. Iâm an anchor dragging him down. Iâm the burden.
The rain taps a steady, rhythmic cadence against the glass of Jungkookâs bedroom window, blurring the green leaves of the campus trees into watercolour streaks of grey and emerald. Inside, the room is warm, smelling faintly of the cinnamon pastries he had sprinted out in the drizzle to buy you, and the rich, dark aroma of fresh espresso.
You are sitting at his wide oak desk, surrounded by your library books and your heavily annotated copy of Beowulf. Jungkook is sitting on the floor right beside your chair, his long legs stretched out, his back resting against the table leg. He has one hand resting casually on your thigh, his large thumb moving in slow, absentminded strokes over the denim of your jeans as he reads through a massive casebook on property law.
Itâs a perfectly domestic afternoon. The kind of effortlessness that used to make your chest ache with pure happiness.
"Hey," Jungkook murmurs, not lifting his eyes from his text. His thumb continues its soothing, rhythmic sweep. "You haven't touched your pastry. Itâs gonna get cold."
"Iâm just reading, Kook," you say softly, keeping your eyes glued to a paragraph you've re-read three times but still have no idea what it says. "I'll eat it in a minute."
"Mhmm." He lets out a low, rumbling sound of agreement, but a moment later, he closes his heavy textbook with a soft thud. He shifts his weight, rising to his knees so he is suddenly level with you. Before you can blink, his large hands settle on your waist, and with that effortless, terrifying strength you love so much, he lifts you slightly and pulls you right out of the chair and down into his lap on the floor.
You let out a small, startled gasp, your books tumbling slightly onto the desk. "Jungkook!"
He just laughs, a bright sound that echoes warmly against your neck as he wraps his arms tightly around your waist from behind, locking you against his broad chest. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks. "Youâve been staring at that monster book for three hours straight. Look at me instead. Iâve been missing you."
"Jungkook, you're literally sitting right next to me," you giggle, though the sound no longer rings entirely true. It feels a bit hollow, a bit forced.
Inside your chest, the ghost of Serena's words from the mixer is clawing at your lungs. âHe spends half his time checking his phone to make sure you aren't having an anxiety attack... Youâre keeping him tethered to the ground.â
Jungkook leans forward, pressing a warm, lingering kiss right beneath your ear, his hands sliding up to cover yours, intertwining his long fingers with your smaller ones. "Doesn't matter. If you aren't looking at me, you're too far away." He squeezes your hands, his voice dropping into a soft, reflective register. "You know, sometimes I look at you sitting here in my room, and I think about how lucky I got. I wasted a whole year before I finally found my track and came to this university. If I hadn't taken that gap year, I wouldn't be here with you. The universe actually did something right for once."
He means it as a beautiful, romantic sentiment, a declaration that the timeline of his life aligned perfectly just to give him you.
But your brain, poisoned and hyper-vigilant, takes the beautiful sentiment and warps it into an ugly weapon.
Two years, the voice whispers. Heâs two years older than you. Thatâs two extra years of maturity, of life experience, of academic dominance over you. He is a man who knows exactly who he is, and you are a shaking, insecure second year who can't even handle a single mixer without wanting to run away and smoke.
A sudden, suffocating wave of claustrophobia hits you. The warmth of his chest against your back suddenly feels less like a sanctuary and more like a beautifully constructed cage. The weight of his arms around your waist feels heavy, heavy with the burden you are convinced you are forcing him to carry.
Jungkook breathes out a soft sigh, leaning down to capture your lips in a slow, sweet kiss. His lips are warm, soft, and taste faintly of the espresso he drank. Itâs a kiss that demands nothing and offers everything.
But for the first time in eighteen months, you don't kiss him back with the same intensity. Your lips remain slightly stiff under his.
And then, you do it. You plant the very first seed of the distance that will eventually tear him apart.
You gently but firmly place your hands against his forearms, breaking the embrace. You slide off his lap, shifting back onto the hard hardwood floor, creating a deliberate foot of empty space between your bodies.
Jungkook blinks, his dark eyes widening in immediate, subtle surprise. His arms hover in the empty air for a split second before dropping to his thighs. "Y/N?"
"Sorry," you force a light, breezy tone out of your throat, avoiding his gaze by reaching up to shuffle the papers on the desk. "My... my leg was falling asleep. And I really need to finish this section before the library closes its digital archives for maintenance at four."
"Oh," Jungkook says softly. The word is tiny, carrying a faint, barely perceptible note of confusion and rejection. He looks at your profile, his sharp, analytical mind trying to calculate the sudden shift in your energy, but you keep your expression entirely neutral, buried in your notes. Finally, he offers a small, understanding smile and gently pats your knee. "Right. Sorry. Go ahead. I'll let you focus."
He pulls his casebook back toward himself, but he doesn't open it immediately. He sits quietly for a long moment, staring at his hands, a tiny, faint crease appearing between his brows.
Later that afternoon, after you have gathered your things and, despite his fierce protests, insist on walking back to your dorm alone because you "need the fresh air to clear your head," your phone buzzes four times in your pocket.
You pull it out as you cross the rainy quad.
Jungkook [15:42]: Text me the second you get to your room, sweetheart.
Jungkook [15:42]: Miss you already :(
Jungkook [15:43]: Eat the pastry I packed in your bag
Jungkook [14:44]: Love you
Usually, you would reply instantly, sending a flurry of hearts and sweet messages back. But today, you stare at the glowing screen, Serena's voice ringing like tinnitus in your ears: âa burden.â
Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. Your chest aches with a dull, throbbing agony. Slowly, deliberately, you press the lock button on the side of your phone, darkening the screen. You slide it deep into your pocket, leaving the notification unanswered, letting the silence begin its quiet, violent work.
The go-to campus fried chicken place is loud, greasy, and packed with students seeking a reprieve from the weekend midterms. You sit at a long wooden table in the corner, surrounded by a large group. Itâs a rare, massive gathering, you, your two closest friends from the Literature faculty, Jungkook, Taehyung, Jimin, and, unfortunately, Serena, who had tagged along with Taehyung after a student council meeting.
The atmosphere is boisterous. Plates of spicy chicken and pitchers of draft beer cover the table. Jungkook is sitting next to you, his thigh pressed firmly against yours under the table, his hand occasionally dropping to squeeze your knee. He is currently engaged in a loud, passionate debate with Taehyung about a soccer match, his laughter booming across the table.
You try to participate, but your energy is entirely drained. You sit quietly, picking at a piece of radish, your eyes drifting across the table.
Thatâs when you notice it.
Serena is sitting diagonally from Jungkook. She isn't eating. She is leaning her chin on her palm, her eyes completely fixed on Jungkookâs face. She tracks every movement of his lips, every toss of his head when he laughs, her gaze filled with a quiet, intense longing that is impossible to mistake. Itâs a look of profound, massive infatuation.
You feel a strange, dull ache in your chest. You don't feel immediate anger or jealousy; you just feel a profound sense of exhaustion. You look at her, brilliant, beautiful, sitting comfortably in Jungkookâs social circle, and then you look at yourself, hiding in his shadow.
A few minutes later, Jungkook stands up, excused by Jimin to go line up at the counter for another pitcher of beer. Taehyung accompanies him, leaving the rest of the table chatty. Your two literature friends get pulled into a deep conversation with Jimin about an upcoming campus festival, effectively isolating you and Serena on one side of the table.
Serena shifts, leaning closer to you over the restaurant's noisy chatter. She looks at your quiet demeanour, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.
"You're very quiet tonight, Y/N," she says softly, her voice carrying that smooth, comforting older-sister cadence she always uses when sheâs about to drop poison. "Still stressed about those essays?"
"Just tired," you say flatly, keeping your eyes on your cup.
She sighs, a soft, sympathetic sound. She looks over at the counter where Jungkook is standing, his broad back to the room, laughing as he ribs Taehyung. "It must be hard. Maintaining a relationship with someone like him when youâre dealing with your own insecurities."
You flinch slightly, your eyes snapping up to meet hers. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, don't be defensive," Serena says smoothly, waving her hand dismissively. "Iâm actually just feeling a bit sorry for you. I know how it feels. I had a boyfriend exactly like Jungkook during my first year. Brilliant, popular, excelled at everything. He was my first serious boyfriend, too, just like Jungkook is yours, right?"
You don't answer, but the silence confirms it.
"Yeah, I thought so," she murmurs, her eyes darkening with a faux-nostalgic sadness. "Let me tell you a story, Y/N. From someone who has been exactly where you are. I used to think that as long as we loved each other, everything was fine. But the truth is... men are men at the end of the day. Especially guys like Jungkook. They have... needs. Physical needs, emotional needs, a need for a partner who, you know, can match their intensity. And when theyâre with someone whoâs constantly stressed, inexperienced, and hiding away... those needs get suppressed. They don't go anywhere; they just get bottled up."
She leans closer, her voice dropping into a sharp, venomous whisper that slices through the restaurant's loud music. "My ex used to act perfectly sweet to my face, just like Jungkook does. But behind closed doors? When he was out with his guy friends, drinking and letting off steam? He would complain constantly. Heâd vent about how suffocated he felt, how he felt like he was babysitting an insecure little girl instead of having a real girlfriend, how he felt tied down by my guilt. It broke my heart, but it was the truth. High-achieving men will always resent the anchors that keep them from flying."
She tilts her head, her eyes boring into your pale face. "Look at him, Y/N. Heâs twenty-three, a law star, a literal god on this campus. Do you honestly think he doesn't vent to Taehyung or Jimin when you shut down and fake being tired? Do you honestly believe he doesn't feel the weight of you? Heâs just too polite, too loyal to say it to your face. But itâs rotting him from the inside out."
She doesn't stop there. "And I mean, you also deserve someone on your level. Think about how freeing it will be when you don't have to constantly catch up to someone."
The restaurant around you completely vanishes. The laughter, the clinking glasses, the smell of food, all of it dissolves into a cold, endless void. Serena's words wrap around your throat like a chokehold.
He complains about you to his friends. He feels suffocated. He feels tied down by your guilt.
Your chest heaves, a sudden, violent wave of nausea hitting you. You look over at the counter. Jungkook is walking back, holding a pitcher of beer, a massive, bright smile lighting up his face the moment his eyes find yours. He looks so pure, so incredibly perfect. But as he sits down beside you, his warm hand instantly finding your thigh, Serena's words echo like a death knell in your mind.
Heâs just too polite to say it to your face.
You pull away from his touch just an inch, a subtle movement under the table, your entire body trembling with a sudden, catastrophic influx of self-doubt. You cannot help but overthink. Every laugh he shared with Taehyung tonight, every private whisper with Jimin, did it involve your failure? Were they pitying him? You look down at your lap, completely consumed by the quiet, violent rot of your own mind.
The silence of Jungkookâs apartment is thick, heavy, and dark. The only illumination comes from the faint amber glow of the city lights filtering through the large window, casting long, dramatic shadows across the hardwood floor.
You are sitting on the edge of his bed, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Jungkook is standing directly in front of you. He has already discarded his jacket and blazer; his white button-down shirt is half-unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the intricate ink sprawling up his right arm.
He steps closer, his large hands coming up to gently cup your cheeks. His gaze is intense, dark, and heavy with a year and a half of unyielding devotion. "Youâve been so quiet all night," he whispers, his thumb tracing the sharp line of your cheekbone. "Talk to me. Whatâs going on in that beautiful head of yours?"
"Nothing," you whisper, the lie tasting like ash on your tongue. "Just... tired."
"Let me fix it," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, breathless register. He leans down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that is completely different from his usual gentle morning greetings. This is the kiss of a man who is deeply, passionately in love, intense, hungry, and heavily possessive.
He slides his hands from your face down to your shoulders, pushing the denim jacket off your arms until it drops to the floor. His lips leave yours, tracing a burning path down the column of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His large hands slide down to your waist, his grip tightening, pulling your body flush against his until there is absolutely no space left between you.
Itâs how you usually make out, intense, passionate, a private language built over several months. His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, his fingers warm against the bare skin of your waist, his kisses becoming deeper, more desperate, as if he is trying to physically pull you into his soul to keep you from drifting away.
He loves you. You know he loves you. You want to match him- god, you want to melt into him and forget the entire world.
But suddenly, Serena's phantom voice explodes in your mind.
âMen have needs. Youâre inexperienced. He complains about how suffocated he feels. Youâre an anchor.â
The words flash like neon lights behind your closed eyelids. You freeze. Your hands, which had been tangled in the fabric of his shirt, go completely rigid. A sudden, terrifying wave of inadequacy floods your veins. You look at Jungkook, so beautiful, so experienced, so effortlessly perfect, and you look at yourself, a broken, trembling mess of secrets and lies. You feel entirely inadequate, a plain background character trying to play a role she isn't qualified for. If you give in, if you try to meet his needs, youâll just fail. Youâll be awkward, clumsy, and a disappointment. He deserves a woman, not a struggling, insecure girl.
You panic.
You place your palms flat against his chest and push. Itâs a sudden, frantic movement.
Jungkook jolts, his body resisting for a fraction of a second because his grip around your waist is so naturally strong, but the moment he registers your resistance, he instantly pulls back. He steps away, his chest heaving, his lips flushed red, his dark eyes wide with immediate confusion and alarm.
"Y/N?" his voice is breathless, slightly raspy. "Whatâs wrong? Did I... did I hurt you?"
"No," you choke out, wrapping your arms tightly around your own torso, shielding yourself from his gaze. You can't look him in the eye. The guilt is suffocating. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. Iâm just... Iâm just really tired, Jungkook. My head hurts. I can't tonight."
Itâs a blatant, terrible fake. Your voice is shaking, and your eyes are wild with unshed tears.
Jungkook stares at you for a long, agonising moment. You wait for the flash of hurt, frustration, annoyance, anger, even. But it doesn't come. Instead, you're met with overwhelming sweetness. The alarm in his eyes melts into a look of profound, gentle care. And for some reason you can't put into words, that hurts more.
"Hey," he says softly, stepping back to the edge of the bed and sitting down beside you. He doesn't try to touch your waist again; instead, he gently reaches out and captures your hand, his large fingers intertwining with yours, squeezing softly. "Don't look like that. You don't ever have to apologise. You don't owe me anything, Y/N."
He leans over, pressing a soft, lingering, profoundly sweet kiss to your temple. "Don't worry about it, okay? Come here."
He shifts, pulling the heavy duvet back and guiding your body down until you are lying against his chest. He wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you securely into his warmth, his chin resting on the top of your head. He reaches over to grab the remote, turning on a random movie at a low volume, his hand coming down to stroke your hair in a slow, rhythmic, soothing pattern.
He is being perfect. He is being the most understanding, loving, incredible boyfriend anyone could ask for.
And it makes you feel a hundred times worse.
As you lie there against the steady, calm heartbeat in his chest, staring blankly at the television screen, tears fill your eyes, but you will not let them fall. You can't burden him with this, too.
Every sweet stroke of his hand through your hair feels like a hot iron against your skin. You are a parasite. You are starving him of the intimacy he deserves, forcing him to suppress his needs because you are too broken to handle his love. The overthinking morphs into a monstrous, absolute certainty: He is going to leave you. And he should.
The humanities square is bathed in the harsh, blinding sunlight of a Tuesday afternoon, but your world has gone entirely grey.
You are walking back from a meeting with your academic advisor, a meeting where she gently informed you that your latest essay draft lacked its usual depth, a polite way of saying you were failing to meet your potential. Your fingers are shoved deep into your pockets, your head low, your throat burning with the desperate craving for a cigarette.
You turn the corner by the law faculty building, intending to take the long cut back to your dorm, when your boots freeze against the concrete.
There, on the wide stone steps of the law school, are Jungkook and Serena.
They are standing close together under the shade of a large oak tree. Serena is holding a folder of debate briefs, pointing to something on a page, her face bright and animated. Jungkook is looking down at the paper, a wide, genuine, beautiful laugh breaking across his face. He says something, tossing his head back, and Serena joins in the laughter, her hand lightly, casually touching his forearm for a brief, familiar second.
They look perfect. They look like a matching set. Two star students, two impeccable minds, standing together in the sunlight where they belong.
The sight hits you like a physical car crash. Every single word Serena had ever whispered to you: âHe complains about you... he feels suffocated... he belongs with the eliteâ just solidifies into a concrete, absolute reality. Your brain goes into a catastrophic, violent overdrive of overthinking. You don't see a boyfriend sharing a casual academic laugh with a colleague; you see a man finding the joy, the intellect, and the compatibility that you have been starving him of for months. You see the inevitable future unfolding right in front of your eyes.
A sudden, violent wave of panic claws at your throat. You stumble backwards, turning on your heel, and sprint away before they can look up and see you standing there like a pathetic ghost.
The next five days are an agonising blur of isolation and self-destruction.
The panic inside you grows into a living, breathing monster. You begin to actively, systematically distance yourself from Jungkook. When he texts you in the morning, you wait three hours to reply, claiming you are trapped in a mandatory library workshop. When he shows up outside your lecture hall, you slip out through the back fire exit and hide in the basement bathrooms until his tall frame disappears from the square. You invent a never-ending cycle of group projects, late-night research seminars, and sudden academic emergencies just to avoid being in his presence. You push him away with a frantic, desperate intensity, convinced that if you don't cut the cord yourself, the pain of him doing it will kill you.
And your coping mechanism escalates.
The crumpled packs of cigarettes are no longer enough to numb the roaring, deafening noise of your inferiority complex. The simple tobacco doesn't quiet the thoughts anymore. You slip out to a shady alleyway behind the off-campus convenience store, purchasing a small plastic bag of joints from a computer science senior who smuggles them in.
Every night, when the clock strikes twelve, you lock yourself on the high fire escape of your building. Your hands shake to the point where you can barely spark the lighter. You press the rolled joint to your lips and inhale deeply, the heavy, pungent smoke filling your lungs, dragging the THC into your bloodstream. You smoke until your eyes burn red, until your chest feels like itâs on fire, until your brain finally, mercifully goes completely numb, allowing you to slump against the cold brick wall and forget, for just an hour, that you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jeon Jungkook.
From the moment the clock strikes midnight on the seventh day of the silence, the world shifts into a stark, cold reality. Jungkook stares at his phone screen, the bright light illuminating the deep circles beneath his eyes.
He is sitting on the floor of his living room, his back against the sofa, surrounded by legal briefs he hasn't read in days. His hair is unwashed, messy, falling into his eyes, and his crisp white shirt is wrinkled and unbuttoned. He looks entirely unravelled. The star law student, the golden boy of the university, has completely vanished, replaced by a man who looks as though he is physically starving.
He scrolls through the text thread.
âStill at the library, Kook. Group project is running late. Don't wait up.â âGot a big seminar tomorrow, going to sleep early. See you.â âToo much reading to do today, sorry. Have lunch without me.â
Cold, polite, distant sentences. For a week, you have been a ghost. He has shown up at your faculty building, stood outside your lecture halls, called your phone until his battery died, only to be met with a brick wall of vague excuses.
Jungkook lets out a ragged, shallow breath, his chest tightening until it feels like his ribs are going to crack. A terrifying, clawing panic has been living in his throat for seven days. He doesn't understand. He has spent every second of the last week replaying every moment of the last year and a half in his head, going over what he did wrong. Did he push too hard during that last kiss? Did he make you feel uncomfortable? Did he say something to you that he can't remember? Did someone else say something? Did someone hurt you? Are you bored with him? Do you not love him anymore?
The thoughts are torture. To Jungkook, you aren't just a girlfriend; you're his anchor. The quiet, beautiful sanctuary he runs to when the pressure of being "perfect" for the rest of the world threatens to crush him. You are the only person who looks at him and sees Jungkook, not the golden boy. And now you are drifting away, pulling up the anchor, leaving him to drown in a stormy, empty ocean.
"I can't do this anymore," he whispers to the empty room, his voice cracking, thick with an unshed, agonising grief.
He stands up, his movements sudden, frantic, and entirely desperate. He doesn't grab a coat, he doesn't care that itâs raining outside, he doesn't care that itâs nearly one in the morning. He grabs his keys and storms out of his dorm, his heart hammering a violent, terrifying rhythm against his ribs. He is going to you. He is going to force his way into your space. He doesn't care if you hate him for it. He cannot survive another hour of this silence.
The heavy door of your dorm room doesn't just rattle; it shakes on its hinges under the force of the sudden, aggressive pounding.
You bolt upright on your small bed, your heart leaping into your throat. You are wrapped in a faded blanket, your eyes heavy and dilated from the joint you finished just twenty minutes ago, the room still faintly smelling of a heavy, herbal sweetness you tried to clear by cracking the window.
"Y/N! Open the door!"
The voice through the wood is a raw, ragged shout. Itâs Jungkook. But it doesn't sound like him; it sounds like a man who is being torn apart alive.
Before you can even move, the handle rattles violently, and because the cheap dorm lock tends to slip under enough pressure (and you always forget to add that additional lock Jungkook talks about), the door bursts inward with a loud, echoing slam.
Jungkook stumbles into your room.
You gasp, backing up against your headboard, your eyes widening. He looks entirely unravelled. His clothes are damp from the rain; his dark hair plastered to his forehead. His face is pale, his lips are trembling, and his eyes are violently bloodshot, wide with a frantic, wild look that terrifies you. His breath comes in short, shallow, ragged gasps, his broad chest heaving as if he had run a marathon just to reach your door. He looks physically, visibly terrified.
"J-Jungkook?" your voice cracks, small and trembling.
He slams the door shut behind him and closes the distance between you in two massive strides. He drops to his knees right at the edge of your mattress, his large hands reaching out to grab your hands with a grip that is unyielding, desperate, and trembling violently.
"Please, Y/N. Why are you doing this to me?" he cries out, the sound a raw, agonising sob that tears from his throat. Tears are streaming openly down his face, hot and rapid, carving tracks through the dampness of his skin. He drops his head to rest on his hands, which are enveloping yours. "What did I do? Please, Y/N, tell me what I did wrong! Did I hurt you? Am I not enough? D-do you... Do you not love me anymore? Are you breaking up with me?"
His voice cracks on the last few words, a pathetic, broken sound. He is begging. The perfect boy everyone loves is on his knees at your feet, completely shattered, weeping like a child because he thinks he has lost you.
"No, Jungkook, no-" you try to speak, your own tears spilling over instantly, but your voice is choked by the sheer, overwhelming weight of the scene.
Jungkook lifts his head, his wild, frantic eyes scan your face, searching for answers, but as he pulls closer, his head jerks to the side. His gaze lands directly on your small bedside table.
There, sitting out in the open, is a heavy ceramic ashtray. It is packed to the brim with crumpled cigarette butts and the unmistakable, charred remains of two half-smoked joints.
The room is silent save for his shallow, ragged breathing. Jungkook freezes. The world seems to stop spinning. He stares at the ashtray for a long, painful five seconds, his expression shifting from terror into a look of profound, absolute confusion and betrayal.
He slowly lifts his eyes back to yours, his voice dropping into a hollow, trembling whisper. "What... what is that?"
You can't breathe. The guilt collapses on top of you like a fallen building. "Jungkook..."
"You said you quit," he whispers, a fresh wave of tears spilling from his bloodshot eyes. He lets go of your hands, rocking back to rest on his heels, placing a little distance between the two of you. His hands shake as he gestures to the ashtray. "We made a pact that night. I stayed clean because... because I wanted to be better for you. And youâve been... youâve been hiding this? Youâve been smoking this entire time? Behind my back? Lying to me?"
"Iâm sorry," you sob, going to reach for him, to ground yourself. "Iâm sorry, Jungkook, Iâm so sorry-"
"Why?!" he suddenly screams. Itâs a loud, messy roar that bounces off the small concrete walls of your room. He stands up, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his hands gripping his hair. "Why would you lie to me about this? Why did you shut me out for a whole week because of this? You think I care about the cigarettes? I donât.â He pauses. âDo you know what Iâve been thinking for seven days? I thought you hated me! I thought I did something terrible to you! Iâve been losing my fucking mind!"
The dam inside you finally, catastrophically breaks. The months of suppressed agony, the poison whispered by Serena, the choking weight of your own inferiority complex, all of it explodes out of your throat in a raw, defensive scream.
"Because Iâm a burden to you, Jungkook!" you shriek, standing up on the bed, looking down at him with a face distorted by tears and raw, ugly agony. "I hide it because Iâm drowning! I smoke because itâs the only thing that stops my brain from screaming at me about how much I don't deserve you! Look at you! Youâre perfect! You excel at everything: law, sports, music, theatre. Everyone on this campus looks at you like a god! And look at me! Iâm a plain, failing literature major who can't even string a coherent essay together without having a panic attack!"
Jungkook stops pacing, his hands dropping to his sides, his eyes wide with utter shock as he stares at you.
"Iâm dragging you down!" you scream, the words tearing your throat raw. "You spend half your time babysitting my insecurities, checking your phone to make sure your pathetic girlfriend hasn't collapsed in a corner, when you should be soaring! You have physical needs, emotional needs, a life that belongs at the top, and Iâm keeping them suppressed because Iâm too inexperienced, too broken, too much of a little girl to match your pace! Youâre just too polite and too loyal to admit it to my face, but you must be so suffocated! You probably vent to Taehyung and Jimin about how tied down you feel by my guilt! You should just be with someone on your level! You should just be with Serena! She matches you! She belongs in your world! I don't!"
The room goes dead, terrifyingly silent. Your breathing is a harsh, ragged wheeze, your chest heaving, your face soaked in tears as you stand there, entirely exposed, having finally laid bare the entire ugly, rotting interior of your soul.
Jungkook doesn't speak. For a few seconds, which feels like hours, he just stands there. His face goes completely blank, his eyes darkening into an expression of sheer, unadulterated, dangerous snap.
He snaps.
In a fraction of a second, he closes the distance. He reaches up, his large, incredibly strong hands wrapping around your waist, and physically rips you off the mattress, slamming your back against the hard concrete wall of the dorm room.
You let out a sharp gasp, but before the air can even leave your lungs, Jungkook crashes his mouth down onto yours.
It is not a sweet kiss. It is a violent, breathless, completely desperate collision. He kisses you with an intense, terrifying fury, his lips crushing yours until you can barely breathe. It is a kiss meant to completely obliterate your words, to silence the catastrophic doubts in your head by sheer physical force. You try to push him away, your hands coming up to hit his shoulders, but Jungkook is too strong, his broad chest pressing firmly against yours, pinning you to the wall, his arms locking around you like iron bands. He consumes you, tasting like rain and raw passion, refusing to let you go until your resistance melts away and you are forced to cling to his neck just to stay upright.
He pulls back just a millimetre, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in hot, ragged gasps against your lips. His grip on your waist is so tight it almost bruises.
"Don't you dare," he whispers, his voice a low, terrifyingly angry register that vibrates against your teeth. "Don't you ever say that to me again. I am so fucking angry at you right now, Y/N. Iâm furious."
Tears are still spilling from his eyes, burning against your skin. "You let some petty bitch like Serena plant those disgusting lies in your head? You listened to her instead of looking at me? You honestly thought I was complaining about you? You thought I wanted perfection?!"
His voice breaks, the anger instantly melting away, replaced by a profound intimacy that rolls between your bodies like a wave. His grip on your waist softens, his large hands shifting to cup your face with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.
"I don't give a shit about the law faculty," he chokes out, his thumbs wiping the fresh tears from your cheeks. "I don't give a shit about the professors, or the judges, or being perfect. Do you want to know why I try so hard at everything, Y/N? Do you want to know why I sprint through my life? Because I am so terrified that Iâm not enough for you. Because you are the most brilliant, beautiful soul I have ever met. Every time you talk about literature, every time you look at the world with those kind eyes, I feel like a stupid, clumsy caveman trying to understand a star. I don't want someone on my level. I want you."
He lets out a long, broken sob, and suddenly, his strength leaves him.
Jungkook falls to his knees.
He slides down your body until he is kneeling on the cold floor at your feet. He wraps his long, strong arms tightly around your waist, burying his face completely into the soft fabric of your sweater at your stomach. He clings to you as if he were a shipwrecked sailor holding onto the last piece of timber in a storm. His entire frame shudders with violent, heavy sobs.
"Please," he begs, his voice cracking, entirely muffled against your stomach, sounding small, raw, and utterly desperate. "Please, Y/N... never cut me off like that again. Don't ever hide from me. If youâre drowning, let me drown with you. If you need to smoke, let me hold the lighter for you. Just don't shut the door on me. I can't survive a world where I can't see you."
He holds your waist tighter, his face burying deeper into your skin. "All you have to do is talk to me when times get tough. I don't want perfection. I don't want a trophy girlfriend. I just want my Y/N. I just want you."
You stand there, frozen against the wall, looking down at the back of his dark, damp hair, his broad shoulders shaking with his love for you. The toxic, jagged mirror Serena had built shatters into a million harmless pieces, dissolved by the raw, unyielding reality of his obsession. You slowly slide down the wall so you're directly in front of him. You bring your hands up to cup his face. You wipe a few of the tears from his cheeks and lean into him. He immediately accepts you, wrapping his own arms around you, one holding your head to him, the other around your lower back. He holds you tight. Like he's scared to let go.
"We do this together." He mumbles into your hair. "Okay?" He whispers.
You nod. Lifting your head to meet him with another kiss. One that speaks far more than words ever could.
âą Breast play, fingering, size difference (short reader)
âą Mild humiliation / objectification kink
âą Strong language
Reader discretion is strongly advised.
Authorâs Note (A/N):
Hey everyone! This is a pure smut one-shotâŠ.This one-shot was requested by @jungkoookieee hope you like it⊠my darling readers Like the post to show your support! Reblog to share it with your followers! Comment your favorite scene or your thoughts below I love reading your comment! Follow me for more âŠ.Send an Ask if you have a specific scene request or trope you want to see next!
Word Count: â 2,899 words
____
The silence in the penthouse was suffocating, broken only by the rhythmic click-clack of Y/Nâs heels against the imported Italian marble. She adjusted her uniform for the tenth time, her hands shaking slightly as she finished polishing the mahogany dining table.
The black-and-white maid dress clung to her body like a second skin short, frilled, and far more revealing than any standard uniform. The hem barely covered the tops of her thigh-high stockings, and the low neckline pushed her breasts up invitingly. A delicate white choker circled her throat, a constant reminder of the contract she had signed.
Using her?
Those two words had made her pulse race when Kim Taehyung, the ridiculously wealthy owner of this sky-high penthouse, had explained the terms during her interview. She would be the only staff member. She would keep the entire place spotless. And in return, he could have her whenever and wherever he wanted.
The soft ding of the private elevator made her freeze.
Taehyung stepped out, tall and devastatingly handsome in a tailored black suit, his dark hair slightly tousled from the day. His sharp eyes immediately found her bent over the dining table, ass slightly raised as she wiped the already-gleaming surface.
A slow, predatory smile curved his lips.
âAlready working so hard for me?â
His deep voice rolled through the open space like velvet. He shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair as he stalked toward her.
Y/Nâs breath hitched. âW-welcome home, sir. Dinner will be ready inââ
She didnât get to finish.
Tae closed the distance in two strides, one large hand pressing firmly between her shoulder blades, pushing her chest down onto the cool mahogany. The other hand yanked her tiny skirt up over her hips in one smooth motion.
He leaned in close, his breath ghosting against the shell of her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "Forget the kitchen for a moment, sweetheart," he murmured, his tone shifting from teasing to something far more demanding. "I don't care about dinner right now. The living room is a mess, and I want to watch TV."
He gave her a firm, possessive shove, guiding her away from the table and toward the sprawling lounge area. "Go on," he commanded, his eyes tracking her every movement with a dark, intense hunger. "Get on your knees and make yourself useful. You can start by cleaning up the space around me exactly how I like it. I want to see you working while I relax."
Taehyungâs hand stayed firm on her lower back as he guided her from the dining table into the expansive living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the glittering city below, but his eyes were locked solely on her.
He dropped onto the massive sectional sofa, legs spread wide in that effortlessly dominant way, and picked up the remote. The large TV flickered to life with some sports match, but it was clear he wasnât really watching.
âStart cleaning,â he ordered casually, eyes sliding over her body. âThe shelves need dusting.â
Y/N nodded quickly, grabbing her feather duster from the cleaning cart nearby. She approached the tall built-in shelves that lined one wall, filled with books, art pieces, and decorative items. She reached up as high as she could on tiptoes, but the higher shelves were still out of reach.
Taehyungâs low chuckle made her pause.
âSir?â she asked softly.
He stood up, walked over to the cleaning cart, and deliberately picked up the small stack of her spare cleaning cloths. With a smirk, he tossed them onto the very top shelf far higher than she could ever reach normally.
Y/Nâs eyes widened. âSir, Iââ
âNo stool,â he cut her off, voice smooth but firm as he returned to the sofa and lounged back. âYouâre not using anything to help yourself. Jump if you have to. I want to see how determined my little maid can be.â
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and frustration. She was already short barely 5â2â on a good day and the heels of her uniform only helped so much. Still, she obeyed.
She jumped.
The short maid skirt flipped up with the motion, fully exposing her lacy white panties to his hungry gaze. Her breasts bounced heavily inside the low-cut top, nearly spilling out with each desperate hop. The thin fabric of the uniform did nothing to hide the jiggle of her soft tits as she strained upward.
Taehyungâs eyes darkened. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, openly staring at the way her ass cheeks peeked out from under the skirt every time she jumped. Her panties were already slightly damp from earlier, clinging to her.
âAgain,â he commanded when she almost reached the cloths on her third try but failed. âHigher.â
Y/N let out a small, frustrated whine, cheeks flushed deep pink. She jumped harder this time, body stretching, thighs flexing in the thigh-high stockings. The skirt flew up completely, giving him a perfect view of her round ass and the way her panties wedged slightly between her cheeks. Her breasts bounced even more wildly, one nipple nearly slipping free from the tight bodice.
âFuck, look at you,â Taehyung murmured under his breath, palming himself through his pants as he watched her struggle. âSo small and helpless⊠trying so hard for me.â
She finally managed to brush the cloths with her fingertips on the next jump, but they slipped further back. A soft, annoyed huff escaped her as she landed, breathing heavily, uniform disheveled.
Her thighs burned, her breasts ached from bouncing so much inside the tight bodice, and frustration was starting to mix with the heat pooling between her legs.
Y/N turned around, ready to beg.
âSir, please⊠I canât reach it. Could you justââ
The words died in her throat.
Taehyung was lounging back on the couch, legs spread wide, suit pants open. His thick, hard cock was fully out, flushed dark and heavy in his large hand. He stroked himself slowly, lazily, from base to tip, thumb brushing over the leaking head as his sharp eyes stayed locked on her. The way he looked at her dark, hungry, completely unashamed made her stomach flip.
She froze on the spot, lips parted, eyes wide. Her gaze dropped involuntarily to his hand moving up and down that impressive length, then back up to his face. Heat flooded her cheeks and between her thighs. She couldnât look away.
Taehyungâs lips curved into a wicked smirk, his hand never stopping its slow, teasing strokes.
âCat got your tongue, little maid?â he drawled, voice low and rough.
âYou were about to beg me for help, werenât you? Go on. I want to hear it.â
Y/Nâs mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out at first. She was mesmerized by the sight of him so powerful and relaxed while she stood there flushed and struggling. Her nipples had hardened visibly against the thin fabric of her uniform, and she could feel fresh slickness soaking her panties.
âP-please, SirâŠâ she finally whispered, voice shaky. âI canât reach the cloths⊠Iâm too small. Can you help me?â
Taehyung let out a dark chuckle, squeezing the head of his cock as he watched her squirm.
âNo,â he said simply. âI like watching you jump and struggle. It makes my cock so fucking hard. Do it again. And this time, face me while you jump so I can see those pretty tits bounce properly.â
He leaned back further, still stroking himself with long, deliberate strokes, eyes gleaming with lust.
Y/N hesitated for half a second before obeying. She turned back toward the shelf, but angled her body slightly so she was in profile to him. On her next jump, the short skirt flew up again, flashing her ass and soaked panties, while her breasts jiggled heavily in the low neckline.
Taehyung groaned softly, his hand moving faster. âThatâs it⊠Good girl. Keep going. Jump higher for me.â
Taehyungâs hand slowed on his cock as he watched her frozen expression, a low, amused hum vibrating in his chest.
âCome here, little maid,â he commanded, voice thick with lust. He gave his heavy cock one more slow stroke before letting go, letting it rest against his abs. âStop struggling with the shelf. Come seduce me instead. Show me what a good, eager maid you can be.â
Y/N swallowed hard, heart hammering. Seduce him? She wasnât experienced in this kind of thing. She was just trying her best to be the perfect employee⊠but the way he looked at her made her want to please him.
She walked over slowly, the click of her heels echoing softly. Her cheeks were still flushed from jumping, her uniform messy skirt slightly crooked, breasts nearly spilling out of the low neckline, nipples hard and visible through the fabric. She stopped right in front of him, between his spread legs, looking up at him with those big, innocent eyes.
âH-how⊠how would you like me to seduce you, Sir?â she asked softly, voice sweet and a little shy.
Taehyung leaned back, one arm draped over the back of the couch, the other lazily gesturing at her.
âUse your body. Make me want to ruin you.â
Y/N bit her lip, nodding. She tried.
She stepped closer and did a little spin, the short skirt flaring up and flashing her panties again. Then she leaned forward, hands on his thighs, pushing her breasts together with her arms so they looked even fuller in the tight uniform. She gave him a shy little smile, tilting her head cutely while batting her lashes.
âIs this okay, Sir?â she asked, voice soft and breathy.
She swayed her hips gently, then climbed onto his lap, straddling one of his thick thighs. Even sitting on him she looked tiny. She rocked forward experimentally, grinding her soaked panties against his leg while looking up at him with that adorable, flushed expression like a needy kitten trying to be sexy.
It was devastatingly effective.
âFuckâŠâ Taehyung groaned, hands immediately gripping her waist.
âYouâre so fucking cute like this. Trying so hard to seduce me with that innocent face while your pussy is dripping all over my thigh.â
Y/N whimpered, growing bolder. She reached up to loosen the top of her uniform, letting her breasts fully spill out. She cupped them shyly, offering them to him while continuing to grind slowly against his leg, her short skirt bunched around her hips.
Taehyung couldnât hold back any longer.
He grabbed her by the choker, pulling her forward into a rough kiss, then flipped their positions in one smooth motion. He had her bent over the arm of the couch in seconds, ass up, skirt flipped up completely.
âSuch a cute little seductress,â he growled, yanking her panties down to her knees. âNow Iâm going to use you like toy maid you are.â
He lined up his thick cock and thrust into her soaked pussy in one deep stroke, bottoming out with a groan. Y/N cried out, fingers digging into the couch cushions as he filled her completely.
Taehyung didnât go slow. He fucked her hard, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip, pulling her back onto his cock with every powerful thrust. The wet sounds of skin slapping and her sweet, helpless moans filled the living room.
âYou look so pretty when youâre getting fucked,â he panted, reaching around to rub her clit.
âCute face, tight little body⊠made for this.â
Y/N came first with a broken whimper, clenching around him so tightly that he followed right after, burying himself deep and filling her with thick ropes of cum.
He stayed inside her for a long moment, breathing heavily, before pulling out and watching his release drip down her thighs.
Taehyung gave her ass a firm slap and smirked.
âClean yourself up a bit, then finish dusting those shelves. And next time I tell you to seduce me⊠I expect you to try even cuter.â
Y/N nodded weakly, legs trembling, a shy but satisfied smile on her lips.
âYes, SirâŠâ
____
The night air was cool and crisp as Taehyung led her out onto the private balcony. The penthouse sat so high that the city sprawled beneath them like a sea of glittering lights. A soft breeze tugged at Y/Nâs already disheveled maid uniform, making the short skirt flutter against her cum-stained thighs.
Taehyung had barely given her time to catch her breath after the living room. He simply grabbed her by the choker and walked her outside, still fully dressed in his open suit while she looked thoroughly used breasts spilling out of the top, panties missing entirely now, uniform wrinkled and damp.
âHold onto the railing,â he ordered, voice low and rough.
Y/N obeyed, placing her small hands on the cool glass barrier. Even on tiptoes she was barely tall enough for a comfortable grip. The height made her stomach flutter the city far below, the wind whispering around them.
Taehyung stepped behind her, tall and imposing. He pressed his body against her back, one hand sliding around to cup her breast while the other flipped her tiny skirt up over her ass.
âLook at you,â he murmured against her ear, lips brushing her skin. âStill so cute even after Iâve already fucked you senseless. Those little legs shaking⊠trying to stay steady for your Sir.â
He gave her nipple a firm pinch, drawing a soft whimper from her. Then he kicked her feet apart gently, spreading her stance. Y/N gasped as the cool night air kissed her exposed, dripping pussy.
Without another word, Taehyung freed his cock again still hard, still slick from her and pushed inside her in one smooth, deep thrust. The new angle made her feel impossibly full. She moaned loudly, the sound carried away by the wind.
âQuiet, little maid,â he teased, though his own groan betrayed how good she felt. âWouldnât want anyone looking up and seeing how well my cute maid takes cock.â
He started fucking her with long, powerful strokes, one hand on her hip, the other tangled in her hair to keep her arched perfectly for him. Every thrust pushed her forward against the railing, her breasts bouncing heavily over the edge, nipples hard from the cool breeze. Her short stature made her have to push up on her toes, legs trembling as he used her.
Y/Nâs moans grew sweeter and more desperate. âS-Sir⊠itâs so deep like thisâŠâ
Taehyung chuckled darkly, speeding up. The wet slap of skin on skin mixed with the distant city hum. He reached around and rubbed her swollen clit with skilled fingers while pounding into her.
âThatâs it. Be a good girl and cum on my cock where the whole city could see if they tried hard enough.â
She shuttered hard, crying out his name as her pussy clenched around him. Her legs nearly gave out, but Taehyung held her up easily, fucking her through it until he buried himself deep and came with a low, possessive groan, flooding her again with hot pulses of cum.
He stayed inside her for a long moment, both of them breathing heavily as the wind cooled their heated skin. Finally he pulled out slowly, watching his release trickle down her thighs.
Taehyung turned her around, lifted her small body effortlessly, and sat her on the wide glass ledge
safely inside the railing He kissed her softly this time slower, almost tender while his hand slipped between her legs to lazily play with the mess heâd made.
âYou look so fucking pretty like this,â he whispered against her lips. âFlushed, ruined, and still giving me those cute, shy eyes. My perfect free toy maid.â
Y/N leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, thighs trembling around his waist.
âAny corner you want next, Sir?â she asked softly, voice sweet and breathless.
Hi, I have a question that I believe is worth addressing because greater clarity on this point would likely reassure writers who do not use AI. My questions and thoughts are meant to be collaborative, and I genuinely hope they come across as such.
What is the proposed course of action if a work is reblogged or identified as AI when the writer of the accused work knows with absolute certainty that no AI was involved in its creation? In that circumstance, is the expectation that the writer contact your group, explain the situation, and present whatever evidence they are able to assemble in the hope that it is deemed sufficient?
Secondarily, if, after reviewing that evidence, your group remains unconvinced despite the author's truthful denial, what recourse remains? Is the writer then expected to defend their reputation publicly against an allegation that is, in reality, incorrect? While this is theoretical in nature and only the writer can truly know whether they used AI or not, I feel like itâs important for you to address how scenarios like this play out, given that the result of being posted here is often penal and retributive.
I ask because, although your methodology appears thoughtful and grounded in a coherent process, it is not infallible. Unless every work on a writerâs masterlist is examined to establish whether purported AI indicators such as frequently cited vocabulary, recurring turns of phrase, or stylistic tendencies represent longstanding characteristics of that writerâs writing rather than evidence of generative AI, there remains a meaningful possibility of false positives.
To be clear, I agree that many of the works you have identified exhibit characteristics that reasonably raise suspicion of AI use, and in some instances the evidence appears compelling based on the text itself. However, there are also writers on your list whose stylistic conventions predate the widespread availability of generative AI. Their written reflects established habits of diction, syntax, and expression theyâve had on Tumblr for years, rather than the more conspicuous patterns typically associated with AI writing. Conflating these longstanding stylistic traits with evidence of AI risks misclassifying genuine writers, which is where I believe the system has an issue and can be exploitive.
My concern, to be honest, is not whether your framework is logical, but whether it adequately accounts for its own limitations. Every evaluative system has a margin of error, yet in this case the consequences of that error are particularly significant because the conclusions are made public and can materially affect a writer's reputation within btsblr.
With that in mind, I would appreciate clarification on what you consider a reasonable standard for someone who has been wrongfully identified to demonstrate that their work is genuinely their own. Equally important, I would like to understand what safeguards exist if your group ultimately rejects that evidence despite the author being truthful. At that point, the individual's reputation effectively rests on the judgment of people who, despite acting in good faith and employing a structured methodology, are still capable of making mistakes.
Greater transparency regarding these questions would make it substantially easier to view your efforts as a proportionate and responsible attempt to protect the community, rather than a system that implicitly accepts occasional collateral damage as an acceptable cost of identifying those who genuinely misuse AI.
Hi, Iâm glad you asked. Although we strongly believe that people should not treat our word as the absolute truthâwe have said this several times beforeâand should instead come to their own conclusions without directing hostility toward others, we are open to dialogue.
Unfortunately, we have not had any constructive dialogue so far. We have either been insulted and threatened, or, after taking the time to explain in detail what we based our conclusions on, received nothing more than a dismissive, âYeah, itâs not like I can change your mind anywayâ.
Off the top of my/our head/s, the following are examples of things that would make sense not only to us, but to everyone, alongside a normal conversation:
Screenshots of drafts from before editing or beta reading/incremental writing process, outlines, planning notes such as timelines, character sheets, research notes, and similar material.
On behalf of all of us, I would like to emphasize that we are making an effort to remain open to dialogue and are willing to listen when the conversation takes place on a respectful level. We also ask anyone who contacts us not to expect an immediate response, as it is not possible for us to spend all our time on this blog. Most public replies and reblogs are scheduled.
Keep up the good work. The AI use on this site is sickening. More and more people are just accepting it and soon here all our books, movies, games and music will be AI slop. What a truly dystopian hell. You have to make a stand somewhere or you'll just resign yourself to the crap the companies want to push on us. Remember it costs them NOTHING to use AI so of course they want you to gobble it up and thank them for it. By accepting AI writing in your fics you are priming yourself to be the perfect shill whence the time comes when all content is meaningless, out of touch, soulless AI generated garbage.
There are so many reasons, on so many different levels, why ai should not be used for art in any form, or for something as ridiculous as fanfics. But it was predictable that the blog would become extremely polarizing. There is no middle ground anymore, no matter what the topic is.
As you said, the dystopian hell will only arrive faster because people look away, or scream louder while indulging in a snowflake mentality. Unfortunately, most people lack the foresight to recognize that.
"hi, thank you for your work! are you able to recommend more writers who don't use ai?" "thank you and no" --- exactly, because you're some hag that doesn't know shit and is targetting people out of jealousy. go leave that vile shit on twitter or reddit
Surely that canât have been all the emotional venting. Come on, thereâs more.
âstart holding people accountableâ yall are writing FANFICTIONđ self insert fanfiction thatâs mostly read by teenagers itâs not that serious. not to discreet yall but yall are not published writers trying to win a pulitzer stop trying to police people who cares if some people use ai. yall calling them out wonât stop people from reading at the end of the day ppl are just reading self insert fanfiction ab their fav celebrity is not that serious this ridiculous witch-hunting itâs giving unemployed and bitter đ i applaud the ones who donât use AI good for, do you feel like you need an extra cookie for that? other people using AI wonât take that away from you. do better things with your time omg (im a bts fic reader who has been on this app since 2019) and seeing this going on for the past 2 months is honestly laughable who caressss
If you havenât grasped the consequences of using ai, then youâre either too young to understand them, ergo too young to be picking fights on the internet, or you seriously need to reconsider your moral responsibility toward people around the world.
Jungkook comes back after two years abroad and things heat up between him and his best friend's little sister who's all grown up. The harmless flirting quickly turns into something more...
7.4k, unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral sex, shower sex, kissing in the rain, humping, road head, sneaking around
PSA: This is the same as my NCT Jaehyun story, this is a BTS ver!
-----------------
It started the day Jungkook walked back into her life.
Two years away. Two years without his lazy smirks, his low voice, his teasing comments that always seemed to toe the line between playful and absolutely filthy. But when he strolled into his and Namjoonâs kitchenâsun-kissed, hair messy, tattoo just barely peeking from under his sleeveâY/N swore her knees nearly gave out.
And Jungkook noticed.
Of course he noticed.
âLook who grew up,â he murmured, eyeing her up and down shamelessly. âYou always this pretty, or is it just fucking with my head today?â
Y/N flushed scarlet. She hadnât her brothers best friend in two years and thatâs the first thing out of his mouth? Moving back in with her brother and Jungkook was gonna be tough.
âYouâre one to talk,â she mumbled, trying to look away.
But he stepped closer, eyes locked on hers, smirk playing on his lips. âSay that again, angel. I liked how that sounded.â
She scurried off, cheeks burning.
It only got worse after that.
Every time they crossed pathsâJungkook alone in the hallway, shirtless in the kitchen, sprawled on the couch with that stupid smug smileâheâd say something.
âYou know your skirtâs riding up, right?â
âCareful looking at me like that, baby. Someone might think you want something.â
âYou keep biting your lip like that and Iâm gonna start wondering what else that mouthâs good for.â
Each time, her throat dried, her heart raced, and her body responded way too fast.
But Jungkook never touched her. Never crossed the line. He'd crowd her into a wall, whisper things into her ear, and back off with a lazy winkâjust enough to ruin her for the rest of the day.
And she kept letting him. Kept loving it.
The Party
She wasnât even supposed to be going. Namjoon had said it was mostly older friends, college guys, exesââboring,â heâd told her.
But when she heard Jungkook would be there, Y/N made a choice.
A tight black dress. Strapless. Short. Paired with heels and gloss and a teasing perfume she hoped heâd notice. The moment she walked into the apartment, she saw the way heads turnedâand more importantly, she felt his eyes on her.
Jungkook was leaning against the wall with a drink in hand, laughing with someone. But the second he saw her, his jaw went slack. His gaze dragged over herâslow, dark, deliberate.
And he didnât look away.
He didnât approach her all night. He didnât say anything. But she felt him everywhereâwatching, pacing like a predator, drinking her in from across the room.
And finally, when she slipped into the kitchen for air, he followed.
âYou wore that dress for me.â
Y/N spun around. Jungkook stood in the doorway, shirt open at the collar, hair wild like heâd run his hand through it too many times. His voice was low, rough, already half-wrecked with frustration.
âDonât flatter yourself,â she whispered, clutching her cup.
He stalked closer. âYou knew Iâd be here. You knew what that dress would do to me.â
âI didnât think youâd even notice.â
âBullshit.â His eyes dragged down her body again. âYou wanted me to notice. You want me to look at you and forget all the reasons I shouldnât bend you over this counter right now.â
She swallowed, heart hammering. âWeâre not doing this.â
His jaw ticked. âYou think I want to want you?â He stepped closer. âYou think this is easy for me? Knowing every inch of you is off-limits? Knowing I canât fucking touch you because your brother would bury me alive?â
Y/N gasped as his hand flattened on the counter beside her hip, boxing her in without touching.
âYou walk around like you donât know what youâre doing,â Jungkook growled. âLike you donât see how I stare at your legs. Your lips. How I canât stop thinking about the sounds youâd make if I had my mouth between your thighs.â
âStop,â she whispered.
âWhy?â His face was inches from hers now, voice ragged. âBecause if I say one more filthy thing, youâre gonna let me pull that dress up and show you exactly how long Iâve been waiting to fuck you?â
âJungkookââ
âYou want me to stop?â he asked, chest rising and falling fast. âSay it. Say you donât think about it too. Say you havenât imagined me fucking you so hard you forget your own name.â
She couldnât speak. Her body was shaking.
But then she whispered, âWe canâtâŠâ
His forehead touched hers for a second, hot and desperate.
âI know we canât,â he breathed. âBut donât lie to me, baby. Donât lie to yourself.â
A pause. Their lips almost brushed. So close it hurt.
âI want you,â she admitted, barely audible. âSo fucking bad.â
He let out a rough, broken soundâhalf a groan, half a curseâand stepped back like it physically hurt to leave her.
âYeah,â he muttered. âMe too.â
Another beat of silence. Then he looked her over one last time, hunger still sharp in his eyes.
âThis tensionâs gonna kill us.â
She nodded. âI know.â
They didnât kiss. They didnât touch.
They just stood there, burning alive, trying not to destroy everything.
Later that night...
Jungkook hadnât moved in twenty minutes.
He leaned back in a chair on the balcony, nursing the same drink while the rest of the guys hollered over some drinking game inside. His jaw was tight. His eyes tracked every shadow that passed near the kitchenâher. He hadnât seen Y/N since she slipped out, cheeks flushed and lips parted like she wanted him to ruin her right there.
And fuck, he wanted to.
But he couldnât.
âBro,â one of the guys nudged him. âYou good?â
âHm?â Jungkook looked up.
âYou havenât flirted with anyone all night. Usually by now youâre halfway into someoneâs pants.â
Jungkook gave a lazy smirk. âGuess Iâm just not in the mood.â
But his voice lacked its usual cocky bite. His mind was still in that kitchenâher body inches from his, breath catching when he told her how much he wanted her.
âNot like you,â the guy muttered, squinting at him. âYouâre not sulking over a girl, are you?â
Jungkook rolled his eyes. âRelax.â
But the guy didnât drop it. âWait... are youââ
A sudden commotion cut him off.
Shouting. From the front lawn.
Voices raised, sharp. A girlâs voice.
Jungkook was already standing before the others processed what was happening. He recognized it immediatelyâhervoice. Her angry voice.
By the time he pushed through the door and onto the porch, a small crowd had already formed near the edge of the lawn.
There she wasâY/N, flushed and furious, backing away from some drunk asshole with slick hair and a cocky stance.
âI said no,â she snapped, voice shaking. âDonât touch me.â
âCome on,â the guy slurred. âYouâve been giving me looks all night.â
Jungkook didnât hesitate.
He was down the steps in two strides, pushing through the crowd, voice sharp and deadly.
âShe said no. Back the fuck off.â
The guy blinked at him, confused. âWho the hell are you?â
Jungkook stepped between them, towering over him now. âThe last person you want to piss off tonight.â
The guy scoffed, tried to square upâdrunk and dumb.
And Jungkook didnât give him the chance.
He punched himâclean, hard, right in the face.
The guy hit the ground like a sack of bricks, groaning, hands clutching his nose.
The crowd gasped. Someone laughed. Someone cheered. And Jungkook just stood there, chest heaving, teeth clenched, fists still curled like he wanted to throw another.
Y/N stared at him, breathless. Eyes wide. Lips parted. She grabbed his hand and he unclenched his fists and gave her a soft look.
Namjoon came out seconds later, saw the scene, and rushed over, both of them quickly letting go.
âWhat the hell happened?â
Jungkook didnât even look at him. âYour sister was dealing with some creep who didnât know what no meant.â
Namjoon looked between the guy on the ground and Y/Nâwho was visibly shakenâand then back at Jungkook.
His expression softened.
âThanks for stepping in, man,â Namjoon said, clapping a hand on Jungkookâs shoulder. âSeriously.â
Jungkook nodded once, barely. âAnytime.â
But he wasnât thinking about the fight anymore.
He was thinking about the way Y/N looked at him just nowâlike she wanted to fall into his arms and never come out.
Later That Night â Jungkookâs Room
It was quiet.
The party had died down. Most people had left. Namjoon was still out back finishing drinks with a few stragglers.
Jungkook lay on his bed, shirt off, muscles tense, replaying that moment over and over. Her voice. The way her eyes had found his. The heat still thrumming in his chest.
Then a soft knock.
He sat up fast. âYeah?â
The door cracked open. Y/N slipped in.
Short shorts. A thin tank top. No bra. Hair down. Barefoot.
Every nerve in Jungkookâs body snapped awake.
âI⊠just wanted to thank you,â she whispered, stepping in and closing the door behind her. âFor earlier.â
He swallowed hard, trying to keep his eyes on hers. âHe shouldnât have touched you.â
âI was handling it,â she said, a smile playing on her lips.
âNot fast enough.â
They both laughed softly. The air between them buzzed.
Then she walked closer.
So close.
He sat on the edge of the bed, and she stopped in front of him. Her fingers brushed his knucklesâlight, unsure. Then her other hand cupped his cheek, gently, tenderly.
Her lips pressed against his cheek. A soft kiss. A thank-you.
But then she lingered. Just a second too long.
And when she pulled back, their lips brushed.
Soft. Barely-there. But real.
Jungkook didnât move.
Neither did she.
Her breath trembled. âJungkookâŠâ
Thenâ
SLAM.
The front door opened. Namjoonâs voice echoed through the house.
âYo! Anyone still awake?â
They froze.
Y/N stepped back quickly, cheeks flushed, heart pounding.
Jungkook stood too, tension radiating off him in waves.
âWe shouldnâtâŠâ
âNo,â he agreed, voice tight. âWe shouldnât.â
But their eyes said everything else.
She slipped out of the room a second later, heartbeat still in her throat.
And Jungkook sat back down, fists clenched in his lap, jaw tight, cursing every goddamn reason he couldnât have her.
The Next Day
The backyard smelled like grilled meat, sunscreen, and summer sweat. The gang was loudâmusic playing, beers clinking, people laughing too hard at nothing. Y/N sat on a bench under the umbrella, trying to pretend she was listening to Namjoon talk about some dumb lawn game.
But she couldnât focus. Not with him there.
Jungkook.
Laid back in a white tank top that clung to his chest, golden skin glowing under the sun, hair pushed back lazily as he nursed a beer. He looked like sin in human form. And every time he glanced at herâevery slow drag of his eyesâher thighs pressed tighter together under the table.
He hadnât said a word to her all afternoon.
Not a single filthy whisper. Not a single cocky smirk.
Which made her want it more.
And he knew it.
Later, she slipped inside to grab napkins from the kitchenâand the second the screen door shut behind her, she felt it.
His presence.
She turned, startled, just as Jungkookâs hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her down the hallway.
âJungkookâwhat are youââ
âShhh,â he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. No one noticed.
And then they were in the narrow hallway, alone, hidden from the windows.
He backed her into the wallâcrowding her in. One hand on the wall beside her head, the other gripping her chin, thumb grazing her lower lip.
âWearing those little shorts again,â he murmured, voice low and deadly. âTrying to make me lose my mind in front of all our friends?â
Y/N couldnât breathe.
âYou havenât even looked at me all day,â she whispered.
His eyes darkened. âBecause if I looked at you too long, Iâd drag you inside and make you scream my name.â
Her knees buckled.
âYou want that, donât you?â he murmured, leaning closerâhis breath hot on her ear. âYou want me to take you right here. Up against this wall. My hand over your mouth so they donât hear you moan.â
Y/N whimpered.
Jungkook groaned, deep in his throat. âYouâd be so fucking loud for me.â
Before she could stop herself, her hands slid up his chest. Her thighs pressed together. And then she ground herself on his legâslow, needy, shameless.
âFuck, babyâŠâ he hissed, thigh flexing under her. âYouâre dripping for me, arenât you?â
Her fingers gripped his shirt. Her hips kept moving, grinding up the length of his thigh like she couldnât help herself.
His forehead touched hers. Their lips brushed.
Barely.
She let out a breathy, desperate moan straight into his mouth.
And Jungkook snapped.
Not all the way.
But enough to shove his hand over her mouth, breathing hard as he held her there, both of them trembling.
âStop,â he panted. âY/N, stopâfuckââ
She slowed.
But she didnât back away. Her eyes were glassy. Her cheeks flushed. Her body buzzed with the tension still thick between them.
He leaned in, whispering against her ear again, voice wrecked. âYou do that again and I wonât stop next time.â
A beat passed. Her thighs clenched.
Thenâvoices.
âWhereâs Y/N?â
âDidnât she go inside?â
âYo, Jungkook! You seen her?â
They froze.
Jungkook exhaled sharply, composed himself. Dropped his hand from her mouth. Straightened his shirt. Ran a hand through his hair.
Y/N looked equally wrecked.
They took a breath.
And then they walked out togetherâcalm, casual, like nothing had happened.
âOh,â Jungkook said easily, slinging an arm around Y/Nâs shoulders. âShe spilled juice in the kitchen. We were cleaning it up.â
Namjoon blinked. âYou cleaned a spill?â
Jungkook smiled lazily. âWhat can I say? Iâm helpful.â
Y/N laughedâtoo high-pitched. âSo helpful.â
And no one questioned it.
But under the table, Jungkookâs hand brushed her thigh. Just once.
A silent promise.
When they had a moment alone later Jungkook thought it over. They can't keep going like this. He was too attracted to her and it wouldn't end well. Even a little bit isn't enough. He had to cut her off.
"We can't be friends." Jungkook said guiltily when they were alone.
"What?" Y/n looked in shock.
"I can't be your friend. Because I'll never think of you or see you as my friend. And every time we have a normal interaction I'm just thinking about everything I wanna do to you and how your brother would kill me if he found out."
Y/n scoffed offended. "You don't even wanna be friends? That's a lame excuse Jungkook, even from you. But fine. You got it, we're no longer friends."
Over the next few days tensions grew with their constant bickering and y/n wearing more revealing clothing around the house.
It started with another fight.
Jungkook had been moody all dayâgruff responses, tense jaw, barely speaking to anyone. Y/N finally snapped after he gave her yet another cold stare when she passed him in the hallway.
âWhat the hell is your problem?â she hissed, arms crossed tight.
âYou,â he bit out. âYouâre my fucking problem.â
Her heart stuttered.
âYou donât want me. You donât want to be friends. So what do you want from me, Jungkook? We both live in this house so suck it up.â
âI want to stop thinking about you every time you breathe in the same damn room!â His voice cracked. âI canâtâfuckâI canât pretend this is normal. I canât act like Iâm not dying to touch you every second.â
Y/N stared at him, chest heaving. Her cheeks burned with anger and something else. âFine,â she snapped, voice cold. âYou donât want to deal with me? Then donât.â
That night, she went on a date with someone else.
Later That Night
The restaurant was awful. The guy was worse. He talked over her, laughed at nothing, stared at her chest the entire time.
And when he leaned in, trying to kiss her outside by her Uber, she shoved him away and ran.
Tears burned in her eyes as she called the only person she knew would come.
âJungkookâŠâ she whispered when he answered. âCan you⊠can you pick me up?â
He didnât hesitate. He picked her up and drove her back to their place, the car ride thick with silence.
It was pouring.
The sky cracked open above them, rain spilling like it had been waiting for this momentâjust like them.
Y/N got out of the car and stood at the edge of the driveway, soaked and seething, arms crossed under her chest as thunder rolled in the distance. Her white tank clung to her breasts like second skin, completely see-through, nipples clearly visible. Her tiny denim skirt was soaked and hitched up high, the hot pink waistband of her panties teasing just above the fabric.
And Jungkookâblack shirt plastered to his chest, cargo pants hugging his hips, tattoos glistening in the stormâstood there with his jaw clenched, looking like he was on the verge of tearing something apart.
He was.
âWhat the hell are you doing calling me?â he snapped, stepping into the rain. âDidnât you run off to your perfect little date?â
She spun around, drenched hair whipping over her shoulder. âDonât start.â
âDonât fucking start?â His laugh was humorless. âYou go out, dressed like that, trying to pretend I donât exist, then cry for me to come save you like Iâm still the good guy?â
âI called you because it's your fucking fault I went on that date in the first place. I didnât know who else toâ!â
âNo,â he growled, stepping closer, âyou called me because even when youâre pissed at me, you still want me.â
Her breath caught.
Jungkook's eyes dragged down her body, tongue darting out over his bottom lip. âYou really think I didnât notice that tiny little skirt, that wet tank, those bright fucking panties begging to be pulled down?â
Her eyes widened, but he wasnât done.
âYou walk around dripping wet, tits out, skirt barely covering your assâand Iâm supposed to keep pretending I donât want to bend you over every surface I see?â
Y/Nâs lips parted in shock.
âYou think I havenât pictured it?â he hissed. âYour legs spread in my backseat, you wrapped around me while my tongue is down your throat? Or your mouth gagged on my cock, crying while I throat fuck every thought of every other guy out of your head?â
Her knees buckled slightly. He saw itâand grinned. Dark. Filthy.
She shoved at his chest. âYou're such aââ
But he grabbed her.
Fisted her skirt and panties, yanking her flush against him. Her gasp was swallowed by the sound of rain, her breath catching when she felt how hard he was through his pants.
âIâve had enough of pretending,â he rasped. His lips brushed hers. âIâm fucking done.â
Then his voice dropped, hot and filthy against her mouth:
âFuck it.â
And then he took her mouth.
It was wild. Open. Tongues colliding. His lips crushed hers, tongue shoving into her mouth like he was claiming itâlike heâd been waiting years to taste her. His hand stayed tight on her panties, holding her body against his while he devoured her, spit and rain mixing between them.
Y/N moaned into itâhelplesslyâgripping his shirt like she needed something to hang on to.
Jungkook groaned, deep and rough, sucking on her tongue before biting her bottom lip just to hear her whimper.
âYou feel that?â he growled between kisses, grinding into her soaked skirt. âThatâs what you fucking do to me.â
She was panting, dazed, lips swollen.
And he wasnât done.
âI swear to god, if Namjoon wasnât your brotherââ he shoved her back against the wall of the house, kissing her again, even harder this timeâ âIâd have fucked you right here. In the rain. With your panties still on.â
When they finally broke apart, both wrecked and breathless, her voice trembled.
âI want you.â
He wiped the rain from her cheek, staring at her like she was his breaking point and salvation at once.
âYouâve got me,â he whispered. âNow Iâm done hiding it.â
The kiss didnât stop.
Even as Jungkook dragged her back into the house, their mouths stayed fusedâwet, frantic, tongues tangling while their soaked bodies bumped into walls and doorframes. His hand stayed tight on her waist, the other sliding up under her clingy, dripping tank, fingers kneading over bare, slick skin.
He kicked his bedroom door shut and slammed her against it, lips pressing into her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. He groaned when he felt the heat of her body through the thin fabric, both of them soaked to the bone and breathless.
âClothes,â he growled against her mouth, tugging hard at the hem of her top. âOff. Now.â
She whimpered as he peeled the wet fabric off herâtank top first, tossed somewhere on the floor. Her skirt followed with a harsh tug, panties bunched with it. His black shirt clung to his abs, tattoos snaking over soaked muscle as he pulled it off over his head.
She barely had a second to breathe before his lips were on her againâhot, hungry, starvedâpushing her backward until her thighs hit the edge of his shower.
Jungkook spun the handle.
Steam rushed out as hot water poured down from above.
He walked her straight into it, fully naked, his mouth still locked on hers. Their bodies collided under the stream, her back hitting the tile wall with a wet slap.
He didnât let up.
His hands roamedâfisting her ass, dragging her against his thick length, sliding over her hips and ribs and chest, palms rough and greedy. His mouth dipped to her neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks, biting just below her jaw before kissing her againâdeep and messy, with his tongue shoved so far into her mouth she could barely breathe.
âYou feel that?â he growled, grinding into her under the water. âThatâs what Iâve been hiding. Every night. Every time you walked past me looking like a fucking dream.â
âJungkookââ she gasped, nails digging into his back.
âYou donât even know what youâve done to me,â he snarled, grabbing her thighs. âBut Iâm about to show you.â
--------------
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Summary: You and Jungkook are best friends who end up on a rooftop one night, sharing a joint just to pass the time. But they get too high, and somewhere between laughter and silence, the truth starts slipping out. Confessions neither of you planned to say come out in the open, changing everything you thought your friendship was.
Paring: Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Romance | Best Friends-to-Lovers | Confessions
Warnings: Weed/Smoking | Getting High | Emotional Confession | Slight Angst | Making Out
It was 3 in the morning, and the silence in your room no longer felt peaceful. It pressed against you from all sides, thick and heavy, as if the darkness itself had weightâfilling every corner, shrinking the space around your thoughts until you felt quietly trapped inside them.
You turned onto your left side. Then onto your right. Again. The sheets had long since lost their comfort, tangled around your legs as you pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, as though fabric alone could anchor your drifting mind and force it into stillness.
But sleep stayed out of reach.
Every time you closed her eyes, there it was againâthat restless pounding in your chest, soft but insistent. Your thoughts refused to settle. They circled back on themselves.
Your hand reached for her phone almost on instinct.
The screen lit up your face in a pale, artificial glow. No new messages. No missed calls. Just emptiness reflected back at you. You stared at it a moment longer than you meant to, as if something might appear if you waited just a little more.
Nothing did. You locked it again.
It fell back onto the mattress beside you, but your eyes lingered on it anyway. A few seconds passed. Then your fingers reached for it once moreâdrawn back not by hope, but by habit, by the quiet desperation of wanting anything to interrupt the night.
Outside, the city stayed awake.
Distant lights shimmered and trembled against the night. Everything seemed to continue effortlessly. Everything except you.
Above, the moon hung pale and quiet in the sky, partially veiled by thin drifting clouds. A soft breeze slipped through the open window, carrying the coolness of the night inside. It stirred the curtains gently, making them sway. The air felt light against your skin.
Your mind refused to quiet down.
And as it so often did when the night grew too loud to endure, your thoughts drifted back to him.
Not intentionally. Not gently. But inevitablyâlike a tide returning to a shore it had never truly left.
Jungkook.
You didnât want to think about him. You really didnât. But that was exactly what made it impossibleâbecause he was the reason you couldn't sleep.
His voice. His laughter. That effortless, familiar way he looked at you.
A quiet sigh escaped your lips as you finally shifted, the stillness of the room suddenly too much to bear. Almost on impulse, you reached for your phone again.
The dark screen reflected faint fragments of your face back at her. No notifications. No distractions.
Your thumb hovered. Then you typed.
âHey⊠I hope youâre still awake. I canât sleep.â You sent it before you could talk yourself out of it, before doubt had the chance to fully take shape. And immediatelyâalmost cruellyâyou wondered if you had made a mistake.
Then your phone lit up.
Jungkook: âIs something wrong?â
Your breath caught slightly in your throat.
You stared at the message, unmoving. And suddenly, the night felt even quieter than before.
You replied almost too quickly, before you could second-guess yourself.
âNo. I was hoping youâd come over. We can smoke a joint on the roof.â
A quiet, breathless laugh slipped out of you afterwardsâbarely audible in the stillness of your room. As if even you were surprised by how easily the words had left your fingers, how little hesitation there had been once you allowed yourself to want it.
The reply came instantly.
Jungkook: âYou donât have to ask me twice. Iâll be there in 10 minutes.â
The knock at the door pulled you out of your thoughts before you had even fully registered standing up.
Your heart stuttered. Jungkook.
You didnât understand why your body always reacted like this when he was near. That warm, restless pull deep in your stomachâlike everything inside you was both calming down and falling apart at the same time. A contradiction you would never have the courage to put into words.
Still, you walked to the door.
And when you finally opened it, the world outside your room felt suddenly too real.
And there he was.
Jungkook was leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossing over his chest.
His hair was messy, dark strands falling slightly into his eyes, as though he hadnât bothered to tame themâor hadnât cared to. A black sweater hung loosely on his frame, soft fabric draping in a way that made him look even more careless and intentional at the same time. Paired with dark shorts, he looked like he had stepped out of the night itself.
The moment his eyes landed on you, something shifted. For a second, neither of you spoke.
Then Jungkookâs gaze softened slightly, just enough to notice if you were already looking.
âHey,â he said quietly. His gaze swept over you immediately.
And then that small, unmistakable laugh slipped out of him. âShit⊠your Hello Kitty pajamas.â
He said it so easily, like he had been waiting for that exact moment to say it the second the door opened.
Heat rushed to your face instantly.
âDonât say anything,â you warned him at once, sharper than you intended. The words came out quickly, defensively, as if you were quickly trying to stop the embarrassment before it could fully settle in.
He lifted both hands in surrender, the picture of exaggerated innocence.
âOkay, okay. I wonât say anything.â
His eyes flicked over you once more, that familiar glint returningâbright, teasing, always dangerously amused.
âStill⊠I didnât know you slept like that.â
âYouâre not supposed to know how I sleep,â you shot back immediately.
His grin only widened.
âToo late.â
A quiet huff left you as you stepped aside, letting him in without really thinking about it anymore. Like it was already decided long before the door ever opened.
âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd yet you still called me.â
That lingered between them for a moment longer than it should have.
You closed the door behind him.
âI didnât call you,â You muttered.
He turned back to you, that half-smile still lingering on his lips.
âYeah. You did. Just not with words.â
For a moment, there was only silence. Just your apartment behind them, the night pressing softly against the windows, and that feeling between you twoâtoo loud, too present, neither of you willing to name it.
Then he tilted his head toward the door. âRoof?â
You nodded without looking at him. âRoof.â
And as you walked past him, you could still feel his gaze on her backâwarm in a way that almost felt unfair, like he had no right to make something so simple feel like that
You slipped into your sneakers while Jungkook had already stepped out into the hallway. Without thinking twice, he held the front door open for you, waiting until you were beside him.
It wasnât anything special. And that was exactly what made it dangerous.
The old stairwell was quiet except for the echo of their footsteps bouncing off the wall. Every so often, his sleeve brushed yoursâbarely there, gone in an instantâbut each time it happened, your heartbeat betrayed you anyway.
âYou know,â he said suddenly, breaking the silence with a grin, âIâm never letting you forget that you willingly bought a Hello Kitty pajama.â
You rolled your eyes immediately. âOn sale.â
âOh, I see.â He nodded with exaggerated understanding. âWell, that changes everything then.â
âJungkook.â
âYeah?â
âOne more word and I swear Iâll push you down the stairs.â
He just laughed. That deep, genuine sound that always pulled a smile out of you no matter how hard you tried to resist it.
âThere she is.â
âWho?â
âMy best friend.â
Y hated it. Not because you were his best friend. But because you already wanted to be something more.
You forced a small smile anyway and bumped your shoulder lightly against his. âYouâre so annoying.â
âBut you still like me.â
You didnât answer. Because he was right.
On the way up, Jungkook pushed open the heavy metal door to the rooftop, and instantly the cold night air hit them. Below, the city stretched out like a sea of scattered lightsâflickering, alive, endlessâwhile the moon hovered above the rooftops, bathing everything in a soft silver glow. The wind was calm but steady, threading through their hair, tugging lightly at their clothes.
You both walked to your usual spot at the edge of the roofâsame place, same silence, same nights they had spent there over and over again. Talking, laughing, sometimes just sitting without saying anything, as if even the quiet between you had become something familiar.
Jungkook dropped down onto the cold concrete first and patted the space beside him. âCome here.â
You sat down next to him, close enough that your shoulders almost touched, though there was always that small gap between youâbarely noticeable, but somehow always there.
He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small joint, like this was just another part of a routine they had fallen into without ever naming it.
âI kind of had a feeling youâd text tonight.â
You looked at him, surprised. âReally?â
He shrugged slightly, not meeting your eyes. âI donât knowâŠâ A faint, crooked smile tugged at his lips. âJust had a feeling.â
Your gaze lingered on his profile. The way the wind pushed strands of hair into his face, the way he looked so calm like this.
âYouâre lucky I canât sleep,â you said lightly, trying to keep your tone casual.
He turned to you immediately. His eyes met yours without hesitation.
âNo,â he said simply.
For a second, she didnât understand.
Then he added, quieter now, like it was the most natural thing in the world. âIâm lucky you always think of me first.â
The words hit you before you could prepare for them.
Your breath caught slightly, like your body had to pause just to process what he had said. What he meant. Or maybe what he didnât even realize he was revealing.
You weren't sure if he knew what those words did to youâhow easily they unraveled something you had been trying so hard to keep together.
But he only smiled faintly, as if nothing significant had just happened, struck the joint, and took a slow drag, the orange glow briefly lighting up his face.
As if he hadnât just made your heart completely fall out of rhythm.
The small flame of the lighter reflected in his eyes for a brief moment before he took his first drag. The ember painted the space between you in a soft, warm orange, cutting through the cool darkness of the rooftop night.
He held the smoke in for a second, leaning his head back slightly before slowly exhaling. The wind caught it immediately, carrying it away as if it never belonged there in the first place.
âHere.â He held the joint out to you
Your fingers brushedâbarely, fleetingly. And yet you felt it linger far longer than it should have.
You took a drag, exhaled slowly, and then leaned back on your hands against the cold concrete. For a while, neither of you two said anything.
You two didnât need to. That had always been the thing between you. Silence was never uncomfortable.
It felt like home.
âBad day?â Jungkook asked eventually.
You shrugged. âNot really.â
âBad thought?â
A faint smile touched your lips. âMore like⊠yeah.â
He nodded as if that was enough.
After a while, you tilted your head back to look at the sky.
âDonât you think nights make everything more complicated?â
Jungkook followed your gaze upward. âWhat do you mean?â
âDuring the day, youâre busy. You talk to people, listen to music, work⊠but at nightââ you paused, searching for the right words, ââat night youâre just left alone with your thoughts.â
He didnât respond right away. Then, softly, âYeah. I think thatâs why I like the night.â
You turned your head slightly toward him. âBecause you like your thoughts?â
A quiet laugh slipped past his lips. âNo.â
He took the joint from you again, glanced at the glowing tip, and smiled. âBecause I know I can text you at 2 a.m.⊠and youâll answer.â
Your heart tightened.
âAnd I know I can show up at your door without you asking why.â
You smiled without meaning to. âYou didnât do that today.â
âBecause I already knew the answer.â
âAnd what would it have been?â
He looked at you. âThat you just wanted to see me.â
You held his gaze. âMaybe.â
He smirked. âMaybe?â
âDonât get ahead of yourself.â
âToo late.â
You rolled her eyes and nudged his shoulder lightly.
He laughed under his breath, lost his balance for a second, and caught himself with his hand. âYouâre violent today too.â
âYouâre annoying.â
âBut youâre smiling.â
Only then did you realize he was right. You were smiling.
âSee?â he murmured, satisfied. âMission accomplished.â
You shook your head, still smiling. âYouâre so full of yourself.â
âOnly with you.â
The words came so casually that it took you a second to even register them.
And suddenly, the space between you both felt too small and impossibly wide at the same time. The joint was almost down to the filter, but neither of you made any move to leave, as if the night had decided to pause time just for a moment.
And you sometimes wondered if Jungkook even knew what he was saying. If he realized how easily those words left his mouth. As if they meant nothing. As if they were just things the wind could carry away.
Only with you.
For him, it sounded completely natural.
For you, it felt like someone had thrown a stone into still waterâand every single ripple was hitting you at once.
This wasnât normal. Not for you. Not when your feelings had grown so big that you didnât even know where to put them anymore.
There were days when it was hard to look him in the eye without giving yourself away. Days when you were scared that just one second too long would be enoughâthat he would see everything you had been desperately hiding behind a smile for years.
You noticed everything about him.
The way his nose slightly scrunched when he laughed. The way he absentmindedly played with his ring when something was on his mind. The way he ran a hand through his hair when it got too long. The way his voice always softened a little when it was just the two of you.
You knew him inside out. Maybe even better than you knew yourself. And that was exactly what made everything so unbearable.
Sometimesâmostly on nights like thisâyou allowed yourself one forbidden thought.
What if he felt the same? What if the way he looked at you meant just as much as the way you looked at him? What if those small touches werenât accidental? What if his words were more than just kindness?
The thought never lasted long. You always forced yourself to let it go. Because hope was dangerous.
Jungkook was your favorite person. Your safe place.
The one you called when everything got too much. The one who followed you up to the roof in the middle of the night without asking why. The one who made you laugh even when you felt like crying.
You would never risk losing that. So, as you have been doing for years now.
And while Jungkook sat beside you, eyes fixed on the night sky, you found yourself wonderingânot for the first timeâhow two people could be this close and still feel like they were worlds apart.
The joint was long gone by now, burned down to the filter.
Jungkook carefully pressed the small stub into the ashtray you two had secretly taken up to the roof years ago. He looked at it for a moment, then leaned back with a quiet, tired sigh.
âThatâs it.â
You only nodded. The effects had started to settle in properly now.
You could feel your shoulders slowly releasing the tension you hadnât even realized you were holding. The restless spiral of thoughts that had kept you awake half an hour ago was still thereâbut softer now, distant, as if someone had turned the volume in your head down just a little.
Beside you, Jungkook suddenly started to laughed.
You raised an eyebrow. âWhat?â
He shook his head, trying to hold it in, managing maybe two seconds before he laughed again.
âNothing.â
âYouâre laughing at nothing.â
âI know,â he said, pressing a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking slightly. âThatâs what makes it worse.â
You couldnât help itâyou laughed too.
The wind moved through his messy hair. He blinked a few times against the cool air, then let his head fall back against the low wall behind him.
âDamnâŠâ he murmured. âThe moon is huge tonight.â
You followed his gaze upward. âThe moon looks the same as always.â
âNo,â he said, furrowing his brow in exaggerated concentration like he was solving some scientific mystery. âItâs watching us.â
You burst out laughing. âYouâre impossible.â
âNo, seriously.â He pointed up at the sky. âItâs judging your Hello Kitty pajamas.â
âYouâre starting again?â
âThe moon canât help it.â
You shook her head, still laughing. âYouâre so stupid.â
âYeah.â
âCompletely ridiculous.â
âAnd yet you still hang out with me all the time.â
He slowly turned his head toward you. His eyes were slightly red, his cheeks tinted pink from the cool night air. He wore that relaxed, almost sleepy smile.
âBecause youâre my favorite person.â The sentence slipped out so naturally, as if he had just commented on the weather.
You went quiet.
He didnât seem to realize what he had just said. Instead, he stretched his legs out, folded his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes for a moment.
âItâs kind of nice up here.â
You looked at him. Too long.
The cannabis blurred edges, softened himâbut it didnât change him. It just⊠removed the filter. He laughed more, thought less about what he said, and let thoughts slip out.
And that made him dangerous for your heart. Because everything he said sounded real. And you didnât know anymore which parts you were allowed to believe.
You slowly lay back until your spine met the cold concrete.
âI just want to look at the stars.â
âFinally, something sensible,â Jungkook muttered with a grin.
You rolled her eyes, but couldnât hide your smile.
He lay down beside you too. Your arms rested close together, only a few centimeters separating your hands. Close enough that you could feel his warmth. Far enough that neither of you dared to close the gap.
Above them, countless stars scattered across the sky. The night had cleared. You both just listened to the wind, the city.
It was Jungkook who finally broke the silence.
âDo you remember how we first met?â
You laughed immediately. âYou swore youâd never bring that up again.â
âDid I?â
âYes.â You turned your head to look at him. âAnd Iâve apologized a thousand times since then.â
He grinned so widely that faint lines formed at the corners of his eyes. âYou knocked over my motorcycle.â
âWith a car door!â you defended yourself immediately.
âFull force.â
âI didnât know you were parked right next to us!â
âYou stepped out, swung the door open, andââ
He made an exaggerated motion with his hand. ââboom. My motorcycle was on the ground.â
You buried your face in your hands. âPlease stop⊠Iâm still embarrassed about that.â
Jungkook chuckled softly. âYou got out and you were completely pale.â
âBecause I thought I had just destroyed some dangerous guyâs motorcycle!â
âDangerous guy?â
âYou were wearing all black, tattoos, piercings, and that lookâŠâ You mimicked his expression from back then, which only made him laugh harder.
âI was just shocked.â
âNo.â You shook your head, still smiling. âYou looked at me like you were about to tear me into pieces.â
âI did not.â
âYes, you did!â
He raised his hands in surrender. âOkay⊠maybe a little.â
You laughed. âAnd then you asked me if I was even allowed to drive.â
âA valid question.â
âI was just visiting Seoul! I didnât know the parking situation!â
âThat explains everything, of course.â
You nudged his shoulder. âYouâre such an idiot.â
âAnd yet you still bought me coffee afterward because you felt guilty.â
âI wanted to make up for the damage.â
âThe coffee was bad.â
You gasped. âYouâre lying now!â
âOkayâŠâ he grinned. âThe coffee was good.â
âSee?â
âBut your panic was better.â
You closed your eyes for a moment, shaking your head with a laugh. âI still remember thinking: please donât let this motorcycle belong to him.â
âAnd then it did.â
âMy worst nightmare.â
âMy favorite coincidence.â
You went quiet. Slowly, you turned your head toward him.
Jungkook was still looking up at the stars, as if he hadnât even realized what he had just said.
My favorite coincidence.
One of those sentences he just tossed into the night without thinking.
You had never said it out loud. Because admitting it would have meant admitting how deep it wentâhow much of your life in this city had quietly started revolving around him without her noticing.
So instead, you just gave him a small, careful smile.
"I'm happy you moved here."
âI moved here because I thought Seoul was beautiful.â
But it wasnât the whole truth either. The real reason was sitting right next to you.
He had been the reason Seoul slowly stopped feeling like a place you visited and started feeling like a place you belonged.
Jungkook let out a quiet breath, still staring up at the sky as if the conversation was just another passing thought between them.
âIâm glad you stayed,â he said softly.
Your chest tightened. How many times you had almost left. How many times you had stayed without admitting why.
You forced yourself to keep your voice steady.
âMe too.â The truth was. You hadnât just stayed for Seoul. You stayed for him.
âAlso, I had someone here who kept showing me the best restaurants,â You said.
Jungkook let out a soft laugh. âAnd someone who kept insulting my motorcycle.â
âYour motorcycle was way too loud."
âIt had character.â
âIt had a noise problem.â
âRude.â He shook his head amused, but his smile softened again after a moment.
âStillâŠâ He looked at your directly this time. âI was really glad you stayed.â
Your heart tightened painfully. âMe too, Jungkook,â You said. That was all you allowed yourself to say.
You didnât want to think about it anymore. Not about why his last sentence made your heart feel so heavy. Not about why you kept wondering if there could ever be something more between you. So you changed the topic.
âSo?â You turned your head back to him. âWhat did you actually do today?â
Jungkook let his gaze linger on the starry sky for a moment longer. âNot much.â He shrugged lightly. âI was out with someone.â
It felt like something invisible had wrapped around your heart and slowly tightened. You forced herself to breathe normally.
With someone.
You felt your stomach twist uncomfortably. That warm, familiar feeling you always had around him turned into something heavy in an instant.
Something that hurt. Of course he was allowed to see someone. Of course he was allowed to fall in love. Of course he was allowed to be happy.
Their were best friends. Nothing more. Never more. At least thatâs what you had been telling yourself for years.
You forced a small smile. One that felt completely wrong. âThatâs good.â
You were lying to him. And more than that, you were lying to yourself. Nothing about it felt good. The mere thought of someone else taking your place beside him. Someone else making him laugh, holding his hand, or becoming the person he texted in the middle of the night⊠âŠhurt more than you would ever admit.
You just hoped Jungkook wouldnât notice how tightly you were clasping your hands together. Or how your smile was slowly breaking. Because if he looked at you right now⊠âŠhe would probably see, for the first time, just how hopelessly in love with him you really were.
For a moment, Jungkook said nothing.
And that was the worst part. That short, stretching silence where your own heartbeat became too loud. You kept staring at the sky, pretending there was something interesting up there, even though everything inside you were trying not to fall apart.
Beside you, he shifted slightly. You heard him prop himself up, the fabric of his hoodie brushing against the concrete.
âHeyâŠâ His voice was quieter now.
You didnât respond right away, pretending you hadnât heard him. âHm?â
âAre you okay?â
You forced a small smile into your voice. âYeah, Iâm fine.â You even nodded slightly, even though he probably couldnât see it. âWhy?â A quick glance at him.
He was still lying beside you, but his head had turned slightly toward you now. His eyes searching yours. âYouâve been quiet all of a sudden.â
You let out a short laugh. âIâm always quiet.â
âNo.â He said it without hesitation. As if he knew you better than you knew yourself.
You felt your stomach tighten again. You forced your hands to relax, realizing you had been clenching them without noticing.
âIâm just tired,â you finally murmured.
Jungkook slowly turned his gaze back to the sky, but you could tell he didnât believe you. âHm.â
After a few seconds, he reached for the joint again, even though it was already gone, rolling it between his fingers like he needed something to hold onto.
âThe person I was out with todayâŠâ His voice came again, calmer now. ââŠit wasnât anything serious.â
Your heart still caught on that. You didnât know why he was telling her that. Or why he kept talking at all. âJust a friend.â
You forced yourself to keep breathing steadily. You turned your head away slightly so he couldnât properly see your face.
âAh.â That were all you managed.
After a moment, he shifted once more. This time not awayâbut closer. His shoulder was now more clearly touching yours.
You froze for a split second.
âYou are acting weird,â he murmured.
You forced a light laugh. âMaybe I just donât feel like it today.â
He looked at you again. And this time, his gaze wasnât just curious. It was serious. As if he was searching for something you were desperately trying to hide.
You couldnât hold it. You turned your face away again.
âIâm just really tired, okay?â
Then his quiet exhale. âOkay.â
You couldnât take it anymore. Not his closeness, not the silence, not this feeling spreading inside you like something you couldnât stop.
Slowly, you sat up, as if you had to relearn how to move, then stood. The concrete was cold beneath your feet, but you barely felt it.
Without looking directly at him, you walked a few steps to the other side of the rooftop, closer to the edge where you could look down at the street. The city was still there. Lights, movement, life.
Everything looked normal. You crossed your arms over your chest, as if you could somehow hold yourself together that way, and forced your voice to stay calm.
âHey⊠I think I should go to sleep now.â A short breath. âThe joint helped.â You lied.
It hadnât helped at all. On the contrary. Your thoughts were louder than before. Everything kept circling around him, what he had said, what he hadnât said, and that âjust a friend. â that had settled in your mind like an echo.
Behind you, Jungkook moved. You didnât need to turn around to know he was looking at you.
âAlready?â he asked. His voice was calm, but you caught something small underneath it.
âYeah.â
The wind swept harder across the rooftop, tugging at your hoodie, playing with your hair as if trying to pull you back. But you stayed where you were.
âYou donât seemâŠâ he started, then stopped.
You closed your eyes for a second.
âIâm just tired,â you repeated more quietly, more to yourself than to him. And you didnât know if he was still looking at you. Or if he understood that you were leaving because staying would have broken you.
You took a step toward the door.
As if you could simply go downstairs, pretend nothing had happened, as if this night hadnât quietly shifted something inside you.
But before you could move any further, you heard his voice behind you.
âWait." It was enough to make you stop completely. Your heart immediately started racing again.
You closed your eyes for a second. Please donât.
Slowly, you turned around.
Jungkook was still on the ground, but he had sat up. No longer leaning back comfortably, no longer looking at the sky like before. Now his eyes were on you.
âYouâre just leaving like that?â he asked quietly.
You shrugged, too quickly. âIâm tired.â
He didnât accept it even slightly. Instead, he stood up. âYouâre not tired.â
Your breath caught. You forced out a small laugh. âYes, I am.â
âNo." He took a step closer.
And you hated how her body reacted immediately. How everything inside you went still just because he moved.
âYou always do this,â he said.
âWhat?â
âThis.â His gaze stayed on your face as if he was searching for something. âYou say everything is fine. And then you pull away.â
You swallowed. âIâm not pulling away.â
He raised a slight eyebrow. âYes, you are."
âYour eyebrows always do that.â
You blinked. âMy what?â
âWhen somethingâs bothering youâŠâ He gestured lightly toward your face. ââŠyou furrow them like this.â
Instinctively, you touched your forehead. âI donât do that.â
âYes, you do.â He said it almost gently. More like a fact he had known for a long time.
You lowered your hand again. Your heart felt heavy.
âItâs nothing,â you murmured. But your voice betrayed you
Jungkook just looked at you for a moment. And then he said something that made everything worse. âYouâre lying to me.â
The city below suddenly felt louder.
You pressed your lips together. âIâm not lying.â
He took another step closer. Now he was really close. âYes, you are,â he repeated calmly. His expression softened. âJust tell me whatâs wrong.â
And that was the moment yoz almost broke. Because you wanted to tell him. Because everything inside you was screaming for honesty.
But you couldnât. Not when he was looking at you like that. Not when you knew a single wrong sentence could change everything.
So you slowly shook your head. âItâs nothing, Jungkook.â
You had already half-turned away when his voice stopped you again.
âJust tell me whatâs wrong.â This time it didnât sound only calm anymore. It sounded serious.
You closed your eyes for a moment. Your chest suddenly felt too tight, as if every breath had become heavier.
âJungkook⊠please,â you murmured quietly, almost pleading.
But he didnât let go.
âNo,â he said softly, but firmly. â Tell me.â
âWhat do you want to hear, hm?â Your voice cracked halfway through the sentence.
âYou want me to say it doesnât affect me⊠being this close to you and still⊠still not being able toââ You swallowed hard. Your hands were trembling, so you clasped them behind your back so he wouldnât see.
âI canât fucking stop thinking about you.â Your voice grew quieter, but not softer.
âIt's driving me insane.â You felt your vision sting, everything inside you suddenly too much at once.
âAnd youâre standing here asking me why Iâm quiet?â A bitter, almost silent laugh escaped you.
Behind you, there was silence. So heavy it hurt. And for the first time, you had no idea what he was going to say next.
âIâm going now, okay.â Your voice was quiet. Fragile. As if you were trying to calm yourself more than him.
But then you heard his footsteps.
Before youbcould react, he was right behind you. So close you could feel his breath against the back of your neck.
Your body went rigid instantly. Every cell in you suddenly alert.
âYouâre not just leaving like that.â His voice was deep, quiet, but firm.
Your heart was beating so loudly you thought he might hear it. âJungkookâŠâ That was all you managed.
His hand reached for yours, right where you were already halfway holding onto the doorknob. And then he turned you. Gently, but without stopping you.Until you were facing him.
He didnât let go of your hand. In fact, his fingers stayed wrapped around yours. âLook at me,â he said softly.
His grip on your hand didnât tighten. But it didnât loosen either.
âYou canât just say youâre leaving,â he murmured.
His eyes searched yours, as if he was trying to find something you had never said out loud. âNot after what you just said.â
Your breath caught. Because you knew what he meant. Because they both knew there was no going back to being âjust friends.â
And that was exactly what made the silence between them so dangerous.
"Say it again. " Jungkook looked at you.
For a moment, you didnât understand him.
You blinked, as if your mind had briefly forgotten how to sort thoughts. âWhat?â you managed to say quietly.
Jungkook didnât move back. In fact, he took another small step closer, so close that there was barely any air left between them. His hand was still holding yours
His eyes searched yours. âSay it again.â
You swallowed. âWhat am I supposed toââ
âThat.â His voice grew quieter, but more insistent. âSay again that you think about me every day.â
Your heart stopped.
For a moment, there was only silence in your mind, as if everything else had been erased.
You stared at him, waiting for him to take it back. To say it was a joke. To turn back into the Jungkook who made everything lighter.
But he didnât.
He looked at you like he genuinely wanted to hear it.
âOr Iâm going to lose my mind,â he murmured.
Your breath trembled. âJungkookâŠâ you whispered. But he shook his head slightly, as if he already knew you. âNo.â A short breath. âDonât avoid it.â
His grip on you hand tightened slightly, not painfully, just⊠desperately. âSay it.â
You felt everything rise inside you at once.
Everything you had kept locked away for so long was suddenly standing right in front of you, in his eyes, in his voice, in his closeness.
And you couldnât run anymore.
âIâŠâ you started, then stopped, closing your eyes for a second.
When you opened them again, your voice was barely a whisper. âI think about you every day.â
For a moment, nothing happened. As if the world itself had stopped to listen.
Jungkook inhaled sharply and something in his gaze changed. Something you couldnât name. His breath was so close you could feel every tiny tremble in it. And you didnât move. As if your body had finally stopped fighting what your heart had already decided long ago.
Jungkook looked at you like, in that one single glance, he was saying everything that had remained unspoken between you both for years.
Fear. Longing. That quiet, nervous chaos bothbof you knew so well but had never named.
âTell meâŠâ he whispered. His voice almost broke. ââŠthat Iâm not misunderstanding this.â
You inhaled. Your hand was still in his. âYouâre not misunderstanding it,â you managed to say, barely audible.
And then he couldnât hold himself back anymore. Slowly, he pulled you closer. As if he had finally allowed himself to do what he had been holding back for so long.
His hand on your cheek became firmer, but still gentle. You didnât move away.
The space between you disappeared completely. For a split second, everything stopped.
Your lips met. Soft at first. Hesitant, almost as if both of you were still checking whether this was real.
You instead leaned into him slightly. His hand didnât leave your face, as if he was afraid you might disappear otherwise and for that one moment, there were no thoughts pulling you apart anymore.
Only him. Only her.
He didn't say it out loud. He didn't need to.
His hands slid down to your hips, gripping with a sudden, certain pressure, and his eyes asked the question his mouth couldn't form.
You understood. You always had.
Your body moved before your mind could catch up, pushing up on your toes, and his hands liftedâstrong, effortlessâand then you were rising, wrapping your legs around his waist.
He caught your weight like it was nothing.
The new angle brought your face level with his, and the kiss that had been soft suddenly became something else entirely. He tilted his head, slanting his mouth over yours with a hunger that made you dizzy. His tongue swept past your lips.
His mouth moved against yours with a rhythm that matched the way his hips rolled, pressing you harder against the wall, and you lost yourself in it, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, closer, until you couldn't tell where you ended and he began.
The world narrowed to the taste of him, the heat of him, the low sounds vibrating in his chest that you felt against your own.
You could have stayed there forever.
But thenâsuddenlyâreality crashed through.
You pulled back, breaking the kiss with a gasp, your palms flat against his chest, pushing just enough to create space between you. Your heart hammered, and not just from desire. Something cold trickled down your spine, doubt where there had only been certainty seconds before.
"Wait," You breathed, your voice unsteady, eyes searching his. "Is this... is this because we're high?"
He didn't blink. Didn't look away. His grip on you tightened, keeping you anchored to him, refusing to let you retreat into your head.
"I was never clearer in my head," he said, low and certain, no hesitation in his voice at all. "Not the weed. Not the moment. You. I've wanted thisâyouâsober, drunk, high, asleep, awake. This is real."
And then he kissed you again. Harder this time. Like he was proving it. Like he would spend all night proving it if he had to.
He kissed your jaw, your throat, the hollow beneath your earâeach press of his lips a punctuation mark.
"Do you know," he breathed between them, his voice ragged, "how long I've been terrified?"
His mouth found yours again, softer this time, reverent.
"How many times I almost said it?" Another kiss, deeper, hungrier. "Almost ruined everything because I couldn't keep it in anymore?"
You pulled back just enough to see his face, to watch the vulnerability crack him openâthis boy who was always so careful, so controlled, now raw and shaking in your arms.
"You're the one who said it," he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling. "You. And I'm so fucking happy you did. Because I was such a coward. Such a fucking coward for not telling you sooner. For wasting years. For wastingâ"
You stopped him with your mouth.
You kissed him with everything you had. When the both of you broke apart, you were both smiling.
"I was scared too," You admitted, your laughter bubbling up unexpected. "I thoughtâI thought I'd imagined it. All of it. The way you looked at me. The way my heart stopped when you walked into a room."
He brushed a thumb across your cheek. "Not imagined," he said. "Never imagined."
Both of you stayed there, wrapped around each other, your legs still circling his waist, his hands still supporting you like you weighed nothing and everything all at once.
And for the first time in years, there were no walls.
Pairing Jeon jungkook!unknown identity x Reader!florist
MDNIđ€
Reader's POV
Hell.
I canât move. The dosage of my anxiety pills has been doubled, and my body feels heavy like itâs sinking into something thick and invisible. The nightmare scared me enough to drag myself to my psychiatrist. She said it was just anxiety.
Just anxiety.
But anxiety doesnât kill someone.
It was only a dream, she said. My mind playing tricks. But my brother is dead. His body was found in the river no bullet wounds, no cuts. Just his face turned blue. Water in his lungs, the doctor told us. Drowning.
My anxiety is eating me alive.
I hadnât even seen him Jungkook. That was his name in my dream. I remember that much, at least.
The shop owner kicked me out yesterday. Said that I wasnât taking care of the shop anymore. I wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong but the words wouldnât come. Because the truth is⊠I know I donât.
Nothing makes sense anymore.
I went to the hospital today. They suggested I get admitted, said it would help monitor me, stabilize me. I agreed. I was tired of fighting my own head.
Thatâs when I saw him.
Not as a patient.
Worse.
As a doctor.
White coat. ID card. Calm eyes. Familiar smile.
Jungkook.
My heart dropped, my breath caught but he didnât do anything wrong. He didnât look at me strangely.
The days I spent there slowly blurred into each other most of them with him.
Jungkook was always around, monitoring me, checking my vitals, speaking in that calm, reassuring tone everyone trusted without question. He offered comfort for my brotherâs loss, soft words meant to steady me when grief came in waves.
But-
how did he know my brother had died?
I donât remember telling him.
The thought lodged itself deep in my chest, sharp and unmoving.
That night, I decided to leave. I told them I wanted to go to my parentsâ house. The entire staff insisted I stay just a few more days, for observation, for my own good. Their concern felt rehearsed, excessive. Wrong.
So I left anyway.
My parents lived in a village, far from the noise of hospitals and unanswered questions. The day I arrived, everything was unnaturally quiet still wrapped in grief. No one spoke much. Words felt unnecessary, heavy.
My father went out early for work, trying to outrun his sorrow. My mother kept herself busy with household chores, her movements mechanical, as if stopping would make everything collapse.
And me?
I sat there.
Watching. Thinking.
Trying to connect pieces that refused to fit.
The dream.
Jungkook.
The shop ownerâs fear.
The hospital.
My brotherâs death.
Every thread seemed separate yet somehow tangled together.
And the more I tried to untangle them, the more I felt the unsettling truth creeping in-
Something had followed me out of the dream.
And it hadnât let go.
My head rested on my motherâs lap. Her shoulders were slumped, hollowed out by grief, while her fingers moved through my hair absentmindedly slow, repetitive strokes that felt more like habit than comfort. Her eyes stayed fixed on the television, though I doubted she was really watching anything.
Jungkook's POV
She doesnât flinch when I tell her to sit.
Thatâs the part that still surprises me how obedience can look like relief when someone is tired enough. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused, drifting between me and the wall like sheâs already halfway gone.
âRoutine,â I say softly, tapping the syringe against my finger. I donât explain what itâs for anymore. I never have to. Familiarity is stronger than consent.
She rolls up her sleeve on her own.
Good girl.
Her skin is warm. Alive. Trusting. I inject slowly, the way I always do, the way that convinces her this is care and not erasure. I watch her pupils react before her mind does.
âThere,â I murmur. âThis will help you sleep. Youâve been spiraling again.â
She nods, already fading, already blaming herself for what comes next.
Thatâs important.
People should always blame themselves.
I sit with her until her head droops forward, chin resting against her chest, breath evening out. For a moment just a moment I consider staying longer.
But I never do.
Because if I stay, I become real.
And tonight, I need her uncertain.
I clean up carefully. No marks left behind. No evidence except the faintest soreness sheâll later dismiss as stress, or a dream, or something she imagined while overmedicated.
Before leaving, I lean close to her ear.
âIf you forget me,â I whisper, almost kindly, âthat just means it worked.â
Then Iâm gone.
Third Person POV
She woke up the way she always did.
With heaviness in her limbs and a dull ache behind her eyesânothing unusual. She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the fog pass the way the doctor said it would.
Temporary.
She swung her legs off the bed.
The floor felt cold.
Too cold.
She frowned slightly, curling her toes, then dismissed it. Winter was setting in early this year. That was all.
In the bathroom mirror, she looked⊠fine. A little pale. Dark circles under her eyes. Normal for someone on medication.
She turned on the tap to wash her face.
The water made her flinch.
Ice-cold.
Her fingers lingered under the stream longer than necessary, as if checking something, though she wasnât sure what. Her hands felt numb, stiff, like theyâd been exposed to cold for hours.
She shook them and turned the tap off.
âGet a grip,â she murmured to her reflection.
Back in the room, she reached for her bag.
It wasnât where she left it.
She paused.
She was certain sheâd placed it on the chair before lying down. Instead, it sat neatly beside the bed, strap tucked in, almost arranged.
A small crease formed between her brows.
She checked inside.
Wallet.
Keys.
Phone.
All there.
Relief came too quickly.
Then she noticed the keys.
They were wet.
Just slightly.
As if theyâd been rinsed and dried in a hurry.
Her heart skipped not enough to alarm her, just enough to unsettle. She wiped them on her sweater and shrugged it off. Condensation. Maybe.
When she rolled up her sleeve to adjust it, her fingers brushed something tender.
She froze.
Slowly, she turned her arm.
A faint puncture mark sat just below her elbow small, already fading, surrounded by a bruise she didnât remember earning.
She stared at it.
Her mind offered explanations before fear could form.
Blood test.
IV line.
Maybe she scratched herself.
Yes. That made sense.
It always did.
She pulled the sleeve back down.
Her body, however, didnât relax.
A shiver ran through her not from cold this time, but from something deeper, instinctive. The kind of discomfort animals feel before a storm.
She sat on the edge of the bed and waited for it to pass.
It didnât.
The room felt⊠disturbed.
Not messy.
Not broken.
Just slightly rearranged, like someone had been careful not to leave signs.
She exhaled slowly, pressing her palms into her knees.
âYouâre tired,â she told herself.
Her phone buzzed.
She glanced at the screen.
A medication reminder.
On time. Normal.
She swallowed the pill with water, like she always did.
The ache in her head eased almost immediately.
So did the questions.
The cold faded.
The unease softened.
The mark on her arm became unimportant.
By the time she stood up again, she couldnât remember why sheâd paused in the first place.
But somewhere, deep in her body-
beneath memory, beneath thought-
something stayed tense.
Waiting.
Because even if her mind forgot,
her body knew-
this had happened before.
The evening passed slowly at her parentsâ house.
The ceiling fan hummed.
The television murmured news no one was listening to.
Her motherâs fingers moved through her hair in a steady, absent rhythm.
She was almost calm.
Almost.
That was when the doorbell rang.
Her mother stiffened first.
âThatâll be the doctor,â she said casually, standing up.
The word doctor made something tighten in her chest.
âWhat doctor?â she asked, sitting upright.
Her mother looked back, confused. âThe one whoâs been checking on you. He said heâd come by today.â
Her throat went dry.
âI didnât-â she started, then stopped.
Because she wasnât sure.
The door opened before she could finish the thought.
He stepped inside like he belonged there.
Black sweater. Neat hair. Polite posture.
The same calm presence her body recognized before her mind did.
âGood evening,â Jungkook said gently, bowing his head slightly. âI hope Iâm not intruding.â
Her father smiled at him.
âNo, no. Please, come in. Youâve already helped her so much.â
Her vision tunneled.
Helped her⊠how?
Jungkookâs eyes found hers.
There was no surprise in them.
No hesitation.
Only familiarity.
âYou look cold,â he said, as if continuing a conversation theyâd been having for years. âI told you villages get colder at night.â
She hadnât told anyone she felt cold.
Her mother disappeared into the kitchen to bring tea.
Her father began asking about her progress, her sleep, her appetite things Jungkook answered smoothly, confidently, like he had charts memorized.
âYou never told me you were coming,â she said.
He tilted his head slightly, concerned. âI did. Yesterday. You asked me to.â
Her mother returned with tea and handed him a cup without question.
âSuch a good boy,â she said warmly. âComing all this way for her.â
He smiled.
That smile.
The one that never reached his eyes.
âI promised Iâd look after her,â he said softly.
She stood up abruptly.
âI need air.â
Jungkook stood with her at the same time.
âIâll go with you,â he said.
âNo,â she snapped, louder than she meant to.
Everyone looked at her.
Jungkook didnât react. He only lowered his voice so only she could hear.
âYou donât remember inviting me here,â he murmured, leaning closer, âbut your body does. Thatâs why your hands are shaking.â
She hated that he was right.
As he stepped aside, letting her pass, his fingers brushed her wrist light, brief, deliberate.
The touch grounded her.
Too much.
When she turned back, he was already talking to her parents again, reassuring them, calming them, existing perfectly in the space she couldnât prove he belonged in-
yet no one questioned him.
Not even her.
And that night, as she lay in her childhood bed, staring at the ceiling sheâd grown up under, she realized something far worse than memory loss:
If Jungkook could walk into her parentsâ home so easily-
then he hadnât just learned her life.
Heâd already rewritten it.
Because somewhere between what she forgot and what he claimed, her life had already chosen him.
In the kindest way possible, you lack credibility. you're not coming forward to introduce yourselves to show people, "oh these people know what they're talking about!" and I will listen to you. Besides a few fics (from some of those you accuse) as a fellow writer that i can tell sound too generic/possibly ai-written... which, even then, i can't judge because some of these fics sound exactly as dull and too short/structured as i wrote them during my wattpad days. if you're writers that don't utilize ai, come forward. let fellow writers get to know you instead of hiding behind an anonymous account yourself (or selves?)
If someoneâs credibility depends on who they are, that sounds less like rational judgment and more like internalized biases unconsciously shaping your decisions.
And I donât think I need to explain how the internet works or why tumblr blogs are anonymous in regards of real identity when you donât even have the guts to send us something off anon yourself. So, come forward and show your fellow writers that youâre on their side.
i don't know who you are but the way you express yourself I'm in awe i mean... wish I had that way with words (it's that the proper expression?)
english it's not my first language but someday I aspire to be as elocuent as you are with your words, expressions, how you convey (I don't know if I'm using the right word again) your ideas... keep doing what you're doing đ«Ą you nice, keep going đđ»
Thank you. Youâre doing a fantastic job. The most important thing is having the confidence to practice, write actively, and maybe speak as well. English is a universal language, and small mistakes hardly matter because most people will understand what youâre trying to say.
people attacking this page and calling out the admins to write instead of talking about other authors have totally lost the plot...do you guys seriously like your favourite authors so much to turn a blind eye to ai use? this is what's going to eventually kill our community imo you guys have the wrong priorities and morals to be letting ts pass. yes - you may not agree with the way this page operates, but at the end of the day, they're doing genuinely valuable and meaningful work. the kpop/bts fic space on tumblr has long suffered from ai use and authors absolutely making a fool out of their readers. if you don't care about art and don't care about ai use in your fics, go use c.ai or whatever other ai chatting app there is. dont support fanfiction otherwise. i hope this page continues on and i hope blogs feel the embarrassment and shame that they deserve.
Not only that, but the very people who keep insisting that weâre talking nonsense are also the ones demanding that we delete reblogs or take down the entire blog. So which is it? With this level of hypocrisy, itâs honestly hard to tell whether our assessments were right or whether people are too ashamed to admit it.
