Hello, my name is Nadin. I’m from Gaza. I’m a graphic design graduate, a wife—and now, a mother.
I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small studio, of creating art that told stories. I used to think about colors and fonts and the future.
Then, the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.
On October 22, 2023, I learned I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husband’s family home, killing 25 members—his mother, siblings, nieces and nephews—entire branches of our family in seconds.
We were displaced twice. Everything was gone—home, safety, routine, rest.
A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib, no celebration—not even stillness. But she arrived, quietly and beautifully. In her eyes I saw something I hadn’t felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.
Now, our days are shaped by decisions that could dismantle the future we are trying to build together.
Today, Israel’s government is discussing plans for a full military occupation of the Gaza Strip, including Gaza City and southern regions. The stated aim: to eliminate Hamas and later hand governing control to allied Arab forces—not Israel—but with no clear path to peace or normalcy.
The humanitarian fallout is devastating. More than 61,000 Palestinians have died in this war; hunger and malnutrition are rising sharply. Hospitals in north Gaza have shut down, and 193 people have now died of starvation, nearly half of them children.
Aid remains blocked, water is scarce, and many risk dying of hunger or disease long before future promises arrive.
We Don’t Know What Comes Next
There’s no clear path forward—only uncertainty for our daughter’s life and our ability to survive another day.
My name is Nadin, and I’m a mother from Gaza.
How You Can Help
I’m asking for support—not for comfort, but for survival:
Help us meet basic needs so we can breathe, heal, and preserve a world for our daughter.
Support us as I try to stand again on my own feet—even a glimmer of stability matters.
If you’ve read this far, thank you. If you can give—thank you. If you can’t—just sharing this post is a lifeline I will never forget.
synopsis. ten years after leaving his quiet hometown, jungkook finally returns home for the holidays at his mother’s request. he’s built himself into a man feared for his fists and known for his trouble, but the only person he’s ever cared about is the one he left behind: you, his childhood sweetheart. as old memories resurface and buried feelings ignite, jungkook finds himself fighting the one battle he never learned to win: earning back the trust and heart of the girl he’s loved since they were kids.
pairing/genre. biker!jungkook x fem!oc, grumpy x sunshine, “he hates everyone but her + she loves everyone but him”, childhood frienemies to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst, eventual smut
tags/warnings. gym-owner!jk, biker!jk, french-teacher!oc, v slight age gap (jk is 28, oc is 25), oc is the sweetest, jk is an asshole (not w oc tho (kinda??)), he’s lwk a bit toxic, city boy returns to hometown, not so cute reunion, jk is confusing (lwk giving mixed signals), jealous jk, painfully oblivious oc, possessive/protective behaviors (from jk and oc’s bestie awe), a lil miscommunication, use of pet names, jealous oc??, jk’s never beating the fuckboy allegations fr but hey he’s trying.., slow burn (more tba!)
the bass thrummed through the bar’s speakers, low and heavy. jungkook sat hunched over his drink, the lights catching the ink on his knuckles as he rolled the cold glass of vodka between his tattooed fingers.
the bar smelled oddly like cigarette smoke and cheap perfume, and the sign flickering behind him painted the edge of his sharp jaw in violent red.
he didn’t smile. he barely even blinked. and yet every woman in the damn place kept glancing his way.
jungkook didn’t do anything to invite them, he never needed to. he had that permanent scowl and cold eyes that made it very clear he didn’t fuck with anyone unless he felt like it. and when he did feel like it, he chose recklessly and without a shred of apology.
tonight though, he was just drinking. until a palm slapped the back of his shoulder.
“dude–” jimin’s voice cut through the music. “i swear on my grandma’s ashes this super hot chick’s been eye-fucking you since we walked in! like, full-on porno stare. how the hell do you do it, bro?”
jungkook didn’t bother turning at first. just tilted his head lazily, let his eyes follow the direction jimin jerked his chin toward.
and yeah. there she was indeed. a gorgeous woman with long, dark hair and a short tight dress that left no room for imagination. confident posture, bold makeup. she was everything but subtle with the way her gaze dragged over him from head to toe, shameless as she bit her lip, slow and deliberate.
jungkook’s tongue pressed into his cheek, a smirk cutting across his mouth. “what can i say, man?” he murmured, voice deep and lazy. “it’s no news chicks be thirsting over me all the damn time.” he lifted his glass and sent her a wink.
jimin held up his beer like he wanted to smash it over jungkook’s head. “you need to bury your ego so far up your asshole no one can find it.”
jungkook shrugged. “sounds like jealousy to me.”
jimin opened his mouth in disbelief. “jealous? of you? bro, the only thing you attract is thirty ass hoes.”
jungkook’s smirk sharpened. “at least i’m getting pussy. what you got, huh?”
jimin didn’t even hesitate. he swung a playful punch at jungkook’s shoulder. “i’m getting fucking flowers, man. flowers. and you’ll never, NEVER dream of getting any.”
jungkook snorted. “i don’t fuck with flowers. only petals i’m interested in are good girls’ pussies.”
jimin gagged so dramatically he almost fell off the stool. “bro you’re DISGUSTING.”
jungkook lifted his glass, unbothered. “i’m honest.”
“oh my god,” jimin groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “why am i even friends with your nasty ass?”
“because you love me dude.”
“i really fuckin’ don’t.”
jungkook raised a brow. jimin cracked and the two of them burst out laughing at the same time.
just on cue, a couple of snorts came from behind them, three dudes from their crew strolling up like they owned the place. guys jungkook trained with, fought with, and drank with. loud as hell, but loyal until death.
“yo, jaykay! jim!” kai slapped jimin’s back, then jungkook’s shoulder. hard enough that any normal person would’ve winced. jungkook didn’t even flinch.
“wassup, my guys?” jackson grinned, fist-bumping them both.
“same shit, different night,” jimin muttered.
mark leaned in. “ay, jeon– there’s somebody asking for you near the entrance.”
jungkook didn’t even look up from his drink. “girl?”
“nah,” the guy said with a shrug. “just some dude.”
jungkook’s expression twisted into instant annoyance. “then tell him to fuck off.”
all three guys whistled like he’d just thrown a punch. they were so used to his moodiness. used to the fact jungkook tolerated exactly five people on the planet, and four of them were standing around him right now.
jimin barked out a laugh. “bro’s allergic to anything that’s not his bike or doesn’t have a vagina.”
the guys hollered, pointing at jungkook because yeah, that was true as hell.
“facts,” jackson snickered. “ain’t nobody grumpier than this man.”
“for real,” kai added. “jungkook talks with his fists more than his mouth. last week he knocked out a dude before even hearing what he wanted.”
“didn’t like his face,” jungkook muttered flatly, taking another drink.
jimin rolled his eyes. “you’re a menace.”
jungkook shrugged. “i’m not here to mingle with some dude who thinks he got something to say to me.”
jimin snorted. “yeah you’re only down to get your dick sucked.”
jungkook smirked. “please. i get my dick sucked for free and still walk out with a pussy bonus. that’s a loyalty program to die for.”
the guys lost it, elbowing each other, doing stupid obscene gestures with their hands.
“jaykay jeon!! ladies and gentlemen!” mark cackled.
“bro, this man’s dick got more mileage than his bike,” jackson joked, making a two-handed gesture that earned him a shove from jimin.
“shut the fuck up,” jimin groaned, rubbing his forehead. “you’re all disgusting as hell.”
jungkook leaned back lazily in his stool, smirk deepening. “he knows me so well.”
jimin flicked him off. “unfortunately.”
they all cracked up again.
the guys eventually drifted off. kai headed to the pool tables, mark to the back hallway for whatever bullshit he was planning, and jackson toward the girls who’d been eyeing him since he walked in. the noise swallowed them up with heavy bass, clinking glasses, and someone shouting for shots.
jungkook finally had a moment of quiet. or he would’ve if his phone hadn’t started vibrating like it was getting possessed.
jimin lifted a brow. “dude… that’s gotta be your mom. no girl blows up your phone like that unless she’s sending nudes, and we both know you’d be smiling if that were the case.”
jungkook groaned, rubbing a hand over his face like the headache was physically crawling out of his skull. “she’s been on my ass all week.”
jungkook’s glare could’ve melted steel. but he still dug the phone out of his pocket because ignoring her would only make things worse.
another loud buzz made jungkook exhale hard. “for fuck’s sake,” he muttered and lifted the phone to his ear.
“what’s good ma,” he said, scanning the bar lazily; girls leaning into guys, low lights bleeding across figures, the smell of alcohol and sweat mixing thick in the air.
jimin snickered loudly behind him. jungkook didn’t even look; he just threw a side punch blindly, forcing jimin to dodge it with a laugh.
then his mother’s voice erupted through the speaker. sharp, stressed, and overly pissed.
“gguk! why aren’t you answering your phone? i’ve been calling all day! do you ever check anything? i swear, you disappear like you don’t care about your poor old mo–”
jungkook tilted his head back, closing his eyes. “mom…”
“are you still outside? what’s that noise? it’s too late! don’t tell me you’re still out at this hour!”
jungkook’s eyes snapped open. oh shit. he’s twenty eight for fucks sake, but he somehow needs to make his mom believe he’s still a prude.
“nah, nah,” he said quickly, straightening in his seat. “i’m home with the guys, we’re just blasting music.”
jimin burst out laughing into his fist. jungkook elbowed him in the stomach to shut him up.
“oh! jiminie is there?” his mom perked up immediately, her voice glowing like a damn sunrise.
jungkook handed jimin the phone with a dead stare. “here. say hi so she stops thinking i’m snorting coke in an alley.”
jimin grinned and leaned in. “hi, mom!”
“jimin! oh my god, sweetheart, it’s been so long! how are you?!”
“living my best life, mom!! how have you been?”
jungkook wanted to throttle him. he sometimes hates how soft his mom gets with jimin, she thinks he’s an angel, which is a total lie.
mrs jeon returned to jungkook with a sigh that hit him right where he hated it. “jungkookie… i miss you. i miss my baby.”
everything in him stilled. he tried to hide the subtle drop in his shoulders, the moment his jaw loosened, the way he suddenly looked away from the crowd like the noise was getting too loud.
“…yeah,” he murmured. “miss you too mom.”
a small pause, not even longer than a minute, before she went for the kill. “so that means you’ll come home for the holidays, right? everyone in the village misses you.”
jungkook choked on air. the village? the holidays? “ma what– no, i never said– ”
“good! so it’s all settled! i’ll cook your favorite. love you baby!”
“ma wait–”
and the call ended just like that.
jungkook stared at his phone like it had just sentenced him to prison time.
jimin was already cackling at his terrified face. “what’d she say? bro, you look like someone told you your bike got repossessed.”
jungkook pushed his fingers into his hair and groaned. a long, deep and defeated groan. “looks like i’m spending the holidays in my hometown.”
jimin slapped the table. “nahh bro we had parties lined up all december! you’re missing out on that?”
jungkook flipped him off without looking. but jimin wasn’t done. “you’re telling me you’re trading strippers and tequila for goats and old people?”
jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to think too hard about it.
but he did. and he couldn’t help it.
the village. the mountains. that stupid freezing air. his childhood home. and more importantly, you.
it’s funny how his mind went there faster than he could stop it.
he hadn’t seen you since he walked out of that place. freshly eighteen, angry at the world, convinced he needed to run or suffocate.
you were only fifteen then. but hell, he remembered.
you, sitting on the old wooden steps with a sketchbook balanced on your knees.
you, with paint on your fingers and your little pigtails tugged with a ribbon you always fixed with your teeth.
you, scolding him when he stole your brushes.
you, shoving him when he made fun of the way you blushed.
it’s been ten years. ten years of bars and girls and mistakes. ten years of fast rides and faster nights. ten years of pretending the past didn’t exist.
but every once in a while, your face would flash in his head.
he wasn’t a saint. he’d slept with more women than he could count. dated girls the way he smoked cigarettes; quickly, carelessly, burning out halfway through.
but a man always remembers his first love. and fuck, you were his.
his mom had slipped your name a few times in conversation. “she’s still here!” she’d said casually. “she helps kids at the school sometimes!”
jungkook never asked for more. but only because he didn’t trust what answers would do to him.
a slow heat curled in his stomach from the thought. maybe going home wasn’t the worst idea after all.
a slight shift in the room pulled him back. followed by the sound of heels clicking, and the smell of strong perfume.
jungkook blinked once, settling back into the present as the girl from earlier strutted toward him. her hips swaying, eyes locked on him like she’d already picked him out and unwrapped him.
her red painted lips parted in a sweet little smirk. her dress glimmered under the lights, tight and short and very intentionally dangerous.
jungkook’s expression changed instantly. something darker sliding behind his eyes, something lazy and wicked curling into his mouth.
he forced every thought of you deep, deep down where nothing could reach it.
not tonight. tonight, he wanted to go numb. tonight, he wanted easy. tonight, he wanted to bury himself in someone who didn’t know a single real thing about him.
and she looked exactly like that.
jungkook leaned back in his seat, licking his lower lip slowly as she approached.
a slow, dirty smirk spread across his face. the kind that meant trouble for whoever was dumb enough to fall for it.
yeah. tonight had been a rough night for him. and he really, really needed to get laid.
. . .
you scrunched your face, as something tickled you at the very tip of your nose. you swatted the air with a lazy hand, half-asleep and very much not interested in waking up yet.
you let out a small whine, rolling onto your side. “hmm… stop…” the sensation didn’t go away. instead, it came back again followed by something warm and sticky pressing against your lips.
a groan, rumbled in your chest. “rocky… stoppp,” you mumbled, the words turning into a breathy giggle as sleep finally began to fade away.
the weight on your chest suddenly doubled as something small jumped softly onto you. your eyes fluttered open, blinking against the pale morning light. the first thing you saw was fur, scruffy, brown, and very much in your face.
little rocky stood proudly on your chest, tail wagging so hard his whole body shook.
“you’re unbelievable,” you whispered fondly, your lips curling into a sleepy smile as you reached up to cradle his head. your fingers slipped behind his ears, scratching gently. he melted instantly, leaning into your touch with a pleased little bark, one back leg thumping against the blanket.
“such a pretty boy. did you miss me? hmm?” you scratched under his chin, and he tipped his head back, offering his belly without any hesitation. “yes, you did, my love. yes, you did.”
with another giggle, you pushed yourself upright, carefully scooping the wriggling bundle of joy into your arms. he was full of affection, licking at your jaw, his tiny heart beating against your palm. “okay, okay, rockyyy, you lil’ boy, i’ll put you down,” you cooed and crouched, setting him down gently. the moment his paws hit the ground, he took off, nails clicking excitedly as he disappeared down the hallway. you watched him go, a fond smile playing on your lips.
you walked towards the window. a yawn escaped you as you grasped the edges of the floral curtains, you drew them back letting the cold air rush in.
it smelled like rain-soaked earth and damp leaves.
the late november sky was pale but bright, the sun peeking through low clouds.
movement below caught your eye. in the muddy lane between the cottages, two of the henderson children, wrapped in bright wellingtons and matching yellow raincoats, were jumping happily into puddles, shrieking with laughter every time water splashed up their boots. you giggled, resting your chin on your hands, watching them with quiet amusement.
today was saturday.
a small, familiar pang of disappointment touched you. no classroom today, no little voices struggling through french vowels or proudly showing off new words they’d memorized just for you. teaching the village children was your favorite part of the week. you loved their curiosity, their eagerness, the proud spark in their eyes when they mastered “bonjour” or “merci”
still, you shook the thought away. the day was too beautiful to waste on longing.
after getting dressed in your soft cream sweater and a long skirt, leaving your hair loose, the strands still holding the slight wave from yesterday’s braid, you headed into the living room. the smell of fresh orange juice and something sweet filled the air.
the low murmur of familiar voices greeted you as you approached the living room. it was a comforting sound to your ears that you grew up with. your mother’s home was a warm welcoming place where friends and neighbors drifted in and out with the ease of family.
“…and she said the ring was huge,” mrs. jeon was saying. “just one stone, but so shiny you could barely look at it.”
your mother laughed from her armchair. “barbara’s been glowing ever since. she told me all about his apartment before i even asked!”
you smiled as you entered the sunny room. your mother sat in her favorite armchair, a half-knitted scarf pooling in her lap. mrs. jeon was perched on the sofa, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug. both women radiated a comfortable, decades-old friendship.
“good morning,” you sang softly, your voice like honey in the room.
your mother’s face immediately brightened. “good morning sweetheart, did you sleep well?”
you drifted over, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “like a baby! the sound of the rain was the best lullaby.” you then turned to mrs. jeon, opening your arms. “good morning, auntie.”
“ah, my darling girl!” mrs. jeon enveloped you in a warm hug, she held you at arm’s length, her eyes crinkling. “look at you. you brighten a room just by walking into it. how do you do it?”
you felt a blush warm your cheeks and shook your head, dismissing the praise with a wave of your hand. “it’s all the sunshine you and mama bring in. i just reflect it.”
you made your way to the small kitchen table, where a plate of fluffy golden pancakes waited under a cloth. the buttery scent was just irresistible.
mrs. jeon turned back to your mother, sighing. “elisa, really. how did you manage to give birth to such an angel? was there a special prayer?”
your mother laughed, the sound warm and soothing. “what can i say, hae-un? it takes one to know one. only an angel could raise another, don’t you think?”
the two women burst into easy, familiar laughter. you smiled softly, spreading a generous dollop of your mother’s homemade strawberry jam that you’d helped pick and prepare, the berries from old mr. sakamoto’s patch at the edge of the village, onto a pancake.
you loved their friendship. fifty years of shared secrets, hardships, and joys. you hoped your own friendship with your best friend mandy, would be as enduring, something to grow old and gossipy with.
mrs. jeon’s gaze shifted back to you, her expression turning kindly curious. “barbara’s daughter, phoebe… she’s a friend of yours, isn’t she, dear?”
you nodded, swallowing a tender, sweet bite. “she is! we were in the same year at school. phoebe’s always been such a sweet person.” your words were genuine. you remembered a quiet girl with a nice smile, though your paths hadn’t crossed deeply since childhood. you held no space for negativity in your heart; if someone was kind, you remembered them as such.
mrs. jeon let out a fond ‘aww’, as if your sweetness physically pained her. “you truly are an angel walking this earth.”
your mother leaned forward. “apparently, the man phoebe’s marrying is some big businessman in georgia. barbara was telling me all about his company and how much money he earns a year!”
mrs. jeon laughed. “that’s barbara for you.”
you took a sip of orange juice, smiling along, and nodding gently. “i’m just so happy for phoebe,” you said, meaning it fully. “i hope they’ll be very happy together. may god bless their marriage!”
what you didn’t say out loud (but thought about briefly) was the version maddy had told you weeks ago. about phoebe going to the city for the first time, her night out at a club, and how she’d met a man there, how one thing led to another, and how it turned out he was wealthy, very wealthy. a millionaire, apparently.
maddy had made it sound so scandalous. you’d listened, surprised more than anything, but not judgmental. phoebe had told her mother eventually, leaving the part where she lost her virginity to him, maddy said she’d had to, or her mother would’ve worried herself sick.
thinking back on it now, you didn’t feel anything negative. just a quiet sense of relief that things had worked out. people found love in all sorts of unexpected ways. not every story looked the same, and that was okay. love didn’t have to be perfect to be real. what mattered was that phoebe seemed safe, cared for, and happy.
mrs. jeon sighed. “it’ll be your turn before we know it. such a treasure won’t stay hidden forever.”
your mother’s smile turned wistful, a little fragile. “oh goodness don’t remind me! i’m not ready to have my only baby taken away by some… some stranger.”
you giggled. “mama, i’m not going anywhere, anytime soon. this village, this house, you… this is my heart, and i plan on sticking here, bothering you, for a very, very long time!”
mrs. jeon’s eyes twinkled. “what a die-for daughter-in-law, then.” she took a sip of her tea, and then her expression shifted, brightening with a sudden, proud remembrance. “speaking of which! my jungkook is coming home for the holidays! he confirmed last week.”
something stiffened inside of you at the mention of the name. you blinked, your smile faltering just slightly before you caught yourself.
jungkook. the boy with the bunny-like features that were a complete lie, because there had been nothing soft or cute about him. he was coming back here? to spend the holidays?
a vivid memory flashed in your mind; the two of you, maybe twelve and fifteen, on your front steps. you’d been sketching the old oak tree, he’d snatched your pencil, his grin wide, and before you could grab it back, he’d added a ridiculous squirrel with bulging eyes to the corner of your beautiful paper.
jeon jungkook had left a decade ago, following mr. jeon to the city for a new job, and your primary emotion had been relief. while the other girls in the village had cried and whined over his departure, you had simply been glad to see the annoying boy who seemed to exist only to get under your skin, leave you in peace.
you were never a person who held grudges. you believed in forgiveness, in the inherent goodness of people. but jungkook… jungkook had felt like a personal challenge to that belief. and now he was returning.
your mother perked up immediately, clapping her hands together. “little jungkook! oh hae-un, that’s wonderful! it’s been an age. he must be so grown now.”
“grown and too stuck on city life with his father,” mrs. jeon said, though her pride was evident beneath the gentle scold. “that boy… he rarely answers my calls. too busy with his gym and his motorbike friends, i suppose. needs a little lesson in remembering his roots.”
your mother laughed, reaching over to pat her friend’s hand. “he’s a man now, hae-un. let him live his life. he’ll find his way back to what matters in his own time.”
mrs. jeon sighed, a mother’s eternal sigh. “i know, i know. but he’s still my baby. i just want to feed him properly and see his face.”
you kept your eyes on your plate, carefully cutting another piece of pancake, trying to will the strange tightness in your chest away. it was silly. he was just a boy from your past, now a man you didn’t know. there was no reason for this odd sense of foreboding.
just then, your mom’s warm voice cuts gently through your thoughts. “honey, would you be a dear and run to the market for me? we’re running low on fruits, and i need some more vegetables for the stew tonight.”
you lifted your head, your sunny smile effortlessly returning. “of course, mama.”
she smiled, wiping her hands on a towel. “there’s a list on the fridge door,” she added. “take your time and enjoy the air. it’s a beautiful morning!”
you nodded, rising and taking your plate to the sink. as you passed the fridge, you pulled the small notepad free. apples, pears, sweet potatoes, carrots, ginger, a large pumpkin if they look good, and… beets? the last item had a question mark, as if she’d been debating.
you tucked the list into the pocket of your skirt. the mention of jungkook felt like a dark cloud momentarily passing over your sunlit morning, but you were determined not to let it linger. you had a beautiful village to walk through and warm greetings to exchange. the past, and a boy who belonged to it, could wait.
. . .
the market had been busy; quiet chatter, soft laughter, the scrape of crates being dragged. you took your time, like you always did. you stopped at each stall, greeting people by name, listening when they talked a little longer than necessary.
mr. sakamoto insisted you take the pumpkin closest to the front, knocking on it twice and declaring it “a good one” before you could even ask. mrs. lee slipped an extra pear into your bag when she thought you weren’t looking, but you did, and you thanked her anyway. you’d also helped little annette, the florist’s daughter, re-tie her apron, her small fingers fumbling with the strings. by the time you left, both cloth bags were heavy in your hands; apples, carrots, sweet potatoes, ginger, and a huge pumpkin tucked awkwardly under your arm.
the road home was calm. the air was cold but fresh, the kind that made your cheeks sting just a little. you hummed under your breath, not even realizing you were doing it, stepping carefully over damp patches where the rain hadn’t quite dried yet.
you were halfway down the lane when the sound hit. an engine, loud, sudden, completely wrong and unusual for a place like this.
you turned just as a motorcycle came into view, moving fast, far too fast. your stomach dropped. there wasn’t enough time to react properly, only enough to freeze.
the bike swerved sharply at the last second, tires skidding over loose gravel as the rider slammed on the brakes. it stopped only a few feet ahead of you. the shock knocked you backward.
your foot caught on a stone and you went down hard, landing on the damp ground with a breathless gasp. the bags slipped from your hands. fruit rolled everywhere. apples bounced into the ditch, carrots scattered, and the pumpkin hit the ground splitting open.
for a moment, you just sat there, stunned, your chest tight as you tried to breathe properly again. your palms stung. cold soaked through your skirt.
“are you fucking serious?” a voice snapped. “what the hell were you doing standing in the middle of the road like that?”
black boots came into your line of sight. big heavy ones. you slowly looked up.
the man towering over you was nothing like anyone from the village; leather jacket, black jeans, a white tank stretched over broad shoulders, tattoos crept down his arms and across his hands. he pulled his helmet off with a sharp movement, clearly irritated, running a hand through his hair.
your eyes finally reached his face, and your breath hitched for a whole new reason.
he was still cursing under his breath, his glare fierce. “do you fucking hear me, or what? you just–”
his words cut off sharply. he stopped in his tracks, his imposing figure going completely still. his furious gaze snapped back to your face, really seeing you for the first time.
his expression shifted, like something had slammed into him headfirst. a low mutter escaped him, more to himself than to you. “…little bear?”
your body stiffened immediately. that nickname.
you knew it before your mind fully caught up. you looked at him properly now, really looked. the familiar eyes hit you first. dark, wide, unmistakable doe eyes. everything else had changed. he was taller, broader, and more buff somehow. piercings glinted under the pale sunlight. he looked like someone who didn’t belong here anymore.
jungkook.
it was really him. jeon jungkook. the bane of your childhood. the boy you’d danced with joy to see leave.
you swallowed, pushing yourself up off the ground, brushing dirt from your skirt with quick, embarrassed movements. “mrs. jeon didn’t tell us he was coming today,” you muttered to yourself, more annoyed than surprised.
he just stared at you, disbelief giving way to something far more unsettling. he’d always known you were a pretty girl. hell, you’d been the prettiest thing in his shitty little world back then. but now? fuck, you’d grown into something that made his mouth go completely dry.
a smirk, lazy and confident, began to play at the corner of his mouth, changing his face from intimidating to dangerously appealing.
“well, well,” he drawled, his voice dropping an octave deeper, into something more teasing. “little bear. seems like you fell for me already? damn, could’ve just said hello.”
heat flooded your cheeks as you completely ignored him and turned with a soft ‘oof’ to the mess on the ground. “awee, no…” you sighed, the sound soft and genuinely disappointed, crouching down to salvage what you could. you wiped dirt off an apple, checking it carefully before setting it aside.
jungkook just watched you, the smirk now fully formed. fuck. fuck. fuck. you were the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. you hadn’t changed one bit in the way you dealt with him; ignoring the main point (him), muttering about minor details, that adorable pout. it sent a ridiculous, warm thrill through his cold veins.
after a moment, he crouched too, picking up a pear. his large hands looked completely wrong doing something so gentle.
“what?” he finally said, his voice a low rumble. “you’re just gonna ignore me now? after ten years, little bear? not even a little happy to see me?” the old nickname slipped out again, laced with a mocking charm he’d perfected on a hundred other women. it never failed to get a reaction.
and yet, you ignored him. you simply finished gathering the last carrot, stood up, and held out your now-half-full bag. you reached for the bag he’d been filling.
“give me the bag, please,” you said, your voice soft, the utter opposite of him. it was even softer than he remembered, and it did something strange to his insides.
he straightened to his full height, holding the bag just out of your reach. he shrugged. “nah. how about a welcome hug first? for old time’s sake, or a kiss. i don’t mind which.” he tilted his head, the smirk turning wicked, his eyes blatantly dropping to your lips for a heartbeat.
you looked up at him, truly stunned. your eyes widened, your soft frown deepening. he’d grown bolder. more arrogant. you finally addressed him directly, your tone firmer, though it still lacked any real sharpness. “jungkook. give me my bag. now.”
“fuck,” he breathed out, not at your demand, but at the sound of his name on your tongue. it was both a prayer and a curse. he shook his head slowly, the smirk never wavering. “that’s all i get? ‘give me my bag’ ? you didn’t miss me? too bad.” he tsked, playing with the bag’s handle. “and here i was so excited to see you, hm?”
your patience, which turned thin by the fall, the mess, and his overwhelming presence, finally snapped. a soft, frustrated groan escaped you, louder than your usual murmurs. “it’s cold,” you stated. “and i need to get home now. give it!” you extended your hand again, stamping one foot lightly on the gravel. the gesture was so childishly impatient, so utterly you, that it stunned him for a second. “you and your stupid, scary bike are already the reason all my fruits are ruined and my pumpkin is… is dead! and now you want to keep them hostage? just give them back!”
he looked at you, utterly amused. your little show of temper was better than any city nightclub, any bar fight. the way your nose scrunched, the way your wide eyes flashed, it was a fire he hadn’t known you could still spark. he wanted to poke it, to see how bright it could burn.
he cocked his head, his expression one of feigned innocence. “hostage? that’s a bit dramatic, little bear. see, from where i was riding, it looked an awful lot like you were walking in the middle of the lane without looking around you.” he said, then added with an amused smirk. “so whose fault is it, really? mine? or yours?” he took a step closer, invading your space, the scent of leather, and something uniquely, dangerously male enveloping you.
you huffed, an exasperated sound that made his smirk widen. you’d had enough. of him, of his bike, of his smirk, of the way his presence made you feel claustrophobic.
“you can do whatever you want,” you said, your voice tight. and with that, you turned on your heel, clutching your single bag to your chest, and began to march down the lane towards home, your steps quick.
jungkook watched you go, a slow, genuine laugh shaking his shoulders. he shook his head, a strange, unfamiliar feeling stirring in his chest, something far more interesting than irritation or lust.
he didn’t call after you. instead, he walked back to his monstrous motorcycle, swung a leg over it, and settled your bag of fruits securely in front of him. he turned the key, and the engine roared back to life, that same terrifying sound that had started it all. but this time, he didn’t speed off.
he rolled forward at a walking pace behind your rapidly retreating form. he didn’t try to pull alongside you; he just followed, making sure you knew he was there, that he was watching, and that he had no intention of letting you (or your groceries) disappear so easily. but most importantly, he was finally home.
. . .
the sound of the motorcycle stayed behind you longer than it should have.
even after you turned onto the familiar path leading home, the engine was still there. you didn’t look back. you kept walking, eyes fixed ahead. the familiar roof of your house came into view through the bare branches, and you focused on that instead of the noise following you like it had a right to.
the cold air bit at your cheeks, your fingers stiff around the grocery bag. you told yourself not to react. don’t give him the satisfaction.
you reached the small white gate and fumbled with the latch, irritation making your movements clumsy. you pushed through, and grabbed the front door handle just as the engine shut off behind you.
you stepped inside and closed the door firmly, exhaling as warmth wrapped around you. you could already smell something sweet baking in the kitchen. voices drifted from the living room.
you were halfway through pulling off your boots when the door opened again.
jungkook stepped inside, grocery bag in hand, shutting the door behind him with quiet confidence. you froze.
for a moment, he just stood there, taking in the entryway. the walls hadn’t changed. the small table by the door was still there. he glanced around once, then looked at you.
from the living room, your mother’s warm and curious voice floated. “sweetheart, is that you? that was quick!” she appeared, wiping her hands on a checkered apron, her smile fading into pleasant confusion as she saw you once half full bag. “oh! where are all the–?”
“got them,” jungkook said easily as he stepped forward and stood beside you.
your mother’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her chest. “jungkook? little jungkook? is that really you?”
mrs. jeon sprang up with a speed that belied her years, her face a storm of emotions, shock, joy and maternal fury. “jungkook! my son!” she rushed across the room, not for a hug, but to swat at his arm. “you! you said you’d call when you reached the town! do you know how worried i’ve been? riding that death machine in this cold! and you walk in here like a… a gangster!”
jungkook, looked momentarily chastised, a faint pink covering the tip of his ears. he gently set the bag down by the umbrella stand and endured his mother’s fluttering, scolding hands. “ma, i’m fine. the bike’s fine too. stop.” he submitted to her pulling him down for a tearful, tight hug, his own arms coming around her stiffly, his eyes squeezed shut for a second in a mix of affection and profound embarrassment at being dressed down in front of you and your mother.
“look at you,” your mother breathed, her initial surprise melting into delight. she came closer, her eyes misty. “little jungkook, all grown up. so tall! so handsome!” she reached out and pinched his cheek, and you saw his jaw tighten, a grunt of tolerance escaping him.
“hey, aunt elisa,” he said, his voice a rough scrape of politeness. he extracted himself from his mother’s grasp, giving a short nod. his posture was stiff with tension, shoulders tight under the leather, clearly uncomfortable with the emotional display. this was the grumpy prick who hated small talk and familial doting.
but his eyes, those beautiful doe-like eyes, weren’t on the two women surrouding him. they instead found you, standing by the stairs, watching the spectacle. his gaze was sweeping from where your long skirt ends up to your flustered face, and a corner of his mouth twitched.
mrs. jeon held him at arm’s length, her critical mother’s eye analysing every change. her focus lingered on the silver glint at his eyebrow, lips and the stud in his ear. “and what is this?” she gasped, poking a finger near his eyebrow. “you are putting holes in your face? trying to ruin god’s good work? aish, this city life!”
your mother chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. “oh, hae-un, leave the boy be. he looks very modern. very charming! it’s what all the young people do nowadays.” she winked at jungkook, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
jungkook’s mind drifted to the sprawling ink that covered half his torso and down his arm. damn. if she’s having a meltdown over a couple of piercings, she’s gonna have a coronary when she sees the new tattoos. he shoved the thought away.
“it’s just metal, ma,” he muttered, shifting his weight. “forget it.”
“forget it? how can i ‘forget’ when my son’s looking like a street thug?”
“he looks strong and stylish!” your mother countered loyally, beaming. “you should be proud he turned out so striking!”
the two mothers launched into a familiar, loving debate, their voices layering over each other, scolding and defending, a duet of care and exasperation. jungkook used the distraction as his exit. his eyes never left you as he took a few deliberate steps towards the kitchen.
your mother, mid-sentence, noticed your stillness. “darling, be a sweetheart and put the kettle on, will you? jungkook must be frozen through. we’ll have some tea!”
flustered, you nodded, grateful for a task before you slipped into the kitchen. you filled the old copper kettle at the sink, your hands trembling slightly. you were so focused on calming your own chaotic heartbeat that you didn’t hear his approach.
you only felt the shift in the air, the subtle heat from the door being blocked, the alarming sense of his presence. you turned.
he was leaning against the doorframe, one shoulder propped against the wood, his arms crossed over his broad chest. he completely filled the space, his body stood like a barrier between you and the cheerful chatter in the living room. he was studying you carefully, the way your sweater sleeves were pushed up your forearms, the nervous flutter of your fingers, the way you worried your bottom lip between your teeth.
a slow, utterly shameless smirk spread across his face at the sight.
you quickly turned back to the stove, fumbling with the knobs. the silence between you was thick.
“still jumpy around me, little bear?”
you stiffened, your back to him. you could feel his intense gaze on you.
“or is it just my general effect on women?” he continued, his tone dripping with a lazy, arrogant amusement. “can’t decide if you want to run or throw something at me. that’s cute.”
you spun around, the tea towel in your hands clenched into a soft ball. “i am not ‘jumpy’,” you hissed, keeping your voice low to match his. “i am trying to make tea because my mother asked me to. and you are blocking the doorway.”
he didn’t move. his smirk only deepened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. he looked you up and down, that alone made heat bloom under your skin. “yeah, i am. problem?” he uncrossed his arms, planting his palms on either side of the doorframe, caging you in even more effectively. “ten years and you still get that little wrinkle right here,” he murmured, nodding toward the space between your brows. “when you’re annoyed with me. some things never change.”
“some things do,” you retorted, lifting your chin, refusing to be cowed. “most people learn to knock before entering someone’s home.”
a dark chuckle escaped him. “well, it’s my second home. always was.” his gaze softened for a fraction of a second, before it was shuttered away. “besides, i was carrying your groceries. you’re welcome, by the way.”
“you were the reason they were on the ground in the first place!”
“debatable.”
the whistle of the kettle screamed to life behind you. you jumped, and his smirk returned in full force.
jumpy.
you turned off the stove with more force than necessary. “the tea is ready,” you announced, your voice politely cold. “if you would please move.”
he held your gaze for a long minute and with a slight tilt of his head, he pushed off the doorframe. he didn’t move aside to let you pass. instead, he turned and walked back toward the living room, throwing one last comment over his shoulder, his voice a low promise that made your stomach twist.
“this is gonna be a fun holiday, little bear.”
. . .
the café was the kind of place where everything felt at peace. the smell of fresh croissants filled the space, mixed with a faint hint of paint from the small art corner. you sat at your usual table near the bay window, where the afternoon light came in just right, a small canvas set up on its easel in front of you.
you were painting the chrysanthemums in a jar on the counter.
across from you, mandy was halfway through a slice of mille-feuille, clearly enjoying herself. flakes of pastry clung to her sweater, and a bit of cream lingered at the corner of her mouth. still, her attention wasn’t on the dessert. her eyes kept drifting around the café, which was more crowded than usual for a saturday afternoon.
“okay, don’t look now,” she whispered, leaning so far forward she almost knocked over your water cup. “but jessica kim just walked in. and i swear to you, she is wearing false eyelashes. to get a damn latte. jessica, who considers tinted lip balm as ‘too bold.’ ”
you didn’t glance up, focusing on mixing a shade of burnt umber on your palette. “maybe she has a… date later?” you offered, your voice soft, trying to cling to giving everyone the benefit of the doubt.
mandy snorted, almost un-ladylike. “a date with her own reflection in the window of jeon’s house maybe.” she took another huge bite, talking around it. “it’s not just her. i passed by the hairdresser’s on the way here, it was fully booked. mrs. martinez said she’s done three ‘last minute emergencies’ since noon. for what? brave the november drizzle? please.”
you sighed, as you dipped your brush, but your strokes were slower now. the village had a quiet familiar rhythm you understood deeply. but now it was moving with a strange energy that you couldn’t shake off.
“and janette at the flower shop, told me she delivered flowers to mrs. jeon’s house this morning,” mandy continued, her voice dropping to a scandalized whisper. “very early, and apparently mrs. jeon’s son answered the door shirtless. she’s still not over it by the way.” mandy fanned herself dramatically with a napkin. “the drama! i haven’t seen this much of it ever since mr. johnson cheated on his 6 month pregnant wife with that twenty-something waitress.”
you finally looked up from your canvas, your brow creasing. “that’s a bit… much, don’t you think? he’s just a boy.” your words were naive, and you knew it the moment they left your lips.
mandy paused, her fork hovering mid-air. she looked at you with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. “sweetie, honey, light of my life. he is not ‘just a boy’ he’s a walking, talking, motorcycle riding monument to sinful city dreams. he left here a cute, troublesome bunny-boy and came back looking like… well, like that.” she gestured vaguely. “i heard the lee sisters whispering by the bread stand. they said he looks like the kind of man who’d ruin you for all other men, and you’d thank him for the privilege while he walked away without a backward glance.”
a strange drop of something unpleasant settled in your stomach. you didn’t like that description. it felt cheap and dismissive. it reduced the infuriating boy you remembered, and the even more infuriating man he’d become, to a villain from one of amanda’s city-girl romance novels. “that’s a horrible thing to say about someone,” you murmured, your hand tightening on your brush.
mandy shook her head, a soft, knowing smile on her lips. she reached over and patted your hand, her gesture leaving a tiny smudge of sugar on your skin. “you sweet, summer child. you wouldn’t understand. your idea of a dangerous man is mr. henderson when he’s had one too many at the harvest festival and tries to waltz with the prize pumpkin.”
you huffed, a puff of air that stirred your bangs. “he’s not all of that,” you muttered, more to the painting than to mandy. “he’s just… jungkook. but worse.”
mandy’s eyes lit up as she put her fork down. “ah ha! there it is. i was wondering when we’d get to the real tea, spill. you’ve been painting like you’re trying to murder those innocent flowers.”
you sighted before you told her about the terrifying roar of his bike, the spilled groceries, the humiliating fall. you described his towering presence, the mocking ‘little bear,’ the way he’d followed you home like a dark cloud. “and he just walked in, mandy! didn’t even knock! he stood in our kitchen doorway, with that… that smirk on his face. like he owned– ” you cut yourself off, your cheeks flushing. “he’s so arrogant. it’s doubled since we were kids. he’s like a giant, tattooed mosquito, and i’m the only one he wants to bother.”
mandy listened, her chin propped in her hand. as you finished, a slow, cheshire-cat grin spread across her face. she sucked a bit of cream from her thumb, her gaze shrewd.
“so…” she drawled, drawing the word out. “let me get this straight. he nearly scares you half to death, helps pick up your groceries, carries your bag, walks into your house without hesitation, and spends the whole time his mom’s crying over him staring at you, specifically teasing you.” she leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “he’s still an annoying prick. but he’s your annoying prick, hm? interesting.”
you blinked. “what? no! mandy, he’s not ‘my’ anything! he was probably doing all that to figure out new ways to irritate me, that’s what he has been doing ever since we were kids.”
“or,” mandy said, her tone playful, “he was a stupid, hormone-addled boy who had a crush on the sweetest girl in town and his only way of dealing with it was to pull her pigtails and ruin her drawings.”
you shook your head, sending your hair swinging. “no mandy, that’s a children’s story. this is a grown man. a grown man who looks like he… like he…” you struggled for the right phrase, “he looks like a walking red flag. you know, the kind amanda warns us about.” the words felt foreign and a little too harsh in your mouth, but they fit the image of the man who’d winked at you and demanded a welcome kiss. a kiss??!
mandy’s grin didn’t falter. “oh, he’s absolutely a red flag from what i’ve heard. i don’t doubt that for a second.” she picked up her fork again, twirling it. “but here’s the thing about flags, sunshine. they only warn you about the danger. they don’t stop you from walking right into the bullring.” she took a final, satisfied bite. “and from what you’ve told me, that bull only has eyes for one particular little matador. everyone else just gets the snort and the dust.”
you didn’t like the way that landed. you glanced back at your painting, the colors had muddied, the petals ended up sharper than you intended. it reflected exactly how you felt; unsettled and totally thrown off balance.
you cleaned your brush slowly, watching the paint swirl away. jungkook being back wasn’t just inconvenient. it felt like something had been disrupted, and whether you liked it or not, you were right in the middle of it.
. . .
the morning air was cold enough to sting your cheeks as you stepped outside. you pulled your thickest wool cardigan tighter around yourself, and tucked the basket of chicken feed under your arm. rocky trotted at your heels, tail wagging, his breath puffing faintly in the air.
beautiful late novembre morning.
or it was, until you stepped into the small, fenced garden beside your house.
you heard it before you saw anything. the steady clink of metal, followed by low voices. you scattered grain for the hens and glanced past your fence, toward the jeon’s house.
jungkook was in the driveway.
he was bent over his motorcycle. he wore worn jeans and a black tank top, nothing heavy enough for the cold, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. his shoulders and arms flexed as he tightened something with a ratchet, tattoos fully visible now that his jacket was gone. his hair fell into his eyes as he worked, focused, completely at ease in a place he hadn’t lived in for years.
of course, you thought, a flush of heat creeping up your neck that had nothing to do with the cold. of course this is what you see first thing in the morning. you tried to look away, to focus on little nino pecking diligently at your feet, but your eyes were your biggest traitors.
a giggle, high and affected, sliced through the quiet from down the lane. you turned your head slightly. there, gathered near the old stone well about fifty yards away, were the lee sisters, and emily from the bakery. they were huddled together, clutching paper coffee cups, but their bodies were angled unmistakably towards the jeon’s driveway. they weren’t even pretending to look at each other. one of the twin sisters was whispering behind her hand, her eyes wide, while her twin had a gloved hand pressed to her cheek, fanning herself dramatically despite the cold weather. emily was openly staring, her mouth slightly agape.
the whole thing made your stomach twist. it was embarrassing, to him for providing it, them for gawking, and yourself for standing there pretending not to notice while noticing everything.
with an irritated huff, you dumped the rest of the feed into the trough and turned back toward the house. rocky barked once in confusion, then followed you inside.
jungkook’s hands stilled on the bike’s engine. without lifting his head, his eyes, which had been fixed on a carburetor, flicked upward, following your retreating body. he’d clocked you the second you stepped outside. he’d felt your movement; the way you’d stopped once you noticed his presence, your reluctant glances. a faint, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, unseen by the giggling girls down the lane. he’d made you look. even when you wished you hadn’t. he wiped his hands slowly on a rag, before returning to his work, unbothered.
the days that followed only got worse.
jungkook became the village’s main topic of conversation without ever trying to be. people followed his appearances like news.
at the market, he stood out immediately; taller than most, darker clothes, sharp presence. mrs. lee insisted on giving him fruit, fussing over how thin he looked. he accepted it with a short nod and a rough thanks, then gave an illusion of a smile just enough to leave her flustered.
at the pub, he kept to himself, nursing a drink in the corner. the men stayed away. the women, on the other hand, didn’t. janette from the flower shop found excuses to stop by. jessica kim laughed too loudly whenever she passed his table. he never encouraged them, never fully shut them down either. he stayed detached, amused at best, distant at worst.
and somehow, he was always where you were.
at the post office, you’d be filling out a shipping label when the doorbell rang behind you. you’d feel him being too close, standing right at your back.
“little bear,” he’d say quietly. “sending love letters to your city boyfriend?”
you’d ignore him, focusing intently on your task.
he’d lean in, his breath stirring the hair near your ear. “bet they’re not as good as the ones you used to write me. what was it? ‘dear stupid jungkook, you are a toad. give me my pencil back.’ hm?”
a hot flush would crawl up your neck. “i was twelve,” you’d mutter through clenched teeth.
“and i was fifteen,” he’d counter, as if that explained everything. then he’d reach around you, his tattooed arm brushing yours, to grab a blank customs form he didn’t even need before walking away, leaving you flustered and the postmistress fanning herself.
at the market, you’d carefully pick apples, placing them one by one into your basket, only for his hand to slip in front of yours and grab the shiniest red delicious one you’d just chosen.
“hey!” you’d protest, turning to find him already taking a loud, crisp bite of the stolen fruit. juice gleamed on his lower lip.
he’d chew slowly, his eyes locked on yours, a challenge in their dark depths. “what? it looked good.” he’d take another bite. “tastes good, too. so sweet.” the way he said it made it sound like he wasn’t talking about the apple.
“that’s stealing,” you’d say, trying for stern but your voice coming out breathless.
he’d shrug. “put it on my tab.” he’d finish the apple in two more bites and toss the core perfectly into a trash bin several feet away. “see you around, little bear.”
the most infuriating encounter was at the library. you were in the quiet kids section, reaching for a french book about fairytales on a high shelf. you were on your tiptoes, fingertips brushing the edges.
“need a hand, short stuff?”
you yelped, stumbling back, only to be steadied by two large hands on your shoulders. he was right behind you, having moved with a practiced silence. he didn’t let go. he simply reached up, easily retrieved the book, and handed it to you, his body caging you against the bookshelf.
“you’re… you’re in a library,” you whispered, aware of the silence, of the librarian watching with owl eyes from her desk.
“noticed,” he murmured, he wasn’t looking at the book. he was looking at your face, his gaze dropping to your lips, then back to your eyes. “came in for a good nap, but found something better.” he leaned a fraction closer. “you know, for a teacher, you ask a lot of pointless questions. like ‘what are you doing here?’ seems pretty obvious.”
his proximity was overwhelming. “it’s not obvious,” you managed.
“it is to me.” he finally released your shoulders, taking a half-step back that felt no less invasive. he took the book from your soft grasp, glanced at the title, and snorted. “figures.” he handed it back. “still living in fairy tales.” he turned and walked away, the sound of his boots on the woody floor echoing in the hushed room.
it kept happening. everywhere. the park, the bakery, even outside the school where you taught. always close enough to unsettle you, always just teasing enough to make it worse. and the worst part was the sick, thrill that shot through you every time you heard that low voice say “little bear,” a thrill you refused to acknowledge, buried under irritation and annoyance. jungkook was a problem with a leather jacket and a motorcycle, and he wasn’t just disrupting the peaceful rhythm of your village, he was disrupting you. and you had no idea how to make it stop.
. . .
the walk home from the schoolhouse always put you in a good mood. you found yourself smiling for no real reason, your steps light as you followed the familiar path leading to your home. class had gone well, even more wonderful than usual. little mathew, had finally, perfectly pronounced “merci beaucoup” after weeks of struggling with his ‘r’ sounds, and the whole room had erupted when he got it right. you kept replaying his proud grin in your head, along with the small, crumpled hand written “merci, mademoiselle!” card now tucked safely in your bag.
you opened the front door. “mama, i’m home!” you called, slipping off your boots.
your mother stood by the fireplace, not in her usual comfortable house clothes, but in her favorite floral-print dress, the one she reserved for special visits. a soft cardigan was draped over her shoulders. the air was fragrant with the sweet scent of vanilla and butter.
“there’s my sunshine!” she beamed, her face crinkling into a smile that mirrored your own. she came over, cupping your cold cheeks in her warm hands. “look at you, glowing. the children were good today?”
“the best,” you sighed happily, leaning into her touch. “mathew said the whole phrase! and amirah wrote a little poem. it was wonderful.” you sniffed the air dramatically. “is that your honey butter cake? it smells like heaven.”
“it is,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead with tender care. “and it just came out of the oven to cool. i was thinking… it’s been a few days. we should take a slice over to hae-un. the poor thing must be exhausted from fussing over jungkook. she could use some company and a sweet treat.”
the warmth in your chest dimmed immediately. go to the jeon’s house, now. your first instinct was to say no. to claim you were tired, busy, anything.
but then you looked at your mother’s face, she meant well. mrs. jeon had always been family in everything but name, she was like a second mother to you. you’d spent countless afternoons in her house. to refuse now, to let your silly, personal discomfort with jungkook ruin this… it felt horribly wrong, selfish.
the conflict must have shown on your face for a fleeting second, because your mother’s smile softened. “what is it, darling? did you have other plans?”
“no, no plans,” you said quickly, your voice a little too bright. you forced your own smile back, pushing the unease down where it couldn’t spoil the sweetness of the day. “that’s a wonderful idea, mama. auntie hae-un loves your cake. let me just put my bag away.”
the jeon’s house looked the same but felt slightly different. the blue door, the familiar smell of tea, the furniture you’d grown up around. but now there were signs of jungkook everywhere. his helmet by the door, a leather jacket tossed over the couch.
“elisa! aigoo, and my sweet girl!” mrs. jeon enveloped you both in a warm hug. she held you at arm’s length, her eyes misty. “you brought light with you. this old house has been too dark and loud lately.” she ushered you into the living room, fussing over the cake, exclaiming over its beauty.
your mother laughed as they settled in. “and where is the cause of all that noise?” she asked, her tone gently teasing. “is our city boy hiding?”
you busied yourself with accepting a cup of tea, focusing intently on the steam rising from the mug.
mrs. jeon waved a hand, a mixture of pride and exasperation on her face. “bah. that boy! he said the quiet was driving him crazy so he went out for a ride on that metal beast of his.” but her affection was clear.
relief loosened something tight in your chest. he wasn’t here. you could finally relax. you could actually enjoy this visit. you took a sip of tea, the familiar comfort of the two mothers’ chatter beginning to soothe your nerves. they fell into their easy conversation, talking about the upcoming winter festival, the cake recipe, you mom’s new knitting project.
then, mrs. jeon glanced out the window at the grey, woolen sky. “oh, dear god. i just remembered. i left the last of the laundry on the line. jungkook’s things from this morning. if it snows tonight, they’ll be frozen stiff.”
without a second thought, you set your cup down. “i’ll get it, auntie. it’ll only take a moment.” it was a reflex, as natural as breathing.
both women turned their warm, approving gazes on you. “ah, you angel,” mrs. jeon sighed, patting your hand. “what would we do without you?”
your mother beamed, pride shining in her eyes. “my thoughtful baby.”
outside, the air was colder than before. you worked quickly, folding towels and sheets. then you picked up an unfamiliar grey cotton t-shirt, the fabric thin from many washes. it smelled faintly of detergent and something else, something unmistakably male, a clean, musky scent that was all jungkook. a flush crept up your neck. finally, your fingers brushed against black cotton boxer briefs. you snatched your hand back as if burned, a hot wave of embarrassment and annoyance crashing over you. this was so… intimate. so wrong. he felt like an intruder to your peace, and now you were handling his underwear.
gritting your teeth, you grabbed the last item with two fingers, hastily adding it to the pile in your arms, wanting nothing more than to be rid of it all.
that was when you heard the motorcycle approaching fast from the main road. you froze, then edged toward the corner of the house without meaning to as the bike pulled into the driveway.
there he was, jungkook, swinging off the bike, removing his helmet. but he wasn’t alone.
a woman followed from behind him. you could only see her back; a sleek, dark ponytail, a wool coat and heeled boots that were utterly impractical for the village lanes. she let out a bright, tinkling laugh as she reached out, placing a hand on his leather-clad arm. she said something you couldn’t hear, leaning into his space.
you could only see jungkook’s side profile. he wasn’t smirking. he looked… relaxed. he gave a short nod in response to whatever she said.
something twisted sharply in your chest.
it didn’t make any sense, why were you feeling like this? he wasn’t yours. you knew exactly what kind of man he was and you hated him anyway, didn’t you? but the feeling still hit, sudden and unpleasant. you’d just been handling his laundry, and he’d just been off with her.
you didn’t watch any longer. clutching the laundry, you turned and went back inside, closing the door quietly behind you. the cake, the tea, the warmth inside the house all felt kind of distant now.
and no matter how hard you told yourself it shouldn’t matter, it still, somehow, did..?
. . .
the cold hit hard as soon as he reached the higher road. it burned his lungs and cut straight through his jacket. this was the only place his head ever really cleared. no noise, no people, just the road and what came next.
fuck, he missed the city. everything about it. his gym, he’d left it with jimin, the only fucker he trusted not to run it into the ground or sell the equipment for coke money. he missed the club nights too, the bass, the easy, nameless women who wanted nothing but a good fuck and understood the rules; no strings attached, no questions, no next morning breakfast bullshit.
here, everything felt watched. his mother noticed everything.heck he’d kill for a smoke. a cigarette would be a minor miracle, he’d have to ride halfway to the next province to get one. his mother would smell it on him from a mile away, have a full-blown heart attack, complete with clutching her chest and calling all her ancestors. it wasn’t worth the fucking lecture.
the bike ate up the empty road, carrying him aimlessly. his thoughts, however, kept circling back to the same person. you.
he slowed as he passed the village school just as the final bell rang. the bike idled quietly as he watched from across the road.
there you were. wrapped in a soft, cream sweater, and that long yellow skirt that swirled around your ankles. you were kneeling to tie a kid’s shoe, laughing at something a little girl said. you waved as the kids scattered to their parents, your smile so genuine it was almost painful to look at.
fuck. you were a walking, talking ball of sunshine in this grey, suffocating town.
he wanted to go over there. wanted to see that smile disappear and be replaced by that delicious, flustered pout. wanted to hear you huff his name in that soft, annoyed voice. he’d picture that look sometimes, late at night, but in those fantasies, the pout was for other reasons; his mouth on your neck, his hands on your hips, your eyes rolling back not in annoyance, but in pleasure. the thought alone sent a bolt of heat straight to his dick.
he was just about to roll his bike forward, a taunt already forming on his lips, when a voice sliced through the engine’s rumble.
“jungkook? oh my god, jeon jungkook! is that you?”
he turned his head, already irritated. a woman was hurrying toward him, her heels clicking on the pavement. pretty. sleek dark hair in a low ponytail, a coat that looked expensive.
he didn’t know her. or maybe he did. he didn’t care enough to remember anyway.
“hi!” she breathed, stopping too close to the bike, her eyes wide as they drank him in, the bike, the tattoos peeking from his collar, the permanent scowl. “it’s me, cynthia! we were in the same year? well, you were a few years ahead, but still!” she talked fast, her gaze raking over him with open appreciation.
jungkook grunted in response. his eyes didn’t stay on her. they trailed over her shoulder, back to the school steps. where you’d been. you were gone now, leaving him with this chattering stranger.
his attention snapped back to cynta? only because she was still talking. “...and honestly, these boots were a terrible idea,” she was saying with a practiced laugh, lifting a foot clad in a heeled leather boot. “the lanes are so slippery! i feel like i’m going to break my ankle.”
jungkook’s gaze dropped to her feet, then dragged slowly back up her body. yeah, the boots were stupid. who the fuck wore that here unless they were trying to get noticed?
she misinterpreted the look entirely. her smile turned coy, and she took a half-step closer, lowering her voice. “maybe… you could give me a ride? it would be a lifesaver.”
he held back a snort. his eyes drifted once more to the now-empty schoolyard. you were the only reason he was even lingering in this part of the village. the only thing that held any interest in this whole fucking trip. a bleak boredom settled over him. what did it matter?
“get on,” he said, his voice flat. it wasn’t an offer; it was his way of stopping the need for further conversation.
cynthia’s face lit up with victory. she let out a little squeal as she swung a leg over the bike behind him, settling in. immediately, her arms wrapped around his waist, tight. too tight. her hands didn’t stay still; they slid lower, fingers playing at the waistband of his jeans. she pressed her body against his back, and he could feel the soft shape of her breasts through their layers of clothing.
he didn’t shift, didn’t even tell her to back off. he simply kicked the bike back to life, and pointed it toward the only destination that made sense, home.
she held on tightly the whole way, pressing against him, talking into his ear over the engine noise. he barely listened. his mind wasn’t on her.
after some time, he pulled into the driveway and shut the bike off, the sudden silence ringing in his ears. he didn’t move, just waited.
cynthia, laughing breathlessly, as she slid off. “wow, that was… so cool,” she said, smoothing her hair. the laugh was bright, but her eyes were dark with intention as she stepped closer. her hand came up, her fingers tracing the hard curve of his bicep through his jacket in a gesture that was anything but casual.
“you know,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, seductive purr. “i feel like i owe you for the rescue.” her gaze was blatant, hungry. “a girl could think of a few ways to say thank you. just name it.”
the offer hung in the cold air between them. cynthia’s eyes were wide, pupils dilated. it was a look he knew intimately; the sharp, hungry anticipation of a woman who’d already decided how the night would end.
his body recognized the opportunity. muscle memory twitched with the ease of it; a rough grip on her hip, steering her into the garage. the usual rythme of a quick, meaningless fuck against the cold wall, her expensive coat shoved out of the way. or maybe better, just her on her knees right here in the gravel, his hand fisted in that perfect ponytail while he stared blankly at the frost on the kitchen window as she chokes on the length of his cock. it would be fast. efficient. a way to bleed off the restless energy this town coiled inside him. she was clearly down for it. and who was he to deny such an offer?
he’d smirk, say something crude and inviting like, “yeah? how ‘bout you start by getting on your knees, and we’ll see how grateful you are.” because he’d done it before. more times than he could count.
but as the words formed in his throat, they tasted like ash. instead of the familiar heat, a cold wave of… distaste washed over him.
this wasn’t a grimy alley where you could disappear afterward. this was his mother’s driveway. the kitchen light was on; he could see her silhouette moving behind the curtain. a few houses down, old mrs. ahn was probably watching from her parlor window. this was the village square, the same one where he’d get groceries tomorrow, where he’d have to see this stranger again at the market or the winter festival.
he had a fucked-up way to go through life, but one rule was clear: you don’t shit where you eat. and for all his complaints, this was still, technically, where he was from.
hooking up with his hometown girls only meant drama, awkward encounters and potential tears on his mother’s doorstep. it was messy. and the only mess he had any interest in navigating is the one that would involve you.
which is why fucking cyndi (or whatever her name was) would be pointless, ugly, and a pain in the ass to deal with later.
so, the smirk that usually came so easily died before it reached his lips. he looked at her eager face and felt nothing but a profound sense of get the fuck away from me.
he gave a single, slow nod. “nah it’s chill,” he said, his voice flat, like a door slamming shut. he didn’t say thanks or maybe another time nor did he offer a fake smile. he simply turned his back and walked toward the house, leaving her standing in the cold.
. . .
the final bell rang, and one by one your students pulled on their coats and scarves, filing out of the classroom in a rush of chatter and laughter. you waited until the room was empty before erasing the chalkboard, taking your time, enjoying the quiet that always followed a long day. the late afternoon light came in through the windows, making you feel settled. a little tired, but in a good way.
“mademoiselle!”
you turned at the sound of a familiar voice. jayden stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with an easy smile. he was the elder brother of one of your students, matthew, a man with the gentle manners and kind eyes. you’d known him for over a year now, mostly through chance meetings at the bakery after work. sometimes you shared a croissant and talked about his projects or your lesson plans.
“jayden! hello!” you greeted him, your smile soft and genuine.
“haven’t seen much of you lately,” he said, stepping inside. his presence didn’t feel intrusive, just calm. “everything alright?”
you laughed softly. “yeah, everything’s fine, just a little busy! my mom’s got me helping with baking and knitting. with the winter festival and christmas coming up, our house looks like it’s been taken over.”
he chuckled. “i know the feeling. i’ve been going crazy trying to carve these wooden snowmen for the festival stall. my workshop is knee-deep in wood shavings.”
before you could reply, little matthew came charging back into the room, his blue coat half-zipped and his cheeks pink from the cold.
“jay!” he shouted, running straight into his brother.
jayden scooped him up effortlessly. “hey, buddy. how was school?”
matthew didn’t even pause for breath as he started talking, holding up his hands and counting loudly. “un, deux, trois...”
you watched them with a fond smile. “he’s doing really well,” you said. “he picks things up quickly.”
jayden looked at you as he adjusted his brother on his hip. “that’s because of you.” his tone held a note of something softer, a gentle flirtation that sailed right over your innocent, oblivious head.
you simply beamed, accepting the praise as a compliment to your work. “he makes it easy for me.”
“i’m hungry!” matthew declared.
“dad made your favorite soup,” jayden told him, earning a gleeful “yay!” he then shifted his attention back to you, his voice dropping back to that warm, intentional register. “so, i’ll see you later, maybe? we could grab that snack we’ve been missing.”
“of course!” you agreed readily. “that would be lovely! au revoir, matthew! bon appétit!”
you waved as they left, jayden giving you one last, lingering look. you didn’t think much of it, assuming it was just his usual friendliness.
the walk home was quiet, the air was cold enough to sting your lungs when you breathed in, and the sun was already sinking low behind the trees. you were lost in thoughts, replaying the kids’ proud little faces, when a sudden sound shattered the peace.
you jumped, a small gasp escaping you as a familiar black motorcycle rolled to a stop right in front of you, blocking the narrow lane. your heart hammered against your ribs.
jungkook sat on the bike one foot down, the other resting casually on the peg. he was already smirking, clearly pleased with how much he’d startled you.
“get on,” he said, voice low and steady over the engine. “it’s getting dark. could use a ride, little bear. yeah?” he made it sound like a casual suggestion, but his eyes were anything but casual, they stayed fixed on you, sharp and unreadable.
you looked around the empty lane, then back at him, gathering your composure. you sighed, the sound a soft cloud in the cold air. “no, thank you,” you said politely. “i enjoy walking home.”
his smirk deepened, carving a dimple in his cheek that you refused to find distracting. “enjoy it all you want. but with those little short legs,” his gaze dropped pointedly to your boots, “you won’t make it home ‘til the sun comes up again.”
you looked down at yourself and then back up at him, utterly offended and flustered. “they are not short? they’re… normal.”
he didn’t argue. he just let out a long sigh, the picture of a man burdened by a great duty. “look, your mom asked me to check on you. said you were late. she’s worried sick about her only daughter out here in the dark.” he delivered the lie with perfect sincerity, knowing the exact chord it would strike.
your stomach dropped. “what?”
mama was worried? the guilt hit immediately, washing over you. you shouldn’t have stayed to sketch those frost flowers on the school window pane. you’d caused your mother distress. the thought alone was unbearable.
as jungkook made a show of revving the engine slightly, preparing to leave you to your fate, you panicked. “w- wait!” you called out, your voice soft and laced with concern.
he turned back at you, expression blank. “yeah?”
you looked away, cheeks heating despite the cold, fingers twisting together. “you… you can take me home. i don’t want her to worry.”
the triumph that flashed in his eyes was barely concealed. his smirk threatened to split his face. so fucking adorable with your little pout and worried fingers. wordlessly, he reached behind him, pulling out a second, smaller helmet. he shoved it onto your head. it was heavy, too big, and smelled faintly of him. “get on.”
for a moment, you froze. the reality of the situation crashed into you. you were about to get on a motorcycle. with jungkook. the same motorcycle you’d seen that woman clinging to. a strange, hollow feeling twisted in your stomach.
he noticed your hesitation. “what now?” he grumbled, though his voice was less sharp than usual.
“i don’t… i don’t know how,” you admitted quietly.
fuck. the words, your shy confession, hit him like a physical blow. he wanted to pull you into his arms right then, to feel how you’d fit against his chest. instead, he swung off the bike. “here.”
his hands were surprisingly steady as he guided you, his grip firm on your waist as he helped you swing a leg over the seat. you squeaked, wobbling dangerously, and grabbed into his arms without thinking. he was solid beneath your fingers. he climbed back on, settling in front of you.
“hold on,” he commanded, his voice gruff. “tight.”
“no, thank you,” you whispered, your hands gripping the edge of the seat behind you instead.
he didn’t argue. he just started the bike and eased it forward slightly.
you let out a small, terrified cry and wrapped your arms around his waist, clinging for dear life. you were pressed flush against his leather jacket, helmet knocking gently against his shoulder blade.
“better,” was all he said.
he didn’t take you home. you noticed almost right away that the route was wrong. “jungkook, this isn’t–” you started.
he twisted the throttle. the bike surged forward, speed snapping your breath away. a scream was ripped from your throat, pure instinctive fear. but the fear quickly turned into laughter, breathless and surprised. the wind was sharp, the road rushing beneath you, and the only stable thing was the man you were holding onto. for the first time, you understood why he loved this so much. you understood a piece of him.
when he finally slowed and stopped at the cliff’s edge, your ears were ringing. he helped you off, your legs felt unsteady, and your breath coming in shallow. you pulled the helmet off, your hair a mess, and your cheeks flushed. the soft, breathless sounds of your laughter filled the silent space between you.
jungkook swore his heart stopped. it was the softest, most genuine sound he’d ever heard. and he can’t believe he’d made that sound happen.
below, the village lights glowed, quiet and distant.
“the view’s so beautiful,” you breathed.
“used to come up here when i was a kid,” he said, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “when i needed to get away from everyone.”
the words slipped out before you could stop them. “so, when you weren’t busy bothering me.”
he glanced at you, a flicker of something (amusement maybe?) in his dark eyes. “just to break it to you, you were part of the ‘everyone.’ sometimes even the loudest part.”
“hey!” you protested, turning fully to face him. “i was not loud!”
“you were. always humming, or talking to yourself about your drawings.” he kicked a loose stone with his boot. “drove me crazy.” you drove him crazy for other reasons too but you didn’t need to know.
you hugged yourself against the creeping cold. “well, you drove me crazy, too. always bothering me, pulling my hair.”
“you had those little ribbons,” he said, his smile turning into a faint smirk. “they were just… there. asking to be tugged.”
“they were not!” you insisted, but you were smiling now too, the old grievance feeling strangely fond in the fading light. “everyone had those and you only choose mine to tug!”
“yours were more outstanding,” he shrugged but in reality, his younger self had his eyes only set on you to ever notice the other girls’ ribbons anyway.
you both eventually fell quiet after a while, the easy laughter settling into a comfortable silence. it was a new space between you, one without barbs or tension. you looked back at the view, hugging your arms as a sharp gust of wind cut through your sweater.
he noticed the movement almost immediately. his eyes dropped to your arms, then back to your face. the softness from a second ago vanished, replaced by gruffness. “you’re shivering.”
“it’s getting a little colder.” you admitted.
“yeah. let’s go.” he turned and walked back to the bike, the moment of shared memory officially over. “cmon, before you freeze.”
the ride back was different. it was slower and deliberate. you kept your arms around his middle, and this time you didn’t fight it. it just felt like the right way to stay on. you even let your head rest against the cold leather of his jacket. he didn’t speed up or try to scare you, he just drove ahead carefully.
when he dropped you at your gate, you slid off, feeling strangely unmoored. you handed him the helmet, your fingers brushing slightly. “thank you,” you murmured, not quite meeting his eyes. the experience had thrown you. the annoying boy had shown you something beautiful, shared a piece of his world, and had been… quiet. it was disorienting.
he took the helmet, his eyes scanning your face, lingering on your flushed cheeks and still-bright eyes. but then, the corner of his mouth tugged up into that arrogant smirk you knew too well.
he leaned in just a fraction, his voice a low. “don’t go wandering off alone in the dark again, little bear.” he said, his voice dropping into a teasing drawl. “might start thinking you like my company.”
and just like that, the nice moment was over. you huffed, rolling your eyes. “i don’t need a ride. and i don’t like your company, anyway. you’re annoying.”
he chuckled, a low, knowing sound. his eyes swept over you from head to toe, slow and deliberate, making your face grow warm. “sure you don’t,” he said, his voice full of mocking doubt. he swung his leg over the bike. “keep telling yourself that, little bear.”
and with a loud, unnecessary rev of the engine, he took off down the lane, leaving you standing there.
you stomped your foot in frustration, but you couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips. he was infuriating. but for a few minutes up on that cliff, he hadn’t been. and that was the part you couldn’t stop thinking about.
. . .
the bakery was packed, especially since it was the day before the winter festival. it was warm, and the air smelled like fresh bread and sugar. you held your number, 42, while mandy tried to see over the crowd.
“we need more red bean buns,” mandy said. “at least ten. my aunts are coming, and trust me when i say they will eat everything.”
you giggled, the sound soft and warm against the bustling noise. “mandy, we already have two bags full. and the ginger cookies your mom made.”
“cookies are for snacks,” mandy said, very seriously. “this is for the festival. it’s different.”
finally, your number was called. you left with your arms full of warm paper bags. the cold outside felt sharp after the bakery’s heat.
“okay, we have the food,” mandy said, adjusting her grip. “now we just need to–”
you weren’t looking, and you walked right into someone coming out of the bakery. you stumbled back, and mandy quickly grabbed your arm to steady you.
“whoa! you okay?” mandy asked.
“i’m so sorry!” you said quickly, trying to balance the bags. “i wasn’t watching where–”
a sharp voice cut you off. “obviously. can’t you look where you’re going?”
your gaze snapped up. standing before you, wrapped in a nice cream coat, was cynthia. when she saw it was you, her face immediately twisted in something like disgust.
“oh,” she said. “it’s you.”
you smiled, happy to see a familiar face. “cynthia! hi! i’m really sorry i was completely distracted.” you let out a soft laugh, gesturing with your chin to the bags. “the smell in there is just… overwhelming.”
cynthia didn’t laugh. she looked you up and down, from your messy braid to your winter boots. “of course you’d get distracted by food,” she said, her voice sweet in a way that didn’t feel nice.
you just nodded. “it does smell amazing in there. anyway, sorry again. your boots are really pretty. are they new?”
mandy made an annoyed sound next to you.
“yeah and you almost stepped on them,” cynthia said coldly. “they’re expensive. you should pay more attention.”
“maybe you should watch where you’re going, too,” mandy snapped.
you gently squeezed mandy’s arm. “it was my fault, mandy.” you looked back at cynthia. “i’m really sorry. they’re lovely boots! i think i have a pair that’s kind of similar.”
cynthia looked at you like you’d said something disgusting. “i doubt that,” she sneered. then she pushed past you and went into the bakery.
you blinked, watching the door swing shut. a faint, confused frown touched your brow.
“what a bitch,” mandy said, her face red. “why did you apologize to her? she was so rude to you!”
you turned to your friend, the frown melting into a look of gentle concern. you placed a calming hand on her arm. “oh, don’t be mad. maybe she’s just stressed? the festival is tomorrow and heard she’s helping with the decorations. that’s a big job!”
mandy just stared at you. “you are too nice. seriously. someone could punch you, and you’d ask if their hand was okay.”
you laughed. “stop, don’t be silly.” you shifted the bags and linked your arm with hers. “come on, we have more important things to do, our dresses! i finished the embroidery. and i found a ribbon for your hair. we should try everything on tonight, tomorrow is going to be so fun.”
as you talked about the festival, you forgot about cynthia’s mean look. you were already thinking about the lights and the music and seeing everyone happy. you always believed people were good, even when they weren’t. and you never held onto bad feelings.
. . .
the hall was in utter chaos. people were moving tables, hanging banners, everyone talking over each other. jungkook carried two heavy boxes of decorations in one hand like they weighed nothing. with his other hand, he scrolled through his phone.
a message from jimin popped up with a blurry photo from a club, the bass probably so loud that jungkook could almost feel it through the screen. missing this yet? the text read.
jungkook scoffed and typed back a quick fuck off before opening another message. it was from a woman whose name he barely remembered, was it lana? kylie? a picture loaded. it was a mirror selfie, taken in what looked like a fancy bathroom. she was wearing a black lace bra and matching panties. one of her breasts were spilling out, her nipple pinched between her thumb and forefinger, it was already hard and perky.
thinking of you… and your big hands on me, the caption said.
he looked at the photo. his eyes moved over the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts, the arc of her back. it was a nice body, one he’d fucked months ago.
it was supposed to be an invitation, but he supposedly felt nothing.
and just like that he closed the app, shoved the phone in his pocket, and dropped the boxes on the designated table with a loud thud.
“thank you, son!” old mr. henderson said, clapping him on the shoulder. “don’t know what we’d do without those strong arms!”
jungkook just gave a short nod. “need anything else?”
“well,” mr. henderson said, pointing across the room. “the girls are struggling with the lights over the stage. can’t reach. could you lend them a hand?”
jungkook looked over. a small group of familiar women were standing on chairs, trying to untangle a string of lights. as he casually walked toward them, their conversation drifted over.
“...saw it myself,” jessica was saying, voice hushed but excited. “he gave her a ride home last night on his bike. pulled right up to her gate.”
sophia let out a mocking little laugh. “so what? he gave cynthia a ride too the other day. it doesn’t mean anything. he probably just feels sorry for her because their moms are friends.”
another girl chimed in. “right! it’s nothing but a pity ride. he’d never actually look twice at someone like her.”
jessica lowered her voice further. “you know, sometimes i think she’s not even real, all that sweetness, no one is that nice. she’s probably just pretending, thinking it’ll make her seem interesting.”
“totally,” sophia agreed. “it’s so fake. like, just stop trying so hard.”
they were so engrossed in their gossip they didn’t hear him stop right behind them.
“need help with those?” jungkook’s voice was flat.
all four girls jumped, letting out little shrieks. sophia almost fell off her chair. they whirled around, their faces flushing deep red, eyes wide with horror.
“j-jungkook!” jessica stammered, her hand flying to her chest. “we didn’t– you startled us!”
he just looked at them, his face blank. he didn’t look angry or anything, he just seemed… unimpressed. like he’d found something mildly distasteful on his bike’s seat.
“the lights,” he repeated, not acknowledging their panic. “you need them hung?”
“y-yes! please!” sophia said, her voice too high. she quickly scrambled off the chair, nearly tripping.
he didn’t say another word to them. he just took the string of lights from jessica’s trembling hands, easily reached up, and hooked them over the beam in two swift motions. the task that had stumped them for twenty minutes took him less than twenty seconds.
he glanced down at the group of them, who were now huddled together, silent and mortified.
“there,” he simply said. then he turned and walked away, leaving them standing there, the cruel words they’d just spoken hanging in the air around them, feeling uglier and cheaper by the second.
their whispers were still ringing in his ears. fake. pity ride. no one is that nice.
he felt a hot, unfamiliar anger tightening in his chest. it was about you. those girls. he’d seen you with them just earlier, not even an hour ago, laughing like you were all friends. were you seriously that blind? that naive? did you walk through life actually believing everyone had a heart like yours? it made him furious. the world was a selfish, shitty place. he knew that better than anyone. he’d built his whole life around that fact.
but you. you were the only person he’d ever met who was just… genuinely good. it was frustrating. it was infuriating. because you saw the best in everyone. you gave everyone that soft smile, that benefit of the doubt.
everyone except him.
you always looked right at him and saw the worst. you saw the act, the grumpiness, the trouble. and maybe that’s what pissed him off the most. you were kind to the whole damn village, even to snakes like those girls who talked shit about you behind your back, but with him, you were always ready with an eye-roll, a huff, a scowl.
he hated that you were so stupidly trusting of people who didn’t deserve it. and he hated, even more, that you were the only one who ever looked at him and didn’t buy his bullshit for a second.
the music started then, a familiar, cheesy folk song that they played every single year. he hated this song. he hated all these songs actually. he remembered standing at these festivals as a teenager, pretending he didn’t mind the music, leaning against a wall trying to look cool. he’d pretended to like it back then because he’d seen your face light up when the music started. he’d hoped, stupidly, that you might eventually want to dance, but you never did.
he scanned the crowded hall, his eyes looking for you out of reflex. he’d last seen you by the buffet tables, carefully arranging cookies on a platter.
then he spotted you. you weren’t by the food anymore. instead, you were standing near the fireplace, talking to a guy.
jungkook’s gaze sharpened. he knew that guy, he’d seen him sitting at the bar in the village pub a few nights ago, nursing a beer. the guy had been staring at him with a hard, unwelcome glare the whole night. jungkook had noticed but hadn’t cared enough to wonder why. just another local who didn’t like his look.
now, seeing him leaning close to you, it clicked. the guy’s name was jayden, he was pretty sure. and the dirty looks he sent him made perfect sense now. jayden was definitely into you. of course he was, who wouldn’t be? the guy had probably seen him near you, or heard some village gossip, and saw him as competition. he was probably scared he didn’t stand a chance.
watching them now, jungkook felt that thought like a punch. jayden was saying something, his whole body turned toward you like you were the only person in the room. and you… you laughed. you tipped your head back, and your whole face lit up with that smile jungkook hated how much he noticed. that soft, happy laugh of yours floated across the noise of the hall.
a hot, sharp twist pulled tight in jungkook’s chest. he loved that sound, it was the best thing he’d heard in this whole damn town. and it was being pulled out of you by some guy who carved wood for a living and glared at people in bars.
he started moving toward you without thinking, ready to cut in and put an end to whatever was happening.
“jungkook!”
the voice was bright, sharp. it cut through his focus. he stopped in his tracks and turned.
cynthia was practically gliding toward him, a perfect smile on her lips. she was wearing a tight red dress that had no business being at a village winter festival. she stopped so close he could smell her perfume.
“there you are,” she said, her voice sugary. “i’ve been looking for you.” she didn’t wait for a response. “they’re about to start the couples’ snowshoe race. we should partner up. with you strength and my... guidance,” she said, letting the word hang with a little laugh, “we’d win for sure. it’ll be so much fun!”
she reached out and put a hand on his arm, her fingers pressing in. her touch was confident, expecting a ‘yes’.
jungkook looked from her hand on his jacket back to her expectant face. then his eyes flickered over her shoulder, back to you. you were still talking to that jayden guy, your head tilted as you listened to him. you looked… happy. comfortable. a sharp and unpleasant pang hit him right in the ribs. he didn’t understand it. he just knew he didn’t like seeing it.
he looked back down at cynthia. her offer was simple. a game. a little distraction. no thinking required. maybe that’s what he needed. maybe if he was out there racing, he wouldn’t be in here watching you smile at someone else. he wouldn’t have to think about why it bothered him so much.
“whatever,” he muttered, giving a short, indifferent shrug. “fine.”
cynthia’s face lit up like she’d just won a prize. “perfect!” she said, linking her arm through his before he could pull away. “let’s go get ready. we’re so going to win this!”
as she led him toward the door, chattering about the rules of the race, jungkook let himself be pulled along. he focused on the simple task ahead; winning a stupid race. it was easier than thinking about the confusing, tight feeling in his chest, or the way your laugh had sounded from across the room when it wasn’t meant for him.
. . .
you were laughing with jayden. he’d been telling you about the wooden snowman he carved for his little cousin.
“so i was trying to make it jolly, you know? with a smile,” jayden said, shaking his head. “but the knife slipped. now it’s got this permanent grimace. my aunt said it looks more like gargamel than frosty.”
you covered your mouth, trying to stifle your giggle. “oh no! the poor thing.”
“the poor thing? you mean the poor kid! he took one look at it and hid behind the sofa.”
you laughed again, the sound warm. “i’m sure he’ll love it when he’s older. it’ll be a funny story.”
jayden smiled, his eyes on your face. “you always see the good side, don’t you?” he reached out then, his fingers gently touching the end of the braid mandy had woven into your hair. “this is cute, it suits you.”
you felt your cheeks get a little warm. the touch was… sudden. not in a weird way, it was nice, just... sudden. “oh, thanks! mandy did it. we wanted to match.”
his hand dropped, but he didn’t step back. if anything, he seemed to stand a little closer. his smile turned more serious. “hey, listen, after the festival ends tonight, i was wondering if you wanted to–”
a huge roar of cheering and applause cut him off. it came from outside the main hall doors.
both of you turned to look. jayden looked a little annoyed at the interruption, while you were just curious.
through the open doors, you could see the crowd gathered outside for the couples’ snowshoe race. and the first thing your eyes spotted was jungkook.
he was crossing the finish line, his long legs eating up the snow. he looked so focused, almost grim. and right behind him, attached to the same rope, was cynthia. she crossed the line a second after him and immediately let out a shriek of victory. she jumped toward him, throwing her arms out.
jungkook turned, and his hands came up to catch her by the waist, steadying her so she didn’t fall over in the snow. she was laughing, saying something up at him, her face flushed with victory and cold.
something inside your stomach dropped. it felt heavy and cold.
they were partners. for the couples’ race. of course they were. cynthia was pretty and fashionable and from the city, just like he was now. it made perfect sense, they probably had a lot in common.
you watched as cynthia kept one hand on his arm, smiling up at him. jungkook gave a short nod, not really smiling back, but he wasn’t pushing her away either. they looked… so comfortable together. were they dating? maybe that’s why he gave her a ride that day as you heard from jessica. the thought shouldn’t have bothered you, he could date whoever he wanted. he was annoying and rude and he flirted with everyone. it was none of your business.
but the heavy, unsettled feeling in your chest didn’t go away. it was only then that you realized you’d stopped smiling.
“looks like jeon won,” jayden said beside you, his tone flat.
“oh, yeah,” you said softly, forcing your eyes away from the scene outside. “i guess he did.” you tried to find your smile again for jayden, but it felt a little shaky. “sorry, what were you saying before?”
jayden leaned in a bit, his voice dropping so only you could hear. “i was saying… after the festival ends tonight, maybe you and i could go somewhere. just the two of us. maybe to the pub, or… my place.” he paused, letting the offer hang in the air. his eyes held a certain look you didn’t quite grasp. he meant his place. he meant drinks, then maybe moving to the couch, seeing where the night went. he’d liked you for a while, and he thought this was his clear shot.
your mind, however, was still stuck outside. you were seeing jungkook’s hands on cynthia’s waist, the easy way he’d caught her. you felt flustered and confused by your own reaction to it. so when jayden spoke, you heard the words but not the intention behind them. going somewhere after the festival with a friend? that sounded normal. nice, even.
you gave a small absent minded nod. “sure, that sounds nice,” you said, your voice polite and a little distant.
jayden’s whole face brightened. he leaned back, a confident, pleased smile spreading across his features.
just then, your mother hurried over, her brow pinched with worry. “sweetheart, have you seen rocky? they’re saying on the radio a big storm is rolling in fast. we need to get him inside.”
you blinked, your focus snapping back. “oh, no. he was with the kids outside.”
your mother just noticed jayden. “oh hello, jayden. how are your parents, son?”
“they’re doing well, thank you, auntie,” he said, ever the polite son.
you were already turning toward the door. “i’ll go find him right now, mama.”
you slipped out the main doors into the cold. the party was shifting inside as the first real flakes began to fall, thick and fast. you tried not to look toward the area where the race had been, where you could still hear cynthia’s bright laughter. you scanned the thinning crowd for a flash of scruffy brown fur.
then your eyes caught little kiki, the baker’s youngest. she was standing by the empty cookie table, her shoulders hunched and shaking with sobs.
your heart immediately softened. you rushed over and knelt in front of her, ignoring the cold seeping through your skirt. “kiki? angel, what’s wrong?”
she looked up, her face wet with tears. “i was p-playing with rocky,” she hiccupped. “i… i tried to give him my mitten, and i moved too fast. i scared him and he ran away!”
your eyes widened with concern, not blame. “oh, sweetie. it’s okay. where did he go?”
she pointed a trembling finger toward the dark line of trees. “that way. i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to!”
you pulled her into a quick, warm hug. “it’s not your fault baby, these things happen. i’ll go find him, okay? you go inside where it’s warm. we can all play together when i bring him back, yeah?”
kiki sniffled and gave you a wobbly smile, nodding. you wiped a tear from her cheek with your thumb. “go on, baby. inside.”
you watched her scamper toward the hall doors before you turned to face the treeline. the wind had picked up, howling now, and the snow was coming down in earnest, blurring the shapes of the houses. a deep worry settled in your stomach. rocky was so little, the wind would sound like monsters to him. he’d be so terrified and alone in this.
without another thought, you pulled your coat collar up over your mouth, bowed your head against the blast, and started to run toward the trees. the swirling snow had swallowed you up, and your footprint disappearing almost as soon as you made them.
. . .
jungkook held a beer he wasn’t drinking. the noise of the party felt oddly too loud for him. cynthia was still glued to his side, talking about a rooftop bar she went.
“...and the cocktails were, like, twenty dollars each, but the view was totally worth it. you probably know the place, right? it’s exactly your scene.”
he grunted, his eyes moving over the crowd, looking for you. he’d completely lost sight of you after the race. he scanned the groups by the food, the people dancing, the ones sitting by the fire. no sign of your yellow dress or that soft smile.
cynthia kept talking, but he wasn’t listening at some point. a cold feeling, different from the storm outside, started to creep into his gut, and he didn’t know why.
just then, someone called his name. he looked over and saw mandy, your best friend, pushing through the crowd toward him. he was weirdly relieved to see her.
“jungkook,” she said, ignoring cynthia completely. “have you seen y/n? i can’t find her anywhere.”
his frown deepened, a small knot of tension formed between his shoulders. he’d been unconsciously looking for you for the last ten minutes. “no,” he said, his voice flat. “i haven’t.”
the knot tightened. it wasn’t like you to just vanish. you were the type to be helping in the kitchen, or talking to the elders, or dancing with the kids. disappearing wasn’t in your nature.
cynthia let out a short, mean laugh. “she’s probably in the kitchen stuffing her face. she’s always hanging around the food.”
jungkook barely heard her. his mind was clicking through possibilities, each one making the knot pull tighter. maybe you had gone home early? but you wouldn’t leave without telling your mom or mandy. maybe you were outside getting some air? but the storm had gone from bad to dangerous in minutes. no one with any sense was out there now. worry began to cut through his usual irritation. something wasn’t right.
mandy turned her head slowly toward cynthia, her eyes hard. “maybe you should go join her. you look like you could use a few good meals.”
cynthia gasped, choking on her own drink. jungkook couldn’t help it; a sharp, approving smirk tugged at his lips. he liked your friend.
mandy turned back to him, dismissing cynthia. “if you see her, tell her i’m looking for her, okay?”
jungkook gave her a short nod. “yeah.”
as mandy walked away, the cold feeling in his stomach turned to ice. yeah, something was definitely wrong. he cut cynthia off mid-sentence. “i’m getting another drink.” he didn’t even wait for her reply, just walked away, leaving her standing there.
he started moving through the hall, his eyes darting everywhere. he finally spotted jayden by the old stone fireplace, talking with a couple of other guys. jungkook hated the sight of him, but he was the last person he’d seen you with.
as he got closer, their voices cut through the noise.
“...she said yes, man! finally!” jayden was saying, taking a swig of his beer. a smug grin spread across his face. “after the festival, she’s all mine.”
one of his friends, a guy jungkook recognized from the hardware store, nudged him. “no way, seriously? you finally scored a date with the fine teacher?”
“more than a date,” jayden said, lowering his voice but not enough. he leaned in, his tone full of arrogant confidence. “she agreed to come back to my place. just the two of us, man. tonight’s the night.”
the other guy let out a low whistle and clapped jayden hard on the shoulder. “hell yeah! fucking the prettiest girl in town? i knew you’d wear her down man. have fun, you lucky bastard.”
the words hit jungkook like fucking hard blow, making him stop dead. how dare they talk this low about you. a wave of pure fury washed over him so fast it blinded him for a second. his vision tunneled on jayden’s grinning face. his hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles turned white, hot rage exploded behind his eyes. he took a step forward, his body coiled to launch himself at jayden and break that smug smile right off his chopped face.
but before he could move, a small weight crashed into his legs. he looked down; a little girl had stumbled into him and now sat on the floor, crying.
oh shit. he hated kids. did he just make one cry? he had absolutely no fucking idea what to do. he just crouched down awkwardly, cursing as his big hands hovering near her little shoulders. “hey, uh kid. stop crying. uh, what’s wrong?”
the little girl, kiki, hiccupped through her tears. “i’m sorry… i– i scared her dog and he ran away. she went to find him but she’s not back yet!”
jungkook went completely still. “she? who you talking about, kid?”
“the nice teacher lady with the yellow dress. she went into the woods to get rocky a long time ago!”
everything else in the room snapped into silence. a cold, sheer terror, sharper than any he’d ever known, shot down his spine and locked his lungs.
you were outside. in the fucking woods. alone.
his little bear; who got flustered when the wind blew too hard, who smiled at everyone, who was too damn sweet and trusting for her own good, was outside in the terrifying storm right at this moment.
the image of you, small and scared in that swallowing whiteness, flashed behind his eyes. it was all he could see. the thought of you cold, lost, hurt, was like a fist squeezing his heart so tight he couldn’t breathe.
he jerked upright, so fast that he didn’t notice he made the little girl flinch. he was already moving, shoving past bodies, his only target was the heavy doors leading outside.
he hit the doors at a run, bursting into the violent roar of the storm. the cold wind slapped him, the snow blinded him, but he didn’t hesitate. he plunged forward, your name a desperate, silent chant in his mind, the only thing that mattered in the entire fucking world.
Summary: Jeon Jungkook has everything from wealth, brains, and the reputation of the perfect heir. But behind all of that, he hides one secret: you.
Warnings: fluff
Word count: 5862 | Status: Completed
a/n: aa im so sorry for the long wait, but as requested, enjoy our fav couple going through pregnancy and parenthood together <3 im also open for requests!! if you want to see any more scenes from jk & y/n, send me a message!
When the doctor confirmed the pregnancy the second time, showing the gestational sac on the monitor, Jungkook’s hand tightened around yours. You felt him, the tension, the fear, the awe, all layered under the surface of a calm and composed-looking Jungkook.
Jungkook stayed beside you the entire time. He was observing everything, memorized every instruction, and asked questions about every single thing related to pregnancy.
The both of you were in the room for more than an hour, longer than a usual check up would be, but since he owns the hospital apparently they have booked the whole hour for the two of you. It seemed to be useful though, since Jungkook was curious about everything.
He didn’t say anything in the car on the way home, because he was processing what just happened and what is currently happening in your lives.
You knew that look, you could recognize that he was reorganizing the world, his world, inside his head.
When you reached the penthouse, he carried you from the elevator to the bed even though you protested against it. You were sick, exhausted, overwhelmed, and Jungkook said he wasn’t going to take any chances.
That night, he barely slept. You felt Jungkook sitting on the edge of the bed more than once, felt his hand rest lightly on your stomach as if confirming something quietly to himself.
It was the closest thing to vulnerability he ever allowed himself to feel, and you didn’t mention it the next morning.
He didn’t either.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You didn’t expect pregnancy to be a strategic operation, but with Jungkook, it became one.
Week 7: He replaced all the pillows in the penthouse with pregnancy-safe ones. You didn’t even know there were dangerous pillows for a pregnant woman until Jungkook read one article that said such things existed.
Week 8: He installed purified humidifiers in every room. You barely felt and smelled any change in the air, but if Jungkook knew, you were scared he would try to find ways to reinvent the air. So you stayed quiet.
Week 9: He fired two bodyguards because they didn’t react fast enough when an intern bumped into you in the Jeon Retail elevator.
Week 10: He banned seafood from the entire kitchen, which was really sweet of him. Jungkook loves his seafood.
Week 11: He made Taehwan triple-check every restaurant you planned to visit.
At first, it annoyed you, then it comforted you because it is such an honor to have such a loving husband, but then it annoyed you again.
“You do realize I’m pregnant, not dying,” you told him one night as he reorganized your prenatal vitamins into labeled containers.
He didn’t look up, “You threw up again yesterday.”
“That is pretty normal and I checked with my doctor too,” you replied before adding, “I’m fine, Jungkook.”
He turned to you then with a stern look in his eyes, “I’m not willing to gamble on ‘fine.’”
You didn’t argue with him after that, you were exhausted as you had a long day at work and arguing with Jungkook is the last thing you would want to do.
At eleven weeks, your bump had barely started to show, but Jungkook noticed before you did. You were changing into your pajamas when he paused mid step, and his eyes narrowed slightly.
“What?” you asked.
He walked closer, knelt in front of you, and pressed his palm to your stomach, “It’s different,” he murmured.
You rolled your eyes, “It’s bloating.”
“It’s not.”
“It is,” you responded.
He stood up, kissed your forehead once, and said, “you’re showing.”
And he was right, you saw it the next morning in the mirror.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
The ultrasound room was dim, and the only source of light came from the monitor and the small lamp beside the doctor’s desk. You were 27 weeks now, far enough that the baby’s movements were regular and strong.
He sat beside you in the consultation room, and he has never missed any consultation. An old nurse who was attending to you mentioned he’s been one of the most active husbands she has ever seen. You couldn’t help but smile at the comment.
“All right,” the doctor said, “Let’s take a look.”
You laid back and Jungkook held your hand. His posture was rigid, not from fear but from focusing on the monitor.
“There’s the head,” the doctor said.
Jungkook’s grip tightened.
“And the spine, and here’s the heartbeat.”
The room filled with nothing but the sound of the baby’s heartbeats. Jungkook froze for a moment, the heartbeat always doing something to him that he never could put into words.
The doctor continued taking measurements and Jungkook memorized every number under his breath, his voice was low enough that only you heard it.
Then she paused, eyes looking towards the both of you, “Would you like to know the sex?”
You looked at him. He didn’t look away from the screen, but the pressure of his thumb increased slightly, you took that as a yes.
“Yes,” you answered softly.
The doctor nodded, “Congratulations. You’re having a girl.”
Jungkook went still, completely still.
You stared at him, searching for anything, relief, joy, or fear, but his expression was unreadable.
“Jungkook?” you whispered.
The doctor excused herself to print documents needed to be printed, leaving you two alone for a moment.
“Say something,” you murmured.
He finally looked at you, “A girl,” he said quietly.
You smiled and nodded, “Yes.”
He exhaled slowly, like he has been holding his breath for months without realizing.
“She will look like you,” he said.
You blinked, “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” his voice was filled with certainty, “she’ll have your face, your eyes, and your brain.”
You smiled lightly, “And your stubbornness.”
He didn’t deny it, which was unusual enough to make you pause. But he lowered his gaze to your stomach.
“She will be tiny,” he murmured, “too tiny for this world.”
Your chest tightened, “She will have you.”
His jaw flexed, “She will have us.”
He looked up again at you, “And I will not let anything touch her.”
You touched his cheek, “She’s not even born yet and you’re already overprotective.”
“That won’t change,” he said.
The doctor returned with the printed documents along with photo scans of your daughter. You thanked her, and Jungkook took the scans and documents from your hand without asking.
He stared at the first image, then the second, then the third where the label GIRL was printed clearly in the corner.
His fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the paper.
“Are you okay?” you asked softly.
“I’m not used to this feeling,” he admitted quietly.
“What feeling?”
He looked at the image again, and his voice lowered, “Fear.”
“Fear of what?”
“She will be tiny and fragile.”
You shook your head, “She will be strong.”
“She will be vulnerable,” Jungkook stated.
“Not with you as a father,” you replied.
He swallowed, “That’s what scares me.”
You blinked in confusion, “Explain.”
“She’s going to break my entire life open and I can’t let anything hurt her.”
You touched your stomach, “Then you won’t.”
Jungkook was silent for a few seconds before admitting, “I didn’t know I wanted a daughter until now.”
“And?”
“And I want her,” he said, “I want her to be born already.”
You reached for his hand and he gripped yours instantly, “You’ll be a good father,” you said.
“No,” he said immediately, “I’ll be better.”
You laughed softly, “That’s the same thing.”
He shook his head, “Not to me.”
Later in the car, he didn’t turn any music on. He didn’t speak for the first five minutes of the drive.
You thought he was overwhelmed again and just as you thought, Jungkook sighed and said, “A daughter will destroy me,” he stopped before adding, “in the best way,” he clarified.
You let out a shaky laugh, but Jungkook continued with a flat tone, “I’ll give her everything.”
You smiled, “I had a feeling.”
“And I’ll kill anyone who-”
“Jungkook,” you called him out before he could finish his sentence.
“I’m just stating facts,” he said calmly.
And you knew he wasn’t joking around or just saying it.
He drove the rest of the way home with one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped firmly around yours, his thumb brushing your hand now and then like he was memorizing this exact moment.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
Your bump was unmistakable now.
The penthouse changed with you. Jungkook had the nursery remodeled twice; once because the lighting was “too bright,” and the other one because he didn’t like the flooring material.
“This is excessive,” you told him one afternoon while sitting on the nursery chair.
He was examining the crib screws with the precision of a businessman trying to invest a huge amount of money in a new business, “No,” he answered, “it is not.”
You stared at him, “Normal parents don’t-”
“I’m not normal.”
You blinked, and let out a small laugh, “You said that too quickly.”
He crouched in front of you, placed a hand on your knee, and looked up with that calm seriousness only Jungkook had, “I will not let anything happen to you or the child.”
You brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes, “Nothing will.”
His jaw clenched, “That’s not how the world works.”
“Do you trust me?” you asked.
He nodded once.
“Then trust that it will all be okay.”
He exhaled slowly, “I’m trying.”
You smirked at him, teasing him, “You’re failing.”
“I know.”
But he was trying. At least in Jungkook’s way, he was trying.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You remembered the exact moment when the baby kicked for the first time. You were reading on the couch when it happened, a soft thump surprising enough to make you gasp.
Jungkook looked up instantly at you, “What?”
You quickly grabbed his wrist and pressed his hand against your bump.
And there was another kick.
His eyes widened then he froze before saying, “Again,” he said quietly.
Another kick.
He inhaled sharply, so soft you almost didn’t catch it, and bowed his head slightly as if giving thanks to something he didn’t believe in, “You’re doing so well,” he said.
You laughed, “I’m literally just sitting here, lazing around and reading.”
“No, you’re growing someone. That’s not ‘just,’” Jungkook said before kissing your forehead.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
It was 2:34 AM when you nudged Jungkook in his sleep.
Once.
Twice.
Jungkook groaned quietly, still half asleep, his arm tightening around your waist on instinct, “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.
You hesitated to even say it, it was a ridiculous thing to say at this time in the night. But your craving was so bad, you really needed to eat it.
“I want tiramisu,” you said quietly.
You waited for him to tease you or say something but Jungkook blinked his eyes open and stared at the ceiling, processing what you just said, “From where?” he asked.
You swallowed, “The Italian fast food restaurant in Gangdong-gu.”
He turned his head slowly to look at you, “That’s across town,” he stated.
“I know,” you said softly, already feeling guilty, “It’s okay. I don’t actually need it. I’m just having the usual dumb cravings.”
Jungkook was already sitting up.
“Jungkook,” you called out to him to stop him.
He pushed the blankets off, reached for his phone, and checked the time, “They close at 4 AM. I have time,” he said.
Your mouth fell open, “You’re not serious.”
He stood there, already pulling on sweatpants, “Did you want the regular one or the one with extra cocoa powder?”
You stared at him, stunned, “You’re insane.”
“Yes,” he agreed calmly, grabbing his wallet, “go back to sleep.”
You grabbed his wrist, “Jungkook. It’s the middle of the night, you don’t have to.”
He leaned down and kissed your forehead, “This is the first time you woke me up because you wanted something,” he said, “that means this is important.”
“That’s not how cravings work,” you mumbled.
“That’s how I work,” Jungkook replied.
He was gone before you could argue further.
You didn’t sleep. You laid there, half amused, half emotional, just staring at the ceiling while your baby moved lazily inside you like she approved of this entire situation.
Almost an hour later, you could hear the faint sound of the entrance door of the penthouse opening. You heard Jungkook kick his shoes off, the soft rustle of a paper bag, then his footsteps approaching the bedroom.
Once inside the bedroom, Jungkook set the box on your nightstand, “I can’t believe there were still people there,” he said in amusement, “I bought three of every flavor they have left; original, matcha, and oreo, just in case.”
You sat up slowly, blinking at the familiar logo on the box, “You actually went.”
He nodded, “There was no traffic.”
You laughed, then you felt your eyes tearing up.
Jungkook froze instantly, “Hey, hey, why are you crying?”
“This is stupid,” you sniffed, “you drove across town at three in the morning for tiramisu.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, opened the box carefully, and picked up a fork, “It’s not stupid,” he said, scooping a perfect bite and holding it out to you, “Eat.”
You obeyed, and it was perfect, exactly what you wanted, and exactly what you needed.
Jungkook watched you take another bite, then murmured quietly, almost to himself, “If this is what it takes to keep you both happy,” he said, “I’ll do it every night.”
You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently, “You’re going to regret saying that.”
He didn’t hesitate before saying, “No, I won’t.”
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
The final month of pregnancy was brutal in ways you didn’t expect.
Your back ached constantly, you couldn’t find a comfortable position to sleep, your ankles were swollen, your appetite kept on changing between starving and nonexistent, and your baby kept on kicking like they were in training for a combat sport.
And Jungkook watched every wince like it physically hurt him.
“Are you okay?”
“Tired?”
“Should I call the doctor?”
“Sit. Don’t stand.”
“No, I’ll carry you.”
“No, you’re not lifting that.”
“No, you’re not walking alone.”
It would’ve annoyed you if he weren’t so sincere about it.
At 33 weeks, he banned you from going to work, and your boss agreed before you could argue.
Jungkook was waiting outside the office that day, he didn’t tell you he would be there. He just stood by the car, hands in pockets, waiting for you.
When you approached, he opened the door, helped you in, and before you could argue with him about how you could’ve gone home by yourself, Jungkook said, “Don’t argue with me.”
And you didn’t because you were actually exhausted.
At home, he helped you upstairs, he massaged your calves without being asked. He brought you water and propped pillows behind your back. He also adjusted the AC three times until the temperature felt right to you.
Then he sat beside you on the bed, “How are you?” he asked.
You shrugged, “Heavy,” you leaned your head against his shoulder, “we’re weeks away, are you ready?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“Really?”
“I’m ready to protect you,” he said, “and I’m ready to protect our child.”
“That’s not what I meant,” you responded.
He exhaled, then admitted quietly, “I’m terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Of not being enough. But I’ll learn,” he said simply before adding, “I always learn quickly.”
You smiled at him, “You will be a good father.”
His jaw flexed, like the words hit him hard. Jungkook kissed your forehead, “When she is here,” he said, “I’ll show you.”
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You didn’t expect labor to begin quietly.
At 39 weeks, you woke up at 4:27 AM with a pressure so deep it made you exhale in pain. Jungkook was asleep beside you, and you nudged him, “Jungkook.”
He woke up instantly, like a switch being flipped, “What’s wrong?”
“I think it’s starting,” you said.
He sat up fully, “Pain?”
“Yes, but not too bad.”
He watched you for a fraction of a second, assessing you, before getting up and within one minute, he had your robe ready, your hospital bag over his shoulder, your slippers in his hand, and your medical file in the other.
Jungkook wasn’t panicking, he was operating in a mode beyond panic, he was laser focused.
The drive was silent, his hand gripping yours tighter every time you inhaled. You didn’t scream or cry, but at the third contraction, you squeezed his hand so tight which made Jungkook drive faster than he already was.
Jungkook didn’t bother finding a parking spot.
The car stopped directly at the hospital lobby. He was out of the driver’s seat in seconds, already at your side, already helping you into the wheelchair the staff rushed forward with. The car was left where it was, with the keys still inside.
You were escorted through restricted corridors, and straight into a private suite reserved for the Jeon family or the Jeon’s closest friends.
Jungkook never let go of you, not when the pain came in waves, not when the hours blurred together.
Jungkook stood at your side the entire time, unnaturally still and frighteningly focused, his attention narrowed to you and the life you were bringing into the world.
You gripped Jungkook’s hand again as the contraction hit harder this time.
“I’m here,” he said, “focus on breathing.”
“I am,” you snapped.
“You’re holding your breath.”
You inhaled sharply, “I’m fucking trying.”
“You’re not trying,” he said, “you’re visibly panicking.”
“I am not panicking.”
He tilted his head slightly, “Then why are you shaking?”
You opened your mouth to argue, but another contraction crashed through you, stealing the words from your throat. Your fingers clenched around his hand like it was the only solid thing left in the room, and Jungkook didn’t flinch.
He stepped closer, bringing his forehead gently against yours, “Listen to me,” he said, “in through your nose, and out through your mouth.”
Your breath stuttered, then followed his. “Again,” he murmured, “with me.”
“That’s it,” he said quietly, “you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to do.”
You let out a shaky breath, your forehead still pressed to his, “I hate this.”
“I know,” he replied without hesitation, “I’m sorry. I’ll be here with you.”
The doctor entered and checked your dilation.
“Six centimeters,” she said, “very fast progression, we’re moving quickly.”
Just right after she left, another contraction hit, longer this time. Jungkook stepped closer, bracing himself against the bedframe, his palm against your back.
“Look at me,” he said, “you’re doing well.”
“I don’t feel like I’m doing well.”
“You are.”
You exhaled shakily, “Can you just not analyze everything for one second?”
He blinked at you, “I’m not analyzing.”
“You’re literally calculating my contractions.”
“That’s not analyzing.”
“That is analyzing.”
Hours passed and it was finally time for labor.
The pain came in relentless waves and time blurred between contractions, instructions, and breathing you barely remembered how to control.
Jungkook never left your side.
He stood through every hour, steady and unyielding, holding your hand, grounding you when your strength wavered. Somewhere between exhaustion and determination, your body took over.
When it was time to push, Jungkook became all focus and control, he helped you through every second. After one final effort, everything broke open.
Your daughter arrived with a sharp cry and just like that, the pain was replaced by the sound that changed your life forever.
Time finally slowed down for you, you didn’t see her immediately as the nurses were cleaning and checking her.
But you saw Jungkook, his eyes never left you ever since the two of you arrived in the hospital.
His hand tightened around yours, “You did it,” he said quietly, like he needed you to hear it more than anyone else.
And in that moment, before anything or anyone else, you were still the center of his world.
He leaned over you, his hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t realise were still there, and then he was kissing you like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t keep touching you.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your lips, “I’m so sorry.”
You frowned weakly, “For what?”
“For this,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours, “for putting you through it, for letting you be in that much pain.”
“You don’t need to be sorry.”
“I do,” he interrupted softly, “I don’t ever want to see you like that again,” he whispered, “I don’t want to put you in this position ever again, I would take it from you if I could.”
You smiled at him, “I chose this.”
“I know,” he said, as he pulled back just enough to look at you, “you were incredible,” he said, “stronger than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
And in that moment, surrounded by soft cries of your daughter, Jungkook held you like you were the most precious thing in the room.
Because to him, you will always be the most precious thing.
The nurse walked to the other side of the bed and held up your tiny daughter, “Here is your daughter. Would you like to hold her, mom?”
You nodded, unable to trust your voice. The nurse moved carefully, placing your daughter into your arms, she felt warm and tiny, and her cries softened as she settled against your chest.
You looked down, her fingers curled weakly, her face scrunched in protest at the world she just entered, “Jeon Seoa,” you whispered her name which you and Jungkook have chosen for her.
Jungkook went completely still beside you.
He hovered at first, unsure where to touch, like he was afraid one wrong move would shatter the moment. His hand rested on your shoulder, then slid down to lightly brush your daughter’s back.
“She,” he stopped, “she’s real.”
“She is,” you said, tearing up.
“Hi,” he murmured softly to Seoa, like he didn’t want to startle her, “I’m right here.”
“She’s beautiful,” you whispered.
He nodded once, “She is.”
“She looks like you.”
“No,” he said immediately, “she looks like both of us.”
“She’s mine,” Jungkook added, “mine to protect, raise, and to keep safe. And you,” he said softly, “are everything I need to do that right.”
He leaned down, kissed your forehead, “rest,” he said, “I’ll take care of you both.”
“Will you hold her?” you whispered.
He hesitated, not because he didn’t want to, but because he wanted it too much. He took her gently from your arms, cradling her against his chest.
She settled instantly, and you saw Jungkook closing his eyes. For the second time in his life, Jungkook looked at peace, like the war inside him had ended the second she took her first breath. The first time he felt this way was when you said “I do”.
He looked at you again, “I love you and I love her.”
You smiled through the tears, “I know, fatherhood suits you,” you whispered.
He shook his head faintly, “No, she suits me, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I deserve the both of you.”
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
They came quietly.
Jungkook’s parents and your mother entered the room together, with light footsteps and hushed voices. When they came in, none of them looked towards the bassinet, all three of them looked at you instinctively.
Your mom was the first to move. She crossed the room without hesitation and took your hands gently in hers, “You did so well, I’m so proud of you.”
Jungkook’s mother stood on your other side, “You were very incredible,” she whispered. Meanwhile Mr. Jeon bowed his head slightly to you, “Thank you,” he said, “for bringing her into the world safely.”
After a while, your mom turned slowly toward the bassinet, “May we see her now?”
You smiled and nodded at them.
Jungkook lifted the baby gently and placed her into your mother’s arms, she cradled Seoa carefully, like something sacred, “Oh,” she exhaled, “she’s beautiful.”
Mrs. Jeon leaned in beside her, tearing up, “She looks just like her mama.”
Jungkook’s father stepped closer, hands behind his back, eyes softening as he studied the tiny face, “She has strong lungs,” he said quietly, earning a soft laugh from everyone.
Jungkook watched them all, his parents, your mother, his daughter.
And he felt something settled in his chest, he felt certainty.
Jungkook knew Jeon Seoa would grow up deeply and fiercely loved.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
The first weeks blurred in a sleep deprived and time didn't exist way.
You were discharged after two days. The first night home, the baby cried every 45 minutes. You tried to get up but Jungkook pushed a hand gently but firmly against your shoulder, “I’ll go,” he said.
“You can’t,” you muttered, “you have work.”
“I have a daughter,” he said, already standing up, “work can wait.”
He moved with surprising competence, which was funny, because probably in the first time of his life, the Jeon Jungkook absolutely did not have it figured out.
The first diaper change took ten minutes, and she peed halfway through and he swore under his breath, then apologized to Seoa like she understood.
“Did you just say sorry to a newborn?” you said, laughing weakly.
“Yes,” he said flatly.
“She doesn’t know.”
“She will,” he adjusted the diaper again, “and I’m not starting our relationship with negligence.”
He brought her back carefully, holding her like she was made of glass. He watched you breastfeed her, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, “Is it painful?” he asked quietly.
“A little,” you said honestly.
His jaw clenched, “I hate that.”
He tried not to hover, but he did, constantly.
If you shifted, he looked. If you winced, he moved. If you sighed, he asked what was wrong.
You snapped at him once on day four, “Stop watching me,” you muttered, exhausted, sore, hormonal, with a baby crying in your arms, “you’re making me nervous.”
And Jungkook adjusted, like he always did, but this time to your postpartum emotions.
“I didn’t mean it,” you said the next morning, finding him in the nursery halfway through folding tiny clothes.
He didn’t look surprised, “I know.”
“I was tired.”
“I know,” he said, nodding.
You stepped closer to him, “You’re doing well.”
He never believed he would be a good father by instinct, but he took the role the way he took everything in life: he studied, adapted, and executed.
Jungkook watched videos in the middle of the night about burping techniques. He learned how to swaddle tightly enough that she could calm down instantly. He experimented with different rocking rhythms until he found the one that made her eyes close the fastest. Jungkook has also memorized Seoa’s hunger cues, her “I’m overstimulated” cry, and her “I just want contact” whine.
The learning curve was steep, but Jungkook climbed it anyway.
God really took his time creating Jeon Jungkook.
One night, around 3 AM, the baby’s cry cut through the room like a siren, you tried to sit up but lost to Jungkook who was already on his feet, “Stay,” Jungkook said.
He picked Seoa up, held her upright, checked her diaper, and mumbled something to her. You watched him walk slowly, with her tiny body tucked under his chin. He was shirtless, his hair was a mess, and his eyes looked tired but focused. He rubbed circles on Seoa’s back and hummed a tune under his breath.
“You look tired,” you said.
He glanced at the clock, “She will want to eat in around an hour.”
“You can sleep, that’s my job anyway.”
He shook his head, “I’ll hold her for now.”
You stared at him, “You don’t have to be awake every time.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
Jungkook blinked once at you, “Because you shouldn’t be alone,” he said it like it was obvious.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
“I’m going back to work in a few months,” you stated.
His eyes flicked to you, “I know.”
“Are you okay with that?” you asked.
Jungkook held your gaze and said, “You told me that before we got married, that you would always work and earn your own money. And I didn’t marry you expecting you to change once we have kids.”
You sighed in relief, “Good.”
“But we’re not using a nanny,” he added.
You raised an eyebrow, “We might need one.”
“We have Taehwan.”
You rolled your eyes, “Not the same, I doubt he has the skills to raise a child.”
He frowned at you, “I don’t want a stranger raising her. We can send Taehwan to parenting programs.”
“Or we can find someone credible with experience that we can trust,” you argued.
“The two of us are good enough.”
You stared at him, “You’re planning to co-parent through sheer willpower with our corporate scheduling?”
“Yes,” he said flatly.
“Jungkook.”
“We’ll make it work. Taehwan will be reliable, I promise. I’ll enroll him into parenting programs starting tomorrow.”
You knew better than to push then. Instead, you watched what he did over the next few weeks.
Other than enrolling Taehwan into parenting programs where he’ll learn how to raise a child, Jungkook also rearranged his schedule.
He declined unnecessary dinners, he shortened business trips wherever possible, and he had a meeting room next to his office converted into a nursery, so she could be brought in on days you needed to work late.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
At three months, Seoa started sleeping slightly longer at night.
At four months, she laughed for the first time.
Jungkook was the one who made her laugh. He was changing her on the bed, telling Seoa about a plan on expanding the Jeon business to Europe, when she suddenly let out an abrupt giggle.
He went still, and you looked up from your laptop, startled. Jungkook stared at her, “Do it again.”
She didn’t.
He frowned, “You think she did it on purpose?”
“She is four months old,” you said, “no one knows what they’re doing at four months old.”
He stared another second then, without warning, leaned down and blew against her neck.
Seoa shrieked and giggled again. Jungkook froze, then did it again and by the fourth attempt, she was laughing uncontrollably.
“What?” he asked when he noticed you staring at him.
“You’re ridiculous,” you said.
He corrected you, “She likes it.”
“You like it.”
He didn’t deny that, either.
At six months, Seoa rolled over.
At seven months, she started reaching for him whenever he walked into the room.
At eight months, she started babbling more consistently.
“Say mama,” you tried to teach her one afternoon.
She stared at you, drooling on her chin.
“Mama,” you repeated.
“Mmm.. ba.”
Jungkook, from the sofa, said, “She said my name.”
You glared at him, “She did not say ‘Jungkook.’”
“She said ‘ba’ That’s clearly short for ‘baba,’ which is me.”
Then one night, around nine months in, it happened.
You were in the nursery, half asleep on the chair while Jungkook finished replying to an email on his phone. Seoa was in her crib, fussing but not fully awake.
Jungkook slid his phone into his pocket and walked over. He leaned against the railing, watching her roll from side to side, eyes squeezed shut.
“Sleep,” he murmured.
She whined softly.
“Don’t start,” Jungkook said, “your mother is exhausted, I’m exhausted. And you had three naps, that’s more than both of us combined,” he said to Seoa while pointing a finger at you and himself.
Then, Seoa started crying and kicking her legs in the air. Jungkook reached down, and rubbed her cheeks lightly, “Come on stop crying,” he whispered, “dada is here.”
She rolled to one side, her tiny hand grasping the edge of the crib rail, then, in a small and clear voice, she said, “Dada.”
Jungkook froze like he had been shot, he stared down at Seoa, “Say it again.”
She blinked up at him, and said it again, more confident this time, “Dada.”
You stood up slowly, “Did she just?”
He turned his head toward you, Jungkook’s eyes were glassy with tears, “She said dada,” he said happily.
You nodded, smiling at him, “She did.”
He reached down and picked Seoa up, holding her against his chest.
“Dada,” she mumbled into his shirt.
He closed his eyes, “I’m done,” he said quietly.
“With what?” you asked.
“With pretending anything else matters as much as this,” he said, “everything else is third.”
You stepped closer to him, “You know you can’t quit being Jeon Jungkook.”
“I won’t,” he responded, “but I can reorganize everything.”
“And what’s at the top of your list?”
“You first,” he said, “and Seoa second.”
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
The shift in your marriage wasn’t sudden. It didn’t happen in one moment, instead these changes happened across a series of small choices.
Jungkook took meetings from home more often, your daughter sometimes asleep in a sling against his chest while he discussed expansion strategies like nothing about the way he did it was unusual.
Jungkook has missed an industry gala because Seoa had a fever and he refused to leave her side, sitting by her crib for hours straight while you tried to convince him to rest.
You saw the change most clearly one night, when Seoa is now one year old and asleep in her crib, and you found Jungkook standing in the doorway just watching her.
You walked up beside him, “You okay?”
He nodded, “Yes.”
“Then what’s with the staring?”
He didn’t look away, “I like confirming she’s real.”
You leaned against the frame, “She says dada more than she says mama.”
“She should.”
“You’re insufferable,” you said, rolling your eyes at him.
You were quiet for a moment before asking, “Do you ever miss the time when it was just us?” you asked.
He thought about it for a few minutes, before finally answering, “I miss certain moments,” he said, “but I don’t want to go back.”
“Why not?”
“Because back then, I thought loving you was the most terrifying thing I’d ever do,” he said, “I didn’t know it was just training.”
“For what?”
He looked at you.
“For this,” he said, “for loving both of you.”
You laughed quietly.
He stepped behind you, slid his arms around your waist, and rested his chin on your shoulder.
“I’m not less intense,” he said, “I’m just more directed.”
“Directed where?” you questioned him.
“At you,” he said, “at her, and at making sure the two of you never have to be afraid of anything I can control.”
“Do you realize how extreme you sound?” you laughed softly.
“Yes.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
He didn’t hesitate when he answered, “I am your husband, and I am her dad, extremes are part of the job.”
You turned your head, and kissed his cheek.
“Jeon Jungkook,” you said quietly, “you’re doing well.”
He didn’t deflect for once.
He just held you tighter as he kept watching Seoa sleep, and let the world outside the nursery, the Jeon empire, meetings, obligations, expectations, shrink down to the one thing that finally mattered more than any of it:
The tiny girl who calls him, “dada.”
And most importantly, you, the woman who chose him.
Summary: Jeon Jungkook has everything from wealth, brains, and the reputation of the perfect heir. But behind all of that, he hides one secret: you.
Warnings: fluff
Word count: 5862 | Status: Completed
a/n: aa im so sorry for the long wait, but as requested, enjoy our fav couple going through pregnancy and parenthood together <3 im also open for requests!! if you want to see any more scenes from jk & y/n, send me a message!
When the doctor confirmed the pregnancy the second time, showing the gestational sac on the monitor, Jungkook’s hand tightened around yours. You felt him, the tension, the fear, the awe, all layered under the surface of a calm and composed-looking Jungkook.
Jungkook stayed beside you the entire time. He was observing everything, memorized every instruction, and asked questions about every single thing related to pregnancy.
The both of you were in the room for more than an hour, longer than a usual check up would be, but since he owns the hospital apparently they have booked the whole hour for the two of you. It seemed to be useful though, since Jungkook was curious about everything.
He didn’t say anything in the car on the way home, because he was processing what just happened and what is currently happening in your lives.
You knew that look, you could recognize that he was reorganizing the world, his world, inside his head.
When you reached the penthouse, he carried you from the elevator to the bed even though you protested against it. You were sick, exhausted, overwhelmed, and Jungkook said he wasn’t going to take any chances.
That night, he barely slept. You felt Jungkook sitting on the edge of the bed more than once, felt his hand rest lightly on your stomach as if confirming something quietly to himself.
It was the closest thing to vulnerability he ever allowed himself to feel, and you didn’t mention it the next morning.
He didn’t either.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You didn’t expect pregnancy to be a strategic operation, but with Jungkook, it became one.
Week 7: He replaced all the pillows in the penthouse with pregnancy-safe ones. You didn’t even know there were dangerous pillows for a pregnant woman until Jungkook read one article that said such things existed.
Week 8: He installed purified humidifiers in every room. You barely felt and smelled any change in the air, but if Jungkook knew, you were scared he would try to find ways to reinvent the air. So you stayed quiet.
Week 9: He fired two bodyguards because they didn’t react fast enough when an intern bumped into you in the Jeon Retail elevator.
Week 10: He banned seafood from the entire kitchen, which was really sweet of him. Jungkook loves his seafood.
Week 11: He made Taehwan triple-check every restaurant you planned to visit.
At first, it annoyed you, then it comforted you because it is such an honor to have such a loving husband, but then it annoyed you again.
“You do realize I’m pregnant, not dying,” you told him one night as he reorganized your prenatal vitamins into labeled containers.
He didn’t look up, “You threw up again yesterday.”
“That is pretty normal and I checked with my doctor too,” you replied before adding, “I’m fine, Jungkook.”
He turned to you then with a stern look in his eyes, “I’m not willing to gamble on ‘fine.’”
You didn’t argue with him after that, you were exhausted as you had a long day at work and arguing with Jungkook is the last thing you would want to do.
At eleven weeks, your bump had barely started to show, but Jungkook noticed before you did. You were changing into your pajamas when he paused mid step, and his eyes narrowed slightly.
“What?” you asked.
He walked closer, knelt in front of you, and pressed his palm to your stomach, “It’s different,” he murmured.
You rolled your eyes, “It’s bloating.”
“It’s not.”
“It is,” you responded.
He stood up, kissed your forehead once, and said, “you’re showing.”
And he was right, you saw it the next morning in the mirror.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
The ultrasound room was dim, and the only source of light came from the monitor and the small lamp beside the doctor’s desk. You were 27 weeks now, far enough that the baby’s movements were regular and strong.
He sat beside you in the consultation room, and he has never missed any consultation. An old nurse who was attending to you mentioned he’s been one of the most active husbands she has ever seen. You couldn’t help but smile at the comment.
“All right,” the doctor said, “Let’s take a look.”
You laid back and Jungkook held your hand. His posture was rigid, not from fear but from focusing on the monitor.
“There’s the head,” the doctor said.
Jungkook’s grip tightened.
“And the spine, and here’s the heartbeat.”
The room filled with nothing but the sound of the baby’s heartbeats. Jungkook froze for a moment, the heartbeat always doing something to him that he never could put into words.
The doctor continued taking measurements and Jungkook memorized every number under his breath, his voice was low enough that only you heard it.
Then she paused, eyes looking towards the both of you, “Would you like to know the sex?”
You looked at him. He didn’t look away from the screen, but the pressure of his thumb increased slightly, you took that as a yes.
“Yes,” you answered softly.
The doctor nodded, “Congratulations. You’re having a girl.”
Jungkook went still, completely still.
You stared at him, searching for anything, relief, joy, or fear, but his expression was unreadable.
“Jungkook?” you whispered.
The doctor excused herself to print documents needed to be printed, leaving you two alone for a moment.
“Say something,” you murmured.
He finally looked at you, “A girl,” he said quietly.
You smiled and nodded, “Yes.”
He exhaled slowly, like he has been holding his breath for months without realizing.
“She will look like you,” he said.
You blinked, “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” his voice was filled with certainty, “she’ll have your face, your eyes, and your brain.”
You smiled lightly, “And your stubbornness.”
He didn’t deny it, which was unusual enough to make you pause. But he lowered his gaze to your stomach.
“She will be tiny,” he murmured, “too tiny for this world.”
Your chest tightened, “She will have you.”
His jaw flexed, “She will have us.”
He looked up again at you, “And I will not let anything touch her.”
You touched his cheek, “She’s not even born yet and you’re already overprotective.”
“That won’t change,” he said.
The doctor returned with the printed documents along with photo scans of your daughter. You thanked her, and Jungkook took the scans and documents from your hand without asking.
He stared at the first image, then the second, then the third where the label GIRL was printed clearly in the corner.
His fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the paper.
“Are you okay?” you asked softly.
“I’m not used to this feeling,” he admitted quietly.
“What feeling?”
He looked at the image again, and his voice lowered, “Fear.”
“Fear of what?”
“She will be tiny and fragile.”
You shook your head, “She will be strong.”
“She will be vulnerable,” Jungkook stated.
“Not with you as a father,” you replied.
He swallowed, “That’s what scares me.”
You blinked in confusion, “Explain.”
“She’s going to break my entire life open and I can’t let anything hurt her.”
You touched your stomach, “Then you won’t.”
Jungkook was silent for a few seconds before admitting, “I didn’t know I wanted a daughter until now.”
“And?”
“And I want her,” he said, “I want her to be born already.”
You reached for his hand and he gripped yours instantly, “You’ll be a good father,” you said.
“No,” he said immediately, “I’ll be better.”
You laughed softly, “That’s the same thing.”
He shook his head, “Not to me.”
Later in the car, he didn’t turn any music on. He didn’t speak for the first five minutes of the drive.
You thought he was overwhelmed again and just as you thought, Jungkook sighed and said, “A daughter will destroy me,” he stopped before adding, “in the best way,” he clarified.
You let out a shaky laugh, but Jungkook continued with a flat tone, “I’ll give her everything.”
You smiled, “I had a feeling.”
“And I’ll kill anyone who-”
“Jungkook,” you called him out before he could finish his sentence.
“I’m just stating facts,” he said calmly.
And you knew he wasn’t joking around or just saying it.
He drove the rest of the way home with one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped firmly around yours, his thumb brushing your hand now and then like he was memorizing this exact moment.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
Your bump was unmistakable now.
The penthouse changed with you. Jungkook had the nursery remodeled twice; once because the lighting was “too bright,” and the other one because he didn’t like the flooring material.
“This is excessive,” you told him one afternoon while sitting on the nursery chair.
He was examining the crib screws with the precision of a businessman trying to invest a huge amount of money in a new business, “No,” he answered, “it is not.”
You stared at him, “Normal parents don’t-”
“I’m not normal.”
You blinked, and let out a small laugh, “You said that too quickly.”
He crouched in front of you, placed a hand on your knee, and looked up with that calm seriousness only Jungkook had, “I will not let anything happen to you or the child.”
You brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes, “Nothing will.”
His jaw clenched, “That’s not how the world works.”
“Do you trust me?” you asked.
He nodded once.
“Then trust that it will all be okay.”
He exhaled slowly, “I’m trying.”
You smirked at him, teasing him, “You’re failing.”
“I know.”
But he was trying. At least in Jungkook’s way, he was trying.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You remembered the exact moment when the baby kicked for the first time. You were reading on the couch when it happened, a soft thump surprising enough to make you gasp.
Jungkook looked up instantly at you, “What?”
You quickly grabbed his wrist and pressed his hand against your bump.
And there was another kick.
His eyes widened then he froze before saying, “Again,” he said quietly.
Another kick.
He inhaled sharply, so soft you almost didn’t catch it, and bowed his head slightly as if giving thanks to something he didn’t believe in, “You’re doing so well,” he said.
You laughed, “I’m literally just sitting here, lazing around and reading.”
“No, you’re growing someone. That’s not ‘just,’” Jungkook said before kissing your forehead.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
It was 2:34 AM when you nudged Jungkook in his sleep.
Once.
Twice.
Jungkook groaned quietly, still half asleep, his arm tightening around your waist on instinct, “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.
You hesitated to even say it, it was a ridiculous thing to say at this time in the night. But your craving was so bad, you really needed to eat it.
“I want tiramisu,” you said quietly.
You waited for him to tease you or say something but Jungkook blinked his eyes open and stared at the ceiling, processing what you just said, “From where?” he asked.
You swallowed, “The Italian fast food restaurant in Gangdong-gu.”
He turned his head slowly to look at you, “That’s across town,” he stated.
“I know,” you said softly, already feeling guilty, “It’s okay. I don’t actually need it. I’m just having the usual dumb cravings.”
Jungkook was already sitting up.
“Jungkook,” you called out to him to stop him.
He pushed the blankets off, reached for his phone, and checked the time, “They close at 4 AM. I have time,” he said.
Your mouth fell open, “You’re not serious.”
He stood there, already pulling on sweatpants, “Did you want the regular one or the one with extra cocoa powder?”
You stared at him, stunned, “You’re insane.”
“Yes,” he agreed calmly, grabbing his wallet, “go back to sleep.”
You grabbed his wrist, “Jungkook. It’s the middle of the night, you don’t have to.”
He leaned down and kissed your forehead, “This is the first time you woke me up because you wanted something,” he said, “that means this is important.”
“That’s not how cravings work,” you mumbled.
“That’s how I work,” Jungkook replied.
He was gone before you could argue further.
You didn’t sleep. You laid there, half amused, half emotional, just staring at the ceiling while your baby moved lazily inside you like she approved of this entire situation.
Almost an hour later, you could hear the faint sound of the entrance door of the penthouse opening. You heard Jungkook kick his shoes off, the soft rustle of a paper bag, then his footsteps approaching the bedroom.
Once inside the bedroom, Jungkook set the box on your nightstand, “I can’t believe there were still people there,” he said in amusement, “I bought three of every flavor they have left; original, matcha, and oreo, just in case.”
You sat up slowly, blinking at the familiar logo on the box, “You actually went.”
He nodded, “There was no traffic.”
You laughed, then you felt your eyes tearing up.
Jungkook froze instantly, “Hey, hey, why are you crying?”
“This is stupid,” you sniffed, “you drove across town at three in the morning for tiramisu.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, opened the box carefully, and picked up a fork, “It’s not stupid,” he said, scooping a perfect bite and holding it out to you, “Eat.”
You obeyed, and it was perfect, exactly what you wanted, and exactly what you needed.
Jungkook watched you take another bite, then murmured quietly, almost to himself, “If this is what it takes to keep you both happy,” he said, “I’ll do it every night.”
You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently, “You’re going to regret saying that.”
He didn’t hesitate before saying, “No, I won’t.”
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
The final month of pregnancy was brutal in ways you didn’t expect.
Your back ached constantly, you couldn’t find a comfortable position to sleep, your ankles were swollen, your appetite kept on changing between starving and nonexistent, and your baby kept on kicking like they were in training for a combat sport.
And Jungkook watched every wince like it physically hurt him.
“Are you okay?”
“Tired?”
“Should I call the doctor?”
“Sit. Don’t stand.”
“No, I’ll carry you.”
“No, you’re not lifting that.”
“No, you’re not walking alone.”
It would’ve annoyed you if he weren’t so sincere about it.
At 33 weeks, he banned you from going to work, and your boss agreed before you could argue.
Jungkook was waiting outside the office that day, he didn’t tell you he would be there. He just stood by the car, hands in pockets, waiting for you.
When you approached, he opened the door, helped you in, and before you could argue with him about how you could’ve gone home by yourself, Jungkook said, “Don’t argue with me.”
And you didn’t because you were actually exhausted.
At home, he helped you upstairs, he massaged your calves without being asked. He brought you water and propped pillows behind your back. He also adjusted the AC three times until the temperature felt right to you.
Then he sat beside you on the bed, “How are you?” he asked.
You shrugged, “Heavy,” you leaned your head against his shoulder, “we’re weeks away, are you ready?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“Really?”
“I’m ready to protect you,” he said, “and I’m ready to protect our child.”
“That’s not what I meant,” you responded.
He exhaled, then admitted quietly, “I’m terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Of not being enough. But I’ll learn,” he said simply before adding, “I always learn quickly.”
You smiled at him, “You will be a good father.”
His jaw flexed, like the words hit him hard. Jungkook kissed your forehead, “When she is here,” he said, “I’ll show you.”
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You didn’t expect labor to begin quietly.
At 39 weeks, you woke up at 4:27 AM with a pressure so deep it made you exhale in pain. Jungkook was asleep beside you, and you nudged him, “Jungkook.”
He woke up instantly, like a switch being flipped, “What’s wrong?”
“I think it’s starting,” you said.
He sat up fully, “Pain?”
“Yes, but not too bad.”
He watched you for a fraction of a second, assessing you, before getting up and within one minute, he had your robe ready, your hospital bag over his shoulder, your slippers in his hand, and your medical file in the other.
Jungkook wasn’t panicking, he was operating in a mode beyond panic, he was laser focused.
The drive was silent, his hand gripping yours tighter every time you inhaled. You didn’t scream or cry, but at the third contraction, you squeezed his hand so tight which made Jungkook drive faster than he already was.
Jungkook didn’t bother finding a parking spot.
The car stopped directly at the hospital lobby. He was out of the driver’s seat in seconds, already at your side, already helping you into the wheelchair the staff rushed forward with. The car was left where it was, with the keys still inside.
You were escorted through restricted corridors, and straight into a private suite reserved for the Jeon family or the Jeon’s closest friends.
Jungkook never let go of you, not when the pain came in waves, not when the hours blurred together.
Jungkook stood at your side the entire time, unnaturally still and frighteningly focused, his attention narrowed to you and the life you were bringing into the world.
You gripped Jungkook’s hand again as the contraction hit harder this time.
“I’m here,” he said, “focus on breathing.”
“I am,” you snapped.
“You’re holding your breath.”
You inhaled sharply, “I’m fucking trying.”
“You’re not trying,” he said, “you’re visibly panicking.”
“I am not panicking.”
He tilted his head slightly, “Then why are you shaking?”
You opened your mouth to argue, but another contraction crashed through you, stealing the words from your throat. Your fingers clenched around his hand like it was the only solid thing left in the room, and Jungkook didn’t flinch.
He stepped closer, bringing his forehead gently against yours, “Listen to me,” he said, “in through your nose, and out through your mouth.”
Your breath stuttered, then followed his. “Again,” he murmured, “with me.”
“That’s it,” he said quietly, “you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to do.”
You let out a shaky breath, your forehead still pressed to his, “I hate this.”
“I know,” he replied without hesitation, “I’m sorry. I’ll be here with you.”
The doctor entered and checked your dilation.
“Six centimeters,” she said, “very fast progression, we’re moving quickly.”
Just right after she left, another contraction hit, longer this time. Jungkook stepped closer, bracing himself against the bedframe, his palm against your back.
“Look at me,” he said, “you’re doing well.”
“I don’t feel like I’m doing well.”
“You are.”
You exhaled shakily, “Can you just not analyze everything for one second?”
He blinked at you, “I’m not analyzing.”
“You’re literally calculating my contractions.”
“That’s not analyzing.”
“That is analyzing.”
Hours passed and it was finally time for labor.
The pain came in relentless waves and time blurred between contractions, instructions, and breathing you barely remembered how to control.
Jungkook never left your side.
He stood through every hour, steady and unyielding, holding your hand, grounding you when your strength wavered. Somewhere between exhaustion and determination, your body took over.
When it was time to push, Jungkook became all focus and control, he helped you through every second. After one final effort, everything broke open.
Your daughter arrived with a sharp cry and just like that, the pain was replaced by the sound that changed your life forever.
Time finally slowed down for you, you didn’t see her immediately as the nurses were cleaning and checking her.
But you saw Jungkook, his eyes never left you ever since the two of you arrived in the hospital.
His hand tightened around yours, “You did it,” he said quietly, like he needed you to hear it more than anyone else.
And in that moment, before anything or anyone else, you were still the center of his world.
He leaned over you, his hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t realise were still there, and then he was kissing you like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t keep touching you.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your lips, “I’m so sorry.”
You frowned weakly, “For what?”
“For this,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours, “for putting you through it, for letting you be in that much pain.”
“You don’t need to be sorry.”
“I do,” he interrupted softly, “I don’t ever want to see you like that again,” he whispered, “I don’t want to put you in this position ever again, I would take it from you if I could.”
You smiled at him, “I chose this.”
“I know,” he said, as he pulled back just enough to look at you, “you were incredible,” he said, “stronger than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
And in that moment, surrounded by soft cries of your daughter, Jungkook held you like you were the most precious thing in the room.
Because to him, you will always be the most precious thing.
The nurse walked to the other side of the bed and held up your tiny daughter, “Here is your daughter. Would you like to hold her, mom?”
You nodded, unable to trust your voice. The nurse moved carefully, placing your daughter into your arms, she felt warm and tiny, and her cries softened as she settled against your chest.
You looked down, her fingers curled weakly, her face scrunched in protest at the world she just entered, “Jeon Seoa,” you whispered her name which you and Jungkook have chosen for her.
Jungkook went completely still beside you.
He hovered at first, unsure where to touch, like he was afraid one wrong move would shatter the moment. His hand rested on your shoulder, then slid down to lightly brush your daughter’s back.
“She,” he stopped, “she’s real.”
“She is,” you said, tearing up.
“Hi,” he murmured softly to Seoa, like he didn’t want to startle her, “I’m right here.”
“She’s beautiful,” you whispered.
He nodded once, “She is.”
“She looks like you.”
“No,” he said immediately, “she looks like both of us.”
“She’s mine,” Jungkook added, “mine to protect, raise, and to keep safe. And you,” he said softly, “are everything I need to do that right.”
He leaned down, kissed your forehead, “rest,” he said, “I’ll take care of you both.”
“Will you hold her?” you whispered.
He hesitated, not because he didn’t want to, but because he wanted it too much. He took her gently from your arms, cradling her against his chest.
She settled instantly, and you saw Jungkook closing his eyes. For the second time in his life, Jungkook looked at peace, like the war inside him had ended the second she took her first breath. The first time he felt this way was when you said “I do”.
He looked at you again, “I love you and I love her.”
You smiled through the tears, “I know, fatherhood suits you,” you whispered.
He shook his head faintly, “No, she suits me, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I deserve the both of you.”
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
They came quietly.
Jungkook’s parents and your mother entered the room together, with light footsteps and hushed voices. When they came in, none of them looked towards the bassinet, all three of them looked at you instinctively.
Your mom was the first to move. She crossed the room without hesitation and took your hands gently in hers, “You did so well, I’m so proud of you.”
Jungkook’s mother stood on your other side, “You were very incredible,” she whispered. Meanwhile Mr. Jeon bowed his head slightly to you, “Thank you,” he said, “for bringing her into the world safely.”
After a while, your mom turned slowly toward the bassinet, “May we see her now?”
You smiled and nodded at them.
Jungkook lifted the baby gently and placed her into your mother’s arms, she cradled Seoa carefully, like something sacred, “Oh,” she exhaled, “she’s beautiful.”
Mrs. Jeon leaned in beside her, tearing up, “She looks just like her mama.”
Jungkook’s father stepped closer, hands behind his back, eyes softening as he studied the tiny face, “She has strong lungs,” he said quietly, earning a soft laugh from everyone.
Jungkook watched them all, his parents, your mother, his daughter.
And he felt something settled in his chest, he felt certainty.
Jungkook knew Jeon Seoa would grow up deeply and fiercely loved.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
The first weeks blurred in a sleep deprived and time didn't exist way.
You were discharged after two days. The first night home, the baby cried every 45 minutes. You tried to get up but Jungkook pushed a hand gently but firmly against your shoulder, “I’ll go,” he said.
“You can’t,” you muttered, “you have work.”
“I have a daughter,” he said, already standing up, “work can wait.”
He moved with surprising competence, which was funny, because probably in the first time of his life, the Jeon Jungkook absolutely did not have it figured out.
The first diaper change took ten minutes, and she peed halfway through and he swore under his breath, then apologized to Seoa like she understood.
“Did you just say sorry to a newborn?” you said, laughing weakly.
“Yes,” he said flatly.
“She doesn’t know.”
“She will,” he adjusted the diaper again, “and I’m not starting our relationship with negligence.”
He brought her back carefully, holding her like she was made of glass. He watched you breastfeed her, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, “Is it painful?” he asked quietly.
“A little,” you said honestly.
His jaw clenched, “I hate that.”
He tried not to hover, but he did, constantly.
If you shifted, he looked. If you winced, he moved. If you sighed, he asked what was wrong.
You snapped at him once on day four, “Stop watching me,” you muttered, exhausted, sore, hormonal, with a baby crying in your arms, “you’re making me nervous.”
And Jungkook adjusted, like he always did, but this time to your postpartum emotions.
“I didn’t mean it,” you said the next morning, finding him in the nursery halfway through folding tiny clothes.
He didn’t look surprised, “I know.”
“I was tired.”
“I know,” he said, nodding.
You stepped closer to him, “You’re doing well.”
He never believed he would be a good father by instinct, but he took the role the way he took everything in life: he studied, adapted, and executed.
Jungkook watched videos in the middle of the night about burping techniques. He learned how to swaddle tightly enough that she could calm down instantly. He experimented with different rocking rhythms until he found the one that made her eyes close the fastest. Jungkook has also memorized Seoa’s hunger cues, her “I’m overstimulated” cry, and her “I just want contact” whine.
The learning curve was steep, but Jungkook climbed it anyway.
God really took his time creating Jeon Jungkook.
One night, around 3 AM, the baby’s cry cut through the room like a siren, you tried to sit up but lost to Jungkook who was already on his feet, “Stay,” Jungkook said.
He picked Seoa up, held her upright, checked her diaper, and mumbled something to her. You watched him walk slowly, with her tiny body tucked under his chin. He was shirtless, his hair was a mess, and his eyes looked tired but focused. He rubbed circles on Seoa’s back and hummed a tune under his breath.
“You look tired,” you said.
He glanced at the clock, “She will want to eat in around an hour.”
“You can sleep, that’s my job anyway.”
He shook his head, “I’ll hold her for now.”
You stared at him, “You don’t have to be awake every time.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
Jungkook blinked once at you, “Because you shouldn’t be alone,” he said it like it was obvious.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
“I’m going back to work in a few months,” you stated.
His eyes flicked to you, “I know.”
“Are you okay with that?” you asked.
Jungkook held your gaze and said, “You told me that before we got married, that you would always work and earn your own money. And I didn’t marry you expecting you to change once we have kids.”
You sighed in relief, “Good.”
“But we’re not using a nanny,” he added.
You raised an eyebrow, “We might need one.”
“We have Taehwan.”
You rolled your eyes, “Not the same, I doubt he has the skills to raise a child.”
He frowned at you, “I don’t want a stranger raising her. We can send Taehwan to parenting programs.”
“Or we can find someone credible with experience that we can trust,” you argued.
“The two of us are good enough.”
You stared at him, “You’re planning to co-parent through sheer willpower with our corporate scheduling?”
“Yes,” he said flatly.
“Jungkook.”
“We’ll make it work. Taehwan will be reliable, I promise. I’ll enroll him into parenting programs starting tomorrow.”
You knew better than to push then. Instead, you watched what he did over the next few weeks.
Other than enrolling Taehwan into parenting programs where he’ll learn how to raise a child, Jungkook also rearranged his schedule.
He declined unnecessary dinners, he shortened business trips wherever possible, and he had a meeting room next to his office converted into a nursery, so she could be brought in on days you needed to work late.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
At three months, Seoa started sleeping slightly longer at night.
At four months, she laughed for the first time.
Jungkook was the one who made her laugh. He was changing her on the bed, telling Seoa about a plan on expanding the Jeon business to Europe, when she suddenly let out an abrupt giggle.
He went still, and you looked up from your laptop, startled. Jungkook stared at her, “Do it again.”
She didn’t.
He frowned, “You think she did it on purpose?”
“She is four months old,” you said, “no one knows what they’re doing at four months old.”
He stared another second then, without warning, leaned down and blew against her neck.
Seoa shrieked and giggled again. Jungkook froze, then did it again and by the fourth attempt, she was laughing uncontrollably.
“What?” he asked when he noticed you staring at him.
“You’re ridiculous,” you said.
He corrected you, “She likes it.”
“You like it.”
He didn’t deny that, either.
At six months, Seoa rolled over.
At seven months, she started reaching for him whenever he walked into the room.
At eight months, she started babbling more consistently.
“Say mama,” you tried to teach her one afternoon.
She stared at you, drooling on her chin.
“Mama,” you repeated.
“Mmm.. ba.”
Jungkook, from the sofa, said, “She said my name.”
You glared at him, “She did not say ‘Jungkook.’”
“She said ‘ba’ That’s clearly short for ‘baba,’ which is me.”
Then one night, around nine months in, it happened.
You were in the nursery, half asleep on the chair while Jungkook finished replying to an email on his phone. Seoa was in her crib, fussing but not fully awake.
Jungkook slid his phone into his pocket and walked over. He leaned against the railing, watching her roll from side to side, eyes squeezed shut.
“Sleep,” he murmured.
She whined softly.
“Don’t start,” Jungkook said, “your mother is exhausted, I’m exhausted. And you had three naps, that’s more than both of us combined,” he said to Seoa while pointing a finger at you and himself.
Then, Seoa started crying and kicking her legs in the air. Jungkook reached down, and rubbed her cheeks lightly, “Come on stop crying,” he whispered, “dada is here.”
She rolled to one side, her tiny hand grasping the edge of the crib rail, then, in a small and clear voice, she said, “Dada.”
Jungkook froze like he had been shot, he stared down at Seoa, “Say it again.”
She blinked up at him, and said it again, more confident this time, “Dada.”
You stood up slowly, “Did she just?”
He turned his head toward you, Jungkook’s eyes were glassy with tears, “She said dada,” he said happily.
You nodded, smiling at him, “She did.”
He reached down and picked Seoa up, holding her against his chest.
“Dada,” she mumbled into his shirt.
He closed his eyes, “I’m done,” he said quietly.
“With what?” you asked.
“With pretending anything else matters as much as this,” he said, “everything else is third.”
You stepped closer to him, “You know you can’t quit being Jeon Jungkook.”
“I won’t,” he responded, “but I can reorganize everything.”
“And what’s at the top of your list?”
“You first,” he said, “and Seoa second.”
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
The shift in your marriage wasn’t sudden. It didn’t happen in one moment, instead these changes happened across a series of small choices.
Jungkook took meetings from home more often, your daughter sometimes asleep in a sling against his chest while he discussed expansion strategies like nothing about the way he did it was unusual.
Jungkook has missed an industry gala because Seoa had a fever and he refused to leave her side, sitting by her crib for hours straight while you tried to convince him to rest.
You saw the change most clearly one night, when Seoa is now one year old and asleep in her crib, and you found Jungkook standing in the doorway just watching her.
You walked up beside him, “You okay?”
He nodded, “Yes.”
“Then what’s with the staring?”
He didn’t look away, “I like confirming she’s real.”
You leaned against the frame, “She says dada more than she says mama.”
“She should.”
“You’re insufferable,” you said, rolling your eyes at him.
You were quiet for a moment before asking, “Do you ever miss the time when it was just us?” you asked.
He thought about it for a few minutes, before finally answering, “I miss certain moments,” he said, “but I don’t want to go back.”
“Why not?”
“Because back then, I thought loving you was the most terrifying thing I’d ever do,” he said, “I didn’t know it was just training.”
“For what?”
He looked at you.
“For this,” he said, “for loving both of you.”
You laughed quietly.
He stepped behind you, slid his arms around your waist, and rested his chin on your shoulder.
“I’m not less intense,” he said, “I’m just more directed.”
“Directed where?” you questioned him.
“At you,” he said, “at her, and at making sure the two of you never have to be afraid of anything I can control.”
“Do you realize how extreme you sound?” you laughed softly.
“Yes.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
He didn’t hesitate when he answered, “I am your husband, and I am her dad, extremes are part of the job.”
You turned your head, and kissed his cheek.
“Jeon Jungkook,” you said quietly, “you’re doing well.”
He didn’t deflect for once.
He just held you tighter as he kept watching Seoa sleep, and let the world outside the nursery, the Jeon empire, meetings, obligations, expectations, shrink down to the one thing that finally mattered more than any of it:
The tiny girl who calls him, “dada.”
And most importantly, you, the woman who chose him.
hey guys how r u hope u have a good day!! i want to continue to write the chapter 4 but i am not getting any interest and getting stuck while writing 🫠 so i want to write your requests! you guys can ask me to write anything 💭✨📖
pairing: managing partner/lawyer!jungkook x spoiled brat!reader ft. yoongi
genre: strangers/lowkey one sided enemies to ?? idk bec you irk him, angst, smut, like slight fluff, infidelity au (jungkook has a girlfriend aand it's not you yet?)
wc: 13.9k
warnings: this is a series! so please visit the killlah (jjk) [series masterlist] for a tiny summary and some extra info :3 noowww, in this chapter, you can expect: major oc crashout, mention of the b word, minor hyewon crashout, emotional cheating, mention of light smut, some slut shaming. oh and namjoon calls oc 'doll.' (deal.)
!!extra disclaimer!! you've got to excuse me once again because i'm tagging this as unedited! i haven't read the chapter one go yet, but i've read all the sections separately multiple tiems and i am just, so,so lazy,,,nnghmffgh it has been edited! the word count has bumped up to 13.9k from 13.3k...
Once again, Jungkook finds himself in a situation where he feels like he needs to apologise to you.
This time though, he has mixed feelings about it. And those thoughts had to be put on pause for now.
Undoing the silky makeshift blindfold from his girlfriend’s eyes, he gently pulls out of Hyewon, earning a hiss from her.
He pulled the condom off, tying it at the opening and tossed it in the bin with ease.
He was tucking himself back in when he heard Hyewon’s shy call, “Kook...” - “Mhm?” Jungkook walked back to her, caressing her hip as she rested in the same position for a few seconds, regaining her composure.
“I love you…” Hyewon smiles bashfully.
He hums, smirking at her through the mirror. “I know you do.”
She giggles then playfully frowns at him. Hyewon always liked to hear it back.
Words of affirmation was her love language. He liked to have fun with her and withhold it sometimes though.
Jungkook learnt very early on that Hyewon needed to hear him tell her he loved her.
By no means was she insecure, but she needed this little thing from him.
At this point in their relationship, it had simply become routine to utter those three magic words. Especially after sex.
And Jungkook never remembered struggling with that unspoken rule. He was always happy to follow it.
Until today, that is.
Although he was able to disguise it as just teasing, the words physically wouldn’t leave his lips.
Jungkook tugged a few paper towels out of the dispenser and wet it.
“Stay there,” he directed Hyewon to hold her pose as he squatted to clean her up.
Pushing her dress back up, he wipes off her slick.
Hyewon winced at the sensation.
Jungkook paused, “Sensitive?”
“Cold.” She shook her head, “But it’s fine, I need to use the restroom anyway.”
He nodded understandingly, continuing to clean her up.
When he’s done, Hyewon straightens up and limps to the little washroom attached to the powder room. “Babe, you should leave first, I don’t want people suspecting anything.”
“You sure?” Jungkook asks as he lathers his hands with sandalwood hand soap.
“Yeah, go on. I’ll have to retouch my makeup. It’ll be a while.” Hyewon assures him.
“Alright. I’ve gotta give Joon his tie back anyway.”
Petrified, Hyewon calls out to him, “Babe!” - “What?” Jungkook’s confused.
“You can’t return that now! We used it.” Her voice lowers on ‘used.’
Jungkook furrows his brows, “It’s part of his four piece set. He needs to send it to the dry cleaner’s together, Won. It’s no biggie.”
“Bu-” - Jungkook doesn’t wait for her, “I’m gonna go find Joon now. Don’t take too long!”
Before exiting the room, he stops by the same velvet wall you had clutched.
You had looked like you were about to burst into tears.
Had he been too insensitive? Or could you only dish it out but not take it?
In all honesty, Jungkook thought you deserved it. I mean, for fuck’s sake, he’s walked in on you and Namjoon before. And that too in his place of work! And not to mention all the bullshit you pulled earlier just today.
Shamelessly flirting with him, but then kissing and flirting with Namjoon.
Not to mention Min Yoongi. Jungkook found it odd for Yoongi and you to get along so soon.
And for you to call Yoongi ‘Mr. Min?’
That did it for him. He understood you were this way with everyone. ‘Mr. Jeon’ wasn’t a little secret nickname for just him.
Jungkook wasn’t fucking special. He deluded himself into thinking he meant more to you. It pissed him off. He had to get away from you immediately.
And if that wasn’t enough, you and Yoongi were getting along really well - dancing, clinging on to each other, becoming drinking buddies - it was weird. Neither of you seemed like each other’s types. Nor were either of you that friendly with just anyone. Hyewon’s living proof of it. His girlfriend seemed to want to get closer to you so bad but you were always dismissive of her.
How could he ever think of entertaining you?
So, just like that, he grabbed his girlfriend and fucked off to an empty corner of the hall.
And the outcome was… you witnessing it. Jungkook would’ve counted it as a win for him had you not looked at him the way you did.
Namjoon had no idea what had gone down in the ten minutes when you walked off to some obscure corner of the hall and returned with tears streaming down your face. You were bawling uncontrollably.
He couldn't get a word in when you only continuously chant ‘I don't like it.’
The man felt utterly guilty for leaving you to fend for yourself half of the night. You were his date after all.
Witnessing you break down like that, his mind went to the worst places.
When he’s unable to calm you down with words, he pulls you in a comforting hug, smushing your teary face against his chest. “You’re okay, doll. You’re fine…” Namjoon whispered repeatedly in your ear, rapidly rubbing your back.
The scene was drawing a lot of attention. No doubt, this would be the second most talked about event at the Eirene this year. Thankfully only half of the crowd stayed so long to have witnessed your crashout.
Seokjin, too, momentarily pulled away from his ‘host duties’ to check up on you. He brought you orange juice and a few pieces of toast in case you needed sobering up.
After a good few minutes of uncontrollable sobbing and hiccups, you finally settle into Namjoon’s embrace. You still struggled to stabilize your breathing, whimpering from time to time.
You hate them.
That nasty image was burnt into the back of your eyelids.
Every time you shut your eyes, you could picture Jungkook ramming into Hyewon from the back. Him smirking at you. It played in your mind in a loop.
You’re fish. Jungkook was dangling bait in front of you, but it felt so out of reach.
Your drunkenness made it harder for you to control yourself. The only way you could express yourself was through your tears.
These tears weren’t out of sadness though.
It was purely frustration. Well, frustration mixed with silly drunken emotions.
Just when Namjoon and Seokjin walked you back to the table, you spotted Jungkook emerging from the corner, stopping only a few steps away.
No Hyewon in sight.
This jerk better not try to talk to you. He better not even breathe in your direction.
“_____, say ahhh.” Seokjin attempts to force-feed you some bread. You scowl at him, eyes still wet with tears.
No doubt, your entire face was ruined and red now. Certainly not in the way you wanted.
Jungkook cautiously watched on as Namjoon cleaned your cheeks and nose.
His heart raced. You were a pretty crier.
When you caught another glimpse of him, you glared hard.
Oh. Kitty’s got claws.
Though he clearly overestimated you, he still thinks you’re overreacting.
There was another thought swimming around the back of his mind. Have you told them what you saw? And at the off chance you had, how the hell was he going to explain this to anyone? How was he going to explain this to Hyewon? He couldn’t let this affect her negatively.
Lucky for him, you weren’t a gossip, but that’s not why you chose to keep this to yourself. You’d absolutely be up to tattle had you not humiliated yourself by sobbing and breaking down so publicly.
Obviously, you weren’t about to reveal to people that watching your stupid crush fuck his annoying girlfriend terrorized you to the point of tears. You have a reputation to keep up around here; one that you swore you didn’t care about.
This would be scandalous for everyone involved. It’d just hurt more people, not that you care about hurting Hyewon or Jungkook. They’d have brought it upon themselves.
However, you aren’t too proud to admit that you were extremely jealous of Hyewon.
Admitting this to yourself (and to Somin later tonight) is a big step. But you refuse to dig any deeper than that.
ʚ𖹭ɞ
Right around the time you begin to actually lax and reassure Namjoon and Seokjin nothing funny happened to you, Jungkook finally approaches the table.
Instead of taking his original seat next to you, he saunters to the opposite side.
Pussy.
Jungkook would argue he was giving you much needed space. And he didn’t need to rub it in your face anymore by presenting Joon with his tie right now.
Jungkook discreetly stuffed the silky piece of clothing into his coat pocket as he watched you get coddled by grown men.
Instinctively, he wants to join in. Technically, he’s the reason you were in this almost inconsolable state. So, it should be him looking after your every need.
In his defence, he really thought you’d handle it like a champ. Not… reduce into tears.
Then the guilt begins to set in; the guilt of using his girlfriend to get a reaction out of you, of making you feel this way, of making his hyung worry about you.
It weighed on him, making him doubt all the choices he made in the last twenty minutes.
Should he check on you? Jungkook thinks giving you space would be better for you. And easier for him.
Just when he was about to leave the table to get a bottle of water, his girlfriend joins him.
Hyewon rests her palm on his shoulder, distracted by the sight of you.
She keeps her eyes on you who looked like you were recovering from something.
She sends Jungkook a questioning look, mouthing ‘What happened?’ to which Jungkook just shook his head.
Ever so curious, she couldn’t stop herself. “_____, are you okay?”
When Hyewon’s stupid voice floods your ears, you're instantly taken back to ten minutes ago... When she was a moaning mess under Jungkook.
Why was this woman out to get you?
You refuse to acknowledge her and pretend not to hear.
Even though she was loud enough that everyone at the table heard her.
So Hyewon tries again, “___-”
“Oh, my goodness, take a hint!” You snap at Hyewon.
The table just kind of… stills.
Jungkook looked taken aback.
“Oh,” Hyewon whispers weakly, blinking as though she’s been slapped, looking around at the other patrons to see if anyone saw her get yelled at.
Still, she tries to defend herself, “No, I just wanted to make sure you’re-” - “Can you just not?” You cut her off, having had enough of her ‘concern.’
“You’ve done enough…” You whisper the last part, not loud enough for everyone to hear but Hyewon catches on to it anyway. So does everyone else near you.
Hyewon’s lips part, ready to ask what that meant, but Jungkook gently catches her wrist on top of the table, whispering something that sounded like ‘let it go.’
Yeah, bitch, listen to your fucking boyfriend. You grind your teeth together at the display.
They’ve got to stop rubbing this in your face. You could probably get that clown kicked off of the face of the Earth if you wanted.
She glances at him, searching his face for answers, then back at you. Finally sighing, she brushes you off, “Okay, I’m sorry.”
You roll your eyes at the apology. She just has to be the goodie-goodie. Hyewon just has to shove it in everyone's faces that she’s the innocent little fawn who’s getting bullied by the big fat tigress.
You glare in her direction one last time.
To her right, you notice Jungkook looking unhappy. There’s a tiny little wrinkle forming on his forehead and he looks like he’s biting at his lip ring.
Jeon Jungkook was actually pissed off?
At you?
Please.
You find that really funny. Both literally and… not literally? It genuinely makes you laugh ha-ha that he’s angry at you but also, you aren’t ha-ha laughing because you think he has no right to be mad (and at you of all people.)
Still, you wanted to fuck the shit out of him.
You are actively fighting thoughts of throwing Hyewon off her chair and mounting her boyfriend. Pushing his face in your ample bosom as you dry hump him in front of the entire hall.
And maybe he’d be as rough as he was with his stupid girlfriend…
Now that broke your lustful daydreaming.
ʚ𖹭ɞ
After an awkward few minutes, Hyewon, throwing on an obviously fake smile, announces to everyone that she and Jungkook were about to call it a night.
Seokjin smiles at Hyewon, attempting to make up for your… unpleasant attitude. “We’re glad you came, Hyewon-ssi.”
She nods, returning the pleasantries.
Then she turns to Namjoon, reaching an arm out, “Good night, Joonie. Congratulations again.”
Namjoon rises halfway from his seat to hug her back, “Thank you, Hyewon. Get some rest, yeah?”
She smiles and nods before facing you. Her smile falters just a little when she sees that you’re still scrolling through your phone. Namjoon nudges you but you refuse to cooperate.
“Right,” She murmurs, mostly to herself.
Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she announces again, “We’re gonna say bye to the others.” She directs it at Jungkook.
“Sure, babe. I’ll be right behind you.” He complies, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Allow me to escort you?” Seokjin offers kindly, making Hyewon swoon.
She had been a little starstruck despite whatever just went down with you. It's not everyday that you got Kim Seokjin's attention.
As Hyewon glides away with your step father, Jungkook waits until they’re out of earshot before fishing something from the pocket of his suit jacket.
He twirls it loosely around his finger before dropping it on the table in front of you and Namjoon.
“Thought I’d return this now before I forget.” He clears his throat.
Discreetly, you eye the black object.
Namjoon frowns, picking it up. “My tie?”
What the fuck.
Your neck snaps towards him before you can stop yourself.
Jungkook’s grin tilts into an infuriatingly smug one. “Yeah. We used the hell out of it. Thanks.”
It takes Namjoon a few seconds to make sense of that admission.
And when he does: “Ugh. Dude…” Namjoon recoils, instantly flopping the tie back on the table. Jungkook just laughs, unbothered.
Namjoon then looks up at his friend to whine a little but he notices that his gaze was trained on you. Waiting.
Namjoon turns his head to look at you. You were now staring straight ahead, completely ignoring his friend. You were staring at nothing.
The blank expression painted on your face was obviously forced. Internally, you were seething.
But you don’t give Jungkook the satisfaction of a reaction. Not even a little stink eye or an eye-roll.
Not like he needed that from you anyway.
You continue to mask all of your seventy emotions with an expression of indifference.
This was all Jeon Jungkook would be getting from you from now onwards.
He pushes himself up from the table with an exaggerated grunt. “I better go find my girl.”
You dig your shoe into the floor, imagining his chest under it.
Jungkook lingers at your side for a bit, now tilting his head to gauge your reaction closely.
When he gets nada, he backs off slowly. “Bye, hyungie.” Jungkook smiles at Namjoon victoriously. “Drive safe.” Namjoon spits in exasperation.
Every bit of guilt and regret Jungkook felt for what he did disappeared into thin air when you lashed out at his girlfriend.
Jeon Jungkook couldn't believe your candour just now.
Yet it put a lot of things into perspective for him: the power he held over you, your feelings toward his girlfriend, and finally, he now knew exactly what you wanted. And he knew what buttons to push. And he finally knows your limits.
His intuition had always been right. You definitely could handle this; you just didn’t want to.
A curt ‘_____,’ is the last thing you hear from him before Jungkook goes on to find his stupid girlfriend again.
Namjoon carefully watches the two of you.
Huh.
Slowly, he begins to scratch the surface of what potentially may have gotten you in this mood. Definitely something to do with Hyewon and Jungkook. But what happened?
Sadly for him, you weren’t ever going to talk about it. You never got the whole ‘talking about your feelings’ crap. However, you did rant to Somin on the regular to get shit out of your system.
If only you could talk Jungkook out of your system too…
Hyewon sits stiff in the passenger seat of her boyfriend’s Bentley, arms crossed, eyes lazily following blurred car lights driving past them. She seems deep in thought.
Jungkook can sense a little something brewing in her mind. Akin to a few days ago, when you were in a similar position.
It’s an awkward parallel.
“Okay,” Jungkook says finally, glancing at her before turning back to the road. “What’s on your mind?”
She scoffs under her breath. “What’s going on with me…” She repeated before groaning into her palms, “Ugh. I don’t know.”
But he knew.
Jungkook hums lowly in response. “You’ve been sighing the entire ride, babe.”
She inhales sharply, then lets it out, as though admitting this was a huge step. “It’s _____.”
Jungkook’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. Even though he expected it, he feels his heart racing,
“She’s- God, she’s such a bitch sometimes,” Hyewon is uncensored, but she backtracks a little. “I mean, I’m sorry, but does she even realize how fucking unwelcoming she is?”
Jungkook stays quiet, allowing his girlfriend to throw everything out there. Hyewon was breaking.
“She got lucky. That’s all that girl ever did. Born in the right place, around the right people. She’s goddamn lazy- no, she has the privilege to be lazy. And she is! She doesn’t have to try. And she gets away with treating people like shit because no one ever calls her out on it.” Hyewon’s voice cracks a little. “If I treated anyone the way she acted towards me, I’d have no friends left.”
She glances at her boyfriend for a second.
Jungkook doesn’t know what to say to that because he had noticed some of that too.
Although you didn’t seem like a total bitch, you had a bratty side. Maybe you were a little blunt too.
Still, he had no clue his girlfriend had such intense feelings about that aspect of your personality. Or she just never let it show.
“I’ve been trying so hard with her...” She scoffs bitterly, “Trying to be her friend, make her feel included."
Throwing her head back against the seat, she exasperates, "But it’s just fruitless. We were so good all night and just now? All I asked was if she was okay. Why the fuck did she lash out on me?”
Sitting up straight, she shakes her head, explaining, “It’s like, I never know which _____ I’m gonna get, you know? I’m just… I don't know. I'm just- I’m done.” Hyewon whispered the last two words.
Well fuck.
Jungkook was half-responsible for that. He ignited that fire.
Reaching over, he brushes his hand on her clothed knee gently, “You don’t need her, Won.”
Hyewon covers his hand with hers, grasping it tightly.
He sighs, a little unclear about your and Hyewon's relationship. “I thought you guys were friends though.” Or friendly, at least.
Hyewon lets out a hollow laugh, “No…”
Then she recalls, “In fact, she only really started acknowledging me after she saw me with you. Before that, I didn’t exist to her.”
That comes as a shock to him. He fully expected her to have feelings about your behaviour earlier that night but not the rest of it.
Jungkook glances at his girlfriend and back at the road ahead, but his mind flashes back to that night - the first time he was introduced to you and Logan properly.
He’d clocked it instantly.
You were rough around the edges, distant, a little disrespectful too. He hadn’t truly cared. If anything, it intrigued him.
Sure, he ranted about you, but secretly, he’s been curious about you ever since.
Up to this very moment, he’s still curious about you.
Even after the shit you just pulled, he wants to dig deep into you. Every possible implication of that sentence was applicable.
Suddenly, your (overall) conduct with him and his girlfriend made sense to him.
You weren’t friends.
Hyewon was as good as some random woman to you.
“I feel like she’s never liked me,” Hyewon says, more quietly now. “And honestly, I don’t even know why I keep fucking trying with her.”
“Then don’t,” Jungkook offers bluntly. “You don’t have to go out of your way to appease her. Why try to befriend her at all?”
She whips her head toward him, eyes narrowing, “So it’s my fault she’s a cunt to me?”
“What? No!” Jungkook stumbles over the words, heat creeping up his neck. “I didn’t-” - He clears his throat, “That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying you don’t owe her any kindness she hasn’t shown you.”
He doesn’t blame her. After all, he too gets your appeal.
Hyewon quiets down for a moment. She turns her gaze back to the road.
Then she says, sounding defeated, “She likes you, though.”
Jungkook nearly swerves into the divider. “Hm?”
Yet he’s glad he decided to drive instead of being chauffeured. He doesn’t think he could look his girlfriend in the eye and have this discussion about you.
“_____ likes you.” She repeated, as if she was jealous of Jungkook.
And maybe she was, a little.
Hyewon looks at him incredulously. “Babe. _____ clearly likes you. She wants to hang out with you and Joon. She engages with you. She doesn’t give a shit about me, whom she met first, but with you and Namjoon? Even Yoongi and Seowoo! Seowoo?” Hyewon gestures loosely, “Totally different person.”
His heart is, once again, pounding too loud in his chest. “Is that… bad?” He asked, referring to her first claim.
She thinks for a second before sighing.
“No…” Hyewon admits.
Letting out a short, bitter laugh, she admits, “I thought I could take advantage of it. You know, worm my way into her little world through you. But she clearly doesn’t… want that.”
Jungkook feels the guilt like a punch in the neck.
Once again, he thinks about how he had noticed your attitude towards Hyewon. He even brought it up with her. But, he never addressed it with you like he should’ve.
Instead, he flirted with you, touched you, dreamt of you, fantasized about you, crossed every fucking line with you except for actually, officially, crossing the line with you.
Even now, your pretty, teary, flushed face is permanently embedded in the back of his mind.
Jungkook doesn’t have a plan but he asks anyway. “Do you want me to talk to her?” It’s instinctual for him to want to help Hyewon.
Hyewon’s reply comes just as fast, “No! God, can you imagine that? I don’t need daddy to fight my battles for me.”
He glances sideways at her, a pierced brow lifting.
She finally cracks a small smile, “Shut up. You’re fifteen.” Jungkook throws a hand up in defence and maybe slight confusion. They weren’t that kind of couple.
“I said nothing.” Jungkook feels a little victorious to have been able to slightly lighten the mood.
“But now that I think about it,” Hyewon’s smile fades just as quickly, “I… kinda don’t want you talking to her at all.”
“What?”
“I know, I know,” Hyewon rushes. “I’m not trying to be that girl. It’s not like I don’t want you to have female friends. You know I’m not like that. It’s just…”
“I know,” Jungkook nods along.
Hyewon groans and exhales, clearly frustrated, “It’s just her. _____. She’s been so fucking weird with me, I just… I don’t want her to have the satisfaction of being close to you.” At latest not before she herself has that pleasure.
Jungkook blinks, surprised.
“Man, I feel like I’m in high school again.” Hyewon lets out another helpless laugh, “I only had one friend who’d defend me from those rich, mean girls. I’m just so tired of feeling like I don’t belong.” She shakes her head, “Ugh, babe, don’t listen to me. I’m just tired and emotional now…”
Jungkook watched on sympathetically, “Won…” He was familiar with Hyewon’s past experiences with those classmates.
As much as he understood it, he couldn’t relate to it entirely. He never had it quite as bad as Hyewon. Male privilege and what not.
Stupidly, Jungkook indulges her insecurities, playing the supportive boyfriend role well. “It’s okay, Won. It-” He sighs, practically forcing the next few words out. “It’s not as if I’m that close with _____. Joon is. It might get awkward. But, if this is what you need from me, then so be it.”
He’s just shooting himself in the foot at this point.
“Gaah, I don’t know! You’re sweet, baby.” Hyewon runs her hand through his hair. “God. Why does some random woman have such a strong hold on me?”
Jungkook doesn’t say it but it echoes in his head: you and me, both.
Just in time, he turns into his street.
Desperate to move on to another topic, Hyewon forces a weird smile, “Remember when Jiah tried to hit on you all night? And then you blatantly ignored her the entire time and then made out with me in front of her?”
That was oddly specific. How could he not remember?
“I remember…” Jungkook blinked, a little confused. They were now parked in Jungkook’s garage.
She reaches over him to push his seat back. “I’m just reminiscing.” Hyewon smiles at her boyfriend before leaning in to kiss him.
Jungkook can’t help but wonder if she wanted him to read between the lines.
It takes you almost a week to (partially) recover from that day.
It wasn’t really about what you saw that night, it was what you did after you saw it.
Namjoon dropped you home and offered to stay. You refused because you weren’t in the mood for anything funny, or anything at all.
The first thing you did after walking through the threshold of your room was dump those flowers in your fireplace.
You only felt a tiny bit bad for it. Those flowers did nothing to you, but you hated who they came from and what it now signified. You didn’t want to keep apology flowers from fucking Kang Hyewon.
Otherwise, they'd have driven you nuts, just sitting on your bedside table.
Not a day had gone by when you didn’t excessively obsess over every reactive thing you did (that you could remember) that night.
Logan wasn't allowed to utter the words 'gala' or 'night' around you.
The one thing you did not regret was putting Hyewon in her place for overstepping your boundaries.
You aren’t sure whether or not it got through to her, but you aren't afraid of reminding her of it if you had to.
But, when it comes to Jeon Jungkook…
You fought the urge to look at news articles about him and needless to say, any photos or clips from the gala too.
Even your own! It was so unlike you to not find cute photos for your Instagram.
You’d been sent countless of them by all your friends (and Seokjin) but you don’t even want to acknowledge you were ever there. At least not yet.
Speaking of Seokjin; he had really surprised you.
He didn’t go running to mommy and tattle on you (so you assume since your mother never sent you paragraphs about your family’s legacy and image.)
Vague accounts of your outburst made its way to some snark subreddits but apart from that--- nothing major.
You suspect either Logan or Seokjin to have meddled. Either way, you’re grateful.
Even after all that effort of nothing ever making it to the big news channels or any remotely reputable online magazines, word of your little temper tantrum still got out in the office building and some social circles (through word of mouth, i.e gossip) but that was expected.
You have no way of confirming but it was most probably one of Hyewon’s little friends.
You just had to continue to keep a low profile, as you do normally.
Logan had graciously moved some things around and allowed you to work from home for a few (3) days after you sobbed to him about the incident.
Those three days flew by faster than you were ready.
Thursday morning comes for your throat.
You desperately wanted to skip some more but Logan demanded that you make an appearance at work. It was about time you returned.
The night before, you had the most vivid dream where you and Hyewon reversed roles.
But it wasn’t the kind of dream you’re thinking about. You were literally in her shoes, going to a new office, doing lawyer stuff you didn’t understand. And you tanked.
This is the mindset you woke up in: simply filled with dread.
You hope everyone goes easy on you.
Sua had checked on you which was sweet. You ranted to her about the gala in a conference call with Somin and Soobin, just not about what you saw though. That info was reserved for Somin only.
Apart from Sua, Namjoon and Yoongi had also called to check in.
Yoongi just gave you shit for acting like the typical Scarlet Hills socialite he thought you were. He really was a meanie panini.
And Namjoon… got the complete inside scoop from Jungkook before he ever tried with you, so you could not not talk to him.
While your first instinct was to ignore Namjoon, Yoongi gave you more shit for that, so, yeah, you spilled the beans for them. Not all your beans but enough.
It's so fun to be friends with men! Really!
No, but on a more serious note, Yoongi sorta kinda turned out to be the yin to your yang.
He didn’t always give in to you (like Jungkook had done so many times in the past.) For example, he proposed a friendly date. While you agreed, the only place you were willing to meet Yoongi at was this vegan Indian restaurant an hour away from town. Yoongi opposed it a lot. And somehow, he tricked you into joining him at some stupid country club under the guise of ‘picking up his golf bag.’ And he made you drive!
That was when you realised; you and Yoongi would not work romantically.
You needed a sucker like Mr. Jeon to cater to your every need.
Not that that was your goal or anything. You still only want to fuck him and dump him. That’s all.
But that didn’t mean you didn’t have a little fun with the cat-faced man. :p
If anyone’s curious, you’ve discovered that Yoongi’s really good with his mouth. He almost made you cum from only sucking and nibbling on your tits. Almost.
But you haven’t gone beyond that. You don't even know why.
At this point, you fully believe you’re cursed by the sex gods.
To solve this little mishap, you came to the most obvious conclusion. Since two negatives make a positive, you proposed a threesome with Namjoon and Yoongi. One that they both rejected.
They really needed to be inside your head to understand your logic.
It’d been MONTHS since a man made you orgasm. Doing it yourself just doesn’t feel the same. Believe it or not, you love the concept of giving up control during sex just for the thrills. You just can’t do that alone.
All this sex talk right before work was really killing your mood.
When you finally returned to the office, you were surprised by how… normal it all was.
Nobody stared or whispered about you. The world hadn’t ended because you’d cried and then snapped at a little bitch at a gala.
It was business as usual. You went on coffee runs for the office, updated everyone’s calendars, made survey forms for your coworkers as per Logan’s orders, etcetera etcetera.
If at all anyone was gossiping about you, they were at least decent enough to wait until you left the room. But according to Sua, nobody actually gave a shit anymore. Especially not the people in your office. They had come to know you and were already sort of endeared by you at this point, which was good to hear and a much needed ego-boost.
It’d be a blatant lie to say you weren’t a little worried about all of this.
Besides it wasn’t until lunchtime that you actually felt the slightest bit panicked.
You had to go down to J, K & K to see Joon.
Well, you didn’t have to do anything but the more you put this off, the worse your anxiety would get.
Also, he invited you. He had something to ask you. You were dying to know what the hell that was all about. He wouldn't answer your texts or calls either. He went to Yoongi school of manipulation.
So, you just had to suck it up and take your ass over there.
The anxiety stemmed from not having been around Jungkook in a while and the fact that he must know you've deliberately been trying to keep away from him, along with rumours.
Dare you say, you were a tiny bit embarrassed about it all.
But you know what? Enough of that.
Returning to work wasn't as humiliating as you had built it up to be.
Adjusting the straps of your heels, you strutted down to Namjoon’s office.
And you told yourself you weren’t about to look for him.
You pace around in the elevator a little.
Then it dinged.
And the elevator doors opened.
Directly to the one person you were hoping not to run into.
His hair looked slightly out of place, like he had just run his hands through it.
But that’s not the thing you’re focused on.
There was something on his body you hadn't ever imagined to see. It isn’t, like, something absolutely bonkers. It’s so normal. But not on Jeon Jungkook.
Glasses.
On him. Face.
But without wasting any more precious seconds, you flip your hair back and glide past him into the office, leaving behind a trail of your sweet scent.
Jungkook was dumbfounded.
So much so that the elevator he had been waiting for left without him in it.
Maybe he would’ve done something about the way you just… dismissed him had he not made important shopping plans with his other gir- his girlfriend.
You had only gotten one look at the man, yet you had every. single. detail. stuck in your head: his magenta tie, the grey coat hanging off his arm, his lip and brow piercings, the glasses… Oh, the glasses!
You didn’t know he needed them. You didn’t know you needed that.
They made him look maddeningly mature. Normally, that would turn you off but he just looked even hotter.
Very briefly, you pictured yourself stealing them, wearing them yourself as you rode his cock in his office chair. You let out a shaky sigh.
You were not built for crushing on unavailable men.
Then Namjoon’s voice broke your train of thought, “There you are, I was about to come looking for you.”
You tightly smile at him and slip into his office, not trusting yourself to speak just yet.
ʚ𖹭ɞ
Long story short, you’re going to a little retreat on a private island, courtesy of Namjoon’s father.
Initially, you weren’t part of the plan.
It was supposed to be just the winners of the Eirene, Seowoo and Hyewon by extension. But Yoongi’s assistant had to back out at the last minute because… well, you hadn’t paid attention to the reason.
The point was that they had room.
So, naturally, Namjoon invited you.
Since you’d been cooped up in your apartment all week, working from home and (unintentionally or not) avoiding people since the gala incident, he figured a few days away from the city might do you some good.
Maybe give you and Jungkook a fresh start.
However, when he mentioned the idea to Jungkook, it didn’t exactly go smoothly. Jungkook’s reaction was… less than enthusiastic?
“Why though?” He’d complained immediately, brows furrowed. “What’s the point of bringing her?”
Namjoon had rolled his eyes, “She’s my friend. And she could really use a break.”
“Do you like her?” Jungkook had pressed, half-serious, half-mocking. “Because if you’re interested in dating her, maybe take her somewhere else. On your own time.”
Hyewon had been the one to intervene, hugging Jungkook’s arm to calm him. “Kook, relax. It might actually be good for everyone. You, me, her. Maybe it’ll help… smooth things over.”
Translation: This is yet another opportunity for her to get to know you. Fuck whatever she felt or said about you.
With that, the decision was made.
Namjoon promised you that you wouldn’t have to spend more than a dinner or two around the lovebirds anyway.
You tried to wriggle out of it, claiming that Logan would never approve of you skipping out on work again, but Namjoon had a solution ready: “We’re all working, _____. We’ll leave after office hours,” He’d said matter-of-factly.
You gave it a thought.
Namjoon went on talking up the island.
You hummed, already picturing the gorgeous tan lines you’d wear after said retreat.
You weren’t entirely convinced, however, the idea of a natural tan, and maybe collecting seashells for your next art project, sounded good enough to sway you.
Because it’d be more meaningful if you found the shells yourself instead of order them off Amazon or an overpriced Etsy shop.
Of course, the fact that Jungkook would be there was…. not the reason, obviously. But a nice little bonus. Emphasis on ‘little.’
The next day, Namjoon came by your office just as you were wrapping things up for the day.
He waited, leaning against the doorframe, refusing to come in and help you finish because he knew that would take way longer.
After finishing off your final task, you reapplied your gloss and cleaned up any traces of tiredness.
“Ready to go?” Joon finally looks up from his phone.
You nodded once.
After saying goodbye to Logan - who gave you a pointed look that said be good - you followed Namjoon down to the parking lot.
You made him carry all of your luggage; two silver, hard shelled suitcases, one smaller than the other.
One contained all your toiletries and shoes, and the other packed your clothes and makeup. You had stayed up all night, washing and steaming your outfits.
Most of them didn't even make the cut.
You even chose more comfortable shoes today: platform, peep toed heels.
Your steps slowed when you spotted them.
Hyewon, standing near the back of the vehicle, chatting softly with someone you didn't recognise. And you could see Jungkook was already seated inside.
“Please tell me we’re not driving together…” You muttered to Namjoon under your breath.
He only hushed you. “It’s Kook’s car. And it’ll only be a forty-minute ride. You’ll survive.”
Forty minutes? You had no idea what kind of island existed forty minutes away, but okay.
When you neared the vehicle, you greeted Hyewon with a strained smile, which she returned sweetly.
“Need help with that?” Hyeown pointed at the little bags by your feet. You dumbly nod.
Whatever, she’s a better woman than you, blah blah.
She smiled at you once again before helping you load the suitcases in the trunk.
‘Helping’ was generous. She basically did it for you while you watched.
The car, you noticed, was a cherry red Jeep. Not exactly the vehicle you’d ever imagined Jungkook in. He struck you more as a sleek black coupe type of dude.
Cherry red was more your thing though.
You’d have liked to take the front passenger seat, but you assumed Hyewon had dibs on it.
So, you climbed into the back. Only to have Hyewon follow you in.
Great!
Whatever.
You pressed yourself against the window silently, determined not to look at Jungkook or acknowledge him at all.
That’s how you spent the first thirty minutes of the ride.
You had to listen to Hyewon yap about something or the other. About her mom, Jungkook’s mom, their family trip together, just relationship stuff.
She kept trying to ask you about your mother and Seokjin too. You assume it was in hopes of getting more intel on your family situation. But you couldn’t be bothered to give her more than a ‘I haven’t seen them all week.’
You were told Yoongi was already waiting at the resort.
You text him asking him to claim a good room for you but he wasn’t a good sport. He insisted all the rooms were ‘good.’
Boring.
Another thirty minutes passed and traffic had brought the car to a crawl.
Forty minutes, my ass.
Both Namjoon and Hyewon had dozed off, leaving you in near-silence with only the sound of Hyewon’s boring Spotify playlist blaring through the speakers lowly.
It only consisted of Taylor Swift’s last two albums. Or so you assume. They all sounded the fucking same to you. Like, are we kidding? You’d rather eat Hyewon’s shoe.
You’re kicking yourself for not charging your devices well.
You were dangerously close to passing out too but resisted.
You could sleep once you got to the place; on a comfy bed after a nice hot shower.
Shifting restlessly in your seat, you adjust your neck, trying to find a comfortable angle to rest in.
Jungkook’s eyes flicked toward you in the rearview mirror once.
Twice.
Then once again.
Finally, without saying a word, he reached over and held something out toward you.
A forest green neck pillow.
You stared at it, blinking.
He sighed. “Just take it. All that moving around is distracting.”
You glared at him, curling your lips into a childish pout.
He rolled his eyes and pushed the pillow further back at you until you reluctantly accepted it.
The moment your fingers sank into the plush memory foam, your resolve cracked. Memory foam. Your favourite.
You looped it around your neck, muttering a quiet thanks he probably didn’t hear. You barely even heard it yourself.
The pillow even smelt like him. It was oud-y and musky. It made you squeeze your thighs together.
Fuck me.
Why did Jeon Jungkook have to be hot?
You glanced at him once. He didn’t have his hot glasses anymore. Hm…
The memory of a specs-clad Jungkook would suffice for now, you think.
You sank back against the seat, staring out the window.
Thankfully, Jungkook switched Hyewon’s playlist to something he thought you’d enjoy: J-Hope’s latest singles.
And he’s right again.
When the car finally rolled to a stop, you blinked away the haze of near-sleep and looked out the window - only to frown.
You were at an ominous location. You could smell that ocean air, but you couldn't figure out where you were.
You straightened up a little, “Where are we?” You were already wary.
Namjoon only smiled, that kind of weird ‘trust me’ smile that only made you not trust him. “You’ll see.”
Carefully, you followed the group out, heels clicking softly against the ground until the realization hit you.
You were nearing a helipad.
That makes you stop dead in your tracks. “Namjoon, no.”
Namjoon grinned, glancing back, “_____, yes.” He continued on towards the ground staff.
Ugh, this idiot thinks you’re thrilled.
“No, Namjoon. You didn’t say anything about a helicopter.” You end with an unexpected whine.
Meanwhile, Hyewon was clutching Jungkook’s arm dramatically, squealing something about being scared too. “You’ll hold my hand, right?”
Jungkook smiled, tucking her closer. “I’ll hold it the whole way.”
Eugh.
Yeah, no. You’re going home.
“Joon…” You begin to build up your case but he doesn’t let you finish.
“Doll, it’s a very short ride.” He reassures. Hyewon jumps in too, “Yeah, _____, it’ll be fine! If we go down, we all go down together.” She giggled.
?!
Does she think she’s being funny? What is there to laugh about falling seven thousand feet to your death?
You make a strange face at her and her boyfriend who was leading her to the pick-up spot.
Just the idea of flying in a tin can with blades is… not fun. You’d like to live, please, thank you.
Namjoon turned 180 degrees, making his way back to you to drag you along to the front with him.
And he had to literally drag your weight because you’d forced yourself to go limp in his grasp.
Finally, he just decides to throw you over his shoulders making you yelp in horror. “Come on, drama queen.”
You flail around a little, watching Jungkook’s car get smaller and smaller.
When it's only a little red dot, you give up.
Then you hear a new voice.
“Hi, I’m Ivy. I’ll be flying you today.”
A female pilot.
For some reason, that helped settle your tummy.
Namjoon clumsily placed you back on your feet. You stumble a little but Jungkook holds you up.
You dramatically dust yourself off where he touched you.
He scoffed. Brat.
Ivy smiled warmly at you specifically, “It’ll only be twenty minutes, I promise. The weather’s perfect. It’s so comfortable up there even you could easily take a cat nap.”
You believe her. You nodded slowly.
Okay. Maybe you weren’t gonna die.
Even a person you've never met before can see how worried you were.
You unclenched your fist.
Some of the ground staff was loading your bags into a compartment on the side of the helicopter. Everyone was traveling light so it was all well under the weight limit.
Ivy lets you choose your seat first. You chose the middle one so you wouldn’t have to stare at the world below you.
Even though Hyewon was whining about being afraid, she goes for a window seat, so does Namjoon.
That left Jungkook only one choice: pressed to your side for twenty whole minutes. Plus the few minutes it takes for the safety instructions to be explained and getting buckled in.
You were all given headsets to communicate better. You skipped out on it because it’d have messed up your hair.
You swear you heard Jungkook scoff at you again.
Take-off was the most daunting part.
When you heard the blades whirling faster, you instinctively reached out to grab Namjoon’s arm. He hissed under his breath.
A few minutes in, you still held a death grip on his arm.
He just laughed softly, prying your fingers off. “Jesus, you’re cutting off my circulation.”
You couldn’t hear shit because you chose to forego the headphones.
So you just frown at him and cross your arms like a petulant child. But it wasn’t comfortable to keep knocking your elbows into the two gigantic boulders sitting on either of your sides.
If this was anywhere else, you’d have been very satisfied. But four thousand feet off the ground? Over an ocean?
Nuh uh.
You then press your palms to your exposed knees, holding onto them instead. It was a tad more comfy.
Jungkook’s watching you through the periphery. He realises you’re genuinely scared.
He gazes at Hyewon whose eyes were glued to the window. She occasionally smacked his boyfriend’s thigh to show him whatever she was marveling at: migratory birds flying alongside them, a random skyscraper, a horse? Everything.
She contrasted you who were staring down at your lap.
Your hair fell over your face, barring your vision from accidentally catching glimpses of the environment around you.
Your knuckles were turning white around your knees.
With a deep sigh, Jungkook placed his large, tattooed hand over both of yours. You jump. It scares the shit out of you.
Only for a second though.
You lax a bit and peek at him through your hair.
He’s looking at you.
With his free hand, he places the headphones over your ears and you let him.
In your defence, you were… still processing.
You also learn that the headphones did more than just allow everyone to speak to each other. They were also noise cancelling.
And you don’t want to admit it but you felt a lot better this way.
You blush a deep shade of red as you feel his heavy hand rub yours. You felt his fingers brush against your bare knees, making you squeeze your thighs together involuntarily.
…
You never wanted the ride to end.
By all means, screw that fucker, but Jungkook comforting you through a scary helicopter ride even after you’ve been rather unkind to him is… admirable.
Internally, you groan, wishing you had packed your new thrusting, rabbit vibrator.
The landing was smooth enough to make you feel stupid for ever doubting Ivy’s flying skills but not enough to make you feel neutral these kill machines. You still very much hated them.
Wobbly legged, you stumbled out after Jungkook.
This time, he doesn’t catch you.
Just like that, your brief admiration for him ended right there.
Jerk.
You vowed you’d never let Namjoon trick you into bullshit like this ever again.
By the helipad, two golf carts waited to take you to the resort.
You climbed into one with Namjoon, Hyewon, and Jungkook while your suitcases were loaded onto the other.
The ride was short and breezy. Even a little healing.
The cool night island air hits your face from all directions and the scent of salt and flowers curl in through the open sides; it’d put anyone in a good mood.
The villa, well, resort, technically- it was stunning.
Thank you, Mr. Kim.
It was a Tuscan style villa with creamy stone walls, cobblestone walkways lined with beautiful flower bearing bushes and warm amber lighting that made everything look and feel like it was the early 2000s.
Like any typical resort, staff members greeted you at the entrance, handing out chilled towels and colourful welcome drinks.
You accepted both, immediately taking a long sip from your orange and pink drink. Yum, yum.
As you were being led inside, someone began explaining the amenities; a quick list of spa treatments, private cabanas, infinity pools, yadda yadda, but your brain only half-registered any of it.
Until one particular phrase caught your attention.
“…and we have a two-Michelin-star pastry chef visiting us for the weekend.”
Ooh, bingo.
You knew exactly what your plans for the night were: a warm bubble bath, maybe a quick nap, and then room service from that dessert menu that you just know is about to be scrumptious, as you watch Gilmore Girls for, like, the eleventh time.
You almost moan out loud, thinking about all the tiramisu you’re about to gobble.
As everyone slowly began dispersing toward the suites, you felt a presence behind you. Then a light arm slipped around your waist from the side, startling you.
You peer at the figure. “Yoongi?” You blinked.
He grinned lazily, doing the same to Namjoon who stood beside you, before moving on to greet Hyewon and Jungkook with a similar warmth. He seems a bit dazed.
“Just came to say hi,” He pointed to your left with his chin, “In case I don’t see you guys later tonight…”
You all follow his gaze which lands on a gorgeous woman in a tiny black dress. She smiles and waves.
Ohhhh. Cute! You giggle and wave back at her.
Yoongi was tipsy.
“Ah, I see why you were in such a hurry,” Namjoon teased. Yoongi just shrugged.
Before you could even comment, Hyewon clapped her hands together. “Okay! Since we’re all in a hurry right now,” Nobody’s in a hurry for anything… “You’re all invited to our suite in exactly two hours. We’re hosting a casual dinner! Yoongi, you can bring your date!”
Jungkook nodded along as she spoke, with his arm looped around her shoulders.
Namjoon smiled politely. Even Yoongi gave her a little thumbs up in agreement.
Crickets.
As the silence stretched for a second too long, you realized they were all looking at you.
Oh, they wanted an answer this instant.
You blinked. “Oh. I’m okay. I think I’ll just sleep.”
Hyewon’s smile faltered for a second, barely noticeable, but you still caught it. As did everyone else.
You could tell she didn’t want to believe you’d turned her down for no reason. It was easier for her to assume you were unwell than to accept you just didn’t want to go.
Namjoon shot you a vague ‘I’m disappointed in you’ look. Jungkook’s sported more of a… frown? Like you'd kicked his dog or something. Well, you suppose you kinda did.
Okay then. Can't please everyone now, can ya?
Not wasting a moment longer, you smile. “Good night!” You chirp and follow one of the concierges down a hallway toward your room. Your luggage follows you.
ʚ𖹭ɞ
As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you exhaled, rolling your shoulders back.
Why the hell was this your fault again? You toss your handbag on the floor.
You don’t understand why Hyewon wants to play host when everything is paid for by Namjoon’s dad. You aren’t trying to be… bitchy? A snob? Whatever the word is, you weren’t it. Your confusion is genuine. She ‘expected’ everyone in her and Jungkook’s suite for dinner.
Sucks to be her because you have big plans to pig out in your little room tonight.
After that hell of a car ride? Having to sit with the couple, forced to listen to their vacation plans for December. Renting a ski chalet with Jungkook’s family. Super original. And who plans trips more than half a year ahead?
And then the godforsaken chopper- you don’t even want to think about it and accidentally relive it.
You’d rather be able to pick your own dinner rather than force yourself to eat whatever crap Hyewon selected.
I mean, she never asked you if you had any allergies or for anyone’s preferences. You can’t eat gluten this week. Or corn, because it sucks.
It’s better than showing up and being rude to the host (because of the host’s own neglectfulness.)
There’s zero reason for you to feel bad about it. It’s not as if all their efforts will go to waste if one person skips. The others were still going to be there to enjoy it and praise her.
Ugh. You groan before peeling your clothes off your body. You slip into the bathrobe provided by the Brando. Mm, soft.
You call room service to set up a relaxing, much needed bath for yourself.
While it gets ready for you, you facetime Somin.
You reiterate your plans for the night to her. To nobody’s surprise, she supports your right to stay in rather than show up at Hyewon and Jungkook’s.
You end up staying on call with her (briefly adding Logan later,) all night long while still doing everything else you planned to.
The next morning, Jungkook spots you strutting into the restaurant in Prada SS 2009 heels and an itsy bitsy striped bikini top and skirt with something that looks an awful lot like a Hannah Montana beach towel lazily draped over you.
You only threw the towel on because the restaurant wouldn’t let you in without a cover-up. It didn’t do much covering anyway which was just the way you liked it.
With his eyes glued to your body, Jungkook didn’t even notice Yoongi in pursuit.
Hyewon was still explaining to the waitress how she wanted her guacamole prepared, too occupied to notice whatever was going on there.
You and Yoongi were the last ones there.
Since Namjoon was off snorkeling with the dolphins or whatever, it was just the four of you.
You were preparing to skip out on this breakfast date but Yoongi came barging into your room and threatened you to show up because Namjoon put him on _____ responsibility.
It’d have been rude to bail a second time.
Not that you care. You sincerely could not be bothered about how Hyewon felt.
You’d like to point out once again that she was not the host, and nor was she the person whose invite you accepted. Namjoon was.
Anyway, Yoongi ate you out: first, through your panties for five whole minutes before discarding them completely, then he only cleaned you up with his tongue. He hadn’t let you finish.
Instead, he held your orgasm over your head and made you attend breakfast.
What were you gonna do? Say no? You tried but he was very persuasive.
“Oh, hello!” Hyewon cheerfully greeted you and Yoongi.
Her eyes flitted over to Yoongi’s arm behind your lower back. He was helping you into your chair. “Oh, when did this happen?”
You followed her gaze, looking down at yourself, and then blinked up at her. “When did what happen?”
“Thiiiss,” she said with a teasing little grin, gesturing between you and Yoongi. “I just didn’t know you two were close. You were with Namjoon before.”
Yoongi hummed, “We’ve become close over the week.” He thought nothing of it. But you knew what was brewing in her head. It’s always about relationships with this woman.
Hyewon’s eyes widened slightly at his tone. She looked back at Jungkook who was now fully focused on your conversation too.
They hadn’t necessarily heard Yoongi speak of anyone like that before. And since you're a woman and he’s a man and men can never be friends with women, they were understandably taken aback. Note the sarcasm.
Hyewon laughed delicately, a little in disbelief, “Wow, really?” Then she goes on to say, “Oh, my god, this reminds me-” She waves her hands around to express her disagreement, “-you know, I’ve always detested that term: homie hopper.” She uses air quotes.
Yoongi and Jungkook’s eyes snap to Hyewon.
Hyewon cringes. “It’s such an unnecessary misogynistic term. Like, people can do whatever they want.”
Then why bring it up in the first place?
You almost laugh in her face because of how bad she was at shading people. Though, that didn’t stop you from feeling a bit of discomfort because everyone at the table understood what she was hinting at.
As much as you’d like to say you weren’t hurt, it stung a tiny bit. Which was crazy because you never cared what most people thought of you, let alone someone like Hyewon, whom you don’t even have a real opinion on.
Jungkook’s brow raised, still processing the words that just exited his girlfriend’s mouth.
On the other hand, Yoongi was quick with his defense. “Why say it then?” His tone wasn’t accusatory or sharp, but he feigned confusion.
“I wasn’t, I mean, I didn’t mean it in that way. God, I’d never.” Hyewon explained smoothly.
Yoongi wasn’t having it, “We’re not stupid, Hyewon.” He copied her nonchalant tone.
Before Hyewon could respond, her boyfriend jumps in, “Yah, let’s not go there? It’s nine in the morning.” It was directed towards Yoongi.
Yoongi?
Hyewon’s the one who started it. But ok, Yoongi shouldn’t go there.
Fuck that. You frown at him before picking out a menu to peruse through.
“She did not mean anything by it.” Jungkook looked at his girlfriend to confirm. “Right?” His hand slipped under the table--- you just knew it was to squeeze Hyewon’s thigh.
Ew...
“Of course not! I was only sharing an opinion!” Hyewon rushed to reassure her boyfriend.
She looks at you with this shocked look. You don’t know how to describe it.
“I am so sorry it came out that way.” It was as if she suddenly regretted trying to drag you. Or pretended to.
When you don’t acknowledge her, she reaches out to grab your hand, “_____, I’m sorry. Let’s just start over?”
If she doesn’t let go of you in the next five seconds, she is about to be wearing her breakfast eggs on her head.
“I don’t care,” you smile awkwardly, “We’re fine.”
Maybe Hyewon was still upset that you rejected her for dinner the night before. And maybe this was her way of showing it or lashing out.
An awkward silence ensued after.
You then placed an order for a breakfast tiramisu and an espresso martini. Not even Yoongi interfered with your unhealthy choices.
It wasn’t until Jungkook decided to break the ice (mainly addressing Yoongi and Hyewon) that things went back to somewhat normal.
You didn’t engage too much in any of their conversations.
Jungkook took note of it. He’d occasionally look your way, and you don’t know if it was to get you to join in or simply to admire.
You had half a mind to unwrap your purple towel and really give him something to look at, momentarily forgetting that you were supposed to be mad at him.
Little things like this never bothered you before. So many of your past dates have pulled these tricks to get you to feel or act on jealousy. But it never worked. You weren’t the type of person who felt possessive over people nor the type to hold grudges.
Until Jungkook, maybe?
You’ve had hours to contemplate if your feelings were even worth entertaining.
It was silly to be mad at Jungkook. He was only teasing. You have half-forgiven him.
That’s a concept you’d like to introduce: choosing forgiveness until he ruins it for you with any more of his shenanigans.
Your heart felt lighter when you came to this conclusion with yourself.
Somin thought you needed to slow down on your attempts with Jungkook, refrain from acting out and getting rage-baited by him. And you agreed.
Besides, it takes a lot of effort to be mad at someone. But you can’t help feeling a tad annoyed by the couple sitting across from you with all their… together-ness.
Around twenty excruciating minutes later, you and Yoongi excused yourself to go get a dry massage session before you sunbathed.
Hyewon invited you to a private couples yoga class she had pre-booked for herself and Jungkook.
It wouldn't have been private with you and Yoongi there though.
While you had time, you did not care for it.
Yoga was a regular thing for you, so it wasn’t as if you’d learn something new. If anything, you’d be forced to watch Jungkook stretch Hyewon out for a second time.
And you didn’t like the way she proposed it either: ‘Oh! You don’t seem to have anything special planned then? Come join us!’
Getting a little massage and sunbathing weren’t ‘plans?’ Fuck that.
Thankfully, Yoongi politely declined before you could protest. He also paid before Jungkook could.
This restaurant wasn’t part of the resort so breakfast wasn’t paid for in advance. Jungkook had called for the bill but, like, Yoongi sniped and gave the waitress his card before she could accept Jungkook’s. And you found that pretty hot.
Jungkook thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing and soothing, something you practiced to get your mind off things.
Yet, in the silence, he couldn’t stop wondering about you and his hyung.
He absolutely didn’t deem Min Yoongi to be your kind of guy in general, let alone something more. But after seeing him dancing with you the other night and after Hyewon’s inquisitiveness, he doubts his own intuition.
It was none of his business but he didn’t love the idea of you and Yoongi. Even Namjoon seemed a more likely option.
Either way, he didn't plan on driving himself nuts over your (possible) dating life.
The yoga class was held under a white canopy by the villa, facing the sea.
The instructor, Ria, spoke in a soft and measured tone, gracefully demonstrating each pose. As expected, Jungkook and Hyewon were the ideal students.
Then, when they get more comfortable between poses, Ria goes off to bring a sound healing instrument.
Then Jungkook suddenly lets out an exhale. “Won, what was that earlier?”
Hyewon looks over questioningly, mid–warrior pose. “What was....?”
“At breakfast.” He straightens, fixing his sweats a little. “The thing you said about _____.”
Hyewon’s face tightens briefly. “It wasn’t about her. I mean-” She sighs, adjusting herself. “It came out wrong. I just opened my mouth before I thought. I feel horrible, okay?”
He hopes she’s being truthful. Jungkook just nods along. “It didn’t sound great.”
“Jungkook, I know,” she says, voice a little strained now. “I mean I even apologised right then. Why are you bringing it up now?”
“Alright, alright. I just wanted to clear it up.” Jungkook backs off. Then he adds, “Yo- we should probably just… leave her alone for now.”
Hyewon doesn’t understand what he meant by that but she chooses to stay quiet, ignoring his suggestion.
There’s an awkward silence when Ria returns and calls for the next pose - downward dog.
Hyewon turns away from her boyfriend, getting into position, focusing on the sounds of the wind chimes and the soothing music instead.
However, as the session goes on, the atmosphere subtly shifts.
Hyewon’s focus wavers. She didn’t love the fact that her own boyfriend questioned her motives in your defense. She suddenly momentarily hated the fact that you tagged along, contrary to how she had felt when she first found this out.
Jungkook doesn’t really notice the shift in his girlfriend’s mood, too busy getting the yoga right. He doesn’t try to engage her how he had tried with you earlier today. (Yeah, she noticed.)
And understandably so, Hyewon hates that even more.
Meanwhile at the spa, you and Yoongi were led into separate adjoining rooms for your dry massages.
The rooms smelt like essential oils and smoky sage.
It looked like a typical Thai spa, nothing outstanding but it was beautiful regardless.
There was a koi pond at the entrance too. You wish you had brought your phone along to show Somin to give her ideas for her indoor pond. Somin had one in her backyard but the birds kept stealing the poor fishies. She would get new ones but the birds kept returning. Soon she realised that she was feeding the birds that way. Ever since, she has been looking for inspo to build a little pond in her living room instead.
The massage was as relaxing as you expected. No oils or lotions were used; it was a dry massage because you didn’t want to get cooked in the sun later.
Your masseuse wouldn’t stop complimenting your soft skin. You assumed she was fishing for tips but she wouldn’t accept any when you tried.
So, yay. :) It doesn’t take too much to make you happy.
You hoped to remain uplifted all day today. Or at least until dinner when you’d have to see Hyewon and Jungkook again.
After your massage, you find Yoongi waiting for you by the sun deck. He was staring into the endless ocean.
The sun made him look almost translucent.
He looked too serene to disturb but you were in a rush. “I’m still a bit hazy from the massage, and I wanna keep feeling so I can nap on that beach!!” With that, you run off to the beach.
Yoongi stays on the deck for a few minutes before heading back to the villas from where he grabs your phone, a tube of sunscreen, and two books to pass time with.
When he gets to the beach, he sees you’ve already set yourself up on a lounge chair, basking in the warm sunlight.
An employee had installed an umbrella for Yoongi.
“Need sunscreen?” He asks, already reaching for the tube before you can answer. You squeak in assent, sprawling out on the chair for him. He kneels beside you, squeezing a generous amount into his palm. The lotion feels cool against your warm skin.
Yoongi spreads it slowly, over your shoulders, your tummy, the tops of your thighs and your legs. “How do you walk on sand with those heels? Flip.” - “Hm? Oh…” You look at your feet before turning over for him, “I dunno, I just do.”
Uh, you weren’t about to take your shoes off to lie on a chair - they’re part of your outfit. And last time you checked, this wasn’t a nude beach. I mean, it was a private one so you could probably get away with some nudity but you’ve been really into tan lines lately. So, you know. The bikini stays on.
Also, you doubt the employees would be pleased if you tried.
Yoongi massages the cream deeply into your skin.
He begins to help himself before you could offer to do it for him, so you don’t bother.
You stay on your stomach, resting your cheek on the back of your palm, leaving your hair cascading down your back.
You hear the roar of the ocean and the screeching of the seagulls. There weren’t too many of those there though. You could maintain your peace.
You sigh dreamily.
A few minutes of silence prompt you to check on Yoongi.
He was settled in next to you with a fat book on… music therapy?
Huh.
You turn the other way and close your eyes, breathing in the fresh, salty ocean air.
It’s peaceful.
For the first time probably all week, you’re content to just exist. Just you, the warm sun, the cool wind, and the sounds of the water. And Yoongi.
Perhaps Namjoon was onto something bringing you here.
ʚ𖹭ɞ
The next time you open your eyes, you see a blond lying on the chair to your left: “Oh,” a familiar voice exclaims, “You’re up!”
You squint a little, and there’s Namjoon, reclined on the seat. His hair was still damp and slicked back and his sunglasses were perched low on his nose. And he’s already got a beautiful tan on.
Still sleepy, you mumble. “How long have you been sitting there?”
He shrugs, “A little less than an hour.”
Damn. You'd been knocked out for a while.
You glance to your right. Yoongi was on to a new book now. “Oh… Should’ve woken me…”
There was a slight imprint of your own hand on your face. It was a good nap.
“I tried.” Namjoon snorted, “Snorkeling was amazing. You should’ve come.”
“Was it?” You ask, flipping on your back and stretching your arms over your head.
“Yeah. There was this one dolphin that kept following me - probably because I dropped my snorkel multiple times,” he laughs. “Embarrassing as hell, but so worth it.”
He was way too chill about losing important equipment more than once… “Good for you.” You hum, blinking against the light, “At least one of us is having fun.”
You put your palm out, asking Joon for his sunglasses. He obliges.
“Yeah, okay. You woke up at the perfect time though.”
“I did?”
“Yep.” He sits up, brushing some sand off his shorts. “Next activity’s at one.”
You ogle his thighs for a few seconds. “Define activity…”
Namjoon opens his mouth to answer but then decides against it: “It’s a surprise.”
Dramatically shaking your head, you whine, “Nuh uh, no more of those.”
“You’ll have fun, I promise.” Namjoon pulls you off your resting place.
You let out a faint ‘Noooo’ before complying with his requests.
Namjoon knew you’d take a while to dress up so he sent you off early. Knowing how much the group enjoyed drinking, he had booked a little mixology class. Initially it was supposed to be just the three of you but during dinner last night, it turned into a group activity.
And maybe this would help you bond with Hyewon and… well, he hopes you wouldn’t ‘bond’ with Jungkook any more than you have currently. For Hyewon’s sake.
All this while, Namjoon had been confident that Jungkook wouldn’t pay you any heed and he had been proven wrong.
In his opinion, Hyewon and Jungkook belonged together.
It’s not that he doesn’t like you. He loves you. But he doesn’t love you for his buddy. He thinks you would stomp on Jungkook’s heart with your sexy little stilettos and crush it.
He could just talk to you and ask you to back away but it’s a bit too late for that anyway.
That being said, he still hopes you and Jungkook are able to build a friendship. If not now, sometime in the future.
It was nearing one in the afternoon by the time you finally emerged from your room - ten minutes later than Namjoon’s text had instructed, but who was counting?
You’d taken your sweet time getting dolled-up, abandoning your bikini for a mini slip dress with black lace detailing along the neckline. It paired beautifully with your diamond necklace (all lab grown because you’re not a monster.)
What took long was the hair. You worked your hair into waves and added little braids here and there. Like at the night of the gala.
Namjoon had only told you to change into something comfortable for an ‘activity.’ No further hints.
You were hoping it wasn’t anything involving hiking, sand, or god forbid, group sports.
The sun was high and hot, you doubt it was any of those options anyway.
You followed the winding stone path down toward the villa deck, where Namjoon’s text had told you to meet him.
You spotted Joon first, leaning leisurely against a railing in a linen shirt and khakis, with a different pair of sunglasses perched on his head.
Yoongi stood beside him, holding a glass of something brown and on the rocks.
They were discussing the layout of the place and how inconvenient it must be for employees on this island to travel from work to home.
“About time,” Yoongi said, glancing at you as you carefully stumble onto the deck in your ladybug kitten heels.
“You boys are lucky I showed up at all.” You shot back, and his mouth twitched in a half smile.
Namjoon stepped forward, clapping his hands once. “Alright, now that we’re all here…” He gestured to the open-air setup behind him: a long wooden counter stood in a corner, shaded by palm fronds. Shakers were stacked neatly atop it along with bowls of citrus, berries and jars of other edibles, bottles of liquor, and rows of gleaming glasses. “…Surprise.”
You froze for half a second before letting out a delighted squeak. “A mixology sesh?”
Namjoon grinned. “You’ve mentioned wanting to try it before, so…”
He listens to you!
“Ooh, oh, my God,” You’re practically bouncing in place, “I’m so excited!”
Right then, a figure exited a gorgeous little shed nearby and introduced themselves as the instructor, Kyle.
Then Kyle began running through the basics. “We’ll start by prepping some ingredients, washing and cutting fruit, muddling herbs, that sort of thing. Then we’ll get into building flavor profiles.”
You weren’t too keen on the grunt work but if the end result is a drunk _____, you’re doing ittt.
You, Namjoon, and Yoongi each gave your introductions in turn before diving into the setup.
Kyle handed you and Joon some of the citrus fruits and a grater and asked you to zest them into separate bowls.
Yoongi, being more experienced with knives, was asked to slice the fruits into thin wedges for the plating.
Everything was going just fine.
And then-
“Oh, you guys started without us?”
You froze mid-smile.
Turning, you saw Hyewon approaching, one arm looping through Jungkook’s. They both looked freshly showered and far too put-together for a lazy beach afternoon (as did you.)
Hyewon was in a coral halter sundress, hair glossy and tied with a silk scarf. Jungkook wore a Hawaiian button-down with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and exposing his tats. His sunglasses were hooked in the center of his shirt and his capri shorts were... weirdly hot.
Your heart did something stupid at the sight of him. His hair was a tad tousled by the wind. You almost want to reach out and fix it.
Namjoon straightened a little, smiling welcomingly. “Hey, you guys made it.”
Hyewon smiled, “Yeah! We were gonna go snorkeling because you made it sound so good but we figured we could just do that tomorrow.”
We, we, we. Blegh.
You forced a polite little smile, trying not to show the flicker of irritation. Or the heat that rose to your cheeks when Jungkook’s eyes flicked to you before dropping to your bare shoulder where one of your straps had slipped off of. Then to your hands that daintily grasped the half peeled lime, and then down to your legs.
“Alright!” Kyle smiled brightly at the couple, “You guys ready to catch up?”
They both nodded. Hyewon offered an apologetic smile while Jungkook looked only mildly interested.
“Great! Since your friends have already started…” Kyle gestured at the small array of half-prepped fruits, bottles, and herbs on the long wooden counter, “I’ll give you two some tasks too.”
He points at Hyewon, “You can help wash and prep the berries.” Then turning to Jungkook, “You can take over the herbs. You’re going to use that muddler and gently press it down on the herbs. Make sure to bruise, not murder them.”
Jungkook already disliked Kyle.
As everyone settled into their given roles, Kyle began to talk about mixing alcohols.
The do’s, the don’t’s, what kind of alcohol mixes with what liquid, different flavour profiles, hot and cold drinks, and so much more that you’re sure you won’t remember after today.
Then, Kyle began demonstrating mixing colours.
You actually found yourself fascinated, leaning a little closer as they poured a splash of liqueur into a shaker and swirled it to show contrast.
Kyle had everyone taste different types of liqueurs. Though they controlled the portion, you and Yoongi snuck some extra shots in.
But you spat bitter whiskey into a paper towel. You never understood how anyone could enjoy this.
After your fourth shot of vanilla vodka, you were beginning to... feel things.
“Now,” Kyle clapped his hands once, smiling mischievously, “time for something fun. I’ve got a little game for you all. It’ll be a test of your creativity and teamwork.”
Yoongi groaned, already sensing some shit-stirring.
These were grown adults with full-time jobs, they didn’t need any more intrapersonal skill assessments.
“I’m gonna divide you into two teams,” Kyle continued, “Each group gets twenty minutes to create an original cocktail. You’ll present it to me, I’ll taste both, and we’ll have a winner.”
Before anyone could voice their opinion, Kyle was already dividing you up, “Yoongi and Namjoon are Team One.”
Now Yoongi’s face lit up in glee. It took you a bit longer to register though.
That meant….
“_____, Hyewon and the hot one whose name I cannot remember,” Kyle winked, “You’re Team Two.”
You exhaled sharply through your nose, turning back to the counter.
The tension was palpable.
Jungkook stood on one side of Hyewon, cutting ice cubes down to little cubes. And you stood on the other, minding your own beeswax.
You have no clue what Hyewon was doing either.
You didn’t bother communicating your idea to the couple. You just started building it.
A sparkling, glittery pink drink with hints of passionfruit and raspberry. The fizz comes from champagne and tonic, and the glitter is a dusting of white edible shimmer you’d found in one of the tiny jars Kyle had set out.
You crushed some berries, mixed them in with the wine and drained the liquid. You ignored whatever conversation was happening beside you.
It wasn’t until you reached for the pink passionfruit that things went sideways. You were trying to cut it up into tinier pieces to mush together with the raspberries for a deeper tint with lesser berry flavour.
Jungkook narrows in on you reaching out for the sharpest knife designed to cut ice - you were about to pick it up by the damn blade.
You were totally distracted, staring at the pink pigment stained on your other fingers.
Jungkook nearly lunges over his girlfriend. His hand shoots out to grab your wrist and knock the knife away from your palm before you could cut yourself.
Hyewon shuffled backwards, startled, as her boyfriend grabs hold of you.
The tool clattered to the ground.
You were still staring at your pink fingertips.
What just happened?
“You can’t be picking up knives by the sharp end, _____.” Jungkook scolded you.
The entire deck was now watching on in curiosity. Employees and all.
You pout at him, still a little dazed, “Geez, okay…”
Jungkook exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. Then, quieter, “Just- tell me what you want to do. I’ll do it.”
You hesitated, but eventually pointed at the fruit. “I want to cut it into smaller pieces to mash.”
“And?” Jungkook was already on it.
You hum rubbing up and down your arm, “Mmm, mix it with tonic and white wine and strain it. Add a little sweetener, then glitter…”
Hyewon smiled, suddenly jumping in, “I’ll mash and strain then!”
Ok, so this was going to be a group activity now.
You happily pass the little muddler off to her. You wanted to be on glitter duty anyway.
Jungkook passed on the little cubes to Hyewon who mashed them. Then she stirs it in with the two liquids, as per your direction.
Finally, you dust in a good amount of the shimmery powder and stir before equally pouring the concoction into six different glasses.
Hyewon even sliced a little piece of a tangerine to stick on the rims of each glass. It looked pretty cute.
When the drinks were done, Kyle went around tasting each. They gave feedback on everything.
Finally, Yoongi and Namjoon’s smokey citrussy drink won. But that was expected since Yoongi knew a lot about alcohol and drinking anyway.
Kyle lingered by your side, swirling a glass of the _____ (that’s what you called your drink) in their hand. “This,” they said, admiring the shimmer under the sun, “is fun. Needs a little more acidity, but the presentation is gorgeous.”
Yay! You smiled, ducking your head shyly. “Thanks.”
Jungkook, standing behind you, watched the way you bit back your grin. You tried not to look too pleased. And for some reason, it made something tighten in his chest.
It’s so easy to make you happy. So easy to want to.
Kyle clapped once more. “Alright, mixologists, you’ve earned a break. There’s a beautiful picnic set up for you on the beach. Follow me, allons-y!”
They led you down the wooden path towards the sand.
You walked ahead with Yoongi, talking about how much you loved your sparkly drink idea.
When Yoongi tells you to turn it into a business plan, you immediately lose interest in discussing your drink with him.
Why did men do that?
Behind you, Jungkook fell back beside Namjoon, lowering his voice so only his hyung could hear, “Listen,” He cleared his throat. “I booked a yacht for tomorrow to get back to the city.”
Namjoon frowned. He had checked for yachts the day before but none were available for a few weeks now. Plus, he discovered a helicopter to be faster and, surprisingly, cheaper. The port was farther away than the helipad. And with a chopper, they could directly land on top of their office building if they wanted.
“How come?” Namjoon chose to ask before hounding him with all this info.
Wasn't it apparent?
“She’s terrified of flying, man.” Jungkook said it as if it was the most obvious response.
Namjoon blinked, following Jungkook’s gaze up ahead - stopping on you as you walked barefoot beside Yoongi, violently shaking your head at something Yoongi said.
Huh. Maybe Namjoon’s better off not meddling.
next: killah (jjk) [9]
note: firstly, everything i wrote for the mixology class scene is from my own head. i did not feel like researching anything so i just made stuff up. if anything is accurate, it's a coincidence. still, pleek don't attempt to recreate anything from that scene irl
secondly, slut shaming of any of the characters will not be tolerated! be normal ok
finally, these two months are going to be super busy for me (shocker ik.) sooo, if you ask me for an update anytime before december 30, i won't be able to give you any answers 😖
please tell me what you think!! write to me, send me memes, interact w me :)
You knew from the first wedding planning meeting that a “small wedding” was an illusion.
The Jeon name alone outweighed your preferences, and the press would find a way in even if you married in a storage closet. But still, you tried to propose a small wedding.
Or at least, a smaller one.
“No more than a hundred people,” you told the wedding coordinator in charge, Yeon, who is also Mr. Jeon and Mrs. Jeon’s head of housekeeper.
Apparently she is basically your in-laws' right hand woman when it comes to events, or anything related to the house. It wasn't really surprising, especially knowing Yeon even has a master’s degree in hospitality.
Yeon couldn’t even hide her reaction when you told her you wanted a wedding with only a hundred people. Her apple pen hovered mid air, “Miss, the Jeon Group has eight subsidiaries in South Korea alone, we have not counted the one overseas, and each subsidiary has a board, and each board has-”
“I know,” you cut her off, “just please try to keep it minimal.”
Mr. and Mrs. Jeon completely gave you the green light to do what you want, but after talking more with Jungkook, Taehwan, and Yeon, you now realise it’s not just a normal wedding.
It’s the wedding of the only son and the only heir of the Jeon empire.
It’s the wedding of the richest family in South Korea, and almost all of Asia.
It’s almost like the wedding of the century.
A small wedding you wanted became seven hundred people.
And that was after Jungkook reduced the guest list by half, ignoring every complaint Yeon and Taehwan said he might receive from people who thought their presence was essential. You watched him do it with the same precision you imagined he used in boardrooms, Jungkook was calm, unbothered, and decisive.
Now, standing behind the closed double doors of the grand hall, the scale of everything still hits you, even though both you and Jungkook were hands on in planning the wedding.
You’ve seen these double doors, you’ve seen the grand hall, and you’ve tasted the cakes, catering, and drinks.
Yet today, on the day you will be getting married to the Jeon Jungkook, everything you’ve tried before feels completely new.
You were getting married in the ballroom of Jeon Group’s 7-star hotel.
A ceiling sparkling with custom chandeliers, imported flowers were arranged into a full floral tunnel, and seven hundred chairs with each filled with people whose last names carried more wealth than you could ever imagine.
And all of that meant nothing when your mom tightened her grip on your arm, “You’re breathing too fast,” she murmured, “slow down, don’t panic. You’ll be okay.”
You exhaled through your nose and nodded.
Your mom looked at you softly, she wasn’t present almost most of your life, but you knew it wasn’t by choice. She did try to find you the best she could, and the past doesn’t matter.
Especially when she has been showing up every second of your life ever since you met her for the first time.
What matters is now.
And now she is here, standing next to you, and walking you towards something you never thought you would have.
“You don’t have to go out there if you’re too overwhelmed,” she said quietly.
You looked down at the ring Jungkook had slipped on your finger in the car, when he proposed to you without any speech. A memory that grounded you more than this grand hall ever could.
“I want to,” you said.
Your mother squeezed your hand once, “Good, then let’s go.”
The doors opened and the sounds of the crowd dropped into a hush and seven hundred heads turned to look at you as you stepped forward.
Jungkook was standing at the altar, and the sight of him erased everything else around you.
He wore a perfectly tailored suit, his posture was straight and composed, as always. But the second he saw you, something snapped loose inside him.
He smiled.
He smiled so wide you could tell it stunned the room.
A couple of guests shifted on their seats, whispering as if they just spotted a myth.
Jeon Jungkook did not smile like that.
Not at galas, interviews, or at business conferences.
His public expression was famously known as cold and untouchable, he would only smile when he needed to, and the smile he gave to the public was never genuine.
But right now, his smile was unmistakably genuine, and directed solely at you.
Your steps faltered for half a second, not from nerves, but from how sharply the moment hit.
And then you saw his parents.
His mother’s eyes softened instantly. His father’s face broke into a quiet and proud smile.
They didn’t look shocked by their son’s expression, they looked relieved and grateful. As if they had waited years to see someone pull warmth out of Jungkook. As if your presence proved that he would finally have a life they wanted him to have.
They were happy to know that their son, Jungkook, would never be spending the rest of his life alone.
You kept walking towards the altar.
Every step made Jungkook’s smile widen, a rare sight he didn’t bother to hide.
He didn’t blink or avert his gaze.
To everyone else, he remained the intimidating face of generational power and wealth. To you, he looked like he has been waiting his entire life for this exact version of you.
For this exact moment of the both of you.
When you reached the altar, your mother kissed your cheek, and whispered, “Be happy,” to the both of you, before placing your hand into his.
Jungkook’s fingers closed around yours immediately, as he nodded towards your mom.
“You’re here,” he said, “and you look ethereal,” he continued, complimenting you under his breath.
You shyly smiled at him before raising your eyebrows, “Did you think I would change my mind?”
“No,” Jungkook replied confidently, “you’re not the type to run from anything.”
The officiant began the ceremony, but Jungkook didn’t look away, not even once.
He watched you like he was memorizing this exact moment in his mind, every breath, every shift, and every flicker of emotion on your face.
When it was time for the vows, Jungkook moved slightly closer.
“Jeon Jungkook,” the officiant began, “do you,”
“I do,” he answered immediately before the officiant could even finish the question.
You could hear a few guests laughing softly.
You tilted your head, “Shouldn’t you hear the rest of the question?”
“I don’t need him to finish, I would be honored to be your husband,” Jungkook replied, earning a few “aww” from the crowd.
When the officiant repeated the line with your name, you answered without hesitation, “I do.”
Jungkook’s shoulders eased in an exhale he didn’t bother hiding.
The rings came next. Jungkook’s hands didn’t shake, but yours did slightly. And the officiant said the final line, “I now pronounce you husband and wife!”
Jungkook didn’t wait for permission that he may kiss you now, and he pulled you in closer to him. But he didn’t kiss you immediately, either.
First, he leaned in, pressed his forehead against yours, “Finally,” he murmured. Then, after that, he kissed you, and the crowd erupted into applause.
When you pulled back, Jungkook’s face was still inches away from yours when he said, “You’re mine.”
“And you’re mine,” you replied.
His parents smiled at the sight of the two of you.
Relieved and proud, because their son, the one who lived inside an armor his whole life with walls built up so high, was finally home with you.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
The reception was still formal and huge, but it felt warmer somehow. You stood beside Jungkook as friends, colleagues, distant cousins, directors, and business partners approached with respectful and rehearsed congratulatory lines. Jungkook responded politely, but with visible impatience each time someone lingered too long.
Halfway through the guest, he leaned slightly closer, “You look tired.”
You scoffed softly, “There are seven hundred people here.”
“And you’ve looked at none of them.”
You lifted your eyes to his, “Have you?”
“No, I only have eyes for you,” he answered matter of factly, his gaze didn’t waver and he added, “Let’s step outside.”
You didn’t want to argue with him because you did need the space to breathe.
The two of you slipped through a side corridor. Jungkook opened a door leading to a balcony overlooking the city.
You exhaled once you stepped outside to the balcony.
He watched you quietly for a moment, “Is it all too much?”
“It’s a lot,” you admitted, “but it’s not bad.”
“You handled it well.”
“You did too.”
He stepped closer, still looking at you, “I know you wanted something smaller.”
You looked up at him, “I knew this couldn’t be small.”
“There was a way to make it smaller,” he said, “I didn’t want it.”
You were taken aback, you thought a person as private as Jungkook would want to make it smaller, “Why?”
“So everyone sees who I married,” Jungkook said, his eyes not leaving yours.
You let out a small laugh, “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
“I know, I’m not trying to prove anything,” Jungkook added, “I’m establishing it.”
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You never stopped working after the wedding. That was the first boundary you set, one you made very clear even before you agreed to marry Jungkook.
You told him you would never be a full-time housewife, not because there was anything wrong with it, but because you had spent too many years building yourself back up from nothing.
And Jungkook never argued, he never even hesitated.
If anything, he expected it from you.
So when your contract at the startup ended, you moved into the Jeon business. The Jeon tried to tell you to just accept a position as a director, but you refused because you weren’t experienced enough to become one and you told them you wanted to do it on your own.
So you applied, you went through every stage, from initial screening, panel interview, case assignment, and final interview. When the recruiter tried to fast-track you, you politely declined.
You weren’t interested in being boosted into a high position you didn’t deserve.
So you entered Jeon Retail as a junior associate. The pay was good, the pace was brutal, and the expectations were high. You kept your head down for a year, did the work, delivered the numbers, and handled the pressure well.
Then they promoted you to a senior role, one you clearly deserved and you were proud of it.
Jungkook was too. You could tell by the way he checked your reports sometimes, not to interfere, but because he liked knowing what you were working on. You used to catch him reading through your project decks in the evenings, impressed by your quality of work.
You have now settled into your routine as Mrs. Jeon.
You’d wake up, go to work, go back home, and spend time with your husband.
It has been a perfect routine for you.
Until today.
You ignored it at first, you thought the uneasiness in your stomach was probably because of the bad breakfast you had. Then, halfway through reviewing a quarterly product performance, a wave of nausea hit so instantly that your hand flew to your mouth.
You stood up quickly, it made a loud enough sound that Kei, your coworker, at the next desk looked up.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I just need some air,” you said as you walked straight to the restroom and you just barely made it to the stall before you threw up.
It could have been food poisoning, stress, or just fatigue.
But you knew what it could be.
It has been a year of not preventing anything, a year of waiting for nothing to happen, and a year of telling yourself not to be disappointed.
You decided to clock out for lunch, grabbed your coat, and walked out of the building without telling anyone where you were going.
There was a convenience store just right across the street, the one you would buy your snacks for work from. You stepped inside quickly, headed down to the aisle, grabbed the test, paid without looking at the cashier, and walked back to the office with the small bag hidden under your blazer.
Once inside your office building, you went straight to the restroom again, locked the door, sat on the toilet seat, and forced yourself to calm down.
You didn’t want to be disappointed again. It has been a year since your marriage and nothing since then has happened.
Then you took the test, one second passed.
Then five.
Then ten.
And you saw two clear lines.
You just stared at it.
You stared until your throat tightened and your chest was beating loudly, and your hand came up instinctively to cover your mouth.
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.
You were so relieved but it hit you so suddenly that your body doesn’t know what to do, how to respond, or how to act.
You stood carefully, splashed water on your face, dried your hands, and walked back to your desk, and your boss spotted you the second you sat down.
She frowned, “You look pale.”
You forced a smile, “I think I'm just tired.”
“You were vomiting earlier,” she cut you off before you could even finish your sentence, “you should go back home.”
You blinked, “Can I really take the rest of the day?”
“Yes,” she said, “go.”
You nodded, gathered your things, and left quickly.
You weren’t going back home, no. You needed to make sure what you saw was real. So you decided to head to a hospital.
Not to the Jeon hospital, you weren't stupid. If you stepped foot into a Jeon-owned medical center, four things would happen immediately:
Security would notify the administration.
Administration would notify the medical director.
The medical director would notify someone in Jungkook’s team.
Jungkook’s team would notify the Jeon Jungkook himself.
And you wanted him to hear it first from you, not from anyone else.
So you chose a small hospital in Seoul. A small one with no affiliations to the Jeon. Just a quiet clinic where no one looked at your face long enough to recognize it.
The doctor performed the test quickly, then she looked at you with a smile across her face, “Congratulations,” she said, “You’re about five weeks pregnant.”
You left the hospital at around 2:30 PM with the ultrasound image inside your bag. You got in the taxi, leaned your head against the window, and kept your hand on your stomach the entire ride home.
You reached the penthouse around 3:00 PM. The housekeeper wasn’t there, she only came in the mornings, per Jungkook’s preference for privacy.
Everything was quiet, and the master bedroom looked exactly the same as it did when you left that morning.
You walked in with one plan in mind:
You would prepare balloons and maybe a small sign saying, “Welcome home, dad!”
But the moment you stepped into the room, another wave of nausea hit you so hard you had to grab the back of a chair.
You stumbled to the bathroom, threw up again, then dragged the trash bin to the side of the bed. The doctor said it was normal, but it didn’t feel normal, it felt exhausting.
You didn’t want to call Jungkook.
You knew exactly where he was. He told you he would be in a high-level of importance meeting with his father and all the major directors to finalize their Singapore expansion. It was an important project, one he has spent months preparing for.
He didn’t need you interrupting it, especially not for something he couldn’t fix immediately.
So you called Taehwan instead, “Can you please bring me the vitamins the doctor prescribed me? I’ll send you a picture of the prescription,” you asked.
“Of course,” he answered without asking any further questions, which was perfect since you really didn’t want to have to explain yourself.
You hung up, laid on your bed, and closed your eyes.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
Jungkook didn’t notice the vibration on his phone until the board director stopped speaking.
Taehwan: Mrs. Jeon is unwell.
Jungkook stood up immediately, and half the room turned to look at him, startled. His father raised an eyebrow at his son, “Jungkook?”
“It’s my wife,” Jungkook said, already gathering his things, “I need to go.”
“What happened with my daughter?” Mr. Jeon asked, everyone could even see even the chairman was worried.
“She’s sick,” he said whispering to his father, Jungkook didn’t want anyone irrelevant to know.
His father didn’t question it further, Mr. Jeon lifted a hand dismissively and said, “Go.”
Jungkook didn’t waste another second.
He was furious, not at you, but at the situation.
At the fact that you told Taehwan first and that you probably thought you didn’t want to make Jungkook worried.
He knew why you did it. You didn’t want to interrupt him, or pull him out of work. But he was your husband now, you were and will always be his priority.
The entire drive home, Jungkook’s hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, and his jaw was clenched the whole time.
Taehwan thankfully has already put your medicines in the receptionist of your penthouse building, now Jungkook would know how to help you.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You must have drifted off for a few minutes, the nausea made you so tired, and the warmth of the blanket pressed against your body kept you even more sleepy.
Then the bedroom door opened, abruptly, without knocking which surprised you because Taehwan would not dare do such a thing.
You didn’t lift your head, but still called out for him anyway, “Taehwan?”
And when you heard no immediate reply, you looked up slowly.
Jungkook stood there in the doorway, his tie loosened but still not removed, and his hair slightly disheveled like he rushed to be here.
You sighed, “Damn you, Taehwan.”
His right hand man is so loyal to him, he could never keep anything from Jungkook.
Jungkook ignored the comment completely. He walked inside the master bedroom, his eyes sweeping over the bed, your pale face, and the trash bin beside you, “Have you been throwing up?”
You nodded weakly, “Please give me the meds.”
He didn’t hand them over, instead he tried to get you to get up, “Let’s go to the hospital.”
“No, I’m fine, Jungkook.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
“You’re throwing up,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly, “and you look weak, get up.”
You shook your head, “I just need the medicine that Taehwan handed to you.”
He didn’t budge, sit, or blink. He stood there looking at you like he was trying to analyze why you were sick, “Why didn’t you call me?”
You didn’t want to answer.
“Y/N,” Jungkook’s tone sharpened, “Why didn’t you call me?”
You swallowed nervously, “I didn’t want to bother you.”
“You would never bother me,” he answered instantly.
He stepped closer to the bed, “Next time,” he said, “you call me first, before anyone, including Taehwan, before my parents or your mother. I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing. You have to call me first.”
You looked away, you didn’t want to agree since Jungkook is literally the busiest man in South Korea for a reason.
“Mrs. Jeon.”
And that made your head snap back towards him. He has only used that tone and title to call you once, and that was during one of the biggest fights you’ve ever had with Jungkook.
You sighed, “Okay, understood baby.”
His expression softened instantly after he heard the last word you said to him, “Good,” he said quietly, “now get up, I’m taking you to the hospital.”
You pushed yourself slightly to sit upright, “You seriously don’t need to.”
“Why?” he asked, “you’re clearly sick.”
“Because,” you hesitated as your hand reached for your bag automatically, “because I’m pregnant.”
The room went silent. You pulled the ultrasound image from your bag and held it out for him with shaky fingers.
Jungkook didn’t move for a full second, then he stepped forward slowly to take the ultrasound image you were holding.
He looked at the image and his breath stopped.
Jungkook didn’t speak, his mouth didn’t fall open. The reaction was more subtle than that, but he also wasn’t smiling or saying anything.
And that scared you.
Because you knew Jungkook before the wedding. You remembered the confession he once told you, “I don’t know if I should have children. I don’t want them to turn out like me.”
But then the past year, your marriage life happened. And Jungkook somehow already has ideas of turning a guest room into a nursery, and looked at stroller models with the same focus he puts in for business acquisitions.
So him being silent after looking at the ultrasound scan terrified you.
“Are you upset?” you asked him.
Still nothing.
Until he finally said, “I’m sorry.”
You looked at him confused, “Why are you sorry?”
He turned the ultrasound around so you could see the scan, and said, with complete seriousness, “Because you’re sick because of this little cunt.”
Your mouth fell open, “I’m sorry, did you just call our kid a cunt?”
“Yes,” he didn’t even blink, "you're sick because of them,” Jungkook continued, “and you are my priority.”
You wanted to laugh but you held it in, “Aren’t you happy?”
His eyes looked into yours, “Of course I’m happy, but not when you’re sick.”
You finally stopped trying to hold your laugh, “You can not hate our kid.”
“Hate?” he repeated, looking offended, “I love them already.”
You blinked, “Then why did you call them a cunt?”
“Because they’re making you sick,” he said, “and nothing gets to hurt you, nothing.”
You shook your head, overwhelmed, “That’s not, you know it’s normal, Jungkook.”
He ignored that completely.
He moved closer to the bed, then he lowered himself onto one knee beside you. Jungkook rested one hand on the mattress beside your hip. The other hovered over your stomach before he finally placed it there gently.
“But they should not be a burden to you,” he said quietly, “they should not make their mother sick, they should not make my wife pale and throw up, which also means,” he continued, “I need to admit you at the hospital.”
“Jungkook," you rolled your eyes at him.
He leaned forward and kissed your stomach. The moment lasted longer than you expected. When he pulled back, he quickly stood up and looked down at you, “Next time something feels off, you tell me. Immediately.”
You nodded, “Okay. Can I ask something?” you whispered.
He tilted his head slightly, “Hmm?”
You sat up carefully, “You’re not upset?”
He blinked at you, “Why would I be upset?”
“You were quiet when I told you the news.”
“I was calculating.”
“Calculating what?” you asked confusedly.
He looked at you then, “How fast I needed to reorganize my life and how to keep both of you safe.”
This time, a tear fell before you could stop it, “Hormones,” you mumbled.
He didn’t argue or tease you like he usually would do, he just nodded once before kissing your forehead.
Most people soften when becoming parents.
Jungkook didn’t just soften, he found a new purpose.
And that made you feel safer than anything else in the world.
hii author i hope you’ll give oc and jungkook the baby they deserve in cowf 🥹 also loved how you narrate jungkook in it how he loves his woman dearly and wouldn’t exchange her for the world 😭
aww that’s so sweet 🥹 thank you so much! as for the baby… hehe, we’ll see 👀 but they definitely deserve all the softness in the world
Genre: fantasy!au, demon!au, haunted apartment, horror (its not too bad bc im a coward guys), slow burn, forced proximity, supernatural romance, angst.
Summary: Jungkook is trapped in an attic, cursed to win affection from those who fear him most. Every tenant has fled until you move in. With your budget and patience on the line, you refuse to leave. Now you’re stuck sharing a space with a creature no priest, shaman, or exorcist can get rid of, and neither of you can escape.
Warnings: horror (things moving around and such), supernatural themes, slow burn, forced proximity, mild language.
Word count: 4824
a/n: I’ve been working on this first chapter since early October, and I’m honestly so nervous as it’s my first time writing fantasy. and posting it right after the proximity is probably not a good idea because i know it'll never live up to it. But let’s see how this goes, if you end up liking it, i might just keep going <3
check out my: masterlist | banner creds to: vzzartt
The Hell Jungkook comes from does not burn with fire.
There are two kinds of Hell, Kratos and the below.
Kratos is where Jungkook comes from, it’s where the powerful live. While the below is where the lowlives and humans, known as the lesser, are. the below burns with the hottest flames.
The air in Kratos is heavy and thick, and you can often hear the screams of the lesser passing by to the below. Unlike the below, the ground in Kratos isn’t covered in dirt, but covered with dark stone that glows faintly with red because of the heat that comes from underneath.
Kratos is divided into four areas with each ruled by one of the great citadels: the Jeon in the north, the Kim in the east, the Lee in the south, and the Min in the west.
Together they form Kratos, with each one holding its own laws, armies, and rituals.
And though the four families have ruled longer than memory, every demon knows the truth: in Kratos, nothing is permanent.
A citadel stands only as long as its ruler can defend it, and lineage means little here.
Every demon born within a citadel, even those not of its blood, carries the right to challenge its rulers. If they are strong enough, if they can make others kneel and fear, they can take the citadel for themselves.
At the center of North Kratos, stands the citadel of Jeon with its dark and tall towers cutting through the mist.
The walls were cold as ice and the gates were built from the bones of the first creatuere that ever died there.
It doesn’t look like a home, it stands tall more like a reminder that in Kratos, you don’t live unless you learn how to survive.
The demons who ruled in Kratos weren’t born into power, they had to fight for it.
Every stone in the citadel of Jeon was taken from someone else, every tower was built on the ruins of another’s fall.
From the moment he was born, everyone thought Jungkook was not meant to rule as he was the second son and was treated like such.
But even in Hell, power gravitates toward those who can command without trying.
Jungkook came from the same mother as his brother, Seokjin. But while Seokjin speaks in riddles and enjoys threatening others with his words, Jungkook says nothing at all.
And that silence is more unnerving in Hell than any words could.
After more than a thousand years of rule, the first crack in the Jeon empire began with its two sons.
Soon the others started watching Jungkook in training yards, and copying how he moved.
Power in Kratos wasn’t passed down, it was drawn from fear. The more others feared you, the more the air bent around your name.
At first, people believed the next ruler would be Seokjin, but the strength of the citadels were built on the energy of fear, and when fear began to shift from Seokjin to Jungkook, the balance of Kratos tilted with it.
Seokjin noticed the change before anyone dared speak of it. The others began to look at his brother differently, with more fear and respect.
The first son understood what that meant.
So he did what every future ruler would do when the balance starts to slip and before the energy of the citadel starts to turn towards his younger brother.
Seokjin turned to and relied on the oldest ritual only the ruler families could recite.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
The brothers met as they always did every Wednesday, quietly and without guards.
Just the two of them, a bottle of wine between them, and the coldness coming from the fortress walls.
Jungkook took the first sip. It burned at first, as it usually does, then it softened into sweetness.
It’s the sensation of the best wine in Kratos.
Before he could set the cup down, a strange warmth began to crawl up his throat. Jungkook felt his pulse slowing down, and the room started to tilt and blurred.
Across the table, Seokjin watched him. His brother was too still and calm.
Jungkook now noticed that his brother hasn’t touched his own wine glass.
When Jungkook’s hands began to shake, Seokjin stood up and started to murmur words that took a moment too long for Jungkook to understand.
It was the ancient language of the Gods in Heaven. A language only the families of rulers in Kratos could learn.
His brother was reciting one of the oldest rituals to ever exist in this realm. Seokjin was about to send him to earth, which Jungkook knew by now.
Seokjin cut his palm open, letting blood drip to the floor as he traced marks around Jungkook, one after another.
When the last mark crossed Jungkook’s chest, Seokjin knelt beside him. Their faces were close, but when one brother twisted with pain, the other almost serene.
“Killing you would be too kind,” Seokjin whispered, “so I’ll give you a taste of eternity on earth instead.”
Then, he spoke of the curse that will bind his brother to earth:
“Only when fear becomes affection will the darkness find its freedom.”
The chamber walls were shaking as if the citadel has been struck by a storm. There were mists forming in the chamber, and Jungkook’s form began to distort.
When he opened his eyes again, the sky was no longer red but gray. Jungkook was lying on a cold floor made of wood, not stone.
The room was small, with only a single bed, a broken mirror, and floorboards that creaked whenever he breathed.
The curse has bound Jungkook here, it has anchored him to this one decaying space on earth.
Where once his dark and wide wings could cover kingdoms, now brushed against peeling wallpaper.
Jungkook pushed himself to his feet and tried to break through the wall. Every time he reached beyond the walls, his body turned to smoke and snapped back, reforming at the center of the attic.
For the first time since his creation, he understood what it meant to be contained.
Jungkook went to the door and tried the handle, but his hand slipped through the wood.
He tried again and again, and each attempt ended the same way.
He was trapped.
He tried to burn the room down with the little strength he had left. Fire sparked in his palms, yet it died before they could even burn anything.
The effort left him empty as if the curse was swallowing his will whole.
Eventually, Jungkook stopped trying.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
Jungkook thought of his followers, but mere demons couldn’t just step into the human world.
The line between Hell and Earth was sealed in both directions. To cross, they needed the ancient ritual done by the ruling families. There was no other access.
And no ordinary demons would dare request of such a thing from the ruling families. They would not be able to reach him. They would not be able to drag him back.
In the citadel, the king, Jungkook’s father, did not interfere.
The king has always been careful with his sons, out of discipline. He did not play favorites in public, he did not correct or even cared about their rivalries. He did not step into their politics.
He ruled his citadel, not children, but he has always liked Jungkook better.
The thing is, the king could see the future.
He had seen what would happen if he stepped in, he had seen versions of reality where Jungkook never fell, and saw how all of them ended worse than this.
So he watched the curse unfold and did nothing.
No order was given to stop the ritual or to pull the second son back from whatever place it would send him. The king turned his face away from what was happening, and let fate take its role.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
Seokjin knew exactly what he was doing.
As one of the most powerful demons in Kratos, Jungkook was feared by thousands of creatures of every form, and don’t even mention the lowly humans.
A single glimpse of him, his horns, his wings, and his eyes, was enough to drive humans to their knees, begging for their lives.
Seokjin knew what he was invoking when he recited fear into affection.
It was a curse designed to fail.
Jungkook’s horns curved from his temples, his wings stretched wide and black, and his eyes were shades of red and black.
Even here, trapped in the attic, humans could sense him. The air thickened and somehow feels colder when they come closer.
The first human to rent the attic arrived in the middle of a storm.
Jungkook felt him enter the building before he heard the key in the lock. Human energy was different, it was so soft and always close to breaking.
The man dragged a single trunk up the stairs, muttering about leaky roofs and cheap rent, he opened the door, stepped inside, and froze.
Jungkook stood by the window, he didn’t move, speak, or bother to appear more real.
The man turned, squinting his eyes, as if trying to focus on something. His gaze looked over to Jungkook once, twice, then stopped close enough to feel him.
The fear hit fast.
His breath stopped and the trunk he was holding fell. His hand fumbled for the doorknob and he just ran down the stairs, out into the rain and the storm.
By morning, the owner of the house put up a new sign in front of the house:
Cheap room available.
And that became the pattern.
The humans come and go, the longest they have lasted was a month. They could feel the cold that lingered no matter how high they turned up the heater. They noticed doors that didn’t stay shut or objects that weren’t where they left them.
Some felt a presence.
Some even saw him from their peripheral view.
All of them, eventually, reached to the point where the weight of their fear became too much.
One night, a woman laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Tears slipping into her hair, soaking the pillow she laid against. She held an envelope against her chest and kept whispering sorry, over and over again, to no one in particular.
Jungkook couldn’t help but say, “Pathetic,” out loud, letting the human hear him.
She froze, turned her head, her eyes roamed the darkness in her room, and caught on the faint shape of him.
The moment she realized she wasn’t imagining it, when she felt him, terror rushed through her.
She left before the sun came up, still in her nightgown, and shoes clutched in one hand.
Her things stayed behind for a while.
She has sent someone else to pack them up. The owners then muttered about bad luck, about the cursed attic, about how they should just seal it off, but they never did.
There was always someone who needed cheap rent.
Outside, the world has slowly changed. Carts became cars. Neon signs painted the streets in colors he has never seen in Hell. The sounds changed too, there was less shouting, more engines, then music, and then something new entirely.
The room tried to keep up, then gave up. The owners and tenants kept on changing. The iron bed was replaced with a lighter frame. The old floral wallpaper was peeled off, and now covered with white paint. The mirror on the wall was swapped out a few times, each one more minimalistic than the last.
Jungkook would take a look at himself in those mirrors. His horns curled from his head and his wings folded close. The contrast between his size and the cramped, ordinary human room made everything feel even smaller.
The more modern tenants kept coming. A musician who complained about “bad acoustics.” A student who hung string lights on the wall and joked to her friends over the phone about how “this place feels haunted but the rent is unbelievably cheap.”
He could tell, almost immediately, who would leave quickly and who would try to make this place a home. The ones who moved furniture in, who lit candles, and the ones who stuck photographs to the wall lasted a little longer. But in the end, the same pattern found them.
The cold, uneasiness, and the feeling of being watched.
Fear would find them again.
Jungkook no longer hopes to be rescued anymore. He knew the soldiers couldn’t reach him, and knew his father had seen this coming and chose not to interfere.
He used to be feared by thousands, now he haunted a space smaller than his old bedroom closet.
Jungkook found it funny now, in a bitter way.
Looking at fear in humans and how they react was the only thing that helped him with boredom, so Jungkook started to play with it.
When new tenants moved in, he would let them settle for a few days before making his presence known. A whisper when they were half asleep, showing a shadow of himself, making the floorboards creak when no one was walking, and moving their items from one place to another. Small, harmless things, but enough to twist the air and make their hearts race.
Sometimes he would knock a picture off the wall or rattle the window when the wind wasn’t strong enough to do it. Once, he traced words in the dust across the mirror, leave now, and laughed quietly when the woman screamed and ran.
Jungkook felt pathetic.
He went from nearly ruling North Kratos to haunting a room no bigger than a cell in Kratos, scaring mortals who couldn’t even see him clearly.
There were nights when he didn’t bother to move at all. He would sit by the window, watching people move around, wondering if the curse could ever be broken.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You’ve been working as an elementary school teacher for first graders for the past two years.
You love your job, the kids you teach, the coworkers who have become your closest friends, even the parents who bring you homemade brownies during parent-teacher meetings.
The only thing you absolutely despise is the commute.
Every morning you wake up two hours earlier than you should just to make it to school on time, and the exhaustion is starting to kill your enthusiasm.
Some mornings, the idea of resigning doesn’t sound so bad.
“You can’t just quit because of the commute,” Hoseok groaned through the phone, “what about me and Namjoon? You’re just going to abandon your precious coworkers?”
You rolled your eyes, moving through the crowd on your way to your next destination, “I told you I’m literally on my way to see a house with a studio in their attic, which is walking distance, literally only fifteen minutes away from school. I’m trying, okay? For the both of you.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear!” he half yelled, his voice nearly bursting through your earphones.
Hoseok taught another first-grade class and joined the school the same year as you, while Namjoon handled the second graders. The three of you often spent lunch breaks in the teachers’ lounge together, sharing gossip about the parents you’ve heard from your students and complaining about lesson plans.
“I’m almost there,” you said, glancing at the address on your phone, “if it’s good news, I’ll call you later. If not, I’m resigning and moving to the countryside.”
“You are not!” Hoseok began, but you hung up before he could even finish his sentence. You sent him a middle finger emoji before putting your phone in your jeans pocket, and looking up at what you hoped would be your new home.
The Victorian-style house stood at the end of a quiet street, its white paint faintly yellowed with age. The front yard was small but tidy with a chipped white picket fence. It looked old, yes, but you preferred to see it as lived in.
You spotted a middle-aged couple tending to their garden next door and waved politely.
“Hello!” you greeted them.
“Oh, hello! Are you the new tenant?” the woman asked.
“Just here for an inspection,” you said with a smile.
“Taehyung should be inside,” her husband said, setting down his watering can, “we hope to see you around.”
You thanked them and made your way up the porch, knocking twice on the dark blue front door.
It opened to reveal a young man, probably around your age, maybe a little older, with dark hair and a smile across his face. He looked exactly like his profile picture from the listing.
“Hi, you must be ____. I’m Taehyung,” he greeted warmly.
“Hi! Yeah, thanks for having me. I’m here to check out the studio upstairs?”
“Of course. Come in, come in. How was the trip here? Was it easy to find?”
You stepped inside, slipping off your shoes near the entryway, “Yeah, it was super easy. The bus stop is like five minutes away, it’s perfect.”
“Good to hear,” Taehyung said, leading you through the shared living area, “this is the living room, a communal space, so feel free to hang out here anytime. We usually have movie nights on Fridays.”
You chuckled as your eyes scanned the room with warm lighting, mismatched furniture, and a pile of PlayStation games stacked beside the TV.
He continued, guiding you towards the open plan kitchen and dining area, “Kitchen’s fully stocked, we have air fryer, coffee machine, matcha set, you name it. We just ask that everyone cleans up after themselves.”
He gestured towards the backyard which was visible through the sliding glass doors, “Not much out there yet, some people keep telling me to build a patio for parties, but I’m not really a party person.”
“It looks like a nice spot to read,” you said without thinking.
Taehyung’s smile widened, “That’s exactly what I do. Just grab a chair and a book.”
“Maybe we could add a little couch out there, it would be perfect for reading in the mornings.”
“Great idea,” he said, his eyes lighting up with approval before clapping his hands together, “alright, now for the part you actually came for. Let’s check out your potential studio.”
You followed him back towards the entryway where a narrow staircase curved upward. The steps creaked lightly under your weight as you walked up.
“The upstairs space used to be smaller, it was mostly an attic but apparently people rented it out as a bedroom since long ago as it’s big enough to be one,” Taehyung explained, “but we renovated it into a studio last year, the flooring and ceiling have been completely changed, the bathroom’s modern, and there’s good insulation, so you won’t freeze in winter.”
At the top of the stairs, he pushed open a white door and stepped aside for you to enter.
The space was surprisingly cozy, a single wide room, sunlight spilling through the windows. A kitchenette sat tucked in one corner, with a compact fridge and just enough counter space for one person. And the air smelled faintly of fresh paint and something else you couldn’t name.
You tried not to wrinkle your nose, probably the pipes, you told yourself.
“It’s nice,” you said, walking across the room to peek into the adjoining bathroom, "really nice, actually.”
Taehyung leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a grin, “I know the rent seems low for the area, but honestly, I just prefer good tenants over profit. We’ve had some people come and go.”
You raised an eyebrow, “Come and go?”
He laughed, waving his hand dismissively, “Nothing bad! Just people who moved for work or relationships. You know how it is.”
You nodded, but something about the way he said it made you look around the room again. The studio was bright enough, but the corner near the window felt oddly colder than the rest.
Still, it was hard to deny the convenience or the price.
“I’ll take it,” you said finally, turning back to him with a small, excited smile.
Taehyung’s grin widened, “Perfect. Welcome to 306 Surry Street.”
For a split second, as he said it, you thought you saw something flicker in his expression.
And for the first time that day, you wondered if you just made a mistake.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You moved into 306 Surry St a week later, with Hoseok and Namjoon insisting on helping even though you told them repeatedly that you didn’t own much.
“That’s a lie,” Hoseok groaned dramatically, setting down another box beside your bed frame, “you have so many books. Who are these for? Your students or your next life?”
“They’re my emotional support books,” you replied, “some people go to therapy. I reread The Little Prince”
Namjoon, who has been assembling your IKEA desk on the floor, looked up with a chuckle, “Can’t believe you need help assembling an IKEA desk.”
“Yeah, because IKEA instructions are written by demons,” you shot back, pulling out a neatly folded pile of sweaters from a box, transferring it into the wardrobe near the bathroom door.
You started hanging up your work blouses first, then your coats. By the time you finished folding your jeans into the bottom drawer, Hoseok has already taken over unboxing your kitchen things.
“Okay, so you own three mugs, three plates, and exactly two forks and spoons," he said in disbelief.
“I live alone, Hoseok.”
He gasped, “Tragic. I’m buying you another set of cutleries.”
By early evening, the major unpacking was done, your bed was made, the bookshelves were filled, and your coffee corner was arranged neatly with instant packets. Namjoon found an outlet for your lamp, Hoseok managed to untangle all your charging cords, and together they carried the last of the flattened cardboard boxes downstairs.
When they came back up, Taehyung was waiting near the stairs with a smile, “Everything coming together okay?”
“Yeah,” you said, brushing dust off your hands, “It’s actually perfect. Thanks again, Taehyung.”
He nodded, “I’ll order takeout later, my treat for my new tenant.”
The three of you agreed immediately. While waiting for the food, you started arranging little things like sticking Polaroids on the wall with tape, stacking notebooks beside your bed, and sliding your rug a few inches to center it under the table.
“Now it looks lived in,” Hoseok said approvingly, sitting down on the rug and opening a can of soda, “we did good.”
Namjoon leaned against the wall, observing the room with a satisfied smile, “Could use a splash of color, though.”
You gave him a glare, “You sound like Hoseok.”
Hoseok threw a pillow at you in response, “I’m right here.”
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
Hoseok and Namjoon left just after dinner, you walked them out to the car, waving as they drove away before heading back upstairs.
The studio was quiet again.
The sound of the fridge was the only sound filling the silence. You turned on a playlist, then began unpacking the smaller boxes you haven’t touched earlier, the stationeries, journals, and a few framed photos.
You placed one photo on your desk, a picture of you, Hoseok, and Namjoon smiling outside the school gates.
After a long day, you finally sat down on the edge of your bed, looking around at the almost finished room. It wasn’t perfect, but it still felt like yours.
As you reached for your mug to drink the water you poured for yourself, you paused, because somehow, it was sitting perfectly centered on the table with the handle turned neatly towards you.
You blinked at it for a moment, then sighed, too tired to think much of it, “You’re just exhausted,” you muttered to yourself.
You changed into your pajamas, turned off the light, and climbed into bed.
And as you drifted toward sleep, you thought to yourself, tomorrow, it will really feel like home.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
By late Sunday afternoon, you finally met your other housemates. You just finished cleaning up the kitchen after heavy cooking which you couldn’t do in the studio, when you heard footsteps and a door creak open behind you.
A sleepy voice followed, “Smells good in here.”
You turned to see a man with dark hair walking into the kitchen, wearing an oversized hoodie and shorts.
“Oh, hey,” you greeted, “sorry, I used the kitchen earlier. I’m ____, the new tenant upstairs”
He nodded, yawning while introducing himself, “Yoongi.”
He didn’t say anything else for a moment, just opened a cabinet, pulled out a mug, and poured himself coffee from the coffee machine. Then, after a pause, he pointed lazily at your containers stacked on the counter, “You meal prep?”
“Yeah,” you said with a small laugh, “If I don’t, I’ll end up eating instant noodles all week.”
Before he could say anything else, you could hear another voice, “Yoongi, you’re actually awake? Miracles do happen.”
You looked over your shoulder to see another man walking into the kitchen, with all messy blond hair. He carried an energy that immediately filled the room.
“Don’t start, Jimin,” Yoongi muttered, sipping his coffee.
Jimin turned to you with an eager smile, “Oh! You must be _____, the new tenant. Taehyung mentioned someone was moving into the studio upstairs. I’m Jimin.”
You shook his hand, smiling at him, “Nice to meet you. Sorry if I made too much noise this morning.”
“Please,” he laughed, “this place creaks on its own even when no one’s moving, you’re fine.”
You chuckled, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, “Good to know.”
The three of you ended up staying in the kitchen longer than expected. And Taehyung eventually joined in a loose T-shirt, holding a tray of fruit.
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Monday morning came.
You woke up before your alarm for once, the sunlight shining on your sheets.
It felt different waking up here, it feels quieter. No traffic could be heard outside, no neighbors slamming doors at odd hours.
You stretched your body, smiling to yourself as you remembered you had extra 90 minutes of sleep since the school is now walking distance.
You dressed in your usual work clothes and brewed coffee in the small kitchen of your studio. The kitchen space was tiny but had a charm of its own, you could move from the counter to the sink in a single step.
You sipped it slowly by the window, eyes tracing the quiet street below.
For once, the commute wouldn’t mean waking up at dawn and running for the bus. You would be able to walk to school, maybe even grab a croissant from that little bakery you passed last week, the thought alone made you smile.
After breakfast, you packed your lunch, checked your bag twice, and grabbed your keys. Taehyung was already in the living room, scrolling on his tablet. He looked up at you and smiled, “Heading to work?”
“Yeah,” you said, slipping your shoes on, “first short commute in two years. I might actually have time to stop for croissants.”
“You look way too happy about that,” he laughed, “good luck with the kids.”
“Thanks,” you replied, waving as you left.
The walk to school took exactly thirteen minutes. You could have cried from how easy the commuting is now.
You even passed by the bakery, grabbed a pastry, and still arrived early enough to set up your classroom before the first bell.
The day went smoothly, the kids were cheerful, the lessons flowed easily, and even your least cooperative student seemed to be in a good mood. You found yourself humming while cleaning up after class, it finally felt like life was finally peaceful again.
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You got home late as you had dinner with the other teachers, and when you arrived, the house was unusually quiet that night.
By the time you reached upstairs, the clock on your wall showed 10:42 PM. You brushed your teeth, changed into your oversized shirt, and climbed into bed.
You didn’t realize when you drifted off.
Your thoughts blurred, and for the first time ever, your mind wasn’t running a mile a minute about lesson plans, grading, or groceries.
But at some point in the night, you stirred awake.
It wasn’t because of noise, there wasn’t any. The air just felt different, colder, and thicker somehow. You blinked slowly, still half awake, your eyes adjusting to the dim light from the window.
And that’s when you saw a figure, tall, broad-shouldered, with what looked like wings behind him standing across the room. Not moving, just there.
At first, your mind didn’t register the fear you felt.
You were too drowsy, still halfway between dreaming and reality.
You blinked again, trying to focus, but just like that, it was gone.
You sat up slowly, staring at the corner where the figure stood.
You rubbed your eyes. Maybe you were dreaming, you were tired. And it wasn’t like the studio had the best lighting at night.
You laid back down, pulling the blanket up to your chin, and finally falling asleep after doing the breathing method the school psychologist taught you.
For the first time since you moved in, you didn’t feel alone.
Summary: He was a commoner, a blacksmith in the palace, unnoticed by most, yet completely devoted to her her beauty, kindness, and heart a guiding light. Every action he took, every subtle move, was for her safety, respect, and well-being. Love made him cunning, precise, and dangerous. In a palace full of whispers and cruelty, his quiet, hidden fury was about to rise, proving that even someone without title could strike with unstoppable force when driven by love and obsession.
Word Count: 19.8k
1 2 3
Note: You can read this without reading the previous chapters.
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The night had been heavy with rain. It fell in relentless sheets, drumming against the tiled roofs and filling the air with a low, mournful rhythm. The world outside was swallowed by darkness, broken only by the flicker of lanterns swaying in the storm’s breath.
Inside a small wooden house at the edge of the village, an old woman stirred in her sleep. The wind howled through the cracks, and then a sound, faint at first. Not the cry of an animal or the groan of shifting wood, but something softer, fragile. A whimper.
Her eyes fluttered open. For a moment, she thought it a dream. But there it was again a distant, muffled cry, carried by the rain. She pushed aside her thin blanket and lit a small lamp, shielding the flame from the wind that seeped through the gaps. She stepped out into the storm, pulling her shawl tight around her shoulders.
She followed the sound hesitant at first, then with growing urgency. The cry grew clearer, desperate, fragile against the roar of the rain.
And then she saw it.
There, beneath the withered tree at the corner of her garden, lay a small bundle wrapped in a soaked blanket. The paper tied to it fluttered weakly in the wind, half torn, the ink bleeding from the rain.
The old woman knelt, her breath catching in her chest. She pulled the blanket back slightly and froze.
A baby.
The child’s face was pale from the cold, cheeks flushed faintly pink, tiny fists trembling as she whimpered. Her eyes, half-lidded and unfocused, shimmered like dark pools beneath the dim light. The old woman’s heart clenched. She lifted the baby into her arms, tucking the blanket tighter, pressing the small body against her chest to share her warmth.
The note slipped from the cloth and fell into her lap. She picked it up, smoothing the wet paper carefully, squinting at the smeared writing.
“Please take care of her.”
That was all it said no name, no clue, no trace of who had left her there. Only those words, fragile as the baby’s breath.
The old woman looked down at the child again. The rain eased slightly, softening into a whisper. The baby blinked up at her, as though searching for something in the wrinkled face above her.
“Oh, my poor little one,” the old woman whispered, her voice breaking. “Who would leave you out here in this cruel storm?”
The baby stirred, letting out a small, helpless cry. And in that sound soft, trembling, alive the old woman felt something stir inside her too.
She held the baby closer, her hands trembling not from the cold but from something deeper. “Hush now,” she murmured, rising slowly to her feet. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
The little lamp flickered, throwing golden light over the small room as the woman laid the baby near the fire, wrapping her in dry cloth. The flames danced, casting warmth over the child’s round cheeks, and for the first time that night, the crying stopped.
The old woman looked down at her, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. “I suppose the heavens have sent you to me,” she whispered softly. “And so I shall call you… Y/N.”
Outside, the storm began to quiet, as though even the rain had paused to listen. The night that began with thunder now settled into silence—a silence that marked not an ending, but a beginning.
And so it was, on that storm-drenched midnight, that Y/N entered the world found not by blood, but by fate.
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The small house on the hill now basked under the soft warmth of spring, the fields around it rippling with tender green shoots and the scent of blooming wildflowers. Inside the garden, laughter rang out bright and bubbling, the kind that only belonged to children.
Now four years old, little Y/N ran barefoot across the narrow stone path, her small hands clutching a wooden pinwheel that spun furiously in the wind. Her short hair bounced with each step, and her cheeks, flushed with sunshine, glowed like peaches.
“Grandma, look! It’s flying!” she squealed, her voice carrying through the air as she turned to show the old woman behind her.
Grandma Sun-hee her silver hair neatly tied, eyes crinkling with affection stood near the porch, sweeping the front steps. “Careful, little one,” she called gently. “You’ll fall if you run like that!”
But Y/N was far too enchanted by the spinning toy to listen. She lifted the pinwheel high, laughing as it caught a stronger gust of wind. “It’s flying! Just like the bird we saw yesterday!”
“Birds have wings, my darling. That toy does not,” Sun-hee replied, shaking her head but smiling nonetheless.
Y/N twirled again—and in her excitement, her foot caught the edge of a stone. She tumbled forward with a startled gasp, landing with a soft thud on the grass. The pinwheel rolled away, spinning lazily to a stop.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then came a tiny sniffle.
“Ah…” The old woman sighed, dropping her broom and hurrying over. “What did Granny say, hmm?”
Y/N sat up slowly, her eyes wide, lip trembling as she inspected her scraped knee. “It hurts…” she whispered, voice quivering.
Sun-hee knelt beside her, brushing stray grass from the child’s hair. “Of course it hurts. That’s what happens when little rabbits forget to watch where they hop,” she said kindly, pulling a small handkerchief from her sleeve.
“I’m not a rabbit,” Y/N protested, sniffling again. “I’m Y/N.”
The old woman chuckled, dabbing gently at the small scrape. “Oh? Then why do you hop and tumble just like one?”
That made Y/N pout, her tiny brows knitting together. “Because… because the ground was mean,” she declared with sudden conviction, pointing at the offending stone. “It tripped me!”
“The ground, hmm?” Sun-hee pretended to frown at it. “Aish, how naughty. Should I scold it for hurting my little one?”
Y/N’s eyes brightened instantly. “Yes!” she said, nodding eagerly, forgetting her pain.
The old woman tapped the stone lightly with her broom handle. “You hear me, ground? Don’t you dare trip my Y/N again.”
Y/N giggled, clapping her tiny hands in delight. “It said sorry!” she announced solemnly.
Sun-hee smiled, brushing her thumb against Y/N’s cheek. “Good. Now, shall we make it all better with some honey tea?”
At once, the little girl’s face lit up. “And rice cakes too?”
The old woman chuckled. “And rice cakes too.”
Y/N scrambled to her feet, clutching her pinwheel again. She looked up at her grandmother with those bright, trusting eyes the same eyes that had looked up at her through rain and darkness years ago. “Grandma,” she said suddenly, tugging at her sleeve. “When I grow up, I’ll make tea for you every day. Just like you do for me!”
Sun-hee’s heart softened, the corners of her eyes glistening with quiet affection. “Then I’ll look forward to that day, my little bird,” she said, resting a hand on the child’s head.
The two of them walked back toward the house, hand in hand the old woman’s steps slow, the child’s skipping beside her, laughter spilling like sunlight over the quiet countryside.
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At eight years old, Y/N came running into the small house, her little footsteps heavy and uneven on the wooden floor. The door creaked as she pushed it open, tears already spilling down her flushed cheeks. She didn’t stop to remove her shoes or speak a word she ran straight into her room, her quiet sobs muffled by the small pillow she buried her face into.
The old woman was sitting by the hearth, mending a torn sleeve when she heard the door slam. Her brow creased in worry, she set aside the needle and rose slowly.
She knocked gently on the door before stepping in, her heart aching at the sight of her little girl curled up on the bed, trembling. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked softly, coming to sit beside her.
Y/N didn’t answer at first. She just shook her head, her fists rubbing her eyes, leaving streaks of tears across her cheeks. “They—” her voice broke, “they said mean things.”
Granny Soo frowned slightly and brushed Y/N’s hair back from her damp face. “Who did, my dear?”
“The girls… from the riverbank.” Y/N’s voice cracked again. “They said… they said my parents didn’t want me. That they left me because I wasn’t good enough.” Her lips quivered as she whispered, “Is that true, Grandma?”
The old woman felt her heart tighten painfully. For a long moment, she couldn’t speak. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for Y/N, pulling her into her arms. “Oh, my little one,” she murmured, her voice low and full of warmth, “don’t you ever believe what cruel tongues say.”
“But… why don’t I have parents like them?” Y/N asked in a small, broken voice.
Grandma hesitated, her gaze distant for a moment, as if the memory of that stormy night long ago still lingered in her mind the sound of the rain, the soft wail of a baby on her doorstep. Finally, she took a deep breath and said gently, “Your parents… they’re with God now, child. Watching over you from above. They couldn’t stay here, but they loved you enough to make sure you’d be safe.”
Y/N sniffled, wiping her tears on Grandma’s sleeve. “So… they didn’t leave me because they didn’t want me?”
“No,” Granny Soo whispered, kissing the top of her head. “They gave you to me so that you would never be alone. And you never will be, do you hear me?”
The little girl nodded, her small hands clutching the front of the old woman’s worn dress.
Grandma smiled faintly, though her eyes glistened with tears. “You’re my family, Y/N. My only one.”
Y/N looked up at her through watery eyes and whispered, “You’re my family too, Grandma. My forever one.”
The old woman laughed softly, her voice trembling with love, and hugged the child tighter. “That’s right, my sweet girl. Just you and me always.”
The fire crackled softly beside them, its glow wrapping the small house in warmth, and outside, the evening wind carried the faint scent of rain. In that quiet moment, they were all the family either of them needed.
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Now fifteen, Y/N had grown into a bright and graceful young girl, lending her hands to the small tailoring shop her grandmother had run for years.
Grandma Soo, now seventy-eight and slower in her steps, had long been known in the village for her skill with a needle, stitching garments for anyone who came to her door.
Y/N now helped her with the work fetching materials, hemming sleeves, sorting fabrics, and chatting with the customers who adored her gentle manners. Their home always smelled faintly of fabric dye and herbal tea, and though life was modest, it was peaceful steady in its rhythm of morning stitching and evening storytelling.
That afternoon, the rhythmic hum of the stitching machine faltered, then broke with a dull crack. Y/N froze mid-seam, the thread snapping between her fingers. Grandma Soo sighed, adjusting her spectacles.
“Ah, this old thing’s finally given up,” she murmured. “Y/N, dear, you’ll have to go to the ironworks shop by the market. Tell them we need a new one. And if it’s too heavy for you, ask the shopkeeper to send someone to carry it home. I’ll pay extra if needed.”
Y/N nodded, wiping her hands on her apron before setting off, her plait swinging gently behind her.
When she reached the blacksmith’s shop, she was greeted by the clang of metal and the smell of oil.
“Ah, Miss Soo’s granddaughter!” the shopkeeper greeted her. “What brings you here, little one?”
“Our machine’s broken,” she explained politely.
The shopkeeper sighed, scratching his chin. “I have one. Bit heavy, though. Costs a few won more than before metal prices went up.”
“That’s okay,” Y/N said quickly, opening her purse. She carefully unfolded the bills, straightened them out, and slid them across the counter.
He took the money, counted it, then waved her off. “It’s in the back. I’ll have one of the boys bring it out.”
Y/N nodded, glancing past him into the shadowed workshop. “Um… could someone maybe carry it to our house too? It’s a bit far, and I can’t lift that much weight. I will pay extra.”
The man barked out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Pay extra. What’s a little girl like you doing carrying a whole machine anyway?”
“I just thought—” she started, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.
“Forget it. You don’t need to pay extra.” His tone softened, and he leaned over the counter. “Hey, Jungkook!” he called toward the back, his voice echoing through the clangs of iron and steel.
The sound of hammering stopped, and after a few seconds, someone stepped out from behind the shelves wiping his hands on a rag, soot streaking across his cheek.
“That boy,” the shopkeeper said, nodding toward him. “He’ll carry it for you. Jungkook, help her take the machine to Soo’s place.”
Y/N turned, and that was when she saw him for the first time. A tall, lean boy seventeen, maybe his dark hair falling into his eyes. There were faint circles beneath them, a kind of weariness that didn’t belong to someone his age, yet his movements were calm, sure. His shirt was faded, his hands rough from work, but his expression was quiet steady.
When his eyes met hers, she blinked, unsure what to say. The shopkeeper simply clapped his hands once. “Go on, boy. Don’t keep the lady waiting.”
And just like that, the moment hung between them awkward, wordless, yet oddly still.
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The afternoon sun had mellowed into a pale gold as Y/N and Jungkook made their way down the narrow dirt path leading out of the marketplace. The sewing machine creaked slightly in his arms, metal brushing against his sleeve with each step.
Y/N walked a few paces ahead, her hands clasped behind her back, glancing over every now and then to make sure he wasn’t struggling.
“You can put it down for a moment if it’s heavy,” she said, her tone light but thoughtful. “It’s a long walk.”
Jungkook shook his head. “It’s fine. I’ve carried worse.”
She eyed the machine, then him. “You say that like you do this every day.”
He smiled a little the first hint of expression since they’d left the shop. “Pretty much. Metal’s heavier than this.”
Y/N kicked a small pebble, chuckling softly. “Honestly, I’d rather stitch all day than lift something that heavy again.”
“That so?” he said, shifting the weight on his arm. “Stitching must be tough, then.”
“It is,” she replied. “Try threading a needle when your hands are shaking or the fabric keeps slipping.”
He laughed quietly, not mocking but amused. “Alright, I’ll believe you. Guess we both do work that looks easier than it is.”
“Exactly.” She tilted her head toward him, eyes glinting. “So, you work with metal all day? Doesn’t that get boring?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted, his voice calm and honest. “But I like making things that last. Iron doesn’t change much. It’s… steady.”
She thought about that for a moment, her brow softening. “That sounds nice, actually. Having something that stays the same.”
They walked in silence for a short stretch.
Jungkook adjusted his grip on the machine again. “So, how far is your house?”
“Not far,” she replied. “Just past those fields. You’ll see an old roof and too many flower pots. That’s us.”
He glanced ahead, squinting slightly at the horizon. “Too many flower pots sounds… peaceful.”
“It is,” she said quietly, her tone softening. “My grandma likes to plant something new every spring. Says it makes the house feel alive.”
He smiled faintly at that. “Sounds like someone who knows how to make things grow.”
Y/N turned her gaze toward him then not staring, just observing. There was something gentle in the way he said it, something that didn’t match the soot on his hands or the tired lines under his eyes.
She found herself smiling before she realized it. “You talk like an old man.”
That made him laugh, short and surprised. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Don’t,” she said, grinning now. “It just means you sound tired.”
He gave a small shrug, pretending to think. “Maybe I am. But… it’s not a bad kind of tired.”
“What kind is it, then?”
“The kind you get after a long day that actually meant something.”
Her smile faded into something quieter, more thoughtful. “That’s a good kind,” she murmured.
For a few minutes, neither spoke. The wind rustled through the tall grass, carrying the smell of damp earth. When they finally reached the small path leading to her home, Y/N slowed and pointed ahead.
“There,” she said. “That’s my house.”
Jungkook followed her gaze a small home tucked between trees, its roof a little uneven. Rows of flowers lined the entrance, wild and mismatched, like someone had planted them out of pure joy rather than order.
He set the machine down gently on the wooden porch. “Made it in one piece.”
“Thanks,” she said, brushing her hands together. “I’ll tell Grandma you helped. She’ll be happy.”
He straightened, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “No need. It’s just part of the job.”
She tilted her head, a playful spark in her eyes. “You always this serious?”
Jungkook let out a small laugh.
He looked at her for a moment really looked then nodded once, his smile still faint but genuine. “See you around, then.”
“Yeah,” she said softly. “See you.”
He turned back toward the village, the fading light catching the edge of his profile. She watched him for a moment longer than she meant to before stepping inside.
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The market buzzed with life that afternoon. Voices floated through the air vendors calling out prices, the clatter of pots, the smell of fried batter and sweet syrup mixing together. Y/N and her friends weaved through the narrow street, hands linked so they wouldn’t get separated in the crowd.
“Let’s eat here!” Mina said, pointing toward a small shop tucked between a spice stall and a cloth vendor. Steam puffed out from its kitchen, carrying the warm scent of dumplings and broth.
Y/N nodded. “Looks good.”
They stepped inside. She brushed a strand of hair from her face and looked toward the counter then froze.
Behind the counter, wiping his hands on a rag, stood Jungkook. His dark hair fell slightly into his eyes, and beside him, another boy taller, older was calling out orders, clearly used to the chaos.
Y/N blinked, surprised. The last time she’d seen Jungkook, he was carrying a block of metal, not balancing trays of food. He looked up just then, caught her gaze.
“Y/N?”
“Jungkook,” she said quickly, before her friends noticed how her tone softened. “You work here too?”
He nodded, setting down the tray he was holding. “Yeah. Help out when the shop gets busy.”
Her friends looked between them curiously. Mina leaned close, whispering, “You know him?”
“Oh yeah. I met him near the workshop last week.” Y/N turned. “This is Jungkook. Jungkook, these are my friends Mina and Hayeon.”
The taller man beside Jungkook stepped forward with a grin. “I’m Jin,” he said easily. While pointing to Jungkook, He says “He doesn’t talk much, but don’t mind him he’s better with hammers than words.”
“Hey,” Jungkook muttered, not looking up.
Y/N smiled faintly. “Nice to meet you.”
The girls ordered food and sat down. Y/N found herself glancing toward the counter every so often. Jungkook moved efficiently, not wasting a single motion fetching trays, pouring soup, carrying plates with a steadiness that came from habit.
Her friends, of course, noticed.
“Okay, he’s kind of handsome,” Mina whispered, leaning close.
Y/N rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched. “He’s just working.”
“Exactly,” Hayeon said. “Even the way he carries that bowl looks dramatic. Like, look at him.”
“Stop,” Y/N hissed, trying not to laugh. “You’re being obvious.”
Jungkook didn’t seem to hear or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.
They kept going, whispering jokes and sharing looks, while Y/N tried not to glance toward the counter again though she failed miserably. Every time she did, Jungkook seemed to be working a little faster.
They laughed and teased her the rest of the meal, like only close friends could.
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When they finally finished eating and stepped outside. Y/N turned back once not because she meant to, just out of habit.
Through the small opening in the curtain, she saw Jungkook again wiping a table, listening quietly while Jin talked beside him.
Y/N and her friends stepped out, still giggling over their empty bowls and the teasing that hadn’t quite stopped since they saw Jungkook.
“You guys go ahead,” Y/N said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “I’ll come in a bit. Need to get something from the spice stall.”
Her friends exchanged knowing looks immediately.
“Uh-huh,” one said with a grin. “From the spice stall, right?”
“Yeah, sure, we totally believe that,” another added, smirking. “Say hi to the handsome helper for us!”
Y/N groaned. “You all are impossible.”
They laughed their way down the street, still whispering and glancing back, until they disappeared into the crowd. Y/N exhaled, shaking her head with a faint smile, and turned back toward the small shop.
Through the open door, she saw Jungkook wiping down a table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, focused as always. His expression was calm, steady.
She stepped inside quietly, the wooden floor creaking beneath her shoes. “Hey,” she said softly.
Jungkook looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes before it softened into a faint smile. “You’re still here?”
“Yeah,” she said, pretending to look around. “My friends left already. Did you finish your work?”
He nodded once. “I just finished. Why?”
“Just thought…” she hesitated for a moment, hands fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. “You’ve been working since morning. Maybe a walk would help. And I could use some company.”
There was a pause not awkward, just thoughtful. Then Jungkook placed the cloth on the counter and said quietly, “Alright. Let me grab my things.”
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They walked side by side through the narrow street, where the last few shopkeepers were closing their stalls and lanterns began to flicker to life. The evening breeze carried the smell of roasted chestnuts and the faint sound of a flute somewhere in the distance.
“So,” Y/N said, glancing up at him, “you really work at both places?”
“Sometimes more,” Jungkook replied. “Depends who needs help. I’m used to it.”
“Doesn’t it get tiring?”
He thought for a moment, then shrugged. “A little. But it’s better than sitting around doing nothing. I like keeping busy.”
Y/N hummed softly. “You sound older than seventeen.”
He chuckled, low and quiet. “You sound younger than fifteen.”
She shot him a look. “That’s rude.”
“Not what I meant,” he said quickly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Just that you… still sound like you believe things will always work out.”
“And you don’t?” she asked.
He didn’t answer right away. “Maybe I used to.”
They walked a few more steps in silence, the sky dimming above them. Y/N kicked at a pebble again, watching it skip ahead. “Then maybe you should start again,” she said softly. “Believing, I mean.”
Jungkook looked down at her really looked and for a moment, something unreadable flickered in his eyes. Then he nodded, just once. “I will.”
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Three Years Later
The spring air was gentle that day, the kind that smelled faintly of dew and blossoms carried from the hillside.
Y/N walked beside Jungkook along the narrow dirt path that led out of the village, the edges lined with wildflowers swaying in the wind. Her long hair fluttered against her face, and her hands were clasped together in front of her, half nervous, half excited.
The wind carried the faint scent of flowers as Y/N followed Jungkook up the small dirt path. The sun had started dipping behind the trees, scattering streaks of gold through the branches.
“Are you sure this isn’t some prank?” Y/N asked, squinting ahead. “You’ve been walking forever.”
Jungkook threw her a glance over his shoulder, his lips tugging into a grin. “If it was a prank, you’d be the first to know. You talk too much to keep secrets from.”
“Excuse me?” She gasped, pretending to be offended. “I’m perfectly capable of being quiet.”
He laughed. “Yeah, for maybe… five seconds?”
“Hey!” she protested, quickening her pace to lightly shove his shoulder. “You’re mean.”
He smirked. “And you’re slow. Come on.”
After another turn, the trees suddenly opened up, and Y/N’s steps slowed. Her breath caught in her throat.
Before them was a field of cherry blossoms in full bloom. The petals danced with the breeze, scattering around like soft pink snow. The air was glowing in the sunset, the sky turning orange and rose above the sea of pink.
Her lips parted in awe. “Jungkook… it’s beautiful.”
He looked at her, not the trees, and said softly, “Yeah… it is.”
She turned, catching his gaze for a second before looking away, cheeks warming. “You really found this place?”
He nodded, walking ahead and sitting under one of the trees. “I come here sometimes. It’s quiet.”
Y/N followed him, sitting beside him. The grass was cool, and petals landed softly on her skirt. “You’re seriously full of surprises,” she murmured. “I didn’t think you were the type to enjoy… flowers.”
He smirked. “You think I only like fire and metal because I work at the forge?”
She giggled. “Well, maybe it suits you.”
He leaned back slightly. “Guess I’m that simple.”
Y/N brushed a petal off her shoulder. “So, you’ve got more sides than you show?”
Jungkook raised a brow. “You finally noticed?”
She laughed softly. “Took me long enough.”
He smiled faintly. “You’re something else.”
They fell quiet for a moment, the sound of rustling blossoms filling the space between them. Then Y/N looked up at the trees and sighed happily. “I wish I could just stay here forever. No noise, no shop work, no endless stitching.”
“You’d get bored in two days,” Jungkook said, teasing.
“Would not!”
“Would too,” he countered, leaning slightly toward her. “You’d start complaining about missing your grandma’s snacks by the third day.”
She blushed lightly, tugging at the hem of her sleeve. “Okay, maybe the snacks part.”
He grinned, pleased with himself. “See? I know you better than you think.”
Y/N looked at him then, smiling faintly. “Yeah… you do.”
For a moment, they just looked at each other, eyes soft in the golden light. Then Y/N quickly looked away, trying to hide her pink cheeks. “Stop staring.”
“I wasn’t staring,” Jungkook said, fighting a smile.
“You totally were!”
“Fine,” he said, shrugging. “You just looked… funny. Like a squirrel.”
Her jaw dropped. “A squirrel?”
He nodded solemnly. “A very serious squirrel.”
She burst into laughter again, smacking his arm lightly. “You’re such a brat.”
He grinned. “You’re easy to tease.”
“You’re mean.”
“Maybe.”
The way he said it calm, playful, with that tiny smile made her heart flutter unexpectedly. She fiddled with a blossom in her hands, trying to look anywhere but at him.
After a while, he shifted and said, “Hey.”
She hummed, still plucking petals. “What?”
He reached into his bag and pulled out a small box wrapped in brown paper and tied with a thin string. “Here.”
Y/N blinked. “What’s this?”
“Your birthday gift,” he said casually, handing it over. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“I wasn’t going to,” she said, grinning as she carefully untied it. Inside was a small silver charm shaped like a cherry blossom, hanging from a delicate thread.
Her mouth fell open. “You made this?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. “Yeah. It’s nothing special.”
“Nothing special?” She looked up, eyes wide. “Jungkook, this is so pretty. It looks like something from a real shop!”
He shrugged. “Guess I got lucky.”
“Don’t act cool,” she said softly, smiling as she held it up to the light. “I love it.”
He looked at her then really looked and his usual teasing expression softened. “Good.”
She stared at the charm a moment longer before carefully tying it around her wrist. “How do I look?”
Jungkook tilted his head slightly. “Hmm…”
She gasped. “Don’t you dare say squirrel again.”
He grinned. “I was gonna say… cute.”
Her face heated instantly. “Shut up!”
“I mean it,” he said, still smiling, but his voice was softer now.
Y/N bit her lip, trying to hide the way her heart was hammering. “You’re just saying that because it’s my birthday.”
He leaned closer, his tone teasing again. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just really easy to fluster.”
“I’m not flustered!” she blurted out, but the way she ducked her face into her hands made him laugh.
“Sure you’re not.”
“Ugh, I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he said, his smile widening.
She peeked through her fingers, meeting his eyes. “Maybe I do.”
He chuckled quietly. “Then why are you smiling?”
She huffed, turning away to hide the grin spreading across her face. “You’re so annoying.”
They sat there until the sun melted fully into the horizon, petals floating around them like tiny pink stars. Y/N rested her chin on her knees, the charm glinting on her wrist as she whispered, “Thank you, Jungkook. Really.”
He glanced at her, voice gentle. “Happy birthday, Y/N.”
Their eyes met once more, and this time, neither of them looked away.
The breeze danced through the blossoms above them, and though neither said it aloud, both felt it the quiet, shy ache of something that was slowly, softly turning into love.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The soft glow of the lanterns flickered as Y/N stepped onto the worn wooden porch of their small home. The night air was cool now, carrying the faint fragrance of the cherry blossoms clinging to her sleeves. Her wrist still shimmered faintly under the dim light, the silver charm Jungkook had made catching a glint each time she moved.
Inside, the house was quiet except for the low crackle of the fire. Grandma Soo sat by the hearth, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, a half-finished piece of stitching resting on her lap. Her head lifted the moment the door creaked open.
“Y/N,” she said sharply, her tone both relieved and stern. “Where have you been, child? The sun went down an hour ago!”
Y/N winced a little, closing the door gently behind her. “I—I went out, Grandma. Just… for a walk.”
“A walk?” Grandma Soo echoed, narrowing her eyes. “At this hour?” She stood, her thin frame straightening despite her age. “You’re eighteen, not a bird that needs to wander after dark. You worried me.”
Y/N dropped her gaze, biting her lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
Grandma sighed, rubbing her temples. “You could’ve at least taken your gift before disappearing. I was waiting for you all day. Made your favorite rice cakes too.”
That made Y/N’s chest tighten a little with guilt. She shuffled closer, crouching beside the fire. “I didn’t forget. I just… Jungkook wanted to show me something. It’s my birthday, remember?”
The old woman’s hands froze at the name. “Jungkook,” she repeated slowly. “That boy from the metal shop?”
Y/N nodded, smiling faintly. “Yeah. He took me to the cherry blossom field. It was beautiful, Grandma. I’d never seen anything like it.”
But Grandma Soo’s expression had already changed a shadow of concern clouding her soft eyes. “Y/N,” she began carefully, “I’ve told you before… you must be careful with boys, especially ones who come from hard places.”
Y/N frowned. “What do you mean, ‘hard places’?”
“He’s not from here,” Grandma said, voice low. “He’s an orphan, isn’t he? Lives with others like him. That kind of life makes people… restless, uncertain. They move often, searching for something to fill their emptiness. I don’t want you getting tangled up in something that could hurt you.”
Y/N looked at her, hurt flickering across her face. “He’s not like that, Grandma. Jungkook’s kind. He helps people. He works harder than anyone I’ve seen.”
Grandma’s tone softened, but her worry didn’t fade. “Kindness doesn’t always mean stability, my dear. I know what I’m saying. Life isn’t easy for boys like him. They carry burdens that you can’t see. Sometimes, love for them feels like saving them but it ends up breaking you instead.”
Y/N’s fingers curled around her skirt. “He’s not broken,” she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly. “He’s… he’s just trying to live.”
Grandma’s gaze softened, and for a long moment, she didn’t speak. Then she sat down again, her expression heavy. “Y/N-ah… you have such a soft heart. That’s your greatest gift and your biggest danger. I only want you safe. You’re all I have.”
Y/N knelt beside her, resting her head on Grandma’s lap like she used to when she was little. “I know, Grandma. I love you. But Jungkook… he’s my friend. He’s been there for me. I can’t just pretend he doesn’t matter.”
Grandma’s hand brushed through Y/N’s hair, gentle but firm. “A boy and a girl can be friends, yes. But hearts change before you realize it. And when they do, things become difficult.”
Y/N closed her eyes, her voice quiet. “Maybe. But he’s the only person who makes me feel… understood.”
Grandma paused, the stitching thread dangling from her hand. “Understood?”
Y/N nodded slowly. “ He listens. He makes me laugh. And when I’m with him, everything feels… lighter.”
A soft sigh escaped Grandma Soo’s lips. “That’s how it always begins, dear. The laughter, the lightness. But love real love must also withstand life’s weight. You’re still so young. You don’t yet know how heavy the world can be.”
Y/N sat up then, her eyes glimmering with quiet determination. “Maybe not. But I want to learn… and I want to believe that not everyone who’s been hurt will hurt others.”
For a long while, only the fire crackled between them. The silence wasn’t angry, just full of everything they both wanted to say but couldn’t.
Finally, Grandma reached behind her and picked up a small, neatly wrapped bundle. “Here,” she said softly. “Before I forget.”
Y/N blinked and accepted it. Inside was a simple hand-stitched pouch, the fabric soft and familiar, embroidered with small cherry blossoms.
“I made it while you were gone,” Grandma said with a faint smile. “To keep little things safe. Maybe that pretty charm you’re wearing.”
Y/N’s fingers brushed over the embroidery, her throat tightening. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Grandma.”
“Next time,” Grandma murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear, “take this with you. And… if you must see that boy again, promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t give your heart away too easily, hmm?”
Y/N smiled faintly, leaning into her grandmother’s touch. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
But as she lay in bed later that night, the charm glinting softly in the moonlight, her promise felt both true and impossible because every time she closed her eyes, she saw Jungkook’s smile under the cherry blossoms, and her heart whispered quietly, It’s already too late.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The market square was alive with noise that afternoon the hum of chatter, the creak of wooden carts, the calls of vendors hawking vegetables and spices. Sunlight poured through the awnings, painting stripes of gold and shadow over the dusty path.
Y/N adjusted the small basket in her hands, ticking through her mental list — rice, salt, a bit of fabric thread. Grandma had stayed home with aching knees, so the errands were hers today. She moved from stall to stall.
But as she turned into a quieter stretch of the market where the crowd thinned near the well. A group of three young men stood near the shade of a fruit stall, laughing among themselves. They looked her way, their clothes cleaner than most in the village fine silk shirts and golden cuffs. They weren’t locals she saw often, only showing up when they felt like flaunting the wealth their families held.
She was checking a stall for cloth when a voice called out behind her, sharp with mock amusement.
“Well, look who we have here.”
Y/N turned slightly. Three boys stood a few feet away — a group she didn’t recognize. They weren’t from her part of the village; their clothes were too fine, their shoes too clean.
“Pretty thing to be walking around alone,” one of them said, his grin lazy and mean. “Ain’t it dangerous for a girl like you?”
Y/N kept her voice steady. “I’m fine, thanks.” She turned back to the stall.
But a hand landed on the counter beside hers — close, too close. “Hey, I’m talking to you. Didn’t your folks teach you manners?”
Her jaw clenched. “Did yours?” she said without looking at him.
The boys behind him laughed. “Ooh, got a sharp tongue, huh?” the tallest one said. “Bet that’s fun until someone bites back.”
Y/N faced them now, her basket still steady in her hand. “You should walk away.”
“Should we?” The first boy tilted his head, smirk widening. “We’re just trying to talk. Why so cold?”
“Because you’re in my way.”
The boy clicked his tongue, stepping closer. “Feisty one. I like that.”
“Don’t touch me,” Y/N said sharply, stepping back. The words came fast, hard. “Don’t even try.”
That earned a whistle from the third boy. “Relax, we’re not gonna hurt you—”
“Then leave,” she snapped, louder now. Heads turned. People started watching — a few stall owners frowned, whispering among themselves, but no one stepped in yet.
The first boy’s smile faded, replaced by irritation. “You really don’t know who you’re talking to, huh?”
“No,” Y/N said flatly. “And I don’t care.”
That made something in his expression darken. He reached for her wrist and before his hand could touch her, another one caught it midair.
Then a voice cut through the noise.
“I’d move your hand if I were you.”
The tone was calm but it carried enough weight to still the laughter instantly.
The boys turned. Jungkook stood a few paces away, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a folded sack of metal parts in one hand. His face was unreadable, but his eyes dark, sharp with quiet fury were fixed on them.
“Oh,” one of the boys said, scoffing. “The blacksmith’s boy.”
Jungkook didn’t answer. He just stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until the space between him and Y/N closed. He set the sack down and stood slightly in front of her.
“You think picking on a girl makes you a man?” His voice was quiet, almost soft, but the silence that followed it made the words land like blows.
The ringleader smirked, though a flicker of unease crossed his face. “It was just talk. Don’t make a scene.”
“You already did,” Jungkook said flatly. “Now apologize.”
The boy bristled, glancing at his friends for support. “You don’t get to order us around. Do you know who my father is?”
“No,” Jungkook said, meeting his gaze without a blink. “And I don’t care.”
There was a long pause. The air felt thick like the moment before a storm. Then the boy laughed again, a sharp, forced sound. “You think you’re some kind of hero, huh? Playing guard dog for every village girl?”
Jungkook’s jaw tensed. He didn’t raise his voice, but his next words were low and cold. “If I see you near her again, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to stand so tall next time.”
The smirk faltered. The other boys exchanged nervous glances they’d seen Jungkook before, carrying iron bars twice their weight without breaking a sweat. There was something in his eyes now that didn’t invite argument.
The leader muttered something under his breath, then shoved his hands into his pockets. “Come on,” he snapped to his friends. “She’s not worth it.”
And just like that, they left the laughter gone, replaced by the uneasy quiet of the crowd that had gathered. People whispered behind their hands, eyes darting between Jungkook and Y/N.
Jungkook finally exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. He turned to her slowly. “Are you okay?”
Y/N nodded, though her hands trembled slightly. “Yeah… I’m fine.”
And together, they walked through the busy street side by side, the air lighter now, though neither said what they were really thinking.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The evening settled softly over the village, painting the sky in strokes of amber and violet as the last light faded beyond the rooftops.
Y/N had been on her way back from the tailor’s workshop, a bundle of folded fabric tucked securely under her arm, when she caught sight of a familiar figure by the old water well near the market’s edge.
At first, she almost didn’t recognize him he stood still, head bent, filling a small metal pail, sleeves rolled up as usual. But then the sunlight hit the side of his face, and she saw it the faint purpling along his cheekbone, a small cut on the corner of his lip, and a bruise just above his brow.
She stopped mid-step, heart thudding.
“Jungkook?”
He glanced up, startled, then quickly looked away as if pretending not to hear her.
“Yah, Jeon Jungkook!” she called again, walking toward him.
He sighed quietly, setting the pail down. “Hey.”
The word was soft, casual — too casual.
“What happened to your face?” she asked, her tone sharper now as she stepped closer. Her eyes scanned the bruises that trailed faintly down his neck. “Did you—did someone hit you?”
He tried to look indifferent. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” She frowned. “You look like you fought a mountain.”
He gave a quiet huff, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Guess I lost, then.”
“Jungkook,” she said firmly, folding her arms. “Tell me.”
He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s… not a big deal.”
“It looks like a big deal.”
He stayed silent for a moment, then finally muttered, “Those guys from yesterday. They were waiting when I left work last night.”
Y/N’s eyes widened. “What? Those jerks from the market?”
He gave a small nod, eyes still lowered. “Said I embarrassed them. Wanted to return the favor.”
“And you let them?” she snapped.
“I didn’t let them,” he said quietly. “But three against one isn’t fair odds.”
Her chest ached. “Did you at least go see the village doctor?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
He shrugged again, avoiding her gaze. “It’s fine. Just bruises. No point wasting money.”
Y/N stared at him, disbelief mixing with anger. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Y/N—”
“No, seriously! You’re walking around with half your face blue and think you’re fine? What if it gets worse? What if it’s infected or something?”
He almost smiled at that faintly, like he couldn’t help it. “I’m not dying.”
“That’s not the point,” she said, grabbing his wrist. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To my house.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “What—no, I’m not—”
“You are,” she said firmly, already tugging him along the road. “And don’t even try to argue.”
“Y/N—”
She shot him a glare over her shoulder. “One more word and I’ll drag you.”
He chuckled under his breath, letting himself be pulled along, his steps falling in rhythm behind hers. “You really like ordering people around, huh?”
“Only when they’re stupid.”
“Guess I should be honored.”
She ignored him, though her lips twitched slightly. “Stop talking and walk.”
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
By the time they reached Y/N’s home, the evening sky had deepened into a cool indigo, the faint hum of crickets threading through the quiet air. The small house stood at the edge of the village, surrounded by the gentle rustle of plum trees. Jungkook hesitated at the doorway, the faint ache in his ribs forgotten for a moment as he realized he had never been here before.
“Don’t just stand there,” Y/N said, unlocking the wooden door. “Get in before I change my mind.”
He smirked faintly. “You say that like you could actually stop me if I didn’t.”
She turned sharply, eyes narrowing. “Try me, Jeon.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender, stepping inside with a grin tugging at his lips. The interior was modest but warm a low table near the window, a few drying herbs hanging by the kitchen space, and shelves lined with neatly stacked books and small trinkets. It smelled faintly of lavender and soap.
“Sit,” she ordered, gesturing toward a cushion near the window.
Jungkook sat, looking around quietly while she disappeared into another room. His gaze lingered on the framed sketch pinned beside her desk—cherry blossoms drawn in gentle, imperfect lines, like someone had traced them from memory. There was a tiny clay figure beside it, something that looked half like a cat and half like… a potato. He smiled.
Then his eyes drifted toward the far end of the room as Y/N returned this time carrying a small box and a folded cloth. She stopped when she noticed him looking.
“Don’t snoop.”
“I wasn’t snooping,” he said innocently. “Just… observing.”
“Same thing.”
“Then you shouldn’t have left me alone here,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes, setting the box down beside him. “You talk too much for someone who got beaten up.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “I can still defend myself with words, at least.”
“Not impressive,” she said flatly, opening the box.
Inside were small glass bottles, bandages, and ointments that smelled faintly of herbs. She soaked a cotton cloth in a clear solution and leaned in.
“Hold still.”
“I am still.”
“You’re breathing too loud.”
He chuckled under his breath. “Didn’t know that was against the rules.”
“Now it is.”
She dabbed gently at the cut near his lip, and he hissed softly, jerking slightly away.
“Ah—! That stings!”
“Of course it does,” she muttered, not missing a beat. “You should’ve gone to the doctor before it got worse.”
He watched her, her brows furrowed in concentration, the lamplight catching in her eyes. “Didn’t want to waste money,” he murmured.
“You think your face isn’t worth a few coins?”
He smirked faintly. “Depends who’s looking.”
She glanced at him briefly, then looked away too quickly. “Stop saying nonsense.”
He grinned wider. “So you are looking, then.”
She glared at him, dabbing his jaw a little harder this time. “Hold still, or I’ll actually make it hurt.”
“Violent woman,” he muttered, eyes glinting with amusement.
“Ungrateful idiot.”
Their eyes met for a brief moment and the banter quieted. She noticed the flecks of gold in his irises, the faint shadow of his lashes, the curve of his mouth soft now instead of teasing. For a second, she forgot what she was supposed to do next.
“...You’ve got a cut here too,” she said quietly, brushing her thumb near his temple.
He didn’t answer. Just watched her.
The air felt thicker now, the small room holding the hush between them. The only sound was the faint creak of the house and the rhythmic chirp of crickets outside.
She reached for another small bottle of ointment, standing up. “Wait here. I’ll get the stronger one from the shelf.”
When she left, Jungkook exhaled softly, rubbing the back of his neck.
When she left the room to fetch another bottle, Jungkook let out a small breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
When Y/N came back, she had her sleeves rolled up and a small bottle clutched in her hand. A loose strand of hair had fallen over her face, tickling her cheek as she knelt beside him again. She didn’t seem to notice.
Jungkook did. He hesitated for a second, then said quietly, “You’ve got… uh, hair on your face.”
She blinked, looking confused. “What?”
He didn’t answer instead, he reached out before thinking twice and gently tucked the strand behind her ear. His fingers brushed her skin for the briefest moment. Warm. Careful.
Y/N froze, startled by the smallness of the gesture and how much it made her heart jump.
“Thanks,” she muttered, trying to focus on the cloth in her hand. “You could’ve just said it, you know.”
He gave a soft laugh, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, but you’d have scolded me for not helping.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth lifted just a little. “You’re still getting scolded,” she said, dipping the cloth in the ointment.
“Why?”
“For being reckless. For not taking care of yourself. For making me worry,” she said, her voice softening at the end.
Jungkook’s grin faded. He looked at her, quiet for a moment. “You worried about me?”
She didn’t look up, pretending to be very busy cleaning the cut on his arm. “Obviously. You were hurt. Anyone would.”
“Right,” he said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Anyone.”
She glanced up then, meeting his gaze — and something unspoken lingered there. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t just anyone. But she couldn’t.
Instead, she said, “Stop moving, or it’ll hurt more.”
He smirked. “You’re really bad at being gentle.”
She gasped. “Excuse me? I’m helping you!”
“You’re torturing me.”
“Oh, really?” she said, dabbing his cheek a little harder.
“Ow—! Okay, okay, fine!” he laughed, trying to pull back, but she leaned closer, holding his face still with her hand.
“Don’t move,” she ordered again, their faces now closer than either realized.
The laughter faded into a quiet stillness. Their eyes met hers wide and soft, his uncertain but calm. The lamp’s glow flickered across his cheek, and Y/N could suddenly hear her own heartbeat too loudly.
For a few seconds, neither moved. Jungkook’s eyes dropped to her lips, then quickly back to her eyes as if afraid he’d done something wrong. She opened her mouth to say something anything but no words came.
He smiled faintly, breaking the silence first. “You’re staring.”
Her face flushed instantly. “I–I was not!”
“Were too.”
“Was not!”
He laughed under his breath, and the sound made her cheeks warm even more.
“Fine,” he said softly, eyes still on her. “Then I was.”
Before she could respond, a sudden loud clatter echoed from the hallway the sound of a dropped pot, maybe from her grandmother’s room. Both of them jolted, jumping apart like they’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Oh my god,” she muttered, pressing a hand over her heart. “You scared me!”
“Me? I didn’t do anything!” Jungkook said quickly, flustered, rubbing the back of his neck again.
“You— you were sitting too close!”
He raised an eyebrow, trying to hide his smile. “Was I? You didn’t seem to mind.”
She shot him a glare. “Shut up.”
He grinned, leaning back slightly but his eyes still playful. “Yes, ma’am.”
Y/N tried to focus on bandaging his arm again, but her hands felt clumsy, her heart still racing. Neither of them said anything for a while. The silence wasn’t awkward just filled with things they didn’t know how to say yet.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The night air was cool, thick with the scent of damp earth and faint woodsmoke. Lanterns in the village had begun to dim, one by one, as people shuttered their doors for the night. Jungkook waited near the edge of the market like he always did, hands shoved into his pockets, hair a little messy from the long day at the forge.
When Y/N appeared, carrying a small basket and wrapped in a thin shawl, he straightened.
“You’re late,” he said with a teasing smile. “What took you so long?”
“Grandma wanted extra thread sorted,” she replied, rolling her eyes lightly. “She said the shop can’t survive if I keep tangling them.”
Jungkook chuckled under his breath. “Maybe she’s right. You do have a habit of making knots out of everything.”
“Oh, and you’re one to talk?” she shot back, glancing up at him. “Last week, you dropped a whole hammer on your foot.”
He feigned a scowl. “That was strategy. The hammer needed discipline.”
She laughed softly, and for a moment the quiet road didn’t feel so empty. Their footsteps moved in rhythm, gravel crunching underfoot, the distant croak of frogs echoing through the fields.
Then without warning the wind shifted. A fat droplet of rain splashed against Y/N’s cheek.
She stopped, blinking up at the sky. “Wait did you feel—”
Before she could finish, the drizzle became a sudden downpour, heavy and relentless.
“Ah—Jungkook!” she cried, half laughing, half startled as she clutched the fabric tighter to her chest. “It’s raining!”
Jungkook laughed, the sound drowned by the patter of rain. “Come on this way!”
Without thinking, he reached for her hand, his fingers wrapping around hers firmly. The contact startled her, but before she could protest, he was already guiding her toward the small wooden shed by the side of the road a place where farmers usually stored their tools.
They dashed across the muddy path, the rain soaking through their clothes, cold and wild. Y/N stumbled once, but Jungkook’s grip tightened, steadying her. Her heart thudded she wasn’t sure if it was from running or from the warmth of his hand in hers.
They slipped under the shed’s narrow awning, breathing hard. Rain drummed against the roof, echoing in steady rhythm. Water clung to their hair and lashes; Y/N’s shawl hung limp over her shoulders, and Jungkook’s shirt clung to him, his breath misting faintly in the chill.
He pushed wet strands of hair off his forehead and glanced at her, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “You’re drenched.”
“So are you,” she retorted, wringing water from her sleeve.
“Yeah, but you look worse,” he teased lightly.
Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
He grinned. “You’re shivering. Here—”
He shrugged off his damp outer jacket anyway, trying to shake off some of the water before draping it around her shoulders.
She looked up at him, surprised. “You’ll freeze.”
“I’ll live,” he said simply, his tone quieter now, gaze lingering for a heartbeat longer than usual.
The rain filled the silence between them steady, endless, soft. Their hands brushed again when she adjusted the jacket, and neither pulled away.
She looked out into the curtain of rain. “It’s… nice. It feels like the world’s quieter. Like everything slows down.”
He studied her, the corners of his eyes soft. “You really think rain can make things better?”
“Sometimes,” she said, turning to him. “Rain hides everything dust, noise, even the past. For a while, it’s just… clean again.”
Jungkook tilted his head slightly, something unreadable flickering across his face. “You always find the good in everything.”
She smiled faintly, almost shyly. “And you always find something to tease me about.”
He chuckled, a low sound that rumbled between them. “That’s because you make it easy.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. The warmth between them lingered, filling the silence that followed. Outside, the rain poured harder, the wind whistling softly through the narrow lanes.
Then, without warning, Y/N stepped forward.
“You know what?” she said, eyes glinting. “I’m going.”
He frowned. “Going where?”
“Out there.”
“Y/N no, it’s pouring—”
But before he could stop her, she was gone, stepping right into the downpour with a laugh that echoed against the night. Her arms lifted, her shawl falling to the ground as she turned once, twice spinning in the middle of the road, the rain wrapping around her like a thousand glittering threads.
Jungkook stared, half in disbelief, half in awe. Her laughter cut through the sound of rain like a melody he never wanted to forget.
“You’re insane,” he called out, his voice laced with both exasperation and something softer.
“Then come save me!” she shouted back, her smile radiant, eyes daring.
He shook his head, though he was already moving, his boots splashing through the puddles. “You’re going to catch a cold!”
“So will you!” she laughed, spinning again as he reached her.
Jungkook stood a step away, soaked and breathless, watching the way her hair clung to her face, how her eyes sparkled under the lamplight. He’d seen her happy before, but never like this never so alive, so free.
He didn’t realize he was smiling until she noticed. “What?” she asked, catching her breath, her voice softer now.
“Nothing,” he murmured, his eyes not leaving her face. “You just look…”
“Like what?” she asked, tilting her head, the teasing tone returning.
“Like you belong here,” he said simply. “In the rain.”
The sound of water seemed to fade, the world shrinking to just the two of them their laughter, their closeness, the warmth that defied the chill.
Y/N looked away first, cheeks flushed. “You’re terrible at compliments,” she said quietly.
He smirked faintly. “You’re terrible at taking them.”
She gave him a small shove, laughing again. But her foot slipped on the slick stones just enough for her balance to waver.
“Y/N!”
Jungkook’s reflexes were faster than thought; he caught her by the waist before she could fall, pulling her against him. The world stilled.
Her palms rested flat against his chest; his arm stayed firm around her back, holding her close. Rainwater ran down her temples, glistening like silver in the faint light.
“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low. “I told you.”
Her breath came in small, uneven puffs. “I’m fine,” she whispered, not daring to look up.
But he didn’t move. Neither of them did.
His heartbeat thudded beneath her fingers steady, warm, too loud for either to ignore. Slowly, hesitantly, Y/N looked up. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither could look away.
Rain traced lines down his cheek; her gaze followed one before meeting his eyes again. There was something different there something tender, quiet, and unspoken, like a secret that had been waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.
Something fluttered in her chest something wild and uncontrollable.
His hand, still at her waist, tightened slightly, pulling her a fraction closer. The space between them dissolved, and her breath caught when his forehead brushed against hers light, hesitant, almost unsure.
The rain softened around them, slower now, as if even the storm held its breath.
Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, her voice trembling. “Jungkook…”
He hummed quietly in response, his thumb tracing a small, absent circle against her back.
She opened her eyes, finding him looking at her again closer now, their breaths mingling, the warmth of his skin breaking through the chill. For the first time, neither of them looked away.
And under the quiet, endless fall of rain, their words fell away.
They leaned in.
Slowly. Carefully. Like the world might shatter if they moved too fast.
And for that one small, fragile moment, nothing else existed but the sound of the rain and the steady rhythm of two hearts learning the same language.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The afternoon sun slipped gently through drifting clouds, painting the yard in shades of gold and green. The air still held a faint dampness from last night’s rain cool, clean, and alive.
Y/N stood near the small garden patch behind her house, a wooden basket of seedlings at her feet. Her sleeves were rolled just past her elbows, and a few strands of hair had escaped her braid. She frowned at the empty stretch of soil as if scolding it into obedience.
“Jungkook!” she called, glancing toward the narrow path leading to the gate. “You’re late!”
He appeared a moment later, breath steady, a faint smile tugging at his lips. His white linen shirt was slightly untucked, the edges of his sleeves still damp from washing. “You said after noon,” he said, stepping closer. “The sun’s barely leaning west.”
“It’s leaning enough,” she shot back. “Come on, help me before the soil dries.”
He chuckled quietly and walked over, resting his hands on his hips. “You’re bossier every time I see you. What are we planting today?”
Y/N crouched, carefully setting a small clay pot aside. “Grandma wanted basil and marigolds. The storm ruined most of the old plants. We’ll start before she notices.”
He knelt beside her, the fabric of his trousers brushing against the damp grass. “So you called me here to dig holes?”
“You’re better at it,” she said without looking up. “Besides, I can’t do it alone.”
He reached for the small spade. “Alright,” he said quietly, “then I’ll dig.”
They worked in companionable silence at first the sound of earth being turned, the hum of cicadas in the trees. Every so often, Y/N would glance up, find him already watching her, and pretend not to notice.
When she pressed one of the seedlings into place, he leaned over. “Not like that,” he said.
“Yes, like that.”
“No,” he insisted, his tone teasing. “You’re pressing too much. You’ll suffocate the roots.”
She frowned. “Then show me, oh great expert.”
He smiled, guiding her hand with his. “Like this,” he murmured, loosening the soil slightly, his fingers brushing against hers.
The air seemed to thicken. Y/N’s breath faltered, her pulse stumbling somewhere in her throat.
“That’s… better,” she said quickly, looking away.
“See?” His grin turned smug. “You should listen to me more often.”
“In your dreams,” she muttered.
He laughed, low and warm, the sound threading through the quiet afternoon. When he turned back to the plants, she flicked a small bit of soil at him just enough to land on his shirt.
He stared at her. “Did you just—?”
She smiled sweetly. “A little dirt won’t hurt.”
His expression shifted into playful mischief. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Before she could react, he dipped his fingers into the soil and gently tapped it onto the tip of her nose.
“Jungkook!”
He laughed outright this time, leaning back to dodge her half-hearted swat. “Now we’re even.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you look adorable,” he said softly.
That quieted her for a second. The word lingered between them like the faint scent of rain. She turned back to the garden, trying to hide the way her cheeks burned.
By the time they finished, the small patch looked full and alive again. Y/N sat back on her heels, brushing dirt from her hands. “It’s perfect,” she murmured.
Jungkook watched her sunlight catching in her hair, her expression calm and proud. “It is,” he said, though his gaze never left her face.
When she looked up, he leaned closer, his voice lower, quieter. “You’ve got a little dirt right here.”
Her breath caught when his thumb brushed her cheek, gentle and slow. The touch lingered a moment too long before he dropped his hand and smiled.
“Better,” he said.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He didn't move away. He stayed close, kneeling there, his intense gaze fixed on her mouth. The comfortable space they usually maintained dissolved, replaced by a sudden, electric proximity.
He didn't ask. He simply closed the distance, his lips meeting hers with a tender, but possessive certainty. The kiss was no longer brief it deepened, Jungkook tilting his head slightly, his hand lifting to gently cradle the back of her neck. He held her there, tasting the sweetness of the afternoon and the unspoken tension of the last three years.
Y/N’s hand rose instinctively, her fingers catching on the smooth, damp linen of his shirt, pulling him closer. The gentle pressure of his mouth was an affirmation of their private world, a moment of profound truth spoken without fear. He pulled back slowly, deliberately, his breath mingling with hers.
He looked into her eyes, the sheer, undeniable affection in his gaze rendering any apology unnecessary. He had simply acted on the deepest truth they shared.
He stood then, offering his hand to her. “Come on, gardener. Let’s clean up before your grandmother thinks I’ve ruined her yard.”
Y/N slipped her hand into his, laughing softly. “You already have.”
He smiled that quiet, knowing kind of smile and didn’t let go.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The little stitching shop was quiet that afternoon, save for the soft rhythm of thread pulling through cloth and the whir of the ceiling fan turning lazily above. Rolls of fabric lined the shelves, their colors muted by the golden light that spilled through the open doorway.
Grandma sat behind the counter, her glasses perched low on her nose as she carefully measured out a length of ribbon. Her hands moved with the ease of habit, nimble even in age.
The bell above the door tinkled.
“Ah, you’re early today,” Grandma said without looking up, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Back for your dress, Mira?”
The woman who entered was in her fifties, her hair streaked with gray and tied neatly in a bun. She carried herself with that familiar air of someone who always knew more than she should. “Yes, that, and a bit of company,” Mira replied, fanning herself with a folded piece of paper. “It’s far too hot to sit home and stare at the walls.”
Grandma nodded, folding the ribbon neatly. “You know you’re welcome here. Sit down; I’ll get your dress.”
Mira took a seat on the small bench by the counter, her eyes wandering over the rows of neatly folded fabrics, the threads gleaming like sunlight in jars. “You’ve kept busy, haven’t you?” she said. “Always something new hanging in the window.”
“There’s always someone needing new clothes,” Grandma replied simply, reaching for a wrapped parcel behind her. “And I like having work to do. Keeps the mind quiet.”
Mira chuckled, accepting the parcel but she didn’t leave. “Speaking of busy, I’ve seen your granddaughter running around quite a bit these days.”
Grandma’s hands stilled just slightly. “Y/N? She helps me with errands. Brings things from the market, delivers finished pieces.”
“Oh, yes,” Mira said smoothly. “And she seems to have a fine helper of her own lately. That boy Jungkook, isn’t it? Always by her side, walking her home after dusk.”
Grandma lifted her gaze, her tone even. “He’s been helping with the heavier work. Kind boy.”
“Well,” Mira began, her tone smooth, “that boy.” She gave a little sigh, eyes glinting. “You must be careful, sister. People are starting to talk.”
Grandma frowned. “Talk about what? He’s been helping us for months now. He’s a good boy.”
Mira chuckled softly a sound that never reached her eyes. “Of course, of course. But you know how the village is. They say he’s rough around the edges, a boy with no family, no proper work… and Y/N, she’s such a sweet thing, too trusting. It doesn’t look good when a young girl spends so much time with a boy like that.”
Grandma’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s kind to her. That’s all that matters.”
The other woman sighed theatrically. “Kindness can be mistaken for something else, you know. Why, just last night, after that rain, I saw them near the main road. So close you wouldn’t believe it. Looked like they’d forgotten where they were.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Some even say they kissed, right there in the open. Imagine! What will people think of her if that story spreads?”
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.
Grandma’s hands paused on the counter. The small paper packet crinkled under her tightening grip. “You should be careful with what you say, Mira,” she said quietly.
“Oh, I don’t mean harm,” Mira replied quickly, hands fluttering in mock innocence. “I’m only telling you what others might twist worse. I thought you should know before the whispers grow louder. You’ve always been so proud of her, and rightly so. I’d hate to see her good name tarnished because of a boy’s foolishness.”
Mira smiled thinly, rising to her feet. “I only mean to warn you, dear. You know how easily gossip takes root here. I’d hate to see her hurt.”
She placed her payment neatly on the counter, turned, and swept out into the sunlit lane leaving behind a silence heavy enough to bend the air.
Grandma stood for a while without moving. Then, slowly, she folded the half-sewn fabric before her, her thoughts miles away. The memory of Y/N’s laughter from the night before that unguarded, happy sound echoed faintly in her mind. But now, tangled with it, came the weight of something colder.
Worry.
The kind that didn’t leave easily.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The house was dim and quiet that night, the kind of silence that sits between two people who have too much to say but don’t know where to start.
The only sound came from the soft clinking of metal spoons against clay bowls as Y/N and Grandma ate, facing each other but worlds apart.
Grandma hadn’t said much since she returned from the shop. Her face was calm, too calm the kind that made Y/N uneasy. Every now and then, Grandma’s eyes would lift, watch her for a few seconds, then drop again. That silence wasn’t peace. It was waiting heavy, expectant, almost suffocating.
Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to look at her plate. She wanted to speak, to fill the room with something, anything. But the words just wouldn’t come.
Finally, Grandma set her spoon down. The sound was small, but it cut through the silence like a blade. “You were with him again today, weren’t you?”
Y/N froze mid-bite. Her hand hovered in the air before slowly lowering. She didn’t look up. “We were just planting new saplings in the garden.”
“Planting,” Grandma repeated, her voice soft but edged with disbelief. “That’s what people say when they’re afraid to speak the truth.”
Y/N’s hand trembled. “There’s nothing wrong in what we did.”
Grandma’s bowl landed on the table with a dull thud. The sound made Y/N flinch. “Nothing wrong?” Grandma’s tone rose, cracked slightly, as if pulled between anger and fear. “You think people don’t talk? Half the village already whispers about you both how you walk together, how you laugh like there’s no one else in the world. And now—” she paused, her jaw tightening, “they say they saw you on the road yesterday. That you were… behaving shamelessly.”
Y/N’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “They lie! We weren’t—” She stopped herself, words collapsing before they reached her lips. Denying it fully would be useless; Grandma could see right through her.
The air was heavy, the sound of crickets outside filling the silence she couldn’t.
Grandma’s eyes hardened. “So it’s true, then?”
Y/N’s voice cracked. “We love each other, Grandma.”
The words came out raw, frightened but honest.
For a heartbeat, Grandma didn’t move. The clock ticked somewhere in the corner, each sound echoing too loud. Then Grandma laughed softly, a bitter sound that didn’t touch her eyes. “Love,” she repeated, almost to herself. “What do you know of love, child?”
Her voice lowered, trembling. “He’s a boy with no home, no family, no land. What will he give you? What will you eat when I’m gone? Love won’t feed you. It won’t build a roof.”
Y/N’s breath hitched. “I don’t care about any of that,” she said, her voice small but steady. “I care about him.”
Grandma looked up sharply. “And that’s your foolishness.”
The air between them grew taut.
“You’ll care,” Grandma continued, her words cutting but shaking, “until hunger knocks at your door and there’s no one to open it. Until people call you his wife and pity you both for having nothing. Do you think I want that for you? To live like a beggar because of love?”
Y/N’s eyes filled. “He’s not nothing, Grandma. He’s kind, he’s honest, and he works harder than anyone I know.”
“And yet,” Grandma interrupted, “he will never have enough to give you the life you deserve.”
“I don’t want a rich life,” Y/N snapped, voice breaking. “I just want to live with him. That’s enough for me.”
“Don’t you dare,” Grandma hissed, slamming her palm on the table. “Don’t you dare talk to me like I haven’t lived through the same foolishness you’re falling into. I lost enough to know how these things end.”
The room went still. The only sound was the faint hiss of the lamp.
Y/N’s throat ached. “So that’s it? You think because he’s poor, he doesn’t deserve me?”
“I think because he’s poor, you’ll suffer,” Grandma said firmly. “And when that happens, you’ll curse me for not stopping you.”
Y/N pushed her bowl away, anger and heartbreak twisting in her chest. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. “You think love is a mistake just because it doesn’t come wrapped in gold.”
Grandma’s eyes softened for just a moment. “No, child. I think love needs more than dreams to survive.”
But Y/N was already rising, her chair scraping harshly against the floor. “You can call it a dream, but it’s real to me. He’s real to me.”
“Then you’re blind.”
“Maybe I am,” Y/N said.
Her grandmother looked at her, face caught between anger and grief. “You’re my only family, Y/N. Everything I’ve done it’s to keep you safe. Can’t you see that?”
“I’m not a child anymore,” Y/N whispered. “You can’t keep me safe from my own heart.”
Her words hung in the air, trembling like a thread pulled too tight.
Then, without another word, she turned away.
The door to her room slammed shut, the sound echoing through the little house.
Grandma sat there for a long while, her spoon untouched, the lamp flame shaking with her shallow breath. Her eyes glistened, but she blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
For three days, Y/N didn’t step near the banyan tree where she and Jungkook used to meet.
The path that once felt like her heartbeat now felt like a wound she couldn’t touch.
She busied herself with small things washing clothes even when they were already clean, helping her grandmother grind spices, sweeping the yard until the dust rose like pale smoke. Every movement was a distraction. Every silence was a punishment.
Jungkook must have noticed. Of course he did.
The boy who could read the sky like a storybook would’ve read her silence just as easily.
By the fourth day, when the air hung heavy with the promise of rain, he came.
Y/N saw him from the window first standing near the gate, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders slightly bent. He didn’t call her name. He just waited.
The thin drizzle had started, soft and uncertain, like it was testing the world before falling harder.
Her heart ached with every drop that hit the earth.
Inside, Grandma sat on the verandah, rolling betel leaves, her expression unreadable. She noticed him too. Her eyes flickered once then went back to her work.
No word. No acknowledgment. Just silence and the rhythmic sound of leaves being folded.
Y/N wanted to go out.
Every part of her screamed to step forward, to ask him why he’d come, or maybe to tell him not to stand there in the rain like a fool.
But her grandmother’s quiet presence felt heavier than any chain.
So she stayed half-hidden behind the curtain watching.
Jungkook waited.
For a long time.
The rain began to fall harder now, soaking through his shirt.
When the drizzle turned into a downpour, he finally lowered his head, as if accepting something he had no words for. He turned away, walking back down the muddy road shoes sinking into the earth, his shadow stretching long behind him.
Y/N’s chest tightened until it hurt to breathe.
For a moment, she thought Grandma would say something anything.
But the older woman just kept rolling the leaves, her hands steady, her face still.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The rain had washed the streets clean by the time Y/N decided she couldn’t take it anymore.
The night was cool, the air carrying the scent of wet earth and jasmine.
Grandma had long gone to bed, her gentle snores barely audible from the next room.
Y/N stood by the window, her heart thudding like a drum. The fight, the guilt, the image of Jungkook standing in the rain it all tangled inside her until she couldn’t breathe.
She slipped her shawl over her shoulders and stepped out quietly, the wooden door creaking just enough to make her flinch. The village was silent lamps flickering low, dogs curled up in the corners of verandahs, the world caught in that hush after rain.
She walked quickly, her sandals brushing against puddles.
Jungkook’s house a small one-room place behind the workshop was dimly lit. He sat outside under the old tree, fixing something with his hands, the glow of the lantern soft against his tired face.
When he saw her, he froze.
“Y/N?” His voice was soft at first, uncertain like he was afraid she might vanish if he spoke too loud. But then his tone shifted, surprise turning quickly into concern. He stood, wiping his hands on his trousers. “What are you doing here? At this hour?”
Y/N hesitated, her breath uneven. “I… I needed to see you.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Jungkook whispered harshly, glancing toward the road as if someone might have followed her. “It’s past midnight. What if someone saw you sneaking around like this?”
“I don’t care,” she said, her voice trembling but steady.
Y/N turned to him, her eyes already wet. “I saw you that day… waiting outside.”
He smiled faintly that same half-smile that had once made her heart flutter. “I thought you’d come out.”
“I wanted to,” she whispered. “But Grandma was there. She…” She looked away. “She knows about us.”
Jungkook’s shoulders tensed. “What did she say?”
“She thinks you’re trouble,” Y/N said quietly. “That you don’t have anyone… no family, no money, nothing. She says I’ll end up the same if I stay with you.”
The words tasted bitter on her tongue.
Jungkook’s jaw tightened, his eyes lowering. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, quietly “She’s not wrong about some of that.”
“Don’t,” Y/N said quickly, stepping closer. “You’re not what she thinks you are. You’re kind. You…” She stopped herself, her breath catching.
He looked up at her, and for a heartbeat, neither spoke. The air between them was warm despite the night’s chill the kind of warmth that felt like safety and ache at once.
“I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you,” he said softly. “Maybe it’s better if—”
“Don’t you dare,” Y/N interrupted, her voice trembling. “Don’t you dare finish that.”
Her eyes glistened as she stepped forward, her hands clutching his shirt.
He looked at her like he wanted to say a hundred things, but all that came out was her name a whisper, fragile and full. “Y/N…”
Her tears broke then not loud, not messy, just quiet trails that fell as she leaned her forehead against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know what to do.”
Jungkook lifted his hand, hesitating for a moment before letting it rest against her hair. “You don’t have to apologize. I just wanted to know you still cared.”
She laughed softly through her tears. “I never stopped.”
For a while, they stood like that two hearts finding each other again in the quiet, the moon their only witness.
Jungkook pulled her away from his chest, his hands firm on her shoulders. His eyes searched hers in the pale moonlight, and what he saw the fear, the love, the absolute commitment answered every desperate question he had.
He didn't speak another word. He turned, taking her hand, his touch rough and immediate, and led her back the way they came, moving faster now. They didn't stop until they reached his small, solitary house behind the workshop.
He pushed the door open, the rough wood scraping against the packed earth floor. The room was Spartan a simple pallet bed in the corner, a small table, and the faint, enduring smell of metal and wood shavings. It was his whole, tiny, vulnerable world.
Jungkook closed the door, shutting out the village, the moon, and the silent judgment of the world. He turned to Y/N, his jaw set with a fierce, absolute determination.
He pulled her into his arms, the kiss that followed desperate and consuming a brutal affirmation of their defiant choice. He crushed her against the solid wall of his chest, pushing her shawl down her shoulders until it fell to the floor, forgotten.
His mouth broke away from hers, traveling down her throat. He found the lace ties of her simple tunic and ripped them open with a fierce urgency. The fabric fell away, exposing the sensitive skin of her chest, the cool night air hitting her heated skin.
He moved her back, pinning her against the wall with his body, his hands tearing at the thin linen of her skirt, pushing it up and away, his fingers finding the heat hidden beneath.
Y/N gasped, a raw, primal sound of surrender and relief. She tangled her fingers in the coarse fabric of his shirt, pulling, urging him to strip away the last barriers.
He finally tore his mouth away, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes closed tight against the fear and the overwhelming urgency.
"I have nothing," he confessed, the words strained and thick with his terror. "But I have this. I have you. And I have never..." he struggled for the words, "I have never wanted anyone but you."
Y/N reached up, her hands cupping his cheeks, her fingers rough against his stubble. "I know," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Me either, Kook. We are only for each other."
He claimed her mouth again, a kiss that was now profoundly tender, fueled by the staggering weight of their shared inexperience. He lowered his head, his mouth seeking her exposed breast, drawing on her with a singular, reverent focus that made her hips instinctively press against him.
He lifted his hand, fumbling slightly, still clothed, as he pushed against the core of her warmth, tracing slow, insistent circles. Y/N cried out, the sharp, exquisite sensation coupled with the desperate honesty of his touch, overwhelming her.
With a shuddering breath, Jungkook pulled back. He swept her into his arms, carrying her the few steps to his bed. He laid her down gently, his eyes never leaving hers, and followed her down, his body a trembling weight over hers.
They worked together then, shedding the last of their clothes in the dim light the last remaining boundary between their separate lives. The sight of her untouched body, delicate and perfect, made his breath hitch. The sight of his powerful, unblemished form made her heart hammer against her ribs.
He covered her with his body, his skin warm and unexpectedly soft against hers. He moved slowly, deliberately, tracing the smooth skin of her inner thigh, his movement hesitant, marked by a fear of hurting her.
"I Love You" he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "So much."
"I love you too" Y/N confessed too.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The afternoon sun slanted through the windows in soft, golden stripes, the kind that made dust motes shimmer like drifting stars.
In her room, Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, a piece of pale blue fabric spread across her lap. She’d been working on it since morning a tunic for Jungkook. The threads of silver embroidery caught the light as she bent over it, her fingers moving with quiet focus.
From the kitchen came the familiar clatter of utensils, the sound of Grandma humming an old tune. It was a melody Y/N had heard all her life low, soft, like a prayer whispered to the walls. The rhythm of it calmed her.
“Almost done,” Y/N murmured to herself, trimming a stray thread with her small scissors. “He better like this one, or I’ll—”
A sound cut her off.
A dull thud.
Then the sharp clang of a metal pot hitting the floor.
Y/N’s needle slipped from her hand. Her head shot up. “Grandma?”
No answer.
The house went silent, except for the faint hiss of something burning on the stove. A chill rushed through her. She rose to her feet at once, her heart beginning to race. “Grandma!”
Her bare feet slapped against the floor as she ran out of the room, the blue fabric slipping from her lap and pooling on the ground.
The kitchen door was half-open, swaying slightly. When Y/N pushed it wider, her breath caught.
Grandma was lying on the floor near the stove, her body slumped to one side, a ladle still in her hand. The pot beside her had overturned, the lentils spilling in a yellow puddle across the tiles. The smell of burnt food hung heavy in the air.
“Grandma!” Y/N dropped to her knees beside her, hands trembling as she lifted her gently by the shoulders. “Grandma, please— wake up—”
Her voice broke. The older woman’s face was pale, her breathing shallow but there. Relief and terror tangled together in Y/N’s chest.
“Please, please,” she whispered, her fingers brushing Grandma’s hair back from her forehead.
Her hands were shaking too badly to think. For a moment, everything blurred the smell, the heat, the sound of her heartbeat roaring in her ears.
She looked toward the door, panic sharpening her voice. “Help! Someone, please!” Her cry echoed down the street, carried by the still air of the afternoon.
The neighbors came running, alarmed by her voice. Together, they lifted her grandmother onto a cot, hurriedly carrying her through the narrow lanes to the nearest hospital.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The small town clinic smelled faintly of old medicines and dust. A single fan creaked above, stirring the heavy afternoon heat. The walls were pale, worn from years of use, and the wooden benches were hard beneath Y/N’s hands.
She sat outside the room where the doctor examined her grandmother, her heart thudding so loudly it drowned out every other sound. The neighbor who helped bring them here had already gone home after making sure they arrived safely, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts.
Every few seconds, she glanced at the thin curtain that separated her from the room inside. She could hear muffled voices the doctor giving instructions, the soft rustle of cloth, her grandmother’s faint breathing.
When the door finally opened, Y/N stood before she could think. The doctor stepped out, a middle-aged man with tired eyes that spoke before his words did.
“She’s resting for now,” he said gently, eyes meeting Y/N’s. “But you must be brave, child. Your grandmother’s heart is very weak. It’s been failing for a long time the muscles are too tired now. There isn’t much time left… six months at best, maybe less.”
The words seemed to hang in the air, unmoving, like the heat that refused to leave the room.
Y/N blinked, as if she hadn’t heard him right. “No… no, she was fine just yesterday. She was cooking, talking…” Her voice cracked. “She can’t—”
The doctor sighed softly. “These things don’t show until it’s too late. Take her home. Let her rest. Don’t let her worry about anything.”
For a moment, Y/N just stood there. The words floated in the air between them unreal, like smoke and then they sank, heavy and cruel, crushing the breath out of her.
Six months.
Her knees gave way, and she sank onto the bench, her eyes blank, her hands cold. She wanted to ask how, why, what could be done but no sound came. The doctor rested a hand on her shoulder, murmured something about medications, rest, and care words she barely heard.
As soon as he left, silence swallowed her whole.
Her heart pounded painfully, each beat echoing the truth she refused to accept. The woman who had raised her, who had stood like a wall between her and the world was fading. The same woman who scolded her for skipping breakfast, who mended her torn clothes.
Tears blurred her vision, falling unchecked down her cheeks. She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to stop the sob that tore its way out. Her chest ached so fiercely it felt like her heart might break with it.
But inside, Y/N’s world had stopped.
Her only family her whole world was slipping away, and no amount of love, no amount of prayer, could stop it. She bowed her head and cried, silently, the sound swallowed by the rain.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
Y/N sat by the bedside, her eyes swollen, her hands trembling as she tucked the blanket tighter around Grandma’s frail shoulders.
The journey back from the town clinic had been silent. Y/N hadn’t spoken once she couldn’t. Each breath she took hurt, as if it scraped against her chest.
Now, in the quiet of their small room, the truth finally sank in. The sound of the distant temple bell echoed faintly through the air, marking the close of another day — a day that had broken something inside her.
Grandma turned her head slightly, her face pale but still calm, her voice steady in a way that made Y/N’s heart ache even more. “Don’t look at me like that, child,” she whispered, her lips curling into the faintest smile. “I’ve lived my share of years. The gods have been kind.”
Y/N shook her head, tears spilling again. “Don’t say that, please. You’ll get better. The doctor doesn’t know he could be wrong.” Her voice cracked, the words coming out small and desperate.
Grandma reached out, her thin, wrinkled hand trembling slightly as it brushed Y/N’s cheek. “Ah, foolish girl… always arguing with fate.”
Y/N caught her hand and pressed it to her face, the tears wetting Grandma’s palm. “You can’t leave me,” she said through sobs. “You’re all I have. Who will I cook for? Who will scold me when I forget to close the gate? Who will I talk to?”
Grandma’s smile deepened, though her eyes glistened too. “You’ll live, my heart. That’s what you’ll do. You’ll wake when the morning rooster calls, and you’ll keep this house alive even when I’m gone. You’ll sew, you’ll laugh, you’ll love.” She paused, her thumb tracing Y/N’s cheek as if memorizing it. “And you’ll marry, Y/N. You’ll wear the silk I’ve saved for you, and I’ll sit right there—” she pointed weakly to the corner stool, “—and watch you smile with your groom.”
Y/N choked on her tears, shaking her head wildly. “No… no, I won’t marry without you there. I won’t.”
Grandma let out a soft laugh, low and weary. “Silly girl. You think death can keep me from you? I’ll be there in every wind that brushes your hair, in every light that falls through that window.” She took a slow breath, her eyes half-closing. “But before I go… I want to see you settled. I want to see you happy. I want to hold your child in my arms. Only then, will I rest.”
That broke her. Y/N fell forward, her forehead pressing into Grandma’s chest, the sobs tearing from her like the sky had split open. Grandma’s thin arms wrapped around her, holding her close weak but full of love that had carried through generations.
“Shh,” she whispered, stroking Y/N’s hair. “Don’t cry, my child. Don’t waste your tears on what even the heavens have written. You were born to keep living, not to stop because of me.”
For a long time, neither of them spoke. Y/N stayed wrapped in her grandmother’s arms, her tears soaking through the old woman’s clothes. The rhythm of Grandma’s heartbeat was faint but steady each thump a reminder that she was still here, still fighting to stay.
And as the night deepened, Grandma whispered again, her voice barely more than air, “Promise me, Y/N… when I go, you won’t stop living.”
Y/N nodded against her chest, unable to speak.
Grandma smiled faintly, her eyes soft and distant. “Good girl,” she murmured, her hand resting in Y/N’s hair. “That’s my brave one.”
The oil lamp hissed softly. The wind outside stirred the prayer chimes. And in that tiny, fragile moment between grief and love, between holding on and letting go time stood still for both of them.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The days that followed folded into one another like worn pages of a book quiet, faded, and heavy with the scent of medicine and boiled rice.
The sewing shop no longer stood open by the marketplace; Y/N had shifted it home. The wooden sign that once hung above the shop door now rested against the wall near their porch, and the gentle hum of her work filled the house instead.
She brought everything back herself the bolts of cloth, the baskets of thread, the tin box of buttons, even the little stool that had always creaked under her grandmother’s feet.
Grandma had scolded her at first, her frail voice trembling with both love and fatigue.
“You shouldn’t have moved everything here,” she said, lying back on her mat as Y/N arranged folded fabrics near the window. “Customers won’t come all the way to the house. The shop belonged in the market.”
Y/N paused, brushing dust from her palms before turning to her. “Then I’ll take their work when I visit town. I can sew here, and you can rest without worrying.”
Her grandmother frowned, half in protest, half in surrender. “You’ll tire yourself out, child.”
Y/N only smiled a soft, weary smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’d rather be tired here than away from you.”
And that was the end of it. The argument never came again.
Soon, the little house was filled with the familiar sounds of thread pulling through fabric and scissors snipping over patterns. Between stitches, Y/N checked on Grandma, making sure her blanket was tucked, her tea still warm, her medicine given on time.
Every glance at the older woman’s thinning frame made her chest ache a little more but she never showed it. She just kept working, her hands steady even when her heart wasn’t.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
One afternoon, the sunlight slanted through the doors, warm and lazy. Grandma was resting, her breathing soft and steady. Y/N was peeling apples when she heard a faint knock on the gate.
She froze, the sound familiar in a way that made her heart twist. Slowly, she stood and walked out.
There, beyond the low fence, stood Jungkook. His shirt was rolled at the sleeves, his face slightly flushed from walking in the heat. His hands were empty except for a small bundle of oranges wrapped in a handkerchief.
“Jungkook…” Y/N’s voice caught, quiet and unsure.
He smiled faintly, though concern flickered in his eyes. “I came by to check on your grandma,” he said softly. “If that's okay?”
Y/N shook her head quickly. “No, never. It’s just—”
His expression gentled even more. “Can I… see her?”
Y/N hesitated again, but then nodded. “She’ll like that.”
He stepped inside, careful not to make noise, his boots brushing dust from the threshold.
Grandma lay on her side, her hands folded over her chest, her eyes half open she had heard him come in.
“Ah,” she said softly, her lips curling into a frail smile. “So the boy still remembers us.”
Jungkook bowed deeply. “I could never forget you, halmeoni,” he said, his tone gentle, respectful. “I brought some oranges. The doctor said fruits help with strength.”
Grandma chuckled weakly. “You and your doctor advice. I don’t need strength, I need peace.”
He looked down, awkwardly rubbing his hands together.
Her gaze shifted to Jungkook. “You’ve opened your own shop, haven’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes. It’s small, but… it’s mine.”
“Good,” Grandma said quietly. “A man should have work in his hands. Keeps his heart steady.” She paused, studying him with a look that seemed to go deeper than words. “You love her, don’t you?”
Jungkook blinked, caught off guard. His throat tightened. “I… I do.”
Y/N turned sharply, eyes wide. “Grandma—”
But the old woman only smiled, a little wistful, a little knowing. “It’s alright. I’ve known it for a long time.” Her voice grew gentler. “When you love someone, truly… it shows in the smallest things. The way you look when she’s not watching.”
Jungkook lowered his gaze, his voice trembling slightly. “Then you also know I’d never hurt her.”
“I do,” Grandma said softly. “But the world isn’t always as kind as your heart, boy.”
He looked up then, meeting her gaze strong, despite the years between them. “Then I’ll protect her from it,” he said. “No matter what people say.”
For a moment, silence filled the room heavy, but not cold.
Grandma’s eyes glistened, her lips trembling with something caught between pride and fear. “You talk like a man, but you’re still young. Love’s easy when days are warm. Harder when winters come.”
“I’ll stay,” he said simply. “Through all of it.”
Grandma looked at him for a long time, then reached for Y/N’s hand. “Then stay, both of you,” she whispered. “At least until I can sleep easy.”
Y/N’s eyes welled up again, her hand tightening around her grandmother’s. Jungkook knelt beside them, bowing his head and for that moment, in that small sunlit room, it felt like the world outside had paused. The village gossip, the fear, the uncertainty all faded, leaving only the quiet rhythm of three hearts bound by love, loss, and the fragile hope of more tomorrows.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The evening was soft and golden, the kind that felt like it could hold secrets between its folds.
Outside Y/N’s small home, the stone steps still held the warmth of the sun.
Jungkook sat there first, elbows on his knees, his gaze wandering over the quiet yard.
Y/N came out carrying two steaming cups of barley tea. Her hands trembled slightly from exhaustion days of caring for her grandmother, of sleepless nights spent listening to shallow breathing and quiet murmurs in the dark.
She set one cup beside him, then sank down between his legs, leaning back gently until her shoulders rested against his chest.
Jungkook’s arms wrapped around her waist, his fingers brushing the soft fabric of her dress.
“You’ve been holding everything together,” he said finally, his voice low, carrying the kind of tenderness that a person only uses when they’re afraid the other might break.
Y/N didn’t answer. She only stared ahead at the empty road, her lips pressed together, eyes glassy. The scent of dried herbs and boiled rice clung faintly to her hair.
“She doesn’t eat much anymore,” Y/N said after a while, her voice breaking the stillness like a whisper through silk. “Some nights she talks in her sleep. I… I don’t know what to do when she does.”
Jungkook tightened his arms around her. “You’re doing more than anyone could,” he murmured. “You brought her home, you’re taking care of her. You even moved the shop here.”
Y/N let out a soft, humorless laugh. “The customers don’t come anymore. Maybe they think it’s too far. Maybe they’ve already found someone else.” She paused. “But I can’t leave her. Not when she still looks at me and says she’ll live until she sees me in a wedding dress.”
Her voice cracked at that, the words shattering in the air like porcelain. Jungkook felt her body shake not the soft tremor of cold, but the deep, uncontrollable shudder that comes when a person’s heart finally spills over. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he pressed his forehead gently against the back of her head, closing his eyes as if to absorb her pain through silence.
“Y/N,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear, “you don’t have to be strong all the time.”
Her tears fell then, quietly, tracing thin lines down her cheeks. “If I stop being strong,” she whispered back, “who will she have?”
He turned her slightly so that she was facing him now, her face wet and trembling in the dim light. His thumb brushed under her eye, wiping away the tears. “She has you. And you…” He paused, “You have me.”
The look in her eyes softened fragile, uncertain, but filled with something that felt like relief.
She leaned into him, her forehead resting against his collarbone, her tears dampening the fabric of his robe. He held her tighter, his chin settling atop her head. The air around them was still, the world reduced to the rhythm of two heartbeats one steady, one breaking.
After a while, she whispered, “Do you think she’ll get better?”
Jungkook’s hand moved slowly, tracing circles on her back. “I don’t know,” he admitted softly. “But if the heavens are kind, they’ll give her more time. Enough to see you smile again.”
Her lips trembled into a small, broken smile. “She says she wants to meet my children,” she said, almost laughing through her tears.
“Then she will,” Jungkook murmured. “She’ll stay long enough to see them run through this yard.”
For a long time, they sat like that the world quiet around them, the stars beginning to scatter like dust over the darkening sky. Y/N leaned back once more, her head against his shoulder. His arms remained around her, unmoving, steady like the earth beneath them.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The room was filled with the faint rustle of fabric and the soft ticking of the clock on the wall the only sound that dared to disturb the stillness. A beam of pale light slipped through the window, landing gently across Grandma ’s blanket, tracing the fine lines of her frail hands.
She sat upright against a mound of pillows, her breaths slow and uneven, yet her eyes dim but alert held that same tenderness that had guided Y/N through every storm in her life.
Y/N stood by the doorway at first, her hands clutching the edge of her skirt, uncertain why her grandmother had called her and Jungkook into the room together.
Jungkook followed quietly, his usual ease replaced by a careful stillness, as though one wrong movement might shatter the fragile calm.
Grandma’s gaze lifted to meet them both. She smiled weak, but full of warmth. “Come closer, my children,” she said softly.
Her voice carried the kind of gentleness that made Y/N’s chest ache. She obeyed, walking slowly until she knelt by her grandmother’s side. Jungkook followed, bowing his head respectfully before settling on the floor beside Y/N.
For a long moment, Grandma said nothing. Her fingers, thin and trembling, reached out to touch Y/N’s cheek, tracing the curve of her face like she was memorizing it. Then, she sighed. “I’ve lived many years,” she began, her voice quivering, “and I have seen the world change in ways I never imagined. But lately… I can feel it.” Her hand dropped slightly, pressing against her chest. “The end is near, my dear.”
The words fell like stones in the room. Y/N’s eyes widened, her breath catching. She shook her head immediately, tears already welling. “Don’t say that,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please, don’t say that. You’re getting better, the doctor said—”
Grandma gave a soft, almost amused sigh. “Doctors say many things to ease the heart, child. But I know my body better than anyone.” Her lips trembled into a faint smile. “It’s growing tired.”
Y/N broke then her composure, her strength, everything she had held together for months. Her hands reached for her grandmother’s, clutching them tightly as if sheer will could keep her here longer. “You can’t go,” she cried. “Not yet, please. You promised me… you promised you’d stay until I marry. You said you’d see me in my dress.”
Tears streamed freely down her face now, her words coming out between ragged breaths. “You said you’d wait.”
Grandma’s fingers brushed her hair gently, her touch as soft as it had been when Y/N was a child. “And I meant it,” she whispered. “I will hold on as long as I can. But my dear… even promises have to bow to time.”
Jungkook sat quietly beside them, his throat tight. He wanted to say something anything to ease Y/N’s pain, but every word he thought of felt small, useless. Instead, he reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder, a silent promise that she wasn’t alone.
Grandma’s eyes flickered toward him then, and a faint, knowing smile touched her lips. “You,” she said softly, her gaze steady on Jungkook, “you care for her deeply, don’t you?”
Jungkook’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t look away. He bowed his head once, his voice barely above a whisper. “More than I can ever say.”
Grandma nodded slowly. She turned back to Y/N, her wrinkled hand cupping her granddaughter’s face once more. “My child… I won’t be here to see your children run through this yard, or to braid your hair on your wedding day. I won’t be there when your hands tremble while tying your daughter’s first ribbon.”
Her voice broke then, a quiet sob escaping her lips. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry I won’t see it all.”
“Don’t,” Y/N whispered desperately, shaking her head as tears poured down her cheeks. “Don’t apologize. You’ve done everything for me. Everything. ” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her forehead to her grandmother’s hand, her shoulders trembling uncontrollably. “Please don’t say sorry.”
He reached out again, this time taking Grandma’s other hand gently in his. “She won’t be alone,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I promise you. I’ll stay. I’ll take care of her the way she’s always taken care of you.”
Grandma’s lips trembled, and for a moment, her eyes glistened with tears she didn’t try to hide. “Then my heart is at peace,” she whispered. “Because I know she’ll never be alone.”
Y/N lifted her head, her face streaked with tears, and looked between the two of them the two people she loved most in the world.
Something inside her ached so deeply she thought it might tear her apart.
Grandma squeezed her hand weakly. “When you marry,” she said, her voice faint but sure, “wear the ribbon I gave you when you were sixteen. The white one. It’s yours now. And don’t cry too much when I’m gone.” Her lips curved into a shaky smile. “I’ll just be resting. Watching. Waiting for you to fill this house with laughter again.”
Y/N let out a broken sob, clutching her grandmother’s hand as though she could anchor her to the world.
Jungkook wrapped his arm around Y/N then, pulling her close as she buried her face against his shoulder, her sobs muffled by the fabric of his robe. Grandma’s eyes lingered on them, her expression soft and full of quiet joy.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
Three days later, dawn came quietly a pale light spilling across the small house where Grandma lay. Her breathing, which had grown faint and uneven through the night, finally ceased just as the first bird called outside.
There was no sound of struggle, no sharp farewell only the soft, still peace of someone who had given everything she had to the world and was now ready to rest.
Y/N sat beside her, her hand still wrapped around her grandmother’s. The warmth had already begun to fade, but Y/N couldn’t let go. Her tears came soundlessly, falling onto the blanket.
Jungkook was there too, standing quietly by the doorway, his face pale, his hands trembling though he tried to keep them steady.
Word spread quickly through the village. Neighbors came one by one, bowing at the threshold, their voices low with sympathy. The house filled with the muted rhythm of grief hushed footsteps, rustling white cloth, the soft beating of a drum somewhere beyond the courtyard.
The traditional rites began that same day. The elders arrived to guide the ceremony, their white robes fluttering like calm waves.
The air carried the scent of burning incense and chrysanthemum flowers, their smoke curling upward as prayers were whispered for Grandma ’s peaceful journey.
By the time the final rites were done, the sun had dipped low, casting long, soft shadows across the earth. The villagers bowed once more and left, their lanterns swaying as they disappeared down the path.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
That night, the house stood quiet again. Jungkook stayed beside her in silence, his presence the only thing that kept the emptiness from swallowing her whole.
Grandma had left gently, as if carried away by something unseen her spirit now part of the same stillness that wrapped the village at night. And though her voice no longer filled the house, its echo remained in the scent of old fabric, in the wind that brushed past the garden, in every small, quiet breath that Y/N took.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The months that followed were gentle, carrying with them a quiet kind of healing.
The tailoring shop, once shuttered and silent, now breathed again with the sound of humming sewing machines and the soft rustle of fabric.
Y/N had reopened it in the village market, arranging spools of thread and folded cloth with a careful, steady hand. Every corner of the small space felt alive again, yet held echoes of the past memories of her grandmother guiding her, the warmth of her hands brushing against hers as they stitched together.
Standing beside her, Jungkook moved with quiet strength, carrying bundles of cloth or fixing the stubborn machine that occasionally hiccupped.
His presence was steady, unspoken, like an anchor in the swirl of Y/N’s thoughts. She would glance at him sometimes, heart catching, and feel that familiar flutter she had tried to ignore a soft, steady warmth that reminded her she wasn’t alone in the world anymore.
Grief still lingered at the edges. Y/N sometimes paused, fingers brushing over the small corner of the shop where her grandmother’s favorite teacup still sat, or when a piece of thread tangled stubbornly between her fingers.
Her chest would tighten, and her eyes would glisten with unbidden tears, the ache of loss rolling quietly through her. But each time, Jungkook was there silently steady, hand brushing against hers in reassurance, presence unshakable. It was as if he carried her sorrow so she didn’t have to bear it entirely alone.
In those moments, the pain of absence was still raw, but it no longer crippled her. She allowed herself to feel, to remember, to grieve, and to smile at the same time.
The shop hummed with life again, not just from the machines or the market’s chatter, but from the quiet pulse of companionship, of trust, of a shared world rebuilt from the fragments of what had been lost.
Y/N had begun to understand that grief and love could coexist that sorrow didn’t erase joy, and that moving forward didn’t mean forgetting. And in the soft, constant presence of Jungkook, she felt the world opening gently around her, a life stitched together with care, patience, and the quiet certainty that she was no longer alone.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
Jungkook had insisted on taking Y/N somewhere different tonight, a place she hadn’t stepped into before a small eatery tucked along a narrow stone-paved lane, its wooden sign carved with delicate letters and its windows reflecting the fading light.
It wasn’t a lavish place by any means, but compared to the simple, bustling market stalls she was used to, it felt like stepping into a quiet, gilded corner of another world.
Y/N felt a flutter in her chest as they entered, Jungkook guiding her hand lightly, his fingers brushing hers for a fraction of a second enough to make her pulse stutter.
The tables were simple, polished wood, yet the chairs were cushioned, and the gentle scent of sizzling food and spices hung in the air.
They were seated near the window, overlooking a small garden courtyard where a few delicate plants swayed in the soft breeze.
Y/N watched them, the corners of her mouth lifting in a quiet smile. She could feel Jungkook’s gaze, heavy but soft, and it made her aware of the way her hands fidgeted with the napkin in her lap.
“You like it?” he asked, voice low, carrying the weight of curiosity and something unspoken beneath.
Y/N glanced up at him, “It’s… nice,” she said, letting her eyes wander over the polished wooden table, the steaming bowls in front of them. “Different from what I’m used to. Quiet. Calm.”
He leaned back slightly, studying her. “Quiet suits you,” he murmured, half teasing, half serious. “Not the rushing, the shouting. Just… this.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she lowered her gaze, pretending to examine the rice on her plate. “You don’t have to flatter me,” she whispered, though her lips curved despite herself.
“I’m not,” he replied softly, leaning a fraction closer. “I just… like seeing you like this. Relaxed.”
The words lingered in the space between them, a gentle tension that made the air thick and sweet.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The evening air was cool, carrying the faint scent of pine and the river that wound its way through the village.
The village behind them seemed distant and quiet, the market’s clamor and the chatter of neighbors replaced by the soft hum of crickets and the gentle lapping of water along the riverbank.
Jungkook walked beside Y/N, his steps slower than usual. Each time he glanced at her, a warmth surged in his chest that made him stumble over his own thoughts.
He wasn’t used to feeling this exposed, this… open. He had spent years keeping everything inside, building walls around his heart after losing everything he had. But tonight, standing beside her in this secluded corner of the village, he felt his walls crumble.
Y/N noticed the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his hands brushed against his thighs repeatedly as if he were unsure what to do with them. Her lips quirked into a teasing smile, and she nudged him lightly with her elbow. “You’re acting strange,” she said, her voice carrying that playful lilt she reserved just for him. “Do I need to remind you how to behave?”
Jungkook’s gaze shot to her, and for a fleeting second, she caught a flicker of something he rarely allowed anyone to see vulnerability, nervousness, a raw emotion that made her heart tighten. “I… I’m not strange,” he murmured, though his voice betrayed him, trembling just enough for her to notice.
“You are,” Y/N teased, her dark eyes sparkling in the lantern light. “You’re fidgeting, shifting your weight, and you keep looking at me like I just solved a riddle in your head. What’s going on, Jungkook?”
He exhaled slowly, fighting the impulse to just reach for her hand and hold it. “It’s… it’s nothing,” he said, but his voice was softer, quieter, and Y/N knew better than to believe him.
She leaned closer, brushing her shoulder against his, her laughter low and melodic. “Nothing? You’re more nervous than a child stealing a plum from the market.”
Jungkook’s lips twitched into a faint smile, almost imperceptible. His heart pounded faster, and he felt a sudden surge of determination. Tonight, he couldn’t wait any longer. Every moment they had spent together, every stolen glance and shared laughter, had led to this.
He reached into the small pouch he had carried with him all day, his fingers trembling as they closed around the polished wooden box inside.
“Y/N,” he began, his voice low, steadying himself against the rush of emotions that threatened to spill over, “there’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve been meaning to…” His words faltered as his throat tightened. He cleared it, swallowing hard. “I can’t imagine… not having you in my life. Not like this. Not ever.”
Y/N’s eyes widened, her heart catching at the intensity in his gaze. She could feel the tension in the air, the electricity that ran between them. The river beside them shimmered under the lantern light, reflecting their emotions like a silent witness.
He knelt down slowly, the wooden box resting on his palm, and opened it to reveal a simple yet elegant ring. The polished metal gleamed softly in the lantern glow.
Jungkook’s hands were steady now, but his eyes held the nervous anticipation of a boy confessing something far larger than words could contain.
“Y/N,” he said, his voice now firm yet tinged with vulnerability, “from the first day I met you… from the moment you laughed like the whole world could disappear and only we would remain, I knew I wanted to spend my life with you. You’ve been my strength, my home, my heart. And I can’t think of a single day without you. Will you marry me?”
Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her lips trembling as she processed the weight of his words. Her chest ached with the intensity of her emotions love, fear, joy, and the bittersweet memory of her grandmother who had always wished for her happiness.
Her hand reached for his without thinking, fingers brushing against his as if to anchor herself in reality.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion, “yes, Jungkook. I will marry you.”
Relief and joy flooded his face in a way she had never seen before. He took her hand gently, slipping the ring onto her finger, the simple metal gleaming against her skin like a promise. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to her knuckles a silent vow that carried all his love, all his devotion.
Y/N laughed softly, a sound mingling with her tears, and leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close, and for a long moment, they simply existed in that perfect stillness.
“You know,” she murmured, her voice teasing but soft, “you looked so nervous back there, I thought you’d faint before asking me.”
Jungkook chuckled, resting his forehead lightly against hers. “I was scared… scared I’d say the wrong thing. Scared that you wouldn’t feel the same.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Y/N said, her voice trembling with laughter and tears. “I’ve loved you for so long, and you think you’re asking a question? You already own my heart.”
He tightened his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his chest. “Then I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you,” he whispered.
They stayed like that for hours, talking softly, laughing, and stealing quiet glances under the lantern light. The river sang its gentle song, the wind rustled through the trees, and the village seemed to hold its breath around them. Every brush of their hands, every shared smile, every tender look was a silent vow a promise of a life together that neither time nor sorrow could undo.
In that secluded corner of their world, they were free. Free from judgment, from worry, from the hardships of the past. They had only each other, and that was more than enough.
pairing: managing partner/lawyer!jungkook x spoiled brat!reader ft. yoongi
genre: strangers/lowkey one sided enemies to ?? idk bec you irk him, angst, smut, like slight fluff, infidelity au (jungkook has a girlfriend aand it's not you yet?)
wc: 13.3k
warnings: this is a series! so please visit the killlah (jjk) [series masterlist] for a tiny summary and some extra info :3 noowww, in this chapter, you can expect: major oc crashout, mention of the b word, minor hyewon crashout, emotional cheating, mention of light smut, some slut shaming. oh and namjoon calls oc 'doll.' (deal.)
!!extra disclaimer!! you've got to excuse me once again because i'm tagging this as unedited! i haven't read the chapter one go yet, but i've read all the sections separately multiple tiems and i am just, so,so lazy,,,nnghmffgh
Once again, Jungkook finds himself in a situation where he feels like he needs to apologise to you.
This time though, he has mixed feelings about it. And those thoughts had to be put on pause for now.
Undoing the silky makeshift blindfold from his girlfriend’s eyes, he gently pulls out of Hyewon, earning a hiss from her.
He pulled the condom off, tying it at the opening and tossed it in the bin with ease.
He was tucking himself back in when he heard Hyewon’s shy call, “Kook...” - “Mhm?” Jungkook walked back to her, caressing her hip as she rested in the same position for a few seconds, regaining her composure.
“I love you…” Hyewon smiles bashfully.
He hums, smirking at her through the mirror. “I know you do.”
She giggles then playfully frowns at him. Hyewon always liked to hear it back.
Words of affirmation was her love language. He liked to have fun with her and withhold it sometimes though.
Jungkook learnt very early on that Hyewon needed to hear him tell her he loved her.
By no means was she insecure, but she needed this little thing from him.
At this point in their relationship, it had simply become routine to utter those three magic words. Especially after sex.
And Jungkook never remembered struggling with that unspoken rule. He was always happy to follow it.
Until today, that is.
Although he was able to disguise it as just teasing, the words physically wouldn’t leave his lips.
Jungkook tugged a few paper towels out of the dispenser and wet it.
“Stay there,” he directed Hyewon to hold her pose as he squatted to clean her up.
Pushing her dress back up, he wipes off her slick.
Hyewon winced at the sensation.
Jungkook paused, “Sensitive?”
“Cold.” She shook her head, “But it’s fine, I need to use the restroom anyway.”
He nodded understandingly, continuing to clean her up.
When he’s done, Hyewon straightens up and limps to the little washroom attached to the powder room. “Babe, you should leave first, I don’t want people suspecting anything.”
“You sure?” Jungkook asks as he lathers his hands with sandalwood hand soap.
“Yeah, go on. I’ll have to retouch my makeup. It’ll be a while.” Hyewon assures him.
“Alright. I’ve gotta give Joon his tie back anyway.”
Petrified, Hyewon calls out to him, “Babe!” - “What?” Jungkook’s confused.
“You can’t return that now! We used it.” Her voice lowers on ‘used.’
Jungkook furrows his brows, “It’s part of his four piece set. He needs to send it to the dry cleaner’s together, Won. It’s no biggie.”
“Bu-” - Jungkook doesn’t wait for her, “I’m gonna go find Joon now. Don’t take too long!”
Before exiting the room, he stops by the same velvet wall you had clutched.
You had looked like you were about to burst into tears.
Had he been too insensitive? Or could you only dish it out but not take it?
In all honesty, Jungkook thought you deserved it. I mean, for fuck’s sake, he’s walked in on you and Namjoon before. And that too in his place of work! And not to mention all the bullshit you pulled earlier just today.
Shamelessly flirting with him, but then kissing and flirting with Namjoon.
Not to mention Min Yoongi. Jungkook found it odd for Yoongi and you to get along so soon.
And for you to call Yoongi ‘Mr. Min?’
That did it for him. He understood you were this way with everyone. ‘Mr. Jeon’ wasn’t a little secret nickname for just him.
Jungkook wasn’t fucking special. He deluded himself into thinking he meant more to you. It pissed him off. He had to get away from you immediately.
And if that wasn’t enough, you and Yoongi were getting along really well - dancing, clinging on to each other, becoming drinking buddies - it was weird. Neither of you seemed like each other’s types. Nor were either of you that friendly with just anyone. Hyewon’s living proof of it. His girlfriend seemed to want to get closer to you so bad but you were always dismissive of her.
How could he ever think of entertaining you?
So, just like that, he grabbed his girlfriend and fucked off to an empty corner of the hall.
And the outcome was… you witnessing it. Jungkook would’ve counted it as a win for him had you not looked at him the way you did.
Namjoon had no idea what had gone down in the ten minutes when you walked off to some obscure corner of the hall and returned with tears streaming down your face. You were bawling uncontrollably.
He couldn't get a word in when you only continuously chant ‘I don't like it.’
The man felt utterly guilty for leaving you to fend for yourself half of the night. You were his date after all.
Witnessing you break down like that, his mind went to the worst places.
When he’s unable to calm you down with words, he pulls you in a comforting hug, smushing your teary face against his chest. “You’re okay, doll. You’re fine…” Namjoon whispered repeatedly in your ear, rapidly rubbing your back.
The scene was drawing a lot of attention. No doubt, this would be the second most talked about event at the Eirene this year. Thankfully only half of the crowd stayed so long to have witnessed your crashout.
Seokjin, too, momentarily pulled away from his ‘host duties’ to check up on you. He brought you orange juice and a few pieces of toast in case you needed sobering up.
After a good few minutes of uncontrollable sobbing and hiccups, you finally settle into Namjoon’s embrace. You still struggled to stabilize your breathing, whimpering from time to time.
You hate them.
That nasty image was burnt into the back of your eyelids.
Every time you shut your eyes, you could picture Jungkook ramming into Hyewon from the back. Him smirking at you. It played in your mind in a loop.
You’re fish. Jungkook was dangling bait in front of you, but it felt so out of reach.
Your drunkenness made it harder for you to control yourself. The only way you could express yourself was through your tears.
These tears weren’t out of sadness though.
It was purely frustration. Well, frustration mixed with silly drunken emotions.
Just when Namjoon and Seokjin walked you back to the table, you spotted Jungkook emerging from the corner, stopping only a few steps away.
No Hyewon in sight.
This jerk better not try to talk to you. He better not even breathe in your direction.
“_____, say ahhh.” Seokjin attempts to force-feed you some bread. You scowl at him, eyes still wet with tears.
No doubt, your entire face was ruined and red now. Certainly not in the way you wanted.
Jungkook cautiously watched on as Namjoon cleaned your cheeks and nose.
His heart raced. You were a pretty crier.
When you caught another glimpse of him, you glared hard.
Oh. Kitty’s got claws.
Though he clearly overestimated you, he still thinks you’re overreacting.
There was another thought swimming around the back of his mind. Have you told them what you saw? And at the off chance you had, how the hell was he going to explain this to anyone? How was he going to explain this to Hyewon? He couldn’t let this affect her negatively.
Lucky for him, you weren’t a gossip, but that’s not why you chose to keep this to yourself. You’d absolutely be up to tattle had you not humiliated yourself by sobbing and breaking down so publicly.
Obviously, you weren’t about to reveal to people that watching your stupid crush fuck his annoying girlfriend terrorized you to the point of tears. You have a reputation to keep up around here; one that you swore you didn’t care about.
This would be scandalous for everyone involved. It’d just hurt more people, not that you care about hurting Hyewon or Jungkook. They’d have brought it upon themselves.
However, you aren’t too proud to admit that you were extremely jealous of Hyewon.
Admitting this to yourself (and to Somin later tonight) is a big step. But you refuse to dig any deeper than that.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Right around the time you begin to actually lax and reassure Namjoon and Seokjin nothing funny happened to you, Jungkook finally approaches the table.
Instead of taking his original seat next to you, he saunters to the opposite side.
Pussy.
Jungkook would argue he was giving you much needed space. And he didn’t need to rub it in your face anymore by presenting Joon with his tie right now.
Jungkook discreetly stuffed the silky piece of clothing into his coat pocket as he watched you get coddled by grown men.
Instinctively, he wants to join in. Technically, he’s the reason you were in this almost inconsolable state. So, it should be him looking after your every need.
In his defence, he really thought you’d handle it like a champ. Not… reduce into tears.
Now, the guilt begins to set in. The guilt of using his girlfriend to get a reaction out of you. The guilt of making you feel this way. The guilt of making his hyung worry about you. It weighed on him, making him doubt all the choices he made in the last twenty minutes.
Should he check on you? Jungkook thinks giving you space would be better for you. And easier for him.
Just when he was about to leave the table to get a bottle of water, his girlfriend joins him. Hyewon rests her palm on his shoulder. She keeps her eyes on you, who looked like you were recovering from something, and sends Jungkook a questioning look, mouthing ‘What happened?’ to which Jungkook just shook his head.
Ever so curious, she couldn’t stop herself. “_____, are you okay?”
Hyewon’s stupid voice floods your ears, instantly taking you back to ten minutes ago when she was a moaning mess under Jungkook.
Why was this woman out to get you?
You refuse to acknowledge her and pretend not to hear. Even though she was loud enough that everyone at the table heard her.
“___-”
“Oh, my goodness, take a hint!” You snap at Hyewon.
The group just kind of… stills. Jungkook looked taken aback.
“Oh,” she says weakly, blinking as though she’s been slapped, looking around at the other patrons to see if anyone saw her get yelled at. She tries to defend herself, “No, I just wanted to make sure you’re-” - “Can you just not?” You cut her off, having had enough of her ‘concern.’ “You’ve done enough…” You whisper the last part, not loud enough for everyone to hear but Hyewon catches on to it anyway. So does everyone else.
Hyewon’s lips part, ready to ask what that meant, but Jungkook gently catches her wrist on top of the table, whispering something that sounded like ‘let it go.’
Yeah, bitch, listen to your fucking boyfriend. You grind your teeth together at the display. They’ve got to stop rubbing this in your face. You could probably get that clown kicked off of the face of the Earth if you wanted.
She glances at him, searching his face for answers, then back at you. Finally sighing, she brushes you off, “Okay, I’m sorry.”
You roll your eyes at the apology. She just has to be the goodie-goodie. Hyewon just has to shove it in everyone's faces that she’s the innocent little fawn who’s getting bullied by the big fat tigress.
You glare in her direction one last time.
You notice Jungkook looking unhappy. There’s a tiny little wrinkle forming on his forehead and he looks like he’s biting at his lip ring.
Jeon Jungkook was actually pissed off? At you?
You find that really funny. Both literally and… not literally? Because it genuinely makes you laugh ha-ha that he’s angry at you but also, you aren’t ha-ha laughing because you think he has no right to be mad (and at you of all people.)
Still, you wanted to fuck the shit out of him. You are actively fighting thoughts of throwing Hyewon off her chair and mounting her boyfriend. Pushing his face in your ample bosom as you dry hump him in front of the entire hall. Maybe he’d be as rough as he was with his stupid girlfriend… Now that broke your lustful daydreaming.
After an awkward five minutes, Hyewon, throwing on an obviously fake smile, announces to everyone that she and Jungkook were about to call it a night.
Seokjin smiles at Hyewon, attempting to make up for your… unpleasant attitude. “We’re glad you came, Hyewon-ssi.”
She nods, returning the pleasantries. Then she turns to Namjoon, reaching an arm out, “Good night, Joonie. Congratulations again.”
Namjoon rises halfway from his seat to hug her back, “Thank you, Hyewon. Get some rest, yeah?”
She smiles and nods before facing you. Her smile falters just a little when she sees that you’re still scrolling through your phone. Namjoon nudges you but you refuse to cooperate.
“Right,” she murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “We’re gonna say bye to the others.” She directs it at Jungkook.
“Sure. I’ll be right behind you,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“I’ll escort you,” Seokjin offers kindly, making Hyewon swoon. She was a little starstruck despite whatever just went down with you.
As Hyewon glides away with your step father, Jungkook waits until they’re out of earshot before fishing something from the pocket of his suit jacket. He twirls it loosely around his finger before dropping it on the table in front of you and Namjoon.
“Thought I’d return this now before I forget.” He says smoothly.
Discreetly, you eye the black object.
Namjoon frowns, picking it up. “My tie?”
What the fuck.
Your neck snaps towards him before you can stop yourself.
Jungkook’s grin tilts into an infuriatingly smug one. “Yeah. We used the hell out of it. Thanks.”
“Ugh. Dude…” Namjoon recoils, instantly flopping the tie back on the table. Jungkook laughs, unbothered.
Namjoon then looks up at his friend to whine a little but he notices that his gaze was trained on you. Waiting.
Namjoon then looks at you. You are now staring straight ahead, completely ignoring his friend. Internally, you were seething.
You don’t give Jungkook the satisfaction of a reaction. Not even a little stink eye or an eye-roll.
You mask all of your seventy emotions with an expression of indifference. This was all Jeon Jungkook would be getting from you from now onwards.
He pushes himself up from the table with an exaggerated grunt. “I better go find my girl.”
You dig your shoe into the floor, imagining his foot under it.
Jungkook lingers at your side for a bit, now tilting his head to gauge your reaction closely.
When he gets nada, he backs off slowly. “Bye, hyungie.” Jungkook smiles at Namjoon victoriously. “Be good.” Namjoon spits.
Every bit of guilt and regret Jungkook felt for what he did disappeared into thin air when you lashed out at his girlfriend.
Jeon Jungkook couldn't believe your candour just now. But it put a lot of things into perspective for him: the power he held over you, your feelings toward his girlfriend, and finally, he now knew exactly what you wanted. And he knew what buttons to push. And he finally knows your limits. His intuition had always been right. You definitely could handle this; you just didn’t want to.
A curt ‘_____,’ is the last thing you hear from him before Jungkook goes on to find his stupid girlfriend again.
Namjoon carefully watches the two of you.
Huh.
Slowly, he begins to scratch the surface of what potentially may have gotten you in this mood. Definitely something to do with Hyewon and Jungkook. But what happened?
Sadly for him, you weren’t ever going to talk about it. You never got the whole ‘talking about your feelings’ crap. However, you did rant to Somin on the regular to get shit out of your system.
If only you could talk Jungkook out of your system too…
Hyewon sits stiff in the passenger seat of her boyfriend’s Bentley, arms crossed, eyes lazily following blurred car lights driving past them. She seems deep in thought.
Jungkook can sense a little something brewing in her mind. Akin to a few days ago, when you were in a similar position.
It’s an awkward parallel.
“Okay,” Jungkook says finally, glancing at her before turning back to the road. “What’s on your mind?”
She scoffs under her breath. “What’s going on with me…” She repeated before groaning into her palms, “Ugh. I don’t know.”
But he knew.
Jungkook hums lowly in response. “You’ve been sighing the entire ride.”
She exhales sharply, then lets it out. “It’s _____.”
Jungkook’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. Even though he expected it, he feels his heart racing,
“She’s— God, she’s such a bitch sometimes,” Hyewon spits out. “I mean, I’m sorry but does she even realize how fucking unwelcoming she is?”
Jungkook stays quiet, allowing his girlfriend to throw everything out there. Hyewon was breaking.
“She got lucky. That’s all that girl ever did. Born in the right place, around the right people. She’s goddamn lazy- no, she has the privilege to be lazy. And she is! She doesn’t have to try. And she gets away with treating people like shit because no one ever calls her out on it.” Hyewon’s voice cracks a little. “If I treated anyone the way she acted towards me? I’d have no friends left.”
Jungkook doesn’t know what to say to that. He had noticed this too. Although, you didn’t seem like a total bitch, just a tad bratty. Maybe a little too blunt. But he had no clue his girlfriend had such intense feelings about that aspect of your personality. Or she just never let it show.
“I’ve been trying so hard with her,” she says bitterly. “Trying to be her friend. To make her feel included. But it’s just fruitless. We were so good all night and just now? All I asked was if she was okay. Why the fuck did she lash out on me?” She shakes her head. “It’s like, I never know which _____ I’m gonna get, I’m just… I’m done.” Hyewon whispered the last two words.
Well fuck. Jungkook was half-responsible for that. He ignited that fire.
He reaches over, brushing his hand on her clothed knee lightly, “You don’t need her, Won.”
Hyewon covers his hand with hers, grasping it tightly.
He sighs, “I thought you guys were friends though.” Or friendly, at least.
She lets out a hollow laugh, “No…” Then she recalls, “In fact, she only really started acknowledging me after she saw me with you. Before that, I didn’t exist to her.”
That comes as a shock to him. He fully expected her to have feelings about your behaviour earlier that night but not the rest of it. Jungkook glances at his girlfriend and back at the road ahead, but his mind flashes back to that night - the first time he was introduced to you and Logan properly.
He’d clocked it instantly. You were rough around the edges, kinda distant. Disrespectful. He hadn’t truly cared. If anything, it intrigued him. Sure, he ranted about you, but secretly, he’s been curious about you ever since.
Up to this very moment, he’s still curious about you. Even after the shit you just pulled, he wants to dig deep into you. Every possible implication of that sentence was applicable.
Suddenly, your (overall) behaviour with him and his girlfriend made sense to him. You weren’t friends. Hyewon was as good as some random woman to you.
“She’s never liked me,” Hyewon says, more quietly now. “And honestly, I don’t even know why I keep fucking trying with her.”
“Then don’t,” Jungkook offers bluntly. “You don’t have to go out of your way to appease her. Why try to befriend her at all?”
She whips her head toward him, eyes narrowing, “So it’s my fault she’s a cunt to me?”
“What? No!” Jungkook stumbles over the words, heat creeping up his neck. “I didn’t-” - He clears his throat, “That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying you don’t owe her any kindness she hasn’t shown you.”
He doesn’t blame her. After all, he too gets your appeal.
Hyewon quiets down for a moment. She turns her gaze back to the road.
Then she says, sounding defeated, “She likes you, though.”
Jungkook nearly swerves into the divider, “Hm?” Yet he’s glad he decided to drive instead of being chauffeured. He doesn’t think he could look his girlfriend in the eye and have this discussion about you.
“_____ likes you.” She repeated, as if she was jealous of Jungkook.
Maybe she was, a little.
Hyewon looks at him incredulously. “Babe. _____ clearly likes you. She wants to hang out with you and Joon. She engages with you. She doesn’t give a shit about me, whom she met first, but with you and Namjoon? Even Yoongi and Seowoo! Seowoo?” Hyewon gestures loosely, “Totally different person.”
His heart is, once again, pounding too loud in his chest. “Is that… bad?” He asked, referring to her first claim.
She thinks for a second before sighing.
“No…” Hyewon admits. Then letting out a short, bitter laugh, she admits, “I thought I could take advantage of it. You know--- worm my way into her little world through you. But she clearly doesn’t… want that.”
Jungkook feels the guilt like a punch in the neck. Once again, he thinks about how he had noticed your attitude towards Hyewon. He even brought it up with her. But, he never addressed it with you like he should’ve.
Instead, he flirted with you, touched you, dreamt of you, fantasized about you, crossed every fucking line with you except for actually, officially, crossing the line with you. Even now, your pretty, teary, flushed face is permanently embedded in the back of his mind.
Jungkook doesn’t have a plan but he asks anyway. “Do you want me to talk to her?” It’s instinctual to want to help Hyewon.
Hyewon’s reply comes just as fast, “No! God, can you imagine that? I don’t need daddy to fight my battles for me.”
He glances sideways at her, an eyebrow lifting.
She finally cracks a small smile, “Shut up. You’re fifteen.” Jungkook throws a hand up in defence and maybe slight confusion. They weren’t that kind of couple. “I said nothing.” Jungkook feels a little victorious to have been able to slightly lighten the mood.
“But now that I think about it,” Hyewon’s smile fades just as quickly, “I… kinda don’t want you talking to her at all.”
“What?”
“I know, I know,” Hyewon rushes. “I’m not trying to be that girl. It’s not like I don’t want you to have female friends. You know I’m not like that. It’s just…”
“I know,” Jungkook nods along.
Hyewon groans and exhales, clearly frustrated, “It’s just her. _____. She’s been so fucking weird with me, I just… I don’t want her to have the satisfaction of being close to you.” At latest not before she herself has that pleasure.
Jungkook blinks, surprised.
“Man, I feel like I’m in high school again.” Hyewon lets out another helpless laugh, “I only had one friend who’d defend me from those rich, mean girls. I’m just so tired of feeling like I don’t belong.” She shakes her head, “Ugh, babe, don’t listen to me. I’m just tired and emotional now…”
Jungkook watched on sympathetically, “Won…” He was familiar with Hyewon’s past experiences with those classmates. As much as he understood it, he couldn’t relate to it entirely. He never had it quite as bad as Hyewon. Male privilege and what not.
Stupidly, Jungkook indulges her insecurities, playing the supportive boyfriend role well. “It’s okay, Won. It-” He sighs, practically forcing the next few words out. “It’s not as if I’m that close with _____. Joon is. It might get awkward. But, if this is what you need from me, then so be it.”
He’s just shooting himself in the foot at this point.
“Gaah, I don’t know! You’re sweet, baby.” Hyewon runs her hand through his hair. “God. Why does some random woman have such a strong hold on me?”
Jungkook doesn’t say it but it echoes in his head: you and me, both.
Just in time, he turns into his street.
Desperate to move on to another topic, Hyewon forces a weird smile, “Remember when Jiah tried to hit on you all night? And then you blatantly ignored her the entire time and then made out with me in front of her?”
That was oddly specific. How could he not remember?
“I remember…” Jungkook blinked, a little confused. They were now parked in Jungkook’s garage.
She reaches over him to push his seat back. “I’m just reminiscing.” Hyewon smiles at her boyfriend before leaning in to kiss him.
Jungkook can’t help but wonder if she wanted him to read between the lines.
It takes you almost a week to (partially) recover from that night. It wasn’t really about what you saw, it was what you did after you saw it.
Namjoon dropped you home and offered to stay. You refused because you weren’t in the mood for anything funny.
The first thing you did after getting home was dumping those flowers in your fireplace. You only felt a tiny bit bad for it. Those flowers did nothing to you, but you hated who they came from and what it now signified. You didn’t want to keep apology flowers from fucking Kang Hyewon.
Not a day had gone by when you didn’t excessively obsess over every reactive thing you did that you could remember from the night.
The only thing you did not regret is putting Hyewon in her place for overstepping your boundaries. You aren’t sure whether or not it got through to her, but you’re not afraid of reminding her of it if you had to.
But, when it comes to Jeon Jungkook…
You fought the urge to look at news articles about him and needless to say, any photos or clips from the gala too. Even your own. You’ve been sent countless of them by all your friends (and Seokjin) but you don’t even want to acknowledge you were ever there.
Speaking of Seokjin; he had really surprised you. He didn’t go running to mommy and tattle on you (so you assume since your mother never sent you paragraphs about your family’s legacy and image.) Vague accounts of your outburst made its way to some snark subreddits but apart from that--- nothing major. You suspect either Logan or Seokjin to have meddled. Either way, you’re grateful.
After all that effort of nothing ever making it to the big news channels or any remotely reputable online magazines, word of your little temper tantrum still got out in the building (through word of mouth, i.e gossip) but that was expected.
You have no way of confirming but it was most probably one of Hyewon’s little friends. You just had to continue to keep a low profile, as you do normally.
Your brother had graciously moved some things around and allowed you to work from home for a few (3) days after you sobbed to him about the incident.
Those three days flew by faster than you were ready. Thursday morning comes for your throat. You wanted to skip some more but Logan demanded that you make an appearance at work. It was about time you returned.
The night before, you had the most vivid dream where you and Hyewon reversed roles. But it wasn’t the kind of dream you’re thinking about. You were literally in her shoes, going to a new office, doing lawyer stuff you didn’t understand. And you tanked.
This is the mindset you woke up in. Simply filled with dread.
You hope everyone goes easy on you.
Sua had checked on you which was sweet. You ranted to her about the gala in a conference call with Somin and Soobin, just not about what you saw though. That info was reserved for Somin only.
Along with Sua, Namjoon and Yoongi had also called to check in.
Yoongi just gave you shit for acting like the typical Scarlet Hills socialite he thought you were. He really was a meanie panini.
Namjoon… got the complete inside scoop from Jungkook before he ever tried with you, so you could not not talk to him. While your first instinct was to ignore Namjoon, Yoongi gave you more shit for that, so, yeah.
It's so fun to be friends with men! Really!
No, but actually, Yoongi sorta turned out to be the yin to your yang. He didn’t always give in to you (like Jungkook had done so many times in the past.) For example, he proposed a friendly date. While you agreed, the only place you were willing to meet Yoongi at was this vegan Indian restaurant an hour away from town. Yoongi opposed it a lot. And somehow, he tricked you into joining him at some stupid country club under the guise of ‘picking up his golf bag.’ And he made you drive!
That was when you realised; you and Yoongi would not work romantically.
You needed a sucker like Mr. Jeon to cater to your every need.
Not that that was your goal or anything. You still only want to fuck him and dump him. That’s all.
But that didn’t mean you didn’t have a little fun with the cat-faced man. :p
If anyone’s curious or whatever, you’ve discovered that Yoongi’s really good with his tongue. He almost made you cum from only sucking your tits. Almost. And you haven’t gone beyond that.
At this point, you fully believe you’re cursed by the sex gods.
To solve this little mishap, you came to the most obvious conclusion. Since two negatives make a positive, you proposed a threesome with Namjoon and Yoongi. One that they both rejected.
They really needed to be inside your head to understand your logic.
It’d been MONTHS since a man made you orgasm. Doing it yourself just doesn’t feel the same. Believe it or not, you love the concept of giving up control during sex just for the thrills. You just can’t do that alone.
All this sex talk right before work was really killing your mood.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
When you finally returned to the office, you were surprised by how… normal it all was. Nobody stared or whispered about you. The world hadn’t ended because you’d snapped at a little bitch at a gala. It was business as usual. You went on coffee runs for the office, updated everyone’s calendars, made survey forms for your coworkers as per Logan’s orders, etcetera etcetera.
If at all anyone was gossiping about you, they were at least decent enough to wait until you left the room. But according to Sua, nobody actually gave a shit anymore. Especially not the people in your office. They had come to know you and were already sort of endeared by you at this point, which was good to hear and a much needed ego-boost. It’d be a blatant lie to say you weren’t a little worried about all of this.
It wasn’t until lunchtime that you actually felt the slightest bit panicked.
You had to go down to J, K & K to see Joon. Well, you didn’t have to do anything but the more you put this off, the worse your anxiety would get. Also, he invited you. He had something to ask you or whatever. So, you just had to suck it up and take your ass over there.
This anxiety stemmed from not having been around Jungkook in a while. He must know you were deliberately trying to keep away from him, along with rumours. Dare you say, you were a tiny bit embarrassed of the fact.
Well, enough of that.
You adjusted the straps of your heels and headed down to Namjoon’s office. You told yourself you weren’t about to look for him.
And then the elevator doors opened. Directly to the one person you were hoping not to run into.
His hair looked slightly out of place, like he had just run his hands through it. But that’s not the thing you’re focused on. There was something on his body you hadn;t ever imagined to see. It isn’t, like, something absolutely bonkers. It’s so normal. But not on Jeon Jungkook.
Glasses… Spectacles. On him. Face.
Without wasting any more precious seconds, you flip your hair back and glide past him into the office, leaving behind a trail of your sweet scent.
Jungkook was dumbfounded. So much so that the elevator he had been waiting for left without him in it.
Maybe he would’ve done something about the way you just… dismissed him had he not made important shopping plans with his other gir- his girlfriend.
You had only caught a glimpse of the man, yet you had every. single. detail. stuck in your head: his magenta tie, the grey coat hanging off his arm, his lip and brow piercings, the glasses… Oh, the glasses! You didn’t know he needed them. You didn’t know you needed that. They made him look maddeningly mature. Normally, that would turn you off but he just looked even hotter.
Very briefly, you pictured yourself stealing them, wearing them yourself as you rode his cock in his office chair. You let out a shaky sigh.
You were not built for crushing on unavailable men.
Then Namjoon’s voice broke your train of thought, “There you are, I was about to come looking for you.”
You tightly smile at him and slip into his office, not trusting yourself to speak just yet.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Long story short, you’re going to a little retreat on a private island, courtesy of Namjoon’s father.
Initially, you weren’t part of the plan. It was supposed to be just the winners of the Eirene, Seowoo and Hyewon by extension. But Yoongi’s assistant had to back out at the last minute because… well, you hadn’t paid attention to the reason. But the point was that they had room.
So, of course, Namjoon invited you. Since you’d been cooped up in your apartment all week, working from home and, unintentionally or not, avoiding people since the gala incident, he figured a few days away from the city might do you some good. Maybe give you and Jungkook a fresh start.
When he mentioned the idea to Jungkook, though, it didn’t exactly go smoothly. Jungkook’s reaction was… less than enthusiastic?
“Why though?” He’d complained immediately, brow raised. “What’s the point of bringing her?”
Namjoon had rolled his eyes, “She’s my friend. And she could really use a break.”
“Do you like her?” Jungkook had pressed, half-serious. “Because if you’re interested in dating her, maybe take her somewhere else. On your own time.”
Hyewon had been the one to intervene, hugging Jungkook’s arm to calm him. “Kook, relax. It might actually be good for everyone. You, me, her. Maybe it’ll help… smooth things over.”
Translation: This is yet another opportunity for her to get to know you. Fuck whatever she felt or said about you.
With that, the decision was made. Namjoon promised you that you wouldn’t have to spend more than a dinner or two around the lovebirds anyway. You tried to wriggle out of it, claiming that Logan would never approve of you skipping out on work again, but Namjoon had a solution ready.
“We’re all working, _____. We’ll leave after office hours,” He’d said matter-of-factly.
You hummed, already picturing the gorgeous tan lines you’d wear after said retreat. You weren’t entirely convinced, but the idea of a natural tan, and maybe collecting seashells for your next art project, sounded good enough to sway you. It’d be more meaningful if you found them yourself instead of ordering them off Amazon or an overpriced Etsy shop.
Of course, the fact that Jungkook would be there was…. not the reason, obviously. But a nice little bonus. Emphasis on ‘little.’
The next day, Namjoon came by your office just as you were wrapping things up for the day. He waited, leaning against the doorframe, refusing to come in and help you finish because he knew that would take way longer.
“Ready to go?”
You nodded once.
After saying goodbye to Logan - who gave you a pointed look that said be good - you followed Namjoon down to the parking lot. You made him carry all of your luggage; two silver, hard shelled suitcases, one smaller than the other. One contained all your toiletries and shoes, and the other packed your clothes and makeup.
Your steps slowed when you spotted them. Hyewon was standing near the back of the vehicle, chatting softly with someone you didn't recognise, while Jungkook was already seated inside.
“Please tell me we’re not driving together…” You muttered to Namjoon under your breath.
He only hushed you. “It’s Kook’s car. And it’ll only be a forty-minute ride. You’ll survive.”
Forty minutes? You had no idea what kind of island existed forty minutes away, but okay.
You greeted Hyewon with a strained smile, which she returned sweetly.
“Need help with that?” Hyeown pointed at the little bags by your feet. You dumbly nod.
Whatever, she’s a better woman than you, bla bla.
She smiled at you once again before helping you load the suitcases in the trunk. ‘Helping’ was generous. She basically did it for you while you watched.
The car, you noticed, was a cherry red Jeep. Not exactly the vehicle you’d ever imagined Jungkook in. He struck you more as a sleek black coupe type of dude. Cherry red was more your thing though.
You’d have liked to take the front seat, but you assumed Hyewon had dibs on it. So, you climbed into the back, only to have Hyewon follow you in.
Great!
Whatever. You pressed yourself against the window, silent, determined not to look at Jungkook or acknowledge him at all.
That’s how you spent the first thirty minutes of the ride. You had to listen to Hyewon yap about something or the other. About her mom, Jungkook’s mom, their family trip together, just relationship stuff. She kept trying to ask you about your mom and Seokjin too. You assume it was in hopes of getting more intel on your family situation. But you couldn’t be bothered to give her more than a ‘I haven’t seen them all week.’
You were told Yoongi was already waiting at the resort. You text him asking him to claim a good room for you but he wasn’t a good sport. He insisted all the rooms were ‘good.’ Boring.
Another thirty minutes passed and traffic had brought the car to a crawl.
Forty minutes, my ass.
Both Namjoon and Hyewon had dozed off, leaving you in near-silence with only the sound of Hyewon’s boring Spotify playlist blaring through the speakers lowly. It only consisted of Taylor Swift’s last two albums. Or so you assume. They all sounded the fucking same to you. Like, are we kidding? You’d rather eat Hyewon’s shoe. You’re kicking yourself for not charging your devices well.
You were dangerously close to passing out yourself but resisted. You could sleep once you got to the place; on a comfy bed after a nice hot shower.
You shifted in your seat, adjusting your neck, trying to find a comfortable angle.
Jungkook’s eyes flicked toward you in the rearview mirror once, twice, then again.
Finally, without saying a word, he reached over and held something out toward you.
A forest green neck pillow.
You stared at it, blinking. He sighed. “Just take it. All that moving around is distracting.”
You glared at him, curling your lips into a childish pout. He rolled his eyes and pushed the pillow further back at you until you reluctantly accepted it.
The moment your fingers sank into the plush memory foam, your resolve cracked a little. Memory foam. Your favourite.
You looped it around your neck, muttering a quiet thanks he probably didn’t hear. You barely even heard it.
The pillow even smelt like him. It was oud-y and musky. It made you squeeze your thighs together.
Fuck me. Why did Jeon Jungkook have to be hot?
You glanced at him once. He didn’t have his hot glasses anymore. Hm…
The memory of a specs-clad Jungkook would suffice for now, you think.
You sank back against the seat, staring out the window. Luckily, Jungkook switched Hyewon’s playlist to something he thought you’d enjoy: J-Hope’s latest singles.
And he’s right again.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
When the car finally rolled to a stop, you blinked away the haze of near-sleep and looked out the window - only to frown. You were at an ominous location. You could smell that ocean air, but you couldn't figure out where you were.
You straightened up a little, “Where are we?” You were already wary.
Namjoon only smiled, that kind of weird ‘trust me’ smile that only made you not trust him. “You’ll see.”
You reluctantly followed the group out, heels clicking softly against the ground until the realization hit you.
It was a helipad.
You stopped dead in your tracks. “Namjoon, no.”
Namjoon grinned, glancing back, “_____, yes.” He continued on to the ground staff.
Ugh, this idiot thinks you’re thrilled. “No, Namjoon. You didn’t say anything about a helicopter.” You end with an unexpected whine.
Meanwhile, Hyewon was clutching Jungkook’s arm dramatically, squealing something about being scared too. “You’ll hold my hand, right?”
Jungkook smiled, tucking her closer. “I’ll hold it the whole way.”
Eugh.
Yeah, no. You’re going home.
“Joon…” You begin to build up your case but he doesn’t let you finish.
“Doll, it’s a very short ride.” He reassures. Hyewon jumps in too, “Yeah, _____, it’ll be fine! If we go down, we all go down together.” She giggled.
?!
What is there to laugh about falling seven thousand feet to your death? Does she think she’s being funny?
You make a strange face at her and her boyfriend who was leading her to the pick-up spot.
Just the idea of flying in a tin can with blades is… You’d like to live, please, thank you.
Namjoon turned 180 degrees to drag you along to the front with him. He literally had to drag your weight because you’d forced yourself to go limp in his grasp.
Finally, he decides to throw you over his shoulders. “Come on, drama queen.”
You watch Jungkook’s car get smaller and smaller. You give up.
“Hi, I’m Ivy. I’ll be flying you today.”
A female pilot.
For some reason, that helped settle your tummy. Namjoon clumsily placed you back on your feet. You stumble a little but Jungkook holds you up. You dramatically dust yourself off where he touched you.
He scoffed. Brat.
Ivy smiled warmly at you specifically, “It’ll only be twenty minutes, I promise. The weather’s perfect. It’s so comfortable up there even you could easily take a cat nap.”
You believe her. You nodded slowly. Okay. Maybe you weren’t gonna die.
You unclenched your fist.
Some of the ground staff was loading your bags into a compartment on the side of the helicopter. Everyone was traveling light so it was all well under the weight limit.
Ivy lets you choose your seat first. You chose the middle one so you wouldn’t have to stare at the world below you.
Even though Hyewon was whining about being afraid, she picks a window seat, so does Namjoon.
That left Jungkook only one choice: pressed to your side for twenty whole minutes, plus the few minutes it takes for the safety instructions to be explained and getting buckled in.
You were all given headsets to communicate better. You skipped out on it because it’d have messed up your hair. You swear you heard Jungkook scoff at you again.
Take-off was the most daunting part. When you heard the blades whirling faster, you instinctively reached out to grab Namjoon’s arm. He hissed under his breath.
A few minutes in, you still held a strong grip on his arm.
He just laughed softly, prying your fingers off. “Jesus, you’re cutting off my circulation.”
You couldn’t hear shit because you chose to forego the headphones. You frown at him and cross your arms like a petulant child. It wasn’t comfortable to keep knocking your elbows into the two gigantic boulders sitting on either of your sides. If this was anywhere else, you’d have been very satisfied. But four thousand feet off the ground? Over an ocean? Nuh uh.
You then press your palms to your exposed knees, holding onto them instead.
Jungkook’s watching you through the periphery. He knows you’re genuinely scared.
He gazes at Hyewon whose eyes were glued to the window. She occasionally smacked his boyfriend’s thigh to show him whatever she was marveling at: migratory birds flying alongside them, a random skyscraper, a horse? Everything.
It contrasted you who were staring down at your lap. Your hair fell over your face, barring your vision from accidentally catching glimpses of the environment around you. Your knuckles were turning white around your knees.
With a deep sigh, Jungkook placed his large, tattooed hand over both of yours. It scares the shit out of you. Only for a second though.
You peek at him through your hair. He’s looking at you. With his free hand, he places the headphones over your ears and you let him.
In your defence, you were… processing.
You learn that the headphones did more than just allow everyone to speak to each other. They were also noise cancelling. And you don’t want to admit it but you felt a lot better this way.
You blush a deep shade of red as you feel his heavy hand rub yours. You felt his fingers brush against your bare knees, making you squeeze your thighs together involuntarily.
…
You never wanted the ride to end.
By all means, screw that fucker, but Jungkook comforting you through a scary helicopter ride even after you’ve been rather unkind to him is… admirable.
Internally, you groan, wishing you had packed your new thrusting, rabbit vibrator.
The landing was smooth enough to make you feel stupid for ever doubting Ivy’s flying skills but that wasn’t enough to make you like these kill machines.
Wobbly legged, you stumbled out after Jungkook. This time, he doesn’t catch you. Just like that, your brief admiration for him ended right there.
Jerk.
You vowed you’d never let Namjoon trick you into bullshit like this ever again.
By the helipad, two golf carts waited to take you to the resort. You climbed into one with Namjoon, Hyewon, and Jungkook while your suitcases were loaded onto the other.
The ride was breezy and healing - the cool night island air hits your face, the scent of salt and flowers curl in through the open sides; it’d have put anyone in a good mood.
The villa, well, resort, technically- it was stunning.
Thank you, Mr. Kim.
It was a Tuscan style villa with creamy stone walls, cobblestone walkways lined with beautiful flower bearing bushes and warm amber lighting that made everything look and feel like it was the early 2000s.
Like any typical resort, staff members greeted you at the entrance, handing out chilled towels and colourful welcome drinks. You accepted both, immediately taking a long sip from your orange and pink drink. Yum, yum.
As you were being led inside, someone began explaining the amenities; a quick list of spa treatments, private cabanas, infinity pools, yadda yadda, but your brain only half-registered any of it. Until one particular phrase caught your attention.
“…and we have a two-Michelin-star pastry chef visiting us for the weekend.”
Ooh, bingo.
You knew exactly what your plans for the night were: a warm bubble bath, maybe a quick nap, and then room service from that dessert menu that you just know is about to be scrumptious, as you watch Gilmore Girls for, like, the eleventh time. You almost moan out loud, thinking about all the tiramisu you’re about to gobble.
As everyone slowly began dispersing toward the suites, you felt a familiar presence behind you. Then a light arm slipped around your waist from the side. “Yoongi?” You blinked, startled.
He grinned lazily, doing the same to Namjoon who stood beside you, before moving on to greet Hyewon and Jungkook with a similar warmth. He seems a bit dazed.
“Just came to say hi,” He pointed to your left with his chin, “In case I don’t see you guys later tonight…”
You all follow his gaze which lands on a gorgeous woman in a tiny black dress. She smiles and waves.
Ohhhh. Cute! You giggle and wave back at her.
Yoongi was tipsy.
“Ah, I see why you were in such a hurry,” Namjoon teased. Yoongi just shrugged.
Before you could even comment, Hyewon clapped her hands together. “Okay! Since we’re all in a hurry right now,” Nobody’s in a hurry for anything… “You’re all invited to our suite in exactly two hours. We’re hosting a casual dinner! Yoongi, you can bring your date!”
Namjoon smiled politely, Jungkook nodded along as she spoke, and even Yoongi gave her a little thumbs up in agreement.
Then, as silence stretched for a second too long, you realized they were all looking at you.
Oh, they wanted an answer this instant.
You blinked. “Oh. I’m actually okay. I think I’ll just sleep.”
Hyewon’s smile faltered for a second, barely noticeable, but you still caught it. As did everyone else.
You could tell she didn’t want to believe you’d turned her down for no reason. It was easier for her to assume you were unwell than to accept you just didn’t want to go.
Namjoon shot you a vague, ‘I’m disappointed in you’ look. Jungkook’s was more of a… frown? Like you;d kicked his dog or something. Well, you suppose you kinda did.
Okay then.
Not wasting a moment longer, you smile. “Good night!” You chirp, and follow one of the concierges down a hallway toward your room. Your luggage follows you.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you exhaled, rolling your shoulders back.
Why the hell was this your fault again? You toss your handbag on the floor.
You don’t understand why Hyewon wants to play host when everything is paid for by Namjoon’s dad. You aren’t trying to be… bitchy? A snob? Whatever the word is, you weren’t it. Your confusion is genuine. She ‘expected’ everyone in her and Jungkook’s suite for dinner.
Sucks to be her because you have big plans to pig out in your little room tonight.
After that hell of a car ride? Having to sit with the couple, forced to listen to their vacation plans for December. Renting a ski chalet with Jungkook’s family. Super original. And who plans trips more than half a year ahead?
And then the godforsaken chopper- you don’t even want to think about it and accidentally relive it.
You’d rather be able to pick your own dinner rather than force yourself to eat whatever crap Hyewon selected. I mean, she never asked you if you had any allergies or for anyone’s preferences. You can’t eat gluten this week. Or corn, because it sucks.
It’s better than showing up and being rude to the host (because of the host’s own neglectfulness.)
There’s zero reason for you to feel bad about it. It’s not as if all their efforts will go to waste if one person skips. The others were still going to be there to enjoy it and praise her.
Ugh. You groan before peeling your clothes off your body. You slip into the bathrobe provided by the Brando. Mm, soft.
You call room service to set up a relaxing, much needed bath for yourself.
While it gets ready for you, you facetime Somin. You reiterate your plans for the night to her. To nobody’s surprise, she supports your right to stay in rather than show up at Hyewon and Jungkook’s.
You end up staying on call with her (briefly adding Logan later,) all night long while still doing everything else you planned to.
The next morning, Jungkook spots you strutting into the restaurant in Prada SS 2009 heels and an itsy bitsy striped bikini top and skirt with something that looks an awful lot like a Hannah Montana beach towel lazily draped over you.
You only threw the towel on because the restaurant wouldn’t let you in without a cover-up. It didn’t do much covering anyway which was just the way you liked it.
With his eyes glued to you, Jungkook didn’t even notice Yoongi in pursuit.
Hyewon was still explaining to the waitress how she wanted her guacamole prepared, too occupied to notice whatever was going on there.
You and Yoongi were the last ones there.
Since Namjoon was off snorkeling with the dolphins or whatever, it was just the four of you.
You were preparing to skip out on this breakfast date but Yoongi came barging into your room and threatened you to show up because Namjoon put him on _____ responsibility.
It’d have been rude to bail a second time. Not that you care. You sincerely could not be bothered about how Hyewon felt. You’d like to point out once again that she was not the host, and nor was she the person whose invite you accepted. Namjoon was.
Anyway, Yoongi ate you out: first, through your panties for five whole minutes before discarding them completely, then he only cleaned you up with his tongue. He hadn’t let you finish. Instead, he held your orgasm over your head and made you attend breakfast.
What were you gonna do? Say no? You tried but he was very persuasive.
“Oh, hello!” Hyewon cheerfully greeted you and Yoongi. Her eyes flitted over to Yoongi’s arm behind your lower back. He was helping you into your chair. “Oh, when did this happen?”
You followed her gaze, looking down at yourself, and then blinked up at her. “When did what happen?”
“Thiiiss,” she said with a teasing little grin, gesturing between you and Yoongi. “I just didn’t know you two were close. You were with Namjoon before.”
Yoongi hummed, “We’ve become close over the week.” He thought nothing of it. But you knew what was brewing in her head. It’s always about relationships with this woman.
Hyewon’s eyes widened slightly at his tone. She looked back at Jungkook who was now fully focused on your conversation too. They hadn’t heard Yoongi speak of anyone like that before. And since you're a woman and he’s a man and men can never be friends with women, they were understandably taken aback. Note the sarcasm.
Hyewon laughed delicately, a little in disbelief, “Wow, really?” Then she goes on to say, “Oh, my god, this reminds me-” She waves her hands around to express her disagreement, “-you know, I’ve always detested that term: homie hopper.” She uses air quotes.
Yoongi and Jungkook’s eyes snap to Hyewon.
Hyewon cringes, “It’s such an unnecessary and misogynistic term. Like, people can do whatever they want.”
Then why bring it up in the first place?
You almost laugh in her face because of how bad she was at shading people. Though, that didn’t stop you from feeling a bit of discomfort because everyone at the table understood what she was hinting at.
As much as you’d like to say you weren’t hurt, it stung a tiny bit. Which was crazy because you never cared what most people thought of you, let alone someone like Hyewon, whom you don’t even have a real opinion on.
Jungkook’s brow raised, still processing the words that just exited his girlfriend’s mouth.
On the other hand, Yoongi was quick with his defence. “Why say it then?” His tone wasn’t accusatory or sharp. He feigned confusion.
“I wasn’t, I mean, I didn’t mean it in that way. God, I’d never.” Hyewon explained smoothly.
Yoongi wasn’t having it, “We’re not stupid, Hyewon.” He copied her nonchalant tone.
Before Hyewon could respond, her boyfriend jumps in, “Yah, let’s not go there? It’s nine in the morning.” It was directed towards Yoongi.
Yoongi?
Hyewon’s the one who started it. But ok, Yoongi shouldn’t go there.
Fuck that. You frown at him before picking out a menu to peruse through.
“She did not mean anything by it.” Jungkook looked at his girlfriend to confirm. “Right?” His hand slipped under the table--- you just knew it was to squeeze Hyewon’s thigh.
“Of course not! I was only sharing an opinion!” Hyewon rushed to reassure her boyfriend.
She looks at you with this shocked look, you don’t know how to describe it. “I am so sorry it came out that way.” It was as if she suddenly regretted trying to drag you. Or pretended to.
When you don’t acknowledge her, she reaches out to grab your hand, “_____, I’m sorry. Let’s just start over?”
If she doesn’t let go of you in the next five seconds, she is about to be wearing her breakfast eggs on her head.
“I don’t care,” you smile awkwardly, “We’re fine.”
Maybe Hyewon was still upset that you rejected her for dinner the night before. And maybe this was her way of showing it or lashing out.
An awkward silence ensued after. You then placed an order for a breakfast tiramisu and an espresso martini. Not even Yoongi interfered with your unhealthy choices.
It wasn’t until Jungkook decided to break the ice (mainly addressing Yoongi and Hyewon) that things went back to somewhat normal. You didn’t engage too much in any of their conversations.
Jungkook took note of it. He’d occasionally look your way, and you don’t know if it was to get you to join in or simply to admire. You had half a mind to unwrap your purple towel and really give him something to look at, momentarily forgetting that you were supposed to be mad at him.
Little things like this never bothered you before. So many of your past dates have pulled these tricks to get you to feel or act on jealousy. But it never worked. You weren’t the type of person who felt possessive over people nor the type to hold grudges.
Until Jungkook, maybe?
You’ve had hours to contemplate if your feelings were even worth entertaining. It was silly to be mad at Jungkook. He was only teasing. You have half-forgiven him. That’s a concept you’d like to introduce: choosing forgiveness until he ruins it for you with any more of his shenanigans.
Your heart felt lighter when you came to this conclusion with yourself.
Somin thought you needed to slow down on your attempts with Jungkook, refrain from acting out and getting rage-baited by him. And you agreed. Besides, it takes a lot of effort to be mad at someone. But you can’t help feeling a tad annoyed by the couple sitting across from you with all their… together-ness.
Around twenty excruciating minutes later, you and Yoongi excused yourself to go get a dry massage session before you sunbathed.
Hyewon invited you to a private couples yoga class she had pre-booked for herself and Jungkook.
While you had time, you did not care for it. Yoga was a regular thing for you, so it wasn’t as if you’d learn something new. If anything, you’d be forced to watch Jungkook stretch Hyewon out for a second time. And you didn’t like the way she proposed it either: ‘Oh! You don’t seem to have anything special planned then? Come join us!’ Getting a little massage and sunbathing weren’t ‘plans?’ Fuck that.
Thankfully, Yoongi politely declined before you could protest. He also paid before Jungkook could.
This restaurant wasn’t part of the resort so breakfast wasn’t paid for in advance. Jungkook had called for the bill but, like, Yoongi sniped and gave the waitress his card before she could accept Jungkook’s. And you found that pretty hot.
Jungkook thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing and soothing, something you practiced to get your mind off things. Yet, in the silence, he couldn’t stop wondering about you and his hyung. He absolutely didn’t deem Min Yoongi to be your kind of guy in general, let alone something more. But after seeing him dancing with you the other night and after Hyewon’s inquisitiveness, he doubts his own intuition. It was none of his business but he didn’t love the idea of you and Yoongi. Even Namjoon seemed a more likely option.
Either way, he didn't plan on driving himself nuts over your (possible) dating life.
The class was held under a white canopy by the villa, facing the sea. The instructor, Ria, spoke in a soft and measure tone, gracefully demonstrating each pose. As expected, Jungkook and Hyewon were the ideal students.
Then, when they get more comfortable between poses, Jungkook exhales. “Won, what was that earlier?”
Hyewon looks over, mid–warrior pose. “What was what?”
“At breakfast.” He straightens, fixing his sweats a little. “The thing you said about _____.”
Hyewon’s face tightens briefly. “It wasn’t about her. I mean-” She sighs, adjusting her stance. “It came out wrong. I just opened my mouth before I thought. I feel horrible, okay?”
He hopes she’s being truthful. Jungkook just nods along. “It didn’t sound great.”
“Jungkook, I know,” she says, voice a little strained now. “I mean I even apologised to her. Why are you bringing it up now?”
“Alright, alright. Just wanted to clear it up.” Jungkook backs off. Then he adds, “Yo- we should probably just… leave her alone for now.”
Hyewon doesn’t understand what he meant by that but she chooses to stay quiet, ignoring his suggestion.
There’s an awkward pause before Ria calls for the next pose - downward dog. Hyewon turns away from her boyfriend, stretching, focusing on the sounds of the wind chimes and the soothing music instead.
But as the session goes on, the atmosphere subtly shifts. Hyewon’s focus wavers. She didn’t love the fact that her own boyfriend questioned her motives in your defence. She suddenly hated the fact that you tagged along, contrary to how she had felt when she first found this out.
Jungkook doesn’t really notice the shift in his girlfriend’s mood, too busy getting the yoga right. He doesn’t try to engage her how he had tried with you earlier today. (Yeah, she noticed.) And understandably so, Hyewon hates that even more.
Meanwhile at the spa, you and Yoongi were led into separate adjoining rooms for your dry massages. The rooms smelt like essential oils and smoky sage. It looked like a typical Thai spa, nothing outstanding but it was beautiful regardless. There was a koi pond at the entrance too. You wish you had brought your phone along to show Somin to give her ideas for her indoor pond. Somin had one in her backyard but the birds kept stealing the poor fishies. She would get new ones but the birds kept returning. Soon she realised that she was feeding the birds that way. Ever since, she has been looking for inspo to build a little pond in her living room instead.
The massage was as relaxing as you expected. No oils or lotions were used; it was a dry massage because you didn’t want to get cooked in the sun later.
Your masseuse wouldn’t stop complimenting your soft skin. You assumed she was fishing for tips but she wouldn’t accept any when you tried. So, yay. :) It doesn’t take too much to make you happy.
You hoped to remain uplifted all day today. Or at least until dinner when you’d have to see Hyewon and Jungkook again.
After your massage, you find Yoongi waiting for you by the sun deck. He was staring into the endless ocean. The sun made him look almost translucent. He looked too serene to disturb but you were in a rush. “I’m still a bit hazy from the massage, and I wanna keep feeling so I can nap on that beach!!” With that, you run off to the beach.
Yoongi stays on the deck for a few minutes before heading back to the villas from where he grabs your phone, a tube of sunscreen, and two books to pass time with.
When he gets to the beach, he sees you’ve already set yourself up on a lounge chair, basking in the warm sunlight.
An employee had installed an umbrella for Yoongi.
“Need sunscreen?” He asks, already reaching for the tube before you can answer. You squeak in assent, sprawling out on the chair for him. He kneels beside you, squeezing a generous amount into his palm. The lotion feels cool against your warm skin.
Yoongi spreads it slowly, over your shoulders, your tummy, the tops of your thighs and your legs. “How do you walk on sand with those heels? Flip.” - “Hm? Oh…” You look at your feet before turning over for him, “I dunno, I just do.”
Uh, you weren’t about to take your shoes off to lie on a chair - they’re part of your outfit. And last time you checked, this wasn’t a nude beach. I mean, it was a private one so you could probably get away with some nudity but you’ve been really into tan lines lately. So, you know. The bikini stays on. Also, you doubt the employees would be pleased if you tried.
Yoongi massages the cream deeply into your skin. He begins to help himself before you could offer to do it for him, so you don’t bother.
You stay on your stomach, resting your cheek on the back of your palm, with your hair cascading down your back.
You hear the roar of the ocean and the screeching of the seagulls. There weren’t too many there though, you could maintain your peace. You sigh dreamily.
A few minutes of silence prompt you to check on Yoongi.
He was settled in next to you with a fat book on… music therapy?
Huh.
You turn the other way and close your eyes, breathing in the fresh, salty ocean air. It’s peaceful. For the first time probably all week, you’re content to just exist. Just you, the warm sun, the cool winds, and the sounds of the water.
Perhaps Namjoon was onto something bringing you here.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
The next time you open your eyes, you see a blond lying on the chair to your left: “Oh,” a familiar voice says, “You’re up!”
You squint a little, and there’s Namjoon, reclined on the seat. His hair was still damp and slicked back and his sunglasses were perched low on his nose. And he’s already got a beautiful tan on.
Still sleepy, you mumble. “How long have you been sitting there?”
He shrugs, “A little less than an hour.”
You glance to your right. Yoongi was on to a new book now. “Oh… Should’ve woken me…”
“I tried.” Namjoon snorted, “Snorkeling was amazing. You should’ve come.”
“Was it?” You ask, flipping on your back and stretching your arms over your head.
“Yeah. There was this one dolphin that kept following me - probably because I dropped my snorkel multiple tines,” he laughs. “Embarrassing as hell, but so worth it.”
He was way too chill about losing important equipment more than once… “Good for you.” You hum, blinking against the light, “At least one of us is having fun.”
You put your palm out, asking Joon for his sunglasses. He obliges.
“Yeah, okay. You woke up at the perfect time though.”
“I did?”
“Yep.” He sits up, brushing some sand off his shorts. “Next activity’s at one.”
You ogle his thighs for a few seconds. “Define activity…”
Namjoon opens his mouth to answer but then decides against it: “It’s a surprise.”
Dramatically shaking your head, you whine, “Nuh uh, no more of those.”
“You’ll have fun, I promise.” Namjoon pulls you off your resting place.
You let out a faint ‘Noooo’ before complying with his requests.
Namjoon knew you’d take a while to dress up so he sent you off early. Knowing how much the group enjoyed drinking, he had booked a little mixology class. Initially it was supposed to be just the three of you but during dinner last night, it turned into a group activity.
And maybe this would help you bond with Hyewon and… well, he hopes you wouldn’t ‘bond’ with Jungkook any more than you have currently. For Hyewon’s sake.
All this while, Namjoon had been confident that Jungkook wouldn’t pay you any heed and he had been proven wrong.
In his opinion, Hyewon and Jungkook belonged together. It’s not that he doesn’t like you. He loves you. But he doesn’t love you for his buddy. He thinks you would stomp on Jungkook’s heart with your sexy little stilettos and crush it.
He could just talk to you and ask you to back away but it’s a bit too late for that anyway.
That being said, he still hopes you and Jungkook are able to build a friendship. If not now, sometime in the future.
It was nearing one in the afternoon by the time you finally emerged from your room - ten minutes later than Namjoon’s text had instructed, but who was counting?
You’d taken your sweet time getting dolled-up, abandoning your bikini for a mini slip dress with black lace detailing along the neckline. It paired beautifully with your diamond necklace (all lab grown because you’re not a monster.)
What took long was the hair. You worked your hair into waves and added little braids here and there. Like at the night of the gala.
Namjoon had only told you to change into something comfortable for an ‘activity.’ No further hints. You were hoping it wasn’t anything involving hiking, sand, or god forbid, group sports.
The sun was high and hot, you doubt it was any of those options anyway.
You followed the winding stone path down toward the villa deck, where Namjoon’s text had told you to meet him. You spotted Joon first - leaning leisurely against a railing in a linen shirt, sunglasses perched on his head. Yoongi stood beside him, holding a glass of something brown and on the rocks.
They were discussing the layout of the place and how inconvenient it must be for employees on this island to travel from work to home.
“About time,” Yoongi said, glancing at you as you carefully stumble onto the deck in your ladybug kitten heels.
“You boys are lucky I showed up at all.” You shot back, and his mouth twitched in a half smile.
Namjoon stepped forward, clapping his hands once. “Alright, now that we’re all here…” He gestured to the open-air setup behind him: a long wooden counter shaded by palm fronds, stacked neatly with shakers, citrus, berries and other edibles, bottles of liquor, and rows of gleaming glasses. “…Surprise.”
You froze for half a second before letting out a delighted squeak. “A mixology class?”
Namjoon grinned. “You’ve mentioned wanting to try it before, so…”
He listens to you!
“Ooh, oh, my God,” You’re practically bouncing in place, “I’m so excited!”
The instructor exited a gorgeous little shed nearby and introduced themselves as Kyle, then began running through the basics. “We’ll start by prepping some ingredients, washing and cutting fruit, muddling herbs, that sort of thing. Then we’ll get into building flavor profiles.”
You weren’t too keen on the grunt work but if the end result is a drunk _____, you’re doing ittt.
You, Namjoon, and Yoongi each gave your introductions in turn before diving into the setup.
Kyle handed you and Joon some of the citrus fruits and a grater and asked you to zest them into separate bowls.
Yoongi, being more experienced with knives, was asked to slice the fruits into thin wedges for the plating.
Everything was going just fine.
And then-
“Oh, you guys started without us?”
You froze mid-smile.
Turning, you saw Hyewon approaching, one hand looping through Jungkook’s arm. They both looked freshly showered and far too put-together for a lazy beach afternoon (as did you.)
Hyewon was in a coral halter sundress, hair glossy and tied with a silk scarf. Jungkook wore a Hawaiian button-down with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, sunglasses hooked in the center of his shirt and capri shorts.
Your heart did something stupid at the sight of him. His hair was a tad tousled. You almost want to reach out and fix it.
Namjoon straightened a little. “Hey, you guys made it.”
Hyewon smiled, “Yeah! We were gonna go snorkeling because you made it sound so good but we figured we could just do that tomorrow.”
We, we, we. Blegh.
You forced a polite little smile, trying not to show the flicker of irritation. Or the heat that rose when Jungkook’s eyes flicked to you before dropping to your bare shoulder where one of your straps had slipped off of, to your hands that daintily grasped the half peeled lime, and then down to your legs.
“Alright!” Kyle smiled brightly at the couple, “You guys ready to catch up?”
They both nodded. Hyewon offered an apologetic smile while Jungkook looked only mildly interested.
“Great! Since your friends have already started…” Kyle gestured at the small array of half-prepped fruits, bottles, and herbs on the long wooden counter, “I’ll give you two some tasks.”
He points at Hyewon, “You can help wash and prep the berries.” Then turning to Jungkook, “You can take over the herbs. You’re going to use that muddler and gently press it down on the herbs. Make sure to bruise, not murder them.”
Jungkook already disliked Kyle.
As everyone settled into their given roles, Kyle began to talk about mixing alcohols. The do’s, the don’t’s, what kind of alcohol mixes with what liquid, different flavour profiles, hot and cold drinks, and so much more that you’re sure you won’t remember after today.
Then, Kyle began demonstrating mixing colours. You actually found yourself fascinated, leaning a little closer as they poured a splash of liqueur into a shaker and swirled it to show contrast.
Kyle had everyone taste different types of liqueurs. Though they controlled the portion, you and Yoongi snuck some extra shots in. But you spat bitter whiskey into a paper towel.
After your fourth shot of vanilla vodka, you were beginning to feel things.
“Now,” Kyle clapped his hands once, smiling mischievously, “time for something fun. I’ve got a little game for you all. It’ll be a test of your creativity and teamwork.”
Yoongi groaned, already sensing some shit-stirring. These were grown adults with full-time jobs, they didn’t need any more intrapersonal skill assessments.
“I’m gonna divide you into two teams,” Kyle continued, “Each group gets twenty minutes to create an original cocktail. You’ll present it to me, I’ll taste both, and we’ll have a winner.”
Before anyone could voice their opinion, Kyle was already dividing you up, “Yoongi and Namjoon are Team One.”
Yoongi’s face lit up in glee. It took you a bit longer to understand though.
That meant….
“_____, Hyewon and the hot one whose name I cannot remember,” Kyle winked, “You’re Team Two.”
You exhaled sharply through your nose, turning back to the counter.
The awkwardness was palpable.
Jungkook stood on one side of Hyewon, cutting ice cubes down. You stood on the other, minding your own beeswax. You have no clue what Hyewon was doing either.
You didn’t bother explaining your idea to the couple. You just started building it. A sparkling, glittery pink drink with hints of passionfruit and raspberry. The fizz comes from champagne and tonic, and the glitter is a dusting of white edible shimmer you’d found in one of the tiny jars Kyle had set out.
You crushed the berries, mixed them in with the wine and drained the liquid. You ignored whatever conversation was happening beside you.
It wasn’t until you reached for the pink passionfruit that things went sideways. You were trying to cut it up into tinier pieces to mush together with the raspberries.
Jungkook noticed you reaching out for the sharpest knife designed to cut ice - you were about to pick it up by the damn blade, totally distracted by the pigment on your other fingers.
Jungkook nearly lunges over his girlfriend, his hand shooting out to grab your wrist and knock the knife away from your palm before you could cut yourself. Hyewon blinked up at her boyfriend, startled.
The tool clattered to the ground.
You were still staring at your pink-stained fingers. What just happened?
“You can’t be picking up knives by the sharp end, _____.” Jungkook scolded you.
The entire deck was now watching on in curiosity.
You pout at him, still a little dazed, “Geez, okay…”
Jungkook exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. Then, quieter, “Just- tell me what you want to do. I’ll do it.”
You hesitated, but eventually pointed at the fruit. “I want to cut it into smaller pieces to mash.”
“And?” Jungkook was already on it.
You hum rubbing up and down your arm, “Mmm, mix it with tonic and white wine and strain it. Add a little sweetener, then glitter…”
Hyewon smiled, jumping in, “I’ll mash and strain then.”
You happily pass the little muddler off to her. You wanted to be on glitter duty anyway!
Hyewon even sliced a little piece of a tangerine to stick on the rim on the glass. It looked pretty cute.
When the drinks were done, Kyle went around tasting each. They gave feedback on everything.
Finally, Yoongi and Namjoon’s smokey citrussy drink won. But that was expected since Yoongi knew a lot about drinking anyway.
Kyle lingered by your side, swirling a glass of the _____ (that’s what you called your drink) in their hand. “This,” they said, admiring the shimmer under the sun, “is fun. Needs a little more acidity, but the presentation is gorgeous.”
Yay! You smiled, ducking your head shyly. “Thanks.”
Jungkook, standing behind you, watched the way you bit back your grin. You tried not to look too pleased. And for some reason, it made something tighten in his chest.
It’s so easy to make you happy. So easy to want to.
Kyle clapped once more. “Alright, mixologists, you’ve earned a break. There’s a beautiful picnic set up for you on the beach. Follow me, allons-y!”
They led you down the wooden path towards the sand.
You walked ahead with Yoongi, talking about how much you loved your sparkly drink idea. Yoongi tells you to turn it into a business plan. You immediately lose interest in discussing your drink with him.
Why were men like that?
Behind you, Jungkook fell back beside Namjoon, lowering his voice so only his hyung could hear, “Listen,” He cleared his throat. “I booked a yacht for tomorrow to get back to the city.”
Namjoon frowned. He had checked for yachts the day before but none were available for a few weeks now. Plus, he discovered a helicopter to be faster and, surprisingly, cheaper. The port was farther away than the helipad. If they wanted, they could directly land on top of their office building too.
“How come?” Namjoon chose to ask before hounding him with all this info.
“She’s terrified of flying, man.” Jungkook said it as if it was the most obvious response.
Namjoon blinked, following Jungkook’s gaze up ahead - where you were walking barefoot beside Yoongi, shaking your head at something he said. Damn. Maybe Namjoon’s better off not meddling.
next: killah (jjk) [9]
note: firstly, everything i wrote for the mixology class scene is from my own head. i did not feel like researching anything so i just made stuff up. if anything is accurate, it's a coincidence. still, pleek don't attempt to recreate anything from that scene irl
secondly, slut shaming of any of the characters will not be tolerated! be normal ok
finally, these two months are going to be super busy for me (shocker ik.) sooo, if you ask me for an update anytime before december 30, i won't be able to give you any answers 😖
please tell me what you think!! write to me, send me memes, interact w me :)
Summary: He was a commoner, a blacksmith in the palace, unnoticed by most, yet completely devoted to her her beauty, kindness, and heart a guiding light. Every action he took, every subtle move, was for her safety, respect, and well-being. Love made him cunning, precise, and dangerous. In a palace full of whispers and cruelty, his quiet, hidden fury was about to rise, proving that even someone without title could strike with unstoppable force when driven by love and obsession.
Word Count: 6519
1 2
Edit: I want to write their story about how they met and fell in love, as a prequel before releasing Chapter 4!
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The night was painted in hues of gold and indigo, the palace lanterns flickering to life one by one as if the stars themselves had descended to witness the evening’s splendor. The grand celebration was to be held in honor of Minister Hwang’s son, Do-hyun, who had newly ascended to the post of General. The court whispered of his youth and brilliance, of how fortune smiled upon the minister’s line.
Jungkook and Y/N quarters were awash in lamplight, warm and steady. The faint scent of burning sandalwood drifted through the air as Jungkook adjusted the collar of his dark clothing before the mirror. His reflection was a balance of strength and control: broad shoulders, straight posture, ribbons and insignias glinting faintly under the glow. The faint clink of his sword belt followed each movement, a soft rhythm to the evening’s anticipation.
Behind him, Y/N stood before the dressing table, her hands smoothing the folds of her blue silk dress. It shimmered like the midnight sea deep, fluid, and edged with silver embroidery that caught the light when she moved. The delicate fabric whispered against her skin, trailing down in waves to the floor.
Jungkook’s eyes found her reflection in the mirror, and for a moment his composure slipped.
“You’ll make the ministers forget what they came here for,” he murmured, voice low and laced with quiet awe.
Y/N looked up, catching his gaze in the mirror. “You flatter too easily, Lieutenant,” she teased, though a faint color bloomed at her cheeks.
“Not flattery,” he said, turning toward her. His boots clicked softly against the floor. “Observation.”
He came to stand behind her, his reflection tall and composed beside hers. “You look like something out of a dream,” he continued softly.
Y/N smiled, shaking her head slightly. “If I’m the dream, then what are you?”
“The fool lucky enough to wake beside it,” he replied, his lips curving faintly.
That earned a soft laugh from her, but her voice dropped, gentler. “You look rather handsome yourself,” she said, fingers tracing along the front of his uniform. “This suit suits you…”
He arched a brow. “Suits me? Or are you saying you like me in it?”
“I didn’t say that,” she said quickly, eyes flicking up to meet his, though the shy flicker in her expression betrayed her.
Jungkook chuckled, leaning closer until his breath warmed her ear. “You didn’t have to.”
Y/N exhaled softly, pushing lightly at his chest. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” he said, straightening his jacket with mock seriousness.
Her lips curved at that, the amusement playing at the corner of her mouth something he never tired of. He watched as she adjusted her earrings small drops of silver that caught the lantern light like morning dew.
“Will there be many tonight?” she asked after a pause.
“Ministers, their sons, high officials,” Jungkook replied, reaching for his gloves. “And the prince himself. Everyone who thinks power smells sweeter when shared.”
Y/N smiled faintly. “Then we should bring perfume strong enough to mask it.”
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Careful, wife. You sound more dangerous than half the council.”
“Only when provoked,” she said, with a soft tilt of her head.
He stepped closer again, lowering his voice. “Then let’s hope none of them are foolish enough to try tonight.”
Her eyes met his, calm but warm. “With you beside me, they wouldn’t dare.”
For a moment, silence hung between them, filled with the distant hum of cicadas and the faint rustle of silk. Jungkook reached out, fingers brushing along her arm before resting at her waist. The touch was gentle, grounding.
“Ready?” he asked quietly.
Y/N nodded, smoothing her dress one last time. “As I’ll ever be.”
Y/N slipped her hand into his, the blue silk and black uniform meeting in contrast, silver threads gleaming faintly against his gloved fingers. Together, they stepped into the night, where music, wine, and watchful eyes awaited.
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The celebration stretched across the eastern hall an expanse meant only for the highborn and their heirs. The scent of jasmine and spiced wine curled in the air, blending with the faint perfume of power and pride.
The king was absent that night.
The prince, Kim Taehyung, presided in his stead seated on a raised dais draped in deep velvet. He did not speak much, but when he moved, every head turned. His presence was quieter than his father’s, yet far more dangerous; there was something about the way he looked at people as if he was always seeing beyond what they wished to show.
The guests were a tapestry of silk and ambition ministers in dark robes, their jeweled rings flashing as they gestured; noblemen with practiced smiles and laughter too quick to be sincere; their wives standing beside them, painted and poised, their eyes sharp as glass.
Weaving through it all like threads of honeyed danger were the concubines draped in crimson, ivory, and gold, their laughter soft but deliberate. They moved like dancers between tables and pillars, their perfume thick, their smiles edged with intent. They knew the game well: every brush of a sleeve, every glance offered at the right noble could tilt a favor in their direction. Whether the man was married or promised mattered little what mattered was who he was, and what he could give.
Jungkook stood beside Y/N as they entered the main hall, the murmur of the crowd dimming slightly at their arrival.
Minister Hwang spotted them first, his laughter echoing from the head of the room. He was a broad man with a face carved by both wine and cunning, and beside him stood his son, Do-hyun the man of the hour.
“Lieutenant Jeon!” the minister called, his tone booming and jovial. “Ah, the hero himself graces us tonight!”
Jungkook bowed with practiced ease, his tone polite but firm. “Minister Hwang. Congratulations to you and your son. The kingdom gains a fine general.”
Do-hyun, younger and far more polished, inclined his head modestly. “You flatter me, Lieutenant. I’ve merely followed where duty leads.”
Jungkook’s lips curved faintly. “Then may duty favor your path, General.”
The minister’s eyes, however, had drifted toward Y/N, curiosity and mild surprise crossing his face. “And who is this lovely companion?”
Jungkook turned slightly toward her. “My wife, Y/N,” he said, voice softer when he spoke her name. “It’s her first time attending a gathering of this sort.”
Y/N dipped her head gracefully. “It’s an honor to meet you, Minister Hwang. And congratulations on your son’s appointment.”
The minister chuckled, clearly charmed. “Ah, a beauty with grace Lieutenant Jeon, you’ve been keeping your blessings hidden from the court.”
Jungkook just smiles evenly, though a faint glimmer of amusement danced in his eyes. “Some blessings prefer quieter places.”
The older man laughed again, clapping him on the shoulder before raising his cup. “Then to quiet blessings, may they outshine the loud ones!”
Glasses clinked, laughter followed, and soon another group called for the minister’s attention. With a courteous farewell, Jungkook and Y/N excused themselves, stepping aside into the slow, golden hum of the party.
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The music shifted strings and flutes rising to a rhythm both formal and gentle, echoing off the marble and silk. Servants dimmed the outer lanterns, and the first of the couples began to move to the center of the hall. The floor shimmered faintly beneath the golden light, polished so bright it caught each reflection like a memory.
Jungkook turned to Y/N, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat. Then a faint curve found his lips half invitation, half command.
“Come,” he said, extending a gloved hand toward her. “Dance with me.”
Her brows lifted, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Here? Before your nobles and their wives?”
“Where else?” His tone softened. “It would be a pity for them to forget what grace looks like.”
Y/N’s lips parted in mock surprise. “You speak boldly for someone who steps on toes.”
“Then it’s fortunate I’ve learned to tread lightly,” he murmured. “Especially around dangerous company.”
Her laughter escaped before she could stop it. She placed her hand in his warm, steady and he led her to the open space where other couples already swayed beneath the light.
The steps were simple, but under his lead, they became something more graceful, deliberate, almost intimate. Her gown brushed his boots as they turned.
Y/N’s lips parted slightly as he drew her in for a slow turn. “You shouldn’t look at me like that,” she murmured.
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve already forgotten where we are.”
He leaned close enough for his words to graze her skin. “For a moment, I have.”
The music slowed, Jungkook’s hands were steady at her waist, Y/N’s fingers draped lightly over his shoulders as they glided across the polished floor. Laughter and chatter swirled around them, but for a moment, the world contracted to the space between them.
And then her gaze flicked just briefly toward the far end of the hall.
Prince Kim Taehyung stood there, posture relaxed yet composed, his eyes sweeping the room. And then they found her. Not with judgment, but with something sharper, almost… curious, as though he had glimpsed her somewhere before and the memory refused to settle.
Her eyes darted again toward the edge of the hall, catching movement out of the corner of her eye. A concubine lingered near the other nobles, her posture deliberate, eyes scanning the crowd. And there, unmistakably, the woman’s gaze lingered on Jungkook not casual admiration, but calculation, interest, the kind that carried both charm and intent.
Y/N’s fingers tightened just slightly on his shoulder.
When the final note of the music faded into the candlelit air, Jungkook and Y/N drew apart with quiet grace, their fingers lingering for just a moment longer than propriety allowed.
Jungkook’s gaze softened as it settled on Y/N, the corners of his mouth curving faintly. He inclined his head toward the cluster of noblewomen gathered near the dais, their silks whispering as they spoke. Y/N understood at once. With a nod and an almost imperceptible smile, she turned toward them, her blue and silver gown gliding through the light like water.
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Jungkook watched her go for a moment, then turned toward a circle of ministers and seasoned officials. Their laughter was broad, their talk heavier about border reports the ever-present politics. He joined them with practiced ease, his posture composed, his words measured, the faintest smile playing on his lips as he lifted a goblet of wine to his mouth.
When his goblet ran empty, he excused himself with polite formality, crossing the room toward the long table where carafes of wine glowed deep red under the flicker of lamplight.
As Jungkook reached for the jug, he poured himself a measured portion, That was when she appeared.
The same concubine Y/N had watched earlier moved toward him, her steps silent, her expression serene yet deliberate. The rustle of her crimson skirts broke the stillness between them, her perfume faint but unmistakably rich something floral, honeyed, designed to linger. She stopped just a little too close to be proper, tilting her head with a smile that seemed practiced to perfection.
“Lieutenant Jungkook, is it?” Her tone was smooth, each word wrapped in polite curiosity. “I have heard your name quite often this evening.”
Jungkook did not turn at once. He set the carafe down, his posture composed, movements unhurried. Only when he lifted his gaze to her did the chill of his indifference show a soldier’s stillness, cool and contained.
“And you are?”
Her smile didn’t falter, though her lashes lowered with feigned modesty. “Sera. I reside within the royal quarters. It seems the palace speaks often of your accomplishments.”
Jungkook took a slow sip of his wine, his expression unreadable. “The palace speaks of many things. Few are worth listening to.”
Sera let out a soft laugh, a sound rehearsed and delicate. “Perhaps. But some stories are worth knowing firsthand.” Her gaze lingered, suggestive but veiled beneath refinement. “You carry yourself differently from the rest, Lieutenant. Not the posture of a court man… more like someone used to command.”
He did not answer immediately. His eyes shifted toward the crowd, scanning the room as if the conversation itself were nothing more than passing noise. Then, in a tone quiet but cutting, he replied, “Command doesn’t suit every place. Especially not here.”
Sera tilted her head slightly, intrigued rather than deterred. “And yet it suits you well. Men who carry purpose tend to stand apart it’s… noticeable.”
Jungkook’s gaze finally met hers, cool and steady. “Noticeable can be dangerous, Lady Sera.”
Her lips parted just slightly, the faintest tremor of amusement ghosting over them. “Only to those who don’t know how to look.”
He regarded her for a moment longer, then set his goblet aside. “I see.” His voice was calm, almost distant. “Then perhaps it’s best you keep your gaze elsewhere. My wife wouldn’t take kindly to such curiosity.”
Sera’s eyes flickered surprise first, then a slow, deliberate smile, one that spoke of challenge more than defeat. “Of course,” she murmured, lowering her fan just enough to meet his eyes once more. “A loyal man, then. Rare… and yet all the more intriguing.”
Jungkook’s silence was final, unyielding. He inclined his head once in curt acknowledgment before stepping past her.
Sera’s gaze followed him as he disappeared into the crowd, the faintest glint of calculation in her eyes. But Jungkook did not look back.
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Y/N approached the circle of noble wives gathered beneath a canopy of silk drapes. Their laughter chimed softly, gilded by wine and privilege. As she neared, their voices dipped just slightly and a dozen eyes lifted to greet her.
“Ah,” one of them said, a tall woman in violet silk, her fan glinting with mother-of-pearl. “The lieutenant’s wife finally joins us.”
Her tone was cordial, but her gaze swept over Y/N slowly, the way one might study an unfamiliar jewel whose worth was uncertain. The others followed suit, eyes lingering on the fall of her blue and silver gown, the polished simplicity of her hair, the absence of any ostentatious gems.
Y/N bowed lightly, her voice calm. “Forgive me for the delay. The music was difficult to ignore.”
A few polite chuckles rippled among them, though one wife the youngest, with sharp cheekbones and a smile too practiced to be kind tilted her head. “You dance beautifully,” she said. “It’s uncommon for someone without formal court tutelage to move so gracefully.”
The words were silk-smooth, but the edges cut.
Y/N’s smile didn’t waver. “Perhaps grace doesn’t only belong to the court.”
The women exchanged glances, half-amused, half-measuring. Their fans fluttered like the wings of restless birds.
“How charmingly said,” murmured another, older than the rest, her hair gleaming with jeweled pins. “And yet, surely the transition must have been… difficult. Life as a commoner is quite different from this world, isn’t it? The customs, the language, the expectations.”
“It is,” Y/N answered softly. “But I’ve found people are much the same wherever you go. Some speak kindly, some do not. The tone simply changes with the setting.”
For a moment, silence. Then soft laughter, the kind that was all breath and no warmth. “You have a sharp tongue,” the older woman said. “How refreshing. I imagine your husband enjoys that.”
At the mention of Jungkook, their interest sharpened like the points of hairpins. “Ah yes, Lieutenant Jungkook,” the younger one purred. “A man of action, they say. So rare among those who frequent the palace.”
“He’s always been dutiful,” Y/N replied. “Duty leaves little time for vanity.”
“Still,” said another, swirling her wine, “a soldier’s life must be… demanding. Does he ever speak of it to you? The burdens, the pressures? I imagine it’s difficult for a woman to understand such matters, especially one new to the court.”
Y/N’s gaze lowered just briefly. “He speaks enough. I listen.”
She nodded. "Indeed. And your husband is a fine, strong man. So capable. It is a great pity that your union has not yet been blessed with a child to carry on his new status. We all pray for you constantly."
Y/N felt the blood drain from her face. Her composure, which had been absolute against their political slights, dissolved against the pain of their personal cruelty. She could not speak.
The Older One, observing the sudden change, leaned in, her eyes shining with malicious satisfaction. "Forgive me, dear. It is just that the palace whispers about these things. We all noticed how long you have been married without issue. Perhaps it is the stress of your common background, the late hours, or perhaps..." she paused, her voice dripping with false sympathy, "...perhaps the fates simply have not willed it. It is a difficult cross to bear for a woman of such low station."
The pressure behind Y/N's eyes was immense, but she knew she could not cry. She took a slow, deliberate breath, channeling the cold resolve she had practiced.
"The fates," Y/N said, her voice strained but steady, "have indeed been cruel to us. But my husband and I are blessed in our loyalty to each other, which is stronger than any court title."
They all nodded in understanding.
The conversation turned after that carelessly, as though they hadn’t just carved her open with polished civility. They spoke of tailors from the capital, of imported perfumes, of whose husband had been seen speaking to whom. Y/N smiled where appropriate, murmured her agreement when required. But behind her quiet expression, her thoughts drifted elsewhere.
She felt the ache of distance, the soft pulse of emotion beneath her ribs a hollow that she refused to name aloud. The laughter around her blurred into a hum, each word losing its shape. These women, she thought, lived in a world of lace and poison. Every compliment was a weapon, every smile a mask.
She lifted her goblet again, letting the cool rim press against her lips, not for thirst but to hide the tremor in her breath. Through the haze of perfume and chatter, she caught the glint of Jungkook’s uniform across the room. He stood by the wine table, posture straight, expression calm the only stillness in a sea of restless motion.
It steadied her. The quiet certainty of him. The memory of his hand against her back, his low laugh when she had fumbled with her necklace earlier that evening. That was real. This—this delicate cruelty was not.
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The carriage ride back to the palace was thick with silence. The sound of the horses’ hooves against the cobblestone was steady, almost too steady.
When they reached home, Y/N walked past him without a word. Her steps were quiet but sharp, each one an echo of the storm building within her. Jungkook followed after her, slower, hesitant, as if unsure where to start.
She stopped by the window, fingers tightening around the sill, knuckles pale. The night beyond was calm stars scattered like careless paint but her heart was nowhere near it. Jungkook finally spoke, his voice low, cautious.
“Y/N… you’ve been quiet.”
Her shoulders tensed. “There wasn’t much to say.”
He frowned, stepping closer. “If something was said to you—”
She turned abruptly, cutting him off. “Something was reminded to me, Jungkook.” Her voice trembled at the edges, not from anger at first, but pain. “They didn’t have to say it directly. The wives—they made sure I remembered what I am. A woman who can’t give her husband what he deserves. A woman who doesn’t belong in that room.”
Jungkook exhaled softly, eyes flickering with concern. “You shouldn’t listen to their poison. They thrive on envy—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “Don’t dismiss it like it doesn’t matter. You think I don’t know what they mean? You think I don’t see the way they look at me?”
Her voice cracked now, emotions spilling freely. “And maybe they’re right. Because what am I, Jungkook? I can’t even give you the one thing a wife should—”
“Enough,” he said sharply, his tone firm but quiet, laced with something she couldn’t name—hurt, maybe, or fear. “Don’t ever say that again.”
She stared at him, tears glistening under the dim light. “Then what do you want me to say? That I’m fine with pretending? That I’ll keep dancing and smiling while they whisper behind me?”
Jungkook stepped closer, the space between them closing, but it wasn’t closeness it was tension drawn thin. “You think I married you because of that? Because I wanted heirs and lineage and nothing else?” His voice grew deeper, a quiet intensity trembling beneath it. “I chose you because I saw you. The way you spoke, the way you stood when everyone else looked away.”
Y/N’s lips parted, her chest rising unevenly.
He looked at her in silence, jaw tightening. She hesitated before continuing, softer this time, almost pleading. “We could adopt. There are children out there, lost, alone. We could give them a home. Give them love. Isn’t that what matters?”
Jungkook’s gaze lowered for a moment. When he spoke, his tone was careful, deliberate. “Not like that. It wouldn’t be ours. It wouldn’t carry your eyes or my hands.”
Her breath hitched. “So it’s about blood.”
“It’s about truth,” he said, his voice suddenly firm again. “I want to try, Y/N. I still believe we can. I won’t give up on that.”
“And what if it never happens?” she whispered. “What if I can’t?”
His silence was her answer.
Y/N laughed bitterly, the sound breaking in half before it could fully form. “Then what? Will we just keep trying until there’s nothing left of me? Until you start looking at me the way they do like I’m something broken?”
Jungkook stepped forward, his hand lifting, but she pulled back. “Don’t,” she said, her voice shaking. “You can’t keep saying it doesn’t matter. Because it does. Not just for you for me.” Her tears spilled freely now. “Every month feels like a failure, Jungkook. Every whisper feels like a knife. And you just stand there, pretending that love will fix it.”
He said nothing for a long moment. Then finally, his voice came, low and raw. “Maybe it’s all I have to give.”
She looked at him through blurred vision, eyes glimmering with heartbreak. “Then it’s not enough anymore.”
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Jungkook turned away first, his hand running through his hair, his jaw clenched tight. “You’re asking me to love something that isn’t ours. I can’t. Not yet.”
Y/N’s voice softened, trembling but determined. “Then maybe you don’t understand love as much as you think you do.”
He froze for a heartbeat, his back to her, shoulders stiff with words unsaid. Then, without another word, he left the room. The door closed quietly behind him, but the echo lingered long after he was gone an ache suspended between two hearts that had once moved in perfect rhythm, now stumbling in different directions.
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The morning light spilled gently through the lattice windows, soft and golden, yet its warmth did little to thaw the silence that lingered between them.
Y/N moved through the room quietly, her steps practiced, her expression unreadable. Jungkook stood near the threshold, already dressed in his formal attire, his hand hovering briefly at the table before he spoke.
“Y/N.”
No response.
She adjusted the folds of her dress, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.
Jungkook tried again, softer this time. “We shouldn’t let last night—”
But her silence was answer enough. She turned away, as though his voice were nothing more than another sound in the room. For a brief second, he looked at her really looked at her and the ache in his chest deepened. But words were fragile things now, and neither of them seemed ready to bear the weight of them. So he simply nodded once, turned, and left.
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The morning carried no warmth when Jungkook entered the war chamber. The scent of parchment and ink hung thick in the still air. He had been at the map since dawn his quill moving with quiet precision, tracing the thin northern boundary lines that divided the kingdom from chaos.
He was still deep in concentration when the door opened with an abrupt creak.
“Lieutenant Jeon,” came a firm voice.
Jungkook turned, straightening as General Do-hyun stepped in, armor gleaming faintly under the light from the tall windows. His presence filled the room instantly loud, proud, and heavy with self-assurance.
“General,” Jungkook greeted evenly, setting the quill aside.
Do-hyun’s eyes went straight to the spread of parchment. “So this is the map for the northern boundary. I’ve been meaning to see what you’ve been guarding so carefully.”
“It’s not ready for circulation yet,” Jungkook replied, tone calm but guarded. “It still needs the King’s approval before it’s shared beyond the council.”
Do-hyun raised an eyebrow, stepping closer until his shadow crossed the table. “The King’s approval? Lieutenant, I am your commanding officer. The defense falls under my command. You’ll submit that map to me first.”
Jungkook’s jaw flexed. “With respect, sir, the procedure states—”
“The procedure,” Do-hyun cut in, his voice sharper now, “was written for officers who know their place. You work under my command, Jeon. Or have you forgotten how ranks are built?”
The words lingered like a challenge.
Jungkook looked up at him fully then, his dark eyes steady but hardening. “I haven’t forgotten, General. I’ve simply learned when obedience serves the realm and when it serves only pride.”
For a moment, silence. Then Do-hyun’s smirk returned, though thinner now. “Careful, Lieutenant.”
He extended his hand toward the map, palm open. “Now. Hand it over.”
Jungkook stood motionless for several breaths. The parchment between them seemed to hum with the tension that filled the room. He could almost feel every hour he’d spent perfecting those lines, every strategic decision inked with purpose and caution. And now, handing it over meant surrendering more than paper it meant trusting a man whose impulse outweighed his judgment.
Still, he knew the boundaries of power.
Finally, Jungkook drew a long breath, the muscle in his jaw tightening. He rolled the map neatly, tied it with its silk cord, and placed it in Do-hyun’s waiting hand.
The general’s smile broadened, a flash of triumph poorly hidden. “Good man. I knew you’d see reason.”
Jungkook met his gaze, his voice quiet but edged like steel. “Reason is not what I see, General. Just duty. And sometimes, duty is the only thing that keeps fools from burning the kingdom they’re sworn to protect.”
Do-hyun’s expression faltered for a heartbeat before he laughed forced, short. “You always did have a sharp tongue, Lieutenant. Try not to bite yourself with it.”
He tucked the scroll under his arm and left, the echo of his boots fading down the long corridor.
When the door closed, the silence that followed was suffocating. Jungkook remained still, his eyes fixed on the empty space the map had occupied moments ago.
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The night had long surrendered to morning, yet Prince Kim Taehyung found no peace in its pale light. He sat in his private study, the faint crackle of the brazier the only sound to fill the space. The wine before him had long gone untouched, the liquid dark and still, its surface reflecting his furrowed expression.
He had attended countless banquets, countless ceremonies faces blending into one another until they ceased to matter but last night, amidst the polished laughter and silken gowns, one face had unsettled the calm he’d carefully cultivated.
Y/N.
There had been something about her something that pulled at a thread buried deep in memory. It was familiarity, an echo of someone he could not name, someone he’d known once, perhaps in the blurred years of youth or a dream that refused to fade. Every time he closed his eyes, her face returned: the subtle grace in her movements, the shadow of sadness that lingered beneath her smile has familiarity.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming once against the armrest. The uncertainty irritated him. Princes were not meant to dwell on curiosities. Yet the thought persisted, heavy and persistent as an old wound.
Finally, he rose.
His boots made little sound as he moved through them, his cloak trailing softly behind. He made his way to a secluded part of the palace the records hall. Few ever ventured here except scribes and advisors, for this was where every noble birth, alliance, and death was meticulously chronicled.
Behind a small wooden desk sat the Keeper of Records, an aging man named Cho, thin and bespectacled, his ink-stained fingers working through scrolls with mechanical precision. The moment he looked up and saw Taehyung, he nearly knocked over his quill in surprise.
“Your Highness,” Cho stammered, bowing hurriedly. “I wasn’t expecting—”
“I require information.” Taehyung interrupted, voice calm but cutting.
“Of course, Your Highness. Whose records shall I fetch?”
Taehyung hesitated for a moment, his expression unreadable in the flickering light. “Y/N,” he said finally. “The wife of Lieutenant Jeon Jungkook.”
The Keeper blinked, startled by the name, then adjusted his spectacles. “Y/N… yes. Give me a moment.”
He shuffled through the scrolls stacked along the shelf, the sound of parchment whispering like secrets being stirred awake. The prince waited in silence, his gaze distant, jaw set in quiet tension.
At last, the old man found the record and spread it open on the table. “Here she is, Your Highness. Y/N. Married to Lieutenant Jeon 4 years prior. Formerly a commoner.”
“Her family,” Taehyung said, his tone softer now, though his eyes sharpened with interest. “Who were they?”
The Keeper traced a bony finger down the parchment. “It says here she lived with her grandmother in the outer province, near the river district. No mention of a father or mother.”
Taehyung’s brow furrowed. “No parents listed?”
“None, Your Highness. The record simply states: ‘Raised by elder guardian following the passing of family.’ It seems the details were never officially entered.”
He looked up cautiously, sensing the prince’s silence stretch too long. “Shall I make inquiries, perhaps send for local archives—?”
“No,” Taehyung interrupted.
The Keeper bowed his head. “Of course, Your Highness.”
Taehyung stood there for a moment longer, lost in thought. The faint image of a woman a memory buried beneath years of court life flashed again in his mind. The same eyes. The same quiet defiance in them. But He is not sure.
He straightened abruptly. “You will forget this conversation,” he said at last, his tone low and commanding.
Cho blinked in confusion. “Your Highness—?”
“Not a word,” Taehyung repeated, stepping closer until his shadow fell over the desk. “To anyone. Not even to your ink or your books. Do you understand?”
The old man swallowed hard and bowed so deeply his forehead nearly touched the parchment. “As you command, Your Highness.”
Taehyung regarded him for a moment longer before turning toward the door. His cloak whispered across the floor as he walked away, his expression unreadable once more.
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Taehyung reached a narrow door guarded by no one, the kind that looked forgotten by the world. Without knocking, he pushed it open. The room inside was a haze of smoke and parchment. A man sat cross-legged before a low table, a map spread open before him, dotted with cryptic notes, knives, and red ink markings.
“Yoongi,” Taehyung said quietly, stepping into the room.
The man didn’t look up immediately; his quill continued its slow movement across the paper. Only when he finished the line did he speak, voice smooth but edged with dry amusement. “You never come here unless you want something that doesn’t exist on royal paper.”
Taehyung ignored the jab, his gaze dark and steady. “There’s someone I need you to find out about. A woman.”
That caught Yoongi’s attention. He lifted his eyes, one brow arching as he leaned back against the chair. “A woman, huh? This sounds interesting already. Who is she?”
“Y/N,” Taehyung said, his tone low, almost reluctant. “The wife of Lieutenant Jeon Jungkook.”
Yoongi blinked once, then let out a low whistle. “The lieutenant’s wife? You’re really trying to start rumors now, Your Highness.” His lips curved in a faint smirk as he tapped the quill against the table. “What about her?”
Taehyung’s jaw tensed. “Her parents. Her past. Everything that isn’t written in the palace records.”
The spy tilted his head, studying him. “That’s oddly specific. And dangerous. You do realize snooping into a soldier’s household could bring you unwanted eyes?”
Taehyung’s gaze didn’t waver. “Just do it.”
Yoongi set the quill aside, the smirk softening into something more knowing. “You don’t usually waste my time with half-truths. So, what’s this about? Did she do something, or…” He let the sentence trail off.
The prince’s eyes flickered with restrained irritation, but his tone remained even. “You talk too much.”
Yoongi chuckled quietly, leaning forward. “And you think too much. Fine, fine. I’ll dig. But at least tell me what I’m looking for—family ties, disappearance, old records—give me something.”
“Everything,” Taehyung replied curtly, the single word sharp as a blade. “Her life before she married him. Any records, any names dead or alive. I want to know who she was before the palace.”
Yoongi sighed, stretching his arms behind his head. “You really don’t make my nights easy, do you? Fine. I’ll start by checking the western archives. The nobles never clean up their mess properly.” He stood, grabbing a dark cloak from the wall and slinging it over his shoulder.
Before he left, he turned back to Taehyung, eyes narrowing with faint curiosity. “You sure you’re ready for whatever I find? Some ghosts aren’t meant to be dragged out.”
Taehyung’s expression didn’t change, though his voice was softer now more to himself than anyone else. “She’s not a ghost. But something about her feels like one.”
Yoongi shook his head, a wry grin forming as he moved toward the door. “Whatever you say, Your Highness. You owe me a drink for this.”
“Do your job first,” Taehyung said quietly, the words final.
Yoongi rolled his eyes, muttering as he disappeared into the night, “You and your damn mysteries…”
And then the door shut, leaving Taehyung alone with the flickering flame its light casting restless shadows across his face as if even the fire was curious about the woman who haunted his thoughts.
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The house was silent when Jungkook returned. The night air clung to his shoulders, cool and heavy, yet the stillness inside their home felt colder.
Y/N was by the window again, the faint golden light of the lantern drawing soft edges around her figure. She didn’t turn when the door closed behind him.
He stood there for a moment, just watching her the woman he loved more than anything and felt a weight sink in his chest. The silence between them had grown like a wall, and he could no longer breathe behind it.
Finally, he stepped closer. “Y/N,” he said quietly.
No response. Only the slow, stubborn rhythm of her breathing.
He came up behind her and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Please… just listen to me,” his voice cracked slightly, the edge of exhaustion threading through it.
Y/N turned halfway, her eyes tired, glassy, the shadows beneath them proof of nights spent fighting herself. “I don’t have anything left to say, Jungkook,” she whispered.
“Then don’t say anything,” he said, moving closer, his tone softer now. “Just… hear me.”
She hesitated, her gaze flicking toward the floor, but she didn’t move away. He took it as permission to continue.
“I know what they said hurt you,” Jungkook began, his voice low but steady. “Those words from the nobles’ wives, the whispers about us about you they cut deep. I know.” He exhaled, his hand brushing down her arm, grounding himself in her warmth. “But I need you to remember something, Y/N. They don’t know us. They don’t know what we’ve gone through.”
Her lips trembled, and she turned her face away, her voice breaking. “They’re right though, aren’t they? What kind of wife can’t give her husband an heir? What kind of—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted gently, cupping her face in his hands before she could finish. “Don’t ever say that again. You are everything I’ve ever needed. Everything.”
Tears pooled in her eyes, but his gaze didn’t waver. He leaned his forehead against hers, whispering, “Listen to me. We don’t have to rush to fix what isn’t broken. You’re trying to carry the world when I only ever wanted your heart. That’s all I need.”
“But Jungkook…” she began softly, “what if I can’t give you a family?”
He smiled sadly, brushing away a tear that slipped down her cheek. “Then we’ll make one in our own way. We’ll try one more year, like you wanted. And if the heavens still say no, then we’ll adopt, and love that child as fiercely as if they were born from you. Because love doesn’t ask for blood, Y/N. It asks for devotion.”
She looked at him, searching his eyes for any trace of pity, but found none. Only love. Only sincerity.
Her hands came up slowly, trembling, resting against his chest. “You really mean that?”
“Every word,” he said, his voice soft but unshakable. “You think I married you for what others wanted? I married you because you were the first person who ever made me feel… alive. I won’t let something like this make you doubt your worth.”
Her lips parted in a shaky breath, and then a quiet sob escaped her as he drew her into his arms. His embrace was warm, steady, his heartbeat against her ear calming the storm that had raged in her chest for days.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “I should have listened sooner. Should have held you, instead of letting silence speak for us.”
Y/N clutched at his robe, shaking her head. “No… I was just scared. Scared that you’d start believing them. That one day, you’d wake up and wish you’d chosen differently.”
Jungkook pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes. “The only thing I wish,” he said softly, “is that I could make you see yourself the way I see you.”
A silence lingered between them, fragile but healing. Then, slowly, Y/N leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. “One more year,” she whispered. “And after that…”
He smiled faintly. “After that, we’ll open our arms and our home. Whether it’s to a child of our own or one who’s waiting for love.”
Her lips curved weakly, tears glistening. “You promise?”
“I swear it,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her cheek before kissing her soft, unhurried, a promise in the quiet between them.
And for the first time in weeks, the air in the room felt lighter.
Not because everything was fixed, but because they had chosen together to heal.
Summary: He was a commoner, a blacksmith in the palace, unnoticed by most, yet completely devoted to her her beauty, kindness, and heart a guiding light. Every action he took, every subtle move, was for her safety, respect, and well-being. Love made him cunning, precise, and dangerous. In a palace full of whispers and cruelty, his quiet, hidden fury was about to rise, proving that even someone without title could strike with unstoppable force when driven by love and obsession.
Word Count: 6519
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Edit: I want to write their story about how they met and fell in love, as a prequel before releasing Chapter 4!
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The night was painted in hues of gold and indigo, the palace lanterns flickering to life one by one as if the stars themselves had descended to witness the evening’s splendor. The grand celebration was to be held in honor of Minister Hwang’s son, Do-hyun, who had newly ascended to the post of General. The court whispered of his youth and brilliance, of how fortune smiled upon the minister’s line.
Jungkook and Y/N quarters were awash in lamplight, warm and steady. The faint scent of burning sandalwood drifted through the air as Jungkook adjusted the collar of his dark clothing before the mirror. His reflection was a balance of strength and control: broad shoulders, straight posture, ribbons and insignias glinting faintly under the glow. The faint clink of his sword belt followed each movement, a soft rhythm to the evening’s anticipation.
Behind him, Y/N stood before the dressing table, her hands smoothing the folds of her blue silk dress. It shimmered like the midnight sea deep, fluid, and edged with silver embroidery that caught the light when she moved. The delicate fabric whispered against her skin, trailing down in waves to the floor.
Jungkook’s eyes found her reflection in the mirror, and for a moment his composure slipped.
“You’ll make the ministers forget what they came here for,” he murmured, voice low and laced with quiet awe.
Y/N looked up, catching his gaze in the mirror. “You flatter too easily, Lieutenant,” she teased, though a faint color bloomed at her cheeks.
“Not flattery,” he said, turning toward her. His boots clicked softly against the floor. “Observation.”
He came to stand behind her, his reflection tall and composed beside hers. “You look like something out of a dream,” he continued softly.
Y/N smiled, shaking her head slightly. “If I’m the dream, then what are you?”
“The fool lucky enough to wake beside it,” he replied, his lips curving faintly.
That earned a soft laugh from her, but her voice dropped, gentler. “You look rather handsome yourself,” she said, fingers tracing along the front of his uniform. “This suit suits you…”
He arched a brow. “Suits me? Or are you saying you like me in it?”
“I didn’t say that,” she said quickly, eyes flicking up to meet his, though the shy flicker in her expression betrayed her.
Jungkook chuckled, leaning closer until his breath warmed her ear. “You didn’t have to.”
Y/N exhaled softly, pushing lightly at his chest. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” he said, straightening his jacket with mock seriousness.
Her lips curved at that, the amusement playing at the corner of her mouth something he never tired of. He watched as she adjusted her earrings small drops of silver that caught the lantern light like morning dew.
“Will there be many tonight?” she asked after a pause.
“Ministers, their sons, high officials,” Jungkook replied, reaching for his gloves. “And the prince himself. Everyone who thinks power smells sweeter when shared.”
Y/N smiled faintly. “Then we should bring perfume strong enough to mask it.”
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Careful, wife. You sound more dangerous than half the council.”
“Only when provoked,” she said, with a soft tilt of her head.
He stepped closer again, lowering his voice. “Then let’s hope none of them are foolish enough to try tonight.”
Her eyes met his, calm but warm. “With you beside me, they wouldn’t dare.”
For a moment, silence hung between them, filled with the distant hum of cicadas and the faint rustle of silk. Jungkook reached out, fingers brushing along her arm before resting at her waist. The touch was gentle, grounding.
“Ready?” he asked quietly.
Y/N nodded, smoothing her dress one last time. “As I’ll ever be.”
Y/N slipped her hand into his, the blue silk and black uniform meeting in contrast, silver threads gleaming faintly against his gloved fingers. Together, they stepped into the night, where music, wine, and watchful eyes awaited.
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The celebration stretched across the eastern hall an expanse meant only for the highborn and their heirs. The scent of jasmine and spiced wine curled in the air, blending with the faint perfume of power and pride.
The king was absent that night.
The prince, Kim Taehyung, presided in his stead seated on a raised dais draped in deep velvet. He did not speak much, but when he moved, every head turned. His presence was quieter than his father’s, yet far more dangerous; there was something about the way he looked at people as if he was always seeing beyond what they wished to show.
The guests were a tapestry of silk and ambition ministers in dark robes, their jeweled rings flashing as they gestured; noblemen with practiced smiles and laughter too quick to be sincere; their wives standing beside them, painted and poised, their eyes sharp as glass.
Weaving through it all like threads of honeyed danger were the concubines draped in crimson, ivory, and gold, their laughter soft but deliberate. They moved like dancers between tables and pillars, their perfume thick, their smiles edged with intent. They knew the game well: every brush of a sleeve, every glance offered at the right noble could tilt a favor in their direction. Whether the man was married or promised mattered little what mattered was who he was, and what he could give.
Jungkook stood beside Y/N as they entered the main hall, the murmur of the crowd dimming slightly at their arrival.
Minister Hwang spotted them first, his laughter echoing from the head of the room. He was a broad man with a face carved by both wine and cunning, and beside him stood his son, Do-hyun the man of the hour.
“Lieutenant Jeon!” the minister called, his tone booming and jovial. “Ah, the hero himself graces us tonight!”
Jungkook bowed with practiced ease, his tone polite but firm. “Minister Hwang. Congratulations to you and your son. The kingdom gains a fine general.”
Do-hyun, younger and far more polished, inclined his head modestly. “You flatter me, Lieutenant. I’ve merely followed where duty leads.”
Jungkook’s lips curved faintly. “Then may duty favor your path, General.”
The minister’s eyes, however, had drifted toward Y/N, curiosity and mild surprise crossing his face. “And who is this lovely companion?”
Jungkook turned slightly toward her. “My wife, Y/N,” he said, voice softer when he spoke her name. “It’s her first time attending a gathering of this sort.”
Y/N dipped her head gracefully. “It’s an honor to meet you, Minister Hwang. And congratulations on your son’s appointment.”
The minister chuckled, clearly charmed. “Ah, a beauty with grace Lieutenant Jeon, you’ve been keeping your blessings hidden from the court.”
Jungkook just smiles evenly, though a faint glimmer of amusement danced in his eyes. “Some blessings prefer quieter places.”
The older man laughed again, clapping him on the shoulder before raising his cup. “Then to quiet blessings, may they outshine the loud ones!”
Glasses clinked, laughter followed, and soon another group called for the minister’s attention. With a courteous farewell, Jungkook and Y/N excused themselves, stepping aside into the slow, golden hum of the party.
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The music shifted strings and flutes rising to a rhythm both formal and gentle, echoing off the marble and silk. Servants dimmed the outer lanterns, and the first of the couples began to move to the center of the hall. The floor shimmered faintly beneath the golden light, polished so bright it caught each reflection like a memory.
Jungkook turned to Y/N, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat. Then a faint curve found his lips half invitation, half command.
“Come,” he said, extending a gloved hand toward her. “Dance with me.”
Her brows lifted, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Here? Before your nobles and their wives?”
“Where else?” His tone softened. “It would be a pity for them to forget what grace looks like.”
Y/N’s lips parted in mock surprise. “You speak boldly for someone who steps on toes.”
“Then it’s fortunate I’ve learned to tread lightly,” he murmured. “Especially around dangerous company.”
Her laughter escaped before she could stop it. She placed her hand in his warm, steady and he led her to the open space where other couples already swayed beneath the light.
The steps were simple, but under his lead, they became something more graceful, deliberate, almost intimate. Her gown brushed his boots as they turned.
Y/N’s lips parted slightly as he drew her in for a slow turn. “You shouldn’t look at me like that,” she murmured.
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve already forgotten where we are.”
He leaned close enough for his words to graze her skin. “For a moment, I have.”
The music slowed, Jungkook’s hands were steady at her waist, Y/N’s fingers draped lightly over his shoulders as they glided across the polished floor. Laughter and chatter swirled around them, but for a moment, the world contracted to the space between them.
And then her gaze flicked just briefly toward the far end of the hall.
Prince Kim Taehyung stood there, posture relaxed yet composed, his eyes sweeping the room. And then they found her. Not with judgment, but with something sharper, almost… curious, as though he had glimpsed her somewhere before and the memory refused to settle.
Her eyes darted again toward the edge of the hall, catching movement out of the corner of her eye. A concubine lingered near the other nobles, her posture deliberate, eyes scanning the crowd. And there, unmistakably, the woman’s gaze lingered on Jungkook not casual admiration, but calculation, interest, the kind that carried both charm and intent.
Y/N’s fingers tightened just slightly on his shoulder.
When the final note of the music faded into the candlelit air, Jungkook and Y/N drew apart with quiet grace, their fingers lingering for just a moment longer than propriety allowed.
Jungkook’s gaze softened as it settled on Y/N, the corners of his mouth curving faintly. He inclined his head toward the cluster of noblewomen gathered near the dais, their silks whispering as they spoke. Y/N understood at once. With a nod and an almost imperceptible smile, she turned toward them, her blue and silver gown gliding through the light like water.
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Jungkook watched her go for a moment, then turned toward a circle of ministers and seasoned officials. Their laughter was broad, their talk heavier about border reports the ever-present politics. He joined them with practiced ease, his posture composed, his words measured, the faintest smile playing on his lips as he lifted a goblet of wine to his mouth.
When his goblet ran empty, he excused himself with polite formality, crossing the room toward the long table where carafes of wine glowed deep red under the flicker of lamplight.
As Jungkook reached for the jug, he poured himself a measured portion, That was when she appeared.
The same concubine Y/N had watched earlier moved toward him, her steps silent, her expression serene yet deliberate. The rustle of her crimson skirts broke the stillness between them, her perfume faint but unmistakably rich something floral, honeyed, designed to linger. She stopped just a little too close to be proper, tilting her head with a smile that seemed practiced to perfection.
“Lieutenant Jungkook, is it?” Her tone was smooth, each word wrapped in polite curiosity. “I have heard your name quite often this evening.”
Jungkook did not turn at once. He set the carafe down, his posture composed, movements unhurried. Only when he lifted his gaze to her did the chill of his indifference show a soldier’s stillness, cool and contained.
“And you are?”
Her smile didn’t falter, though her lashes lowered with feigned modesty. “Sera. I reside within the royal quarters. It seems the palace speaks often of your accomplishments.”
Jungkook took a slow sip of his wine, his expression unreadable. “The palace speaks of many things. Few are worth listening to.”
Sera let out a soft laugh, a sound rehearsed and delicate. “Perhaps. But some stories are worth knowing firsthand.” Her gaze lingered, suggestive but veiled beneath refinement. “You carry yourself differently from the rest, Lieutenant. Not the posture of a court man… more like someone used to command.”
He did not answer immediately. His eyes shifted toward the crowd, scanning the room as if the conversation itself were nothing more than passing noise. Then, in a tone quiet but cutting, he replied, “Command doesn’t suit every place. Especially not here.”
Sera tilted her head slightly, intrigued rather than deterred. “And yet it suits you well. Men who carry purpose tend to stand apart it’s… noticeable.”
Jungkook’s gaze finally met hers, cool and steady. “Noticeable can be dangerous, Lady Sera.”
Her lips parted just slightly, the faintest tremor of amusement ghosting over them. “Only to those who don’t know how to look.”
He regarded her for a moment longer, then set his goblet aside. “I see.” His voice was calm, almost distant. “Then perhaps it’s best you keep your gaze elsewhere. My wife wouldn’t take kindly to such curiosity.”
Sera’s eyes flickered surprise first, then a slow, deliberate smile, one that spoke of challenge more than defeat. “Of course,” she murmured, lowering her fan just enough to meet his eyes once more. “A loyal man, then. Rare… and yet all the more intriguing.”
Jungkook’s silence was final, unyielding. He inclined his head once in curt acknowledgment before stepping past her.
Sera’s gaze followed him as he disappeared into the crowd, the faintest glint of calculation in her eyes. But Jungkook did not look back.
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Y/N approached the circle of noble wives gathered beneath a canopy of silk drapes. Their laughter chimed softly, gilded by wine and privilege. As she neared, their voices dipped just slightly and a dozen eyes lifted to greet her.
“Ah,” one of them said, a tall woman in violet silk, her fan glinting with mother-of-pearl. “The lieutenant’s wife finally joins us.”
Her tone was cordial, but her gaze swept over Y/N slowly, the way one might study an unfamiliar jewel whose worth was uncertain. The others followed suit, eyes lingering on the fall of her blue and silver gown, the polished simplicity of her hair, the absence of any ostentatious gems.
Y/N bowed lightly, her voice calm. “Forgive me for the delay. The music was difficult to ignore.”
A few polite chuckles rippled among them, though one wife the youngest, with sharp cheekbones and a smile too practiced to be kind tilted her head. “You dance beautifully,” she said. “It’s uncommon for someone without formal court tutelage to move so gracefully.”
The words were silk-smooth, but the edges cut.
Y/N’s smile didn’t waver. “Perhaps grace doesn’t only belong to the court.”
The women exchanged glances, half-amused, half-measuring. Their fans fluttered like the wings of restless birds.
“How charmingly said,” murmured another, older than the rest, her hair gleaming with jeweled pins. “And yet, surely the transition must have been… difficult. Life as a commoner is quite different from this world, isn’t it? The customs, the language, the expectations.”
“It is,” Y/N answered softly. “But I’ve found people are much the same wherever you go. Some speak kindly, some do not. The tone simply changes with the setting.”
For a moment, silence. Then soft laughter, the kind that was all breath and no warmth. “You have a sharp tongue,” the older woman said. “How refreshing. I imagine your husband enjoys that.”
At the mention of Jungkook, their interest sharpened like the points of hairpins. “Ah yes, Lieutenant Jungkook,” the younger one purred. “A man of action, they say. So rare among those who frequent the palace.”
“He’s always been dutiful,” Y/N replied. “Duty leaves little time for vanity.”
“Still,” said another, swirling her wine, “a soldier’s life must be… demanding. Does he ever speak of it to you? The burdens, the pressures? I imagine it’s difficult for a woman to understand such matters, especially one new to the court.”
Y/N’s gaze lowered just briefly. “He speaks enough. I listen.”
She nodded. "Indeed. And your husband is a fine, strong man. So capable. It is a great pity that your union has not yet been blessed with a child to carry on his new status. We all pray for you constantly."
Y/N felt the blood drain from her face. Her composure, which had been absolute against their political slights, dissolved against the pain of their personal cruelty. She could not speak.
The Older One, observing the sudden change, leaned in, her eyes shining with malicious satisfaction. "Forgive me, dear. It is just that the palace whispers about these things. We all noticed how long you have been married without issue. Perhaps it is the stress of your common background, the late hours, or perhaps..." she paused, her voice dripping with false sympathy, "...perhaps the fates simply have not willed it. It is a difficult cross to bear for a woman of such low station."
The pressure behind Y/N's eyes was immense, but she knew she could not cry. She took a slow, deliberate breath, channeling the cold resolve she had practiced.
"The fates," Y/N said, her voice strained but steady, "have indeed been cruel to us. But my husband and I are blessed in our loyalty to each other, which is stronger than any court title."
They all nodded in understanding.
The conversation turned after that carelessly, as though they hadn’t just carved her open with polished civility. They spoke of tailors from the capital, of imported perfumes, of whose husband had been seen speaking to whom. Y/N smiled where appropriate, murmured her agreement when required. But behind her quiet expression, her thoughts drifted elsewhere.
She felt the ache of distance, the soft pulse of emotion beneath her ribs a hollow that she refused to name aloud. The laughter around her blurred into a hum, each word losing its shape. These women, she thought, lived in a world of lace and poison. Every compliment was a weapon, every smile a mask.
She lifted her goblet again, letting the cool rim press against her lips, not for thirst but to hide the tremor in her breath. Through the haze of perfume and chatter, she caught the glint of Jungkook’s uniform across the room. He stood by the wine table, posture straight, expression calm the only stillness in a sea of restless motion.
It steadied her. The quiet certainty of him. The memory of his hand against her back, his low laugh when she had fumbled with her necklace earlier that evening. That was real. This—this delicate cruelty was not.
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The carriage ride back to the palace was thick with silence. The sound of the horses’ hooves against the cobblestone was steady, almost too steady.
When they reached home, Y/N walked past him without a word. Her steps were quiet but sharp, each one an echo of the storm building within her. Jungkook followed after her, slower, hesitant, as if unsure where to start.
She stopped by the window, fingers tightening around the sill, knuckles pale. The night beyond was calm stars scattered like careless paint but her heart was nowhere near it. Jungkook finally spoke, his voice low, cautious.
“Y/N… you’ve been quiet.”
Her shoulders tensed. “There wasn’t much to say.”
He frowned, stepping closer. “If something was said to you—”
She turned abruptly, cutting him off. “Something was reminded to me, Jungkook.” Her voice trembled at the edges, not from anger at first, but pain. “They didn’t have to say it directly. The wives—they made sure I remembered what I am. A woman who can’t give her husband what he deserves. A woman who doesn’t belong in that room.”
Jungkook exhaled softly, eyes flickering with concern. “You shouldn’t listen to their poison. They thrive on envy—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “Don’t dismiss it like it doesn’t matter. You think I don’t know what they mean? You think I don’t see the way they look at me?”
Her voice cracked now, emotions spilling freely. “And maybe they’re right. Because what am I, Jungkook? I can’t even give you the one thing a wife should—”
“Enough,” he said sharply, his tone firm but quiet, laced with something she couldn’t name—hurt, maybe, or fear. “Don’t ever say that again.”
She stared at him, tears glistening under the dim light. “Then what do you want me to say? That I’m fine with pretending? That I’ll keep dancing and smiling while they whisper behind me?”
Jungkook stepped closer, the space between them closing, but it wasn’t closeness it was tension drawn thin. “You think I married you because of that? Because I wanted heirs and lineage and nothing else?” His voice grew deeper, a quiet intensity trembling beneath it. “I chose you because I saw you. The way you spoke, the way you stood when everyone else looked away.”
Y/N’s lips parted, her chest rising unevenly.
He looked at her in silence, jaw tightening. She hesitated before continuing, softer this time, almost pleading. “We could adopt. There are children out there, lost, alone. We could give them a home. Give them love. Isn’t that what matters?”
Jungkook’s gaze lowered for a moment. When he spoke, his tone was careful, deliberate. “Not like that. It wouldn’t be ours. It wouldn’t carry your eyes or my hands.”
Her breath hitched. “So it’s about blood.”
“It’s about truth,” he said, his voice suddenly firm again. “I want to try, Y/N. I still believe we can. I won’t give up on that.”
“And what if it never happens?” she whispered. “What if I can’t?”
His silence was her answer.
Y/N laughed bitterly, the sound breaking in half before it could fully form. “Then what? Will we just keep trying until there’s nothing left of me? Until you start looking at me the way they do like I’m something broken?”
Jungkook stepped forward, his hand lifting, but she pulled back. “Don’t,” she said, her voice shaking. “You can’t keep saying it doesn’t matter. Because it does. Not just for you for me.” Her tears spilled freely now. “Every month feels like a failure, Jungkook. Every whisper feels like a knife. And you just stand there, pretending that love will fix it.”
He said nothing for a long moment. Then finally, his voice came, low and raw. “Maybe it’s all I have to give.”
She looked at him through blurred vision, eyes glimmering with heartbreak. “Then it’s not enough anymore.”
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Jungkook turned away first, his hand running through his hair, his jaw clenched tight. “You’re asking me to love something that isn’t ours. I can’t. Not yet.”
Y/N’s voice softened, trembling but determined. “Then maybe you don’t understand love as much as you think you do.”
He froze for a heartbeat, his back to her, shoulders stiff with words unsaid. Then, without another word, he left the room. The door closed quietly behind him, but the echo lingered long after he was gone an ache suspended between two hearts that had once moved in perfect rhythm, now stumbling in different directions.
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The morning light spilled gently through the lattice windows, soft and golden, yet its warmth did little to thaw the silence that lingered between them.
Y/N moved through the room quietly, her steps practiced, her expression unreadable. Jungkook stood near the threshold, already dressed in his formal attire, his hand hovering briefly at the table before he spoke.
“Y/N.”
No response.
She adjusted the folds of her dress, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.
Jungkook tried again, softer this time. “We shouldn’t let last night—”
But her silence was answer enough. She turned away, as though his voice were nothing more than another sound in the room. For a brief second, he looked at her really looked at her and the ache in his chest deepened. But words were fragile things now, and neither of them seemed ready to bear the weight of them. So he simply nodded once, turned, and left.
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The morning carried no warmth when Jungkook entered the war chamber. The scent of parchment and ink hung thick in the still air. He had been at the map since dawn his quill moving with quiet precision, tracing the thin northern boundary lines that divided the kingdom from chaos.
He was still deep in concentration when the door opened with an abrupt creak.
“Lieutenant Jeon,” came a firm voice.
Jungkook turned, straightening as General Do-hyun stepped in, armor gleaming faintly under the light from the tall windows. His presence filled the room instantly loud, proud, and heavy with self-assurance.
“General,” Jungkook greeted evenly, setting the quill aside.
Do-hyun’s eyes went straight to the spread of parchment. “So this is the map for the northern boundary. I’ve been meaning to see what you’ve been guarding so carefully.”
“It’s not ready for circulation yet,” Jungkook replied, tone calm but guarded. “It still needs the King’s approval before it’s shared beyond the council.”
Do-hyun raised an eyebrow, stepping closer until his shadow crossed the table. “The King’s approval? Lieutenant, I am your commanding officer. The defense falls under my command. You’ll submit that map to me first.”
Jungkook’s jaw flexed. “With respect, sir, the procedure states—”
“The procedure,” Do-hyun cut in, his voice sharper now, “was written for officers who know their place. You work under my command, Jeon. Or have you forgotten how ranks are built?”
The words lingered like a challenge.
Jungkook looked up at him fully then, his dark eyes steady but hardening. “I haven’t forgotten, General. I’ve simply learned when obedience serves the realm and when it serves only pride.”
For a moment, silence. Then Do-hyun’s smirk returned, though thinner now. “Careful, Lieutenant.”
He extended his hand toward the map, palm open. “Now. Hand it over.”
Jungkook stood motionless for several breaths. The parchment between them seemed to hum with the tension that filled the room. He could almost feel every hour he’d spent perfecting those lines, every strategic decision inked with purpose and caution. And now, handing it over meant surrendering more than paper it meant trusting a man whose impulse outweighed his judgment.
Still, he knew the boundaries of power.
Finally, Jungkook drew a long breath, the muscle in his jaw tightening. He rolled the map neatly, tied it with its silk cord, and placed it in Do-hyun’s waiting hand.
The general’s smile broadened, a flash of triumph poorly hidden. “Good man. I knew you’d see reason.”
Jungkook met his gaze, his voice quiet but edged like steel. “Reason is not what I see, General. Just duty. And sometimes, duty is the only thing that keeps fools from burning the kingdom they’re sworn to protect.”
Do-hyun’s expression faltered for a heartbeat before he laughed forced, short. “You always did have a sharp tongue, Lieutenant. Try not to bite yourself with it.”
He tucked the scroll under his arm and left, the echo of his boots fading down the long corridor.
When the door closed, the silence that followed was suffocating. Jungkook remained still, his eyes fixed on the empty space the map had occupied moments ago.
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The night had long surrendered to morning, yet Prince Kim Taehyung found no peace in its pale light. He sat in his private study, the faint crackle of the brazier the only sound to fill the space. The wine before him had long gone untouched, the liquid dark and still, its surface reflecting his furrowed expression.
He had attended countless banquets, countless ceremonies faces blending into one another until they ceased to matter but last night, amidst the polished laughter and silken gowns, one face had unsettled the calm he’d carefully cultivated.
Y/N.
There had been something about her something that pulled at a thread buried deep in memory. It was familiarity, an echo of someone he could not name, someone he’d known once, perhaps in the blurred years of youth or a dream that refused to fade. Every time he closed his eyes, her face returned: the subtle grace in her movements, the shadow of sadness that lingered beneath her smile has familiarity.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming once against the armrest. The uncertainty irritated him. Princes were not meant to dwell on curiosities. Yet the thought persisted, heavy and persistent as an old wound.
Finally, he rose.
His boots made little sound as he moved through them, his cloak trailing softly behind. He made his way to a secluded part of the palace the records hall. Few ever ventured here except scribes and advisors, for this was where every noble birth, alliance, and death was meticulously chronicled.
Behind a small wooden desk sat the Keeper of Records, an aging man named Cho, thin and bespectacled, his ink-stained fingers working through scrolls with mechanical precision. The moment he looked up and saw Taehyung, he nearly knocked over his quill in surprise.
“Your Highness,” Cho stammered, bowing hurriedly. “I wasn’t expecting—”
“I require information.” Taehyung interrupted, voice calm but cutting.
“Of course, Your Highness. Whose records shall I fetch?”
Taehyung hesitated for a moment, his expression unreadable in the flickering light. “Y/N,” he said finally. “The wife of Lieutenant Jeon Jungkook.”
The Keeper blinked, startled by the name, then adjusted his spectacles. “Y/N… yes. Give me a moment.”
He shuffled through the scrolls stacked along the shelf, the sound of parchment whispering like secrets being stirred awake. The prince waited in silence, his gaze distant, jaw set in quiet tension.
At last, the old man found the record and spread it open on the table. “Here she is, Your Highness. Y/N. Married to Lieutenant Jeon 3 years prior. Formerly a commoner.”
“Her family,” Taehyung said, his tone softer now, though his eyes sharpened with interest. “Who were they?”
The Keeper traced a bony finger down the parchment. “It says here she lived with her grandmother in the outer province, near the river district. No mention of a father or mother.”
Taehyung’s brow furrowed. “No parents listed?”
“None, Your Highness. The record simply states: ‘Raised by elder guardian following the passing of family.’ It seems the details were never officially entered.”
He looked up cautiously, sensing the prince’s silence stretch too long. “Shall I make inquiries, perhaps send for local archives—?”
“No,” Taehyung interrupted.
The Keeper bowed his head. “Of course, Your Highness.”
Taehyung stood there for a moment longer, lost in thought. The faint image of a woman a memory buried beneath years of court life flashed again in his mind. The same eyes. The same quiet defiance in them. But He is not sure.
He straightened abruptly. “You will forget this conversation,” he said at last, his tone low and commanding.
Cho blinked in confusion. “Your Highness—?”
“Not a word,” Taehyung repeated, stepping closer until his shadow fell over the desk. “To anyone. Not even to your ink or your books. Do you understand?”
The old man swallowed hard and bowed so deeply his forehead nearly touched the parchment. “As you command, Your Highness.”
Taehyung regarded him for a moment longer before turning toward the door. His cloak whispered across the floor as he walked away, his expression unreadable once more.
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Taehyung reached a narrow door guarded by no one, the kind that looked forgotten by the world. Without knocking, he pushed it open. The room inside was a haze of smoke and parchment. A man sat cross-legged before a low table, a map spread open before him, dotted with cryptic notes, knives, and red ink markings.
“Yoongi,” Taehyung said quietly, stepping into the room.
The man didn’t look up immediately; his quill continued its slow movement across the paper. Only when he finished the line did he speak, voice smooth but edged with dry amusement. “You never come here unless you want something that doesn’t exist on royal paper.”
Taehyung ignored the jab, his gaze dark and steady. “There’s someone I need you to find out about. A woman.”
That caught Yoongi’s attention. He lifted his eyes, one brow arching as he leaned back against the chair. “A woman, huh? This sounds interesting already. Who is she?”
“Y/N,” Taehyung said, his tone low, almost reluctant. “The wife of Lieutenant Jeon Jungkook.”
Yoongi blinked once, then let out a low whistle. “The lieutenant’s wife? You’re really trying to start rumors now, Your Highness.” His lips curved in a faint smirk as he tapped the quill against the table. “What about her?”
Taehyung’s jaw tensed. “Her parents. Her past. Everything that isn’t written in the palace records.”
The spy tilted his head, studying him. “That’s oddly specific. And dangerous. You do realize snooping into a soldier’s household could bring you unwanted eyes?”
Taehyung’s gaze didn’t waver. “Just do it.”
Yoongi set the quill aside, the smirk softening into something more knowing. “You don’t usually waste my time with half-truths. So, what’s this about? Did she do something, or…” He let the sentence trail off.
The prince’s eyes flickered with restrained irritation, but his tone remained even. “You talk too much.”
Yoongi chuckled quietly, leaning forward. “And you think too much. Fine, fine. I’ll dig. But at least tell me what I’m looking for—family ties, disappearance, old records—give me something.”
“Everything,” Taehyung replied curtly, the single word sharp as a blade. “Her life before she married him. Any records, any names dead or alive. I want to know who she was before the palace.”
Yoongi sighed, stretching his arms behind his head. “You really don’t make my nights easy, do you? Fine. I’ll start by checking the western archives. The nobles never clean up their mess properly.” He stood, grabbing a dark cloak from the wall and slinging it over his shoulder.
Before he left, he turned back to Taehyung, eyes narrowing with faint curiosity. “You sure you’re ready for whatever I find? Some ghosts aren’t meant to be dragged out.”
Taehyung’s expression didn’t change, though his voice was softer now more to himself than anyone else. “She’s not a ghost. But something about her feels like one.”
Yoongi shook his head, a wry grin forming as he moved toward the door. “Whatever you say, Your Highness. You owe me a drink for this.”
“Do your job first,” Taehyung said quietly, the words final.
Yoongi rolled his eyes, muttering as he disappeared into the night, “You and your damn mysteries…”
And then the door shut, leaving Taehyung alone with the flickering flame its light casting restless shadows across his face as if even the fire was curious about the woman who haunted his thoughts.
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The house was silent when Jungkook returned. The night air clung to his shoulders, cool and heavy, yet the stillness inside their home felt colder.
Y/N was by the window again, the faint golden light of the lantern drawing soft edges around her figure. She didn’t turn when the door closed behind him.
He stood there for a moment, just watching her the woman he loved more than anything and felt a weight sink in his chest. The silence between them had grown like a wall, and he could no longer breathe behind it.
Finally, he stepped closer. “Y/N,” he said quietly.
No response. Only the slow, stubborn rhythm of her breathing.
He came up behind her and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Please… just listen to me,” his voice cracked slightly, the edge of exhaustion threading through it.
Y/N turned halfway, her eyes tired, glassy, the shadows beneath them proof of nights spent fighting herself. “I don’t have anything left to say, Jungkook,” she whispered.
“Then don’t say anything,” he said, moving closer, his tone softer now. “Just… hear me.”
She hesitated, her gaze flicking toward the floor, but she didn’t move away. He took it as permission to continue.
“I know what they said hurt you,” Jungkook began, his voice low but steady. “Those words from the nobles’ wives, the whispers about us about you they cut deep. I know.” He exhaled, his hand brushing down her arm, grounding himself in her warmth. “But I need you to remember something, Y/N. They don’t know us. They don’t know what we’ve gone through.”
Her lips trembled, and she turned her face away, her voice breaking. “They’re right though, aren’t they? What kind of wife can’t give her husband an heir? What kind of—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted gently, cupping her face in his hands before she could finish. “Don’t ever say that again. You are everything I’ve ever needed. Everything.”
Tears pooled in her eyes, but his gaze didn’t waver. He leaned his forehead against hers, whispering, “Listen to me. We don’t have to rush to fix what isn’t broken. You’re trying to carry the world when I only ever wanted your heart. That’s all I need.”
“But Jungkook…” she began softly, “what if I can’t give you a family?”
He smiled sadly, brushing away a tear that slipped down her cheek. “Then we’ll make one in our own way. We’ll try one more year, like you wanted. And if the heavens still say no, then we’ll adopt, and love that child as fiercely as if they were born from you. Because love doesn’t ask for blood, Y/N. It asks for devotion.”
She looked at him, searching his eyes for any trace of pity, but found none. Only love. Only sincerity.
Her hands came up slowly, trembling, resting against his chest. “You really mean that?”
“Every word,” he said, his voice soft but unshakable. “You think I married you for what others wanted? I married you because you were the first person who ever made me feel… alive. I won’t let something like this make you doubt your worth.”
Her lips parted in a shaky breath, and then a quiet sob escaped her as he drew her into his arms. His embrace was warm, steady, his heartbeat against her ear calming the storm that had raged in her chest for days.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “I should have listened sooner. Should have held you, instead of letting silence speak for us.”
Y/N clutched at his robe, shaking her head. “No… I was just scared. Scared that you’d start believing them. That one day, you’d wake up and wish you’d chosen differently.”
Jungkook pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes. “The only thing I wish,” he said softly, “is that I could make you see yourself the way I see you.”
A silence lingered between them, fragile but healing. Then, slowly, Y/N leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. “One more year,” she whispered. “And after that…”
He smiled faintly. “After that, we’ll open our arms and our home. Whether it’s to a child of our own or one who’s waiting for love.”
Her lips curved weakly, tears glistening. “You promise?”
“I swear it,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her cheek before kissing her soft, unhurried, a promise in the quiet between them.
And for the first time in weeks, the air in the room felt lighter.
Not because everything was fixed, but because they had chosen together to heal.
aberration࿐ a departure from what is normal, usual, or expected; typically an unwelcome one.
summary: jeongguk had always preferred to be alone; untouched by the scrutiny of his father and away from the responsibilities that sealed him to a fate he never wanted— being promised to the princess. when rumours of a unicorn plagues the town, jeongguk is ordered by the king to capture it and bring it to him. with the opportunity, his intentions are to lead it to safety, for he is reminded of a wild young pony that was once his only friend.
rating: R18+ MATURE, minors please do not interact
pairing: unicorn!fem reader x human villager!jk
genre(s): dark fantasy au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, romance, eventual smut
word count: 2.3k
warnings/tags: unicorn shifter!reader, villager!jk, original character(s), abusive father, depictions of abuse toward jk, reader gets abandoned by her parents, jk is not romantically attracted to this horse do NOT get it twisted sgjshdj, he just bonds closely with it like a pet??? LOL like he doesn't know what she is yet!!! but reader is an angsty teen that yearns for him xdddd
author's note: me asking if i post too many fics: me proceeding to post another new fic el oh el! like who is you girl lmfao but oo bitch i am so excited to share the this one. this idea has been cooking in the pits of hell (my brain) since i left tumblr three years ago. this is my BABY so treat her kindly:c the chapters will be longer between 5-10k this is just a prologue to open up the story a little bit <3
soundtrack: moon and moon - bat for lashes
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⋆ ࣪. masterlist ˖ ࣪⭑
Prologue: My Only Friend
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“Jeongguk! You will return to my side at once, or there will be consequences!”
But of course, he would not listen. His sister may have been older, but he was smaller and therefore swifter; he carried the energy and stamina of a stallion. Or so he had been told.
His responsibilities were minimal as a young boy, but he had grown bored easily. He had so often been turned down when asking to help his father with the chopping of the wood, or the skinning of the rabbits. Even if it did make him cry to see the poor animals’ lifeless eyes as the man he looked up to had proceeded to remove the innards of the defenceless being.
Such is life, and he learns as such very early on in his life. He wounds up eating them in a stew later with great eagerness and a happy tummy, anyway. The sadness he had felt for the small creature beforehand had been long forgotten.
Such is life.
It was an interesting thing, for a seven-year-old boy to prefer his solitude when it came time to play; he had chosen to get lost inside the forest for his leisure, where he can discover nature and all the beautiful new things the natural world could offer him. Jeongguk discovered something new whenever he went wandering amongst its intricacies, and it had filled him with just as much joy each time.
He had been approached by the other children of the village, offering to play games such as patty cake and hopscotch, but he would decline every time with a timid shake of his head. “No, thank you.” He would say, because he was raised with manners and had always been polite. Even when he didn’t want to be, because his sister said that it would do him good to remain kind in this life. Jeongguk liked good things.
He could have the forest to himself this way. Other children weren’t allowed, wouldn’t dare to cross within the tall trees, the dark wood. But his sister, unbeknownst to their parents, had loved her young brother dearly and wanted him to be happy. Even if he did have such a strange fascination with the forest, which was a dangerous place for a child so young.
Aerum wouldn’t let anything happen to him, though. And although Jeongguk was young, he was tough, and he was brave, and she knew he wouldn’t go down without a fight.
She was searching for him now, in fact, for the sun was going to set soon. Mother would scold them for being late for supper.
He heard her call, but the stubborn little boy had not been ready to return to the village. Not when he had come across a little white pony, whinnying anxiously into the depths of the trees.
Jeongguk frowns, wondering where its mother had gone. If the young horse even had one to begin with.
Had the horse been abandoned? Oh, it must be so frightened, he couldn’t just leave the poor horse here alone.
But the evening time was closing in on him, he knows he would have to return to his sister if he didn’t want a lashing from his father later.
Yet, Jeongguk moves towards the scared young horse. His small feet move stealthily as he can amongst the crunching leaves of autumn crackling beneath his shoes. It was a sweet sight, how he had tried to be quiet as to not scare it away, but the moment he took his first step the horse’s ears twitch, hearing him instantly. When the horse catches sight of him, it relaxes, quietens down and curiously steps back as he approaches.
“Hello little horsey, are you lost?” He asks, keeping a good distance, not wanting to scare the pony away.
The pony’s tail sways, head shaking slightly as it lets out a quiet nicker of acknowledgement. “Are you alone?” He wonders, knowing well he wasn’t going to get an answer he could understand. He watches for body language instead.
He was a clever little boy.
Another quiet sound that mimics the sound of a whimper comes out, and the horse makes eye contact with him as he takes a step close. Jeongguk holds out a shaking hand, “There boy–”
The horse huffs, swiping a hoof against the dirt.
“Girl?” He corrects himself, tilting his head.
Another light grunt, head moving as if to nod. Jeongguk laughs, wondering if the horse could somehow understand him. He doesn’t dwell on it for long, though.
“Well…my name is Jeongguk.” He introduces himself as the horse allows him to rest his palm against her muzzle. “You and I shall be friends!” He beams, and the horse blows an excited breath through her nose, trotting in a circle in front of him. The action makes Jeongguk giggle happily, twirling in circles to copy her. He gets dizzy fast, though.
“Jeongguk!”
The little boy huffs in annoyance, “I have to go now, but I’ll come back soon!”
She stands still, watching him curiously as he takes off towards his worried sister, but not before he takes another look over his shoulder with an apologetic smile. Her tail sways, her stare lingers until she sees him crash into the arms of a lady, who ruffles his hair as he clings to her skirts. The little pony turns to make her leave once they are out of sight.
As Jeongguk promised, he had returned to the young horse, time and time again when his day would allow it of him. The older he got, the more responsibilities were thrust upon him, so it ate up far more of his time throughout his daily life now. His life had gained purpose and structure, just as he had once anticipated.
But never too busy to pay the horse a visit.
Jeongguk brought her food from his hunts, and knick knacks he had either found or traded for at the markets. The horse had especially liked the strange long piece of wood that made noise when he tapped onto it; drums, Jeongguk had called them, and he showed her music through it for the first time in her life. She made her excitement known through her little hops and whinnies. He was glad there was someone in his life that enjoyed his drums. His father only smacked him on the back of the head when he had run home excited to show his family his first trade off. An entire loaf of bread for the drum. An entire load of bread that they would be absent from their dinner that night.
He spent his best years running around with her, reading her stories and taking naps by the ponds with her. She would sing to him her noisiest, obnoxiously songs and he would bellow over with laughter. He would even learn to braid her hair.
“Perhaps it may become useful if I were to have a girl of my own someday.” He speaks to his companion, who simply looks at him with her warm, gentle eyes. “It will make your mane look pretty, too, little horse. You have such a beautiful long, white mane— like snow.” Jeongguk hums to her, knowing well that the horse was no longer little.
She reacts with soft huff. “Snow? You like this name?” He raises his brow with a laugh. “Yes, it quite suits you.”
Jeongguk was sixteen now, but it didn’t stop his visits. Far from it, actually; he would tell the snow-white horse that he wishes he could take her back with him, but that would mean ripping her from the freedoms she held here in the forest. Even if they had since formed a special bond together. He couldn’t take away her freedom. That would be selfish of him.
And to be selfish was to be cruel. Aerum says so.
He wouldn’t have guessed this day to be the very last day he’d ever see Snow again.
His sister had come looking for him, the only person in his life that could find him whenever he didn’t want to be found.
In turn, it had cost his sister her life.
When Jeongguk returns home it has already turned dark; his family look sullen, heads turning to him with a sadness he at first finds strange. He expects to be scolded for returning late.
“Has Areum returned with you?” His mother rushes to her youngest child, grabbing onto his arm with tears welling up in her eyes.
Jeongguk furrows his brow, “I’m afraid not. Why? Has she not come home?”
Aerum had not returned that night
Or the night after that.
And it was all his fault. She must have gone to find him, amongst the wood where she was not safe alone. Jeongguk was old enough to protect himself, his dagger always strapped to his side. Always prepared for the worst; ready to pounce, ready to protect himself of the harm that may come his way. Those things didn’t come easy to his sister, she wasn’t as strong or as fast as him.
If she was hurt, would he not have heard her screams? If she was coming to look for him, then he was certain he would have heard something. But the woods remained quiet the entire time he was there; the birds were chirping; the leaves were dancing above him in the gentle breeze.
Questions scorned his mind, making him feel sick, riddling him with guilt.
“It’s your fault your sister is gone, you insolent little fuck!” He’s tossed into the bookshelves by his collar, he cries out in pain upon the impact.
His mother watches fearfully from behind her bedroom’s door. Watching in terror as he proceeds to shout at her the only child she had left.
Jeongguk’s father had begun to beat him; he had begun to drink more than usual and thus had little control over his deep seeded anger. Especially with the newfound hatred for his son.
It had kept Jeongguk out of the house longer, looking for excuses in his work not to return home. He would only return for a night’s rest in his bed if it were up to him. But even then, his father would be up waiting, ready to blame him, ready to teach him a lesson.
It had hardly meant anything that he shed tears of his own afterwards, looking down on the face of his young boy who was shivering with fear, his jaw tense and his tears silent. He can’t even look him in the eye.
“Forgive me, my boy!” He sobs, “I just miss my little girl. Aerum. Oh, Aerum!”
As for his mother, she had become a shell of the woman he knew as a child. Despite everything, she would come to him, washing off the blood, tending to the wounds as a mother should. But she remained quiet to the fact of the abuse of her son, she turned a blind eye.
The heart ache had killed her too in the end.
Losing the women in his life had changed Jeongguk, and his life, forever.
He no longer lived amongst a happy family in a small cottage at the edge of the village. He shared a home with a drunken monster who found his clarity through beating on his own offspring.
The treatment would only get worse after the death of his mother; he would trip him over, spit into his supper and blame his short comings on his own son. His father had found his new purpose in life, and it was to torment and place blame onto Jeongguk.
Jeongguk had forgotten all about the young horse he used to visit, for that boy no longer existed; he had died with the rest of the people he loved.
The little white horse waited, and waited, and waited.
Morning and night, blaring sun or windy storm; she would wait on him, call for him— wondering where he had gone so suddenly.
The last time she saw him, he had braided her hair and given her a name. A snowflake pendant made of glass tied to cord thrown around her neck for safe keeping.
“It reminded me of you; I couldn’t not trade some fish for it. For you, Snow, girl.”
Jeongguk had shown Snow more love than any mother or father could have ever shown her; but now he was gone.
She was alone, and once again, abandoned.
Snow couldn’t bring herself to feel hatred toward Jeongguk; with a heart so big, she was sure he had a good reason for his absence. She only prayed to God that he was safe, and unharmed.
Jeongguk cured her of that loneliness she had felt when her mother had left her during her rest, never to be seen again. He had allowed her not to feel afraid, because he had protected her from the fears of being unloved and unwanted. That common boy had become her dearest, and only, friend.
The only thing she had left of him now was the memories that the two of them had shared together as children.
She would still talk to him, though. It mattered not that he couldn’t hear her. It helped her feel less alone.
“Oh, Jeongguk. Where are you this night?” You sigh, perched upon a rock with your fingers lazily dipping into the pond’s shallow waters. It glimmers against the moonlight, swishing softly beneath your touch. “I miss you dearly, and I do hope you sleep soundly. Do you dream of me as I dream of you?"
But of course not. You were nothing but a lonely little pony to him. You were there to keep him company when he had grown bored of his world. You suspect that he just didn't need you anymore.
Chirping insects, the howling of the wind and the rustling leaves are the only ones that reply to you now.
A/N: Guys, if you want me to tag you, comment :) Also, drop your thoughts! Chapter 3 will be uploaded soon!!
Summary: He was a commoner, a blacksmith in the palace, unnoticed by most, yet completely devoted to her her beauty, kindness, and heart a guiding light. Every action he took, every subtle move, was for her safety, respect, and well-being. Love made him cunning, precise, and dangerous. In a palace full of whispers and cruelty, his quiet, hidden fury was about to rise, proving that even someone without title could strike with unstoppable force when driven by love and obsession.
Word Count: 8934
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The night was thick and windless when Jungkook returned home. The lantern outside their small house had long burned out. The door creaked open quietly.
Jungkook entered, bringing with him the chill and the metallic scent of the palace.
Y/N stirred from the bedding, her hair tousled, eyes heavy with sleep and worry. “You’re late,” she murmured, voice soft but threaded with concern.
He slid his hands around her waist, pulling her close, resting his forehead against hers. "There were things I had to finish," he admitted, his voice low and ragged. "Things that couldn't wait."
She reached up, cupping his jaw. "You look like you haven't slept in a week. Did they keep you busy with the new orders?"
Jungkook looked at her then, his gaze heavy and unwavering, and she saw the vast, dark chasm of what he had endured. He did not answer with words. He crushed his mouth against hers, a kiss of desperate need, not gentleness.
His hands moved to her cloak, peeling it away, then swiftly to the lacings of her tunic. This was not the tender, lingering comfort of their earlier intimacy; this was fierce, urgent, an act of staking a claim on the only pure thing left in his life. Every touch was a silent promise, every movement a declaration that he had survived the darkness to return to her.
She gasped, startled by the intensity, but she clung to him, meeting his demand with her own desperate relief. His lips trailed down her throat, settling where the pulse hammered fast against her skin.
"I need you," he muttered against her skin, the words thick with exhaustion and release.
"I am here" she breathed, her fingers threading through his dark hair.
He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, the rough wool of his uniform scratching against her soft skin. He pulled the blanket over them, closing out the quiet darkness of the room. The only sound was the low, intimate rhythm of their breathing, the silent confession of two souls clinging to sanity at the edge of chaos.
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From the upper hall, the King watched through narrowed eyes, his expression carved from stone and contempt. King Kim Jaewon a ruler whose reign was older than most of his soldiers had long shed the burden of conscience. Power had hardened him, stripped him of mercy until only cruelty remained a tool he wielded with precision.
The commotion below amused him more than it alarmed. General Seo-jun’s death was not tragedy it was opportunity. “How poetic,” he murmured, voice like the scrape of metal, “a wolf devoured in his own den.” His thin smile deepened, cruel and deliberate. “Find me the one who slit his throat. I want his name, his bloodline, and his ashes by dawn.”
The courtiers bowed low, too afraid to meet his eyes. Even the guards standing near the pillars seemed to shrink into their armor.
Beside him stood his son, Prince Kim Taehyung, twenty and restless, his youth still carrying the naive belief that kings ruled for justice. But King Kim Jaewon kingdom did not know justice it knew control. He glanced at his son, voice low, dangerous.
“Remember this, Taehyung,” the King said, turning toward the window where the palace torches burned like veins of fire. “A man dies, and the court trembles. But if the King bleeds, the kingdom burns. Fear is the only wall that stands between a throne and ruin.”
Taehyung did not answer. His jaw clenched, eyes dark with something unreadable disgust, perhaps, or awakening defiance.
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The morning was still half-asleep. A thin fog clung to the fields outside. In the kitchen, Jungkook stood by the low counter, one hand braced against the wood, the other holding a steaming cup of tea.
He had been awake for hours. He stared at nothing, the tea cooling in his hand, the taste of it bitter on his tongue.
Behind him, from the other room, came the rustle of blankets and the soft sigh of Y/N waking. He didn’t turn immediately he could picture her perfectly: the tousled hair falling over her face, the way her hand would reach for the space beside her, now empty.
“Jungkook?” Her voice floated from the bedroom, still thick with sleep. “You’re up already?”
He hummed in reply, just a quiet sound in his throat. “Go back to sleep,” he said, voice low, steady. “It’s still early.”
But she never listened when he said that. She always came to him.
Moments later, Y/N appeared in the doorway, the blanket draped around her shoulders like a shawl. Her eyes found him first, then the untouched tea, then the distant look on his face. “You didn’t come to bed after…” she began softly, but the sentence fell apart.
He finally looked at her, and though his face was calm, his eyes betrayed the sleepless night. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
She walked closer, the floor cool beneath her feet. “You always say that,” she murmured, standing beside him now. “But you look like the one who needs rest.”
Jungkook gave a small smile, faint but real. “Rest doesn’t listen when I call it.”
Y/N tilted her head, searching his face. “Something happened, didn’t it?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the window, where morning light was slowly cutting through the mist. Then he set the cup down with deliberate care, as if the movement itself steadied him. “Just… the usual things. Palace work. Orders. Nothing worth your worry.”
Her brow furrowed. “You always say that too.”
“I do.” He turned toward her now, his voice softening. “Because I don’t want your mornings to start with the same shadows mine do.”
For a long moment, they sat in silence. The kettle hissed softly on the dying fire, and outside, birds began to stir in the trees. Y/N reached for his hand, her fingers brushing his knuckles, tracing idle circles there.
“You can tell me, you know,” she said quietly. “Whatever it is. You don’t have to carry it alone.”
He looked at her then, really looked. Her eyes were steady, her expression open and patient in that way that always disarmed him. For a heartbeat, he considered telling her everything. But instead, he just smiled, small and sad.
“If I told you,” He murmured, “you’d start worrying, and I can’t bear that.”
She shook her head with a faint smile. “You don’t get to decide what I worry about.”
He laughed softly at that, the sound low and warm. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love that about me,” she said easily, reaching to steal his tea and take a sip.
He leaned back, watching her with quiet amusement. “You don’t even like tea.”
“I like yours,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the bitterness but drinking anyway.
The simplicity of it their easy back-and-forth, the warmth between them pulled him in. Without thinking, he reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb lingered at her cheekbone, the touch light but reverent.
Her breath hitched just a little. “You’re doing it again,” she murmured.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
Jungkook tilted his head with confusion. “Like what?”
“Like I’m something fragile.”
He smiled faintly. “You are.”
She huffed, pretending annoyance, but her heart fluttered all the same.
He stood then, setting his cup aside, and stepped closer until the space between them was barely there. The faint smell of tea clung to him, mixing with the warmth of his skin. His voice dropped, low and gentle.
“You make it too easy to forget the world outside this house.”
Her eyes softened. “Then forget it for a while,” she whispered.
He brushed his forehead against hers, the moment quiet and unhurried. “If I could, I’d never remember it again.”
Her hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Then don’t,” she murmured.
For a long time, they stayed like that. The world outside could wait; the palace, the king, the rest it all felt impossibly far away.
And for that fleeting hour, Jungkook let himself believe that peace could last.
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He shouldn’t have been there again so soon after what he’d done. But morning duties waited for no man, not even one with blood on his hands. And as he moved through the hall, boots echoing faintly on stone, the murmurs around him had already begun soft, curious, terrified.
“The general… dead?”
“They found him at dawn.”
“No sound. No struggle.”
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Jungkook didn’t turn. Didn’t blink. But the words followed him like ghosts.
He reached the courtyard steps. The memory tugged at him, slow and relentless, dragging him backward into the storm.
It had started the night before.
He’d waited long enough to be sure no one else was there. Then he moved quiet, deliberate, his boots barely whispering against the floor.
The door wasn’t locked. It never was. The captain trusted his walls too much.
Inside, the room smelled of tobacco and sweat. Papers were strewn across the desk, maps half rolled, a half-finished bottle glinting in the candlelight. The captain sat in his chair, head tilted back, eyes closed, as if he’d simply dozed off mid-command. His chest rose and fell slowly, the kind of sleep that only arrogance could afford.
The moment was perfect. No struggle, no witnesses, only silence.
Jungkook slipped a thin, foot-long spike a tool he had forged for scoring armor plate from his sleeve. It wasn't a sword; it was too simple to be traced, too quiet to make a scene.
He moved to the door and, with a subtle shift of weight. The sound was barely audible, but to Jungkook, it was the sound of the world ending and beginning all over again.
He walked up behind the General, placing the cool, razor-sharp point of the spike against the soft, vulnerable skin just beneath Seo-jun's jawline. The pressure was firm, demanding, yet utterly controlled.
Seo-jun's eyes snapped open. He didn't move a muscle, the years of military discipline holding his panic at bay, but his breath hitched a small, liquid sound of realization.
"Jungkook," the General whispered, his voice thin, recognizing the soundless entrance and the cold press of the metal. His eyes darted to the clock, then to the locked door. "So You chose rebellion over obedience. A pity. Such talent wasted."
Jungkook leaned in, his voice a low, smooth resonance that was far more dangerous than any shout. His breath was cool against the General's ear.
"I chose neither, General," Jungkook murmured. "I chose clarity. And I chose to settle a debt."
Seo-jun attempted a confident sneer. "A debt? You murdered Lord Seo. I gave you the rank of Captain. Your life was bought. My proposal regarding your wife—"
Jungkook pressed the spike deeper, drawing the faintest trickle of blood. The General winced.
"My wife," Jungkook repeated, his voice dropping, becoming dangerously intimate. "You spoke of my wife as a thing to be warmed by. You spoke of her beauty as a flame you intended to consume. You looked at my woman and saw only a body you could claim."
He let the words hang, his control absolute. He was enjoying this moment, savoring the General's rapidly dissolving composure.
"You misunderstand my nature, General," Jungkook continued, speaking as if discussing the weather. "I am not a noble. I don't engage in political coups. I am a blacksmith. My job is to recognize flaws and to eliminate them with precision. Your flaw, General, is that you believe titles shield you from consequence."
Seo-jun’s breathing became rapid. "You fool. You think killing me will save her? I have protocols, commoner! If I don't report by dawn, my men—"
"Your men are loyal to the man who trained them to survive," Jungkook cut in, his voice unwavering. "Not the one who signed the papers. They are loyal to the Captain. The man who makes them strong. The Captain, who, tragically, will be the first to mourn the 'political assassination' of his General."
General Seo-jun’s eyes were wide, fixed on the thin line of blood blooming from the puncture wound beneath his jaw. He was a cornered beast, but his words still carried the spite of a noble.
"You should have been satisfied with the death of Lord Seo," Seo-jun spat, trying to salvage some authority, his voice a strained whisper. "You should have kept your head down. I offered you protection. I offered you life!"
Jungkook did not flinch, his grip on the spike absolute. He leaned closer, his voice hardening, losing every trace of its conversational chill.
"You offered me a cage, General," Jungkook corrected, the words delivered with the cold authority of a death sentence. "You offered me the chance to live as a dog, while you defiled the only thing in this miserable world that belongs to me. That is not protection. That is damnation."
Seo-jun scoffed, a wet, rattling sound. "She is a common seamstress! A convenience! You risk your rank, your life, for a woman who will age and fade? You must be mad."
Jungkook’s eyes, dark and heavy, lowered slightly, focusing on the General with an expression so cold it stole the heat from the room.
"You talk about things you don't understand," Jungkook murmured, his voice now lower, a dangerous, velvet purr. "You look at Y/N and see property. You see a piece of flesh to take and discard. But I look at her and I see the reason the sun rises."
He paused, letting the raw intimacy of the confession hang in the air.
"Do you know what it is to truly love someone, General? Not to possess, but to worship? Every night I came home from the grime of the forge, she was the only clean, true thing I found. Her hands, which you wished to soil, comforted me. Her voice, which you wished to hear beg, was the only music I needed. She is the fragile, pure core of my existence. She is my fire, my rest, my entire peace."
The General stared, baffled by the commoner's intensity. "Sentimental nonsense. A man like you should be ambitious, not obsessed with a wife."
"And my child," Jungkook pressed, his tone finally cracking with the suppressed grief and fury. "You knew what Lady Choi did to us. You knew the torment. And yet you came to me, to me, and used that very grief as leverage. You proposed to finish the job to break the last part of her soul that the palace hadn't already stolen. You wanted her to watch me die, and then you wanted her to come to your bed, utterly alone, begging for the kindness of her tormentor."
His grip tightened, drawing another fine line of blood.
"That is where you made your fatal mistake, General. When you spoke of her body, that was an insult. But when you spoke of breaking her spirit, that was an act of war against my very heart. I can live without my rank. I can live without my life. But I cannot, and will not, live in a world where Y/N is touched by your cruelty."
Jungkook’s control was chilling. He wasn't yelling; he was articulating a clear, unbreakable philosophy. He leaned back, his eyes dark with satisfaction as the General's face paled further.
"You offered me a choice between my life and my wife. That is not an offer, General. That is a threat." Jungkook paused, his gaze locking with Seo-jun’s, the intensity of his love chilling in its focus. "Your mistake wasn't underestimating a commoner's ambition; your mistake was speaking my wife's name with disrespect."
He let the silence hang, then delivered the final, unwavering sentence.
"The palace has laws for status, but I have only one law for Y/N. And I swear this to you, General: no person, highborn or low, will ever violate her peace and live to draw another breath. You are simply the first one to find that out."
General Seo-jun’s face contorted in a final, frantic surge of terror, his breath catching in a choked sound. "No! No—"
With a single, final, decisive motion, Jungkook pressed the spike home, silencing the threat forever. The sound was swallowed by the heavy silence of the cabin. The General’s eyes widened, a look of shocked comprehension passing over them the final, devastating realization that he had fatally misjudged the limits of a man's love.
He then walked to the locked door, unsealed the lock, and stepped out into the night, leaving the General to his fate.
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The palace that morning was nothing like itself.
The echo of voices struck the marble like waves. Servants hurried through the halls, whispers trailing behind them like smoke. Ministers gathered in clusters near the great court, speaking too loudly and too quickly, their faces pale beneath their official hats. The scent of incense had been replaced by sweat and fear.
The captain’s death had turned the palace into a hive of noise.
Jungkook walked through it, steady as ever, though the air itself felt heavier around him. He could feel their eyes officials glancing, guards murmuring, women clutching their ledgers close when he passed. The whispers followed him like a shadow he couldn’t shake.
He didn’t react. Not even a flicker. His boots made a low sound against the stone floor — tap, tap, tap — the rhythm of a man trying to drown the noise around him with the sound of his own calm.
“Have you heard? They say the general’s neck—”
“Shh! Don’t say that here.”
“They say Captain Jungkook was the last—”
“Quiet, for the gods’ sake.”
And then, over the low hum of chaos, a sharp voice cut through.
“Captain Jeon.”
Jungkook turned.
It was Minister Hwang — the Minister of Defence, a man whose face always looked as though he were smelling something faintly unpleasant. Broad-shouldered, with silver streaks cutting through his black hair and a golden ring glinting on every finger. His smile was never warm; it was calculated, like everything about him.
“Walk with me,” Hwang said, not waiting for an answer.
Jungkook followed, silent, as the older man led him down the narrow hallway that branched off from the council court the kind of hall where echoes died quickly and secrets could survive.
They stopped at a door engraved with a phoenix sigil. The Minister’s chamber. Hwang opened it himself, stepping inside first.
“Sit,” Hwang said, gesturing to a low chair across from his desk.
Jungkook remained standing for a moment, then slowly sat, his expression calm, unreadable.
Hwang studied him for a while long enough to make silence feel like a question. Finally, he spoke, voice measured, casual almost.
“You were the last man seen with General Seo-jun last night.”
Jungkook’s eyes didn’t flinch. “I was called to him, yes. Briefly.”
“Briefly.” Hwang leaned back, fingers steepled. “And what did the two of you discuss?”
“The patrol schedule. He wanted my report on the western watch post.”
A slow smile curved the Minister’s lips. “That all?”
Jungkook met his gaze. “That all.”
The silence stretched thin. Hwang drummed his fingers lightly against the wood, a quiet rhythm that matched the tension between them. Then, leaning forward, his voice dropped low, almost amused.
“You’re a terrible liar, Captain.”
Jungkook didn’t move, didn’t blink.
“I admire your calm,” Hwang continued, “but the palace is not kind to men who hold their breath for too long. Eventually, someone forces the air out of them. And the King…” his smile thinned “does not ask for evidence before passing judgment.”
The words settled like dust in the room.
Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” the Minister said, drawing out each word, “that even if you had nothing to do with Seo-jun’s death, the King will still find it convenient to make an example out of you. Suspicion is reason enough for exile in this palace.”
Jungkook’s eyes flickered, just for a moment. “You speak as though you’re doing me a favor.”
“Perhaps I am.” Hwang smiled, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m offering you a way to stay alive.”
Jungkook leaned back in the chair, folding his arms loosely. “And what would that cost me?”
“Nothing,” Hwang said, tone dripping with false innocence. “Just a small correction to the truth.”
Jungkook raised a brow. “Correction?”
“Yes,” the Minister said, voice lowering. “You see, my son Hwang Do-hyun is a promising man. Ambitious. Sharp. But with Seo-jun gone, the position of General must be filled quickly. The palace cannot run without its blade.”
He leaned closer, his eyes glinting. “If my son takes his place, he will testify that Seo-jun was not murdered in cold blood… but silenced for treason.”
“Treason?” Jungkook repeated, quietly.
Hwang nodded, smiling. “A story the King will like. A story that ends cleanly. The general was working with the northern borders, trading palace routes and defense maps for gold. You, Captain Jeon, happened to overhear this when you were summoned to his office. Simple, believable. The King will commend your loyalty instead of condemning your silence.”
Jungkook stared at him for a long moment. The room felt smaller suddenly, the air thicker. “And all I need to do is lie,” he said.
Hwang’s smile didn’t fade. “Lie? Such a strong word. I prefer… protect the kingdom.”
Jungkook’s tone dropped, quiet, measured. “And if I refuse?”
“Then,” the Minister said softly, “you’ll be branded as the man who killed a general and betrayed his oath. You’ll be stripped of your title, exiled from the palace if you’re lucky. Or executed if the King decides to start his morning with something dramatic.”
Silence again.
The minister’s voice hung in the still air of the cabin, smooth and deliberate, but Jungkook didn’t speak right away. He leaned back slightly, gaze fixed on the man across from him, every inch of his posture calm almost lazy but his eyes held that same quiet sharpness that made people nervous.
After a moment, he finally spoke, his tone casual yet cutting. “You really think the King and his council will just… believe your story? You toss a few words around and suddenly everyone bows to your version of the truth minister?”
Minister Hwan gave a soft, humourless chuckle. “You underestimate me, Jungkook. I don’t rely on words alone.”
Jungkook tilted his head slightly. “No?”
The minister’s smile spread, all pride and cool assurance. “Do you think I would stake my name and my son’s future on mere rumour?” he asked, as if the notion were absurd. “No I do not trust whispers. I prepare proof. There are letters tucked into false bottoms, coded notes hidden among his ledgers, and foreign coin slipped into places only a careful eye would find. I have laid each piece in Seo-jun’s cabin so neatly that no honest investigator could fail to see the pattern.”
He tapped the desk once, slow and deliberate. “The King has already ordered that no one enter the room until the Investigation Division arrives. They will open the door to the story I have arranged. My son will then present a witness, a man placed where he needs to be and the case will fold perfectly around the narrative we want. The King only needs a nudge from the right voices; with a little pressure from me and a handful of willing ministers, the throne will demand change. When that moment comes, the post will be vacant, the court will applaud the right hand, and my son will take the general’s seat.”
Jungkook’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile just the ghost of one. “You’ve been busy.”
The minister smirked. “I’ve been thorough. That’s how you survive here.”
Jungkook gave a soft hum, his gaze dropping to the grain of the wooden table, tracing invisible patterns with his thumb. “So, you’ve arranged every piece on the board,” he murmured. Then he looked up again, eyes glinting under the faint light. “But you haven’t told me what happens to me.”
The minister blinked, his expression tightening slightly. “You? I’m saving you, Jungkook. You’ll be cleared once the blame lands on the general. Your name stays intact. That’s more than most get.”
Jungkook chuckled quietly low, rough, and somehow both amused and unimpressed. “You think I’m naïve enough to take that as a favor?”
“Excuse me?”
Jungkook leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice calm but edged with quiet steel. “If I were truly under suspicion, the King would have already sent for me. He doesn’t wait for evidence he never has. Yet here I am, standing in front of you, not exiled, not beheaded. So don’t mistake your manipulation for mercy.”
The minister’s eyes narrowed. “Careful with your words.”
Jungkook met his stare without flinching. “I’m only careful when I need to be. But right now…” His tone dropped, smooth as smoke. “I’m just being honest.”
A long silence stretched between them, the flickering candlelight throwing shifting shadows across Jungkook’s face. The minister drummed his fingers on the desk, his calculating expression returning. “Then tell me,” He said finally. “What do you want, Jungkook? You already have something in mind, don’t you?”
Jungkook smiled faintly, the kind that didn’t soften his face but sharpened it. “I do.”
The minister leaned back, studying him. “Speak, then.”
“I want to work under your son,” Jungkook said simply, his tone quiet but unwavering.
The minister’s brow furrowed. “Under him?”
“Yes,” Jungkook replied, his gaze unwavering. “When your son takes the general’s post, I want to be placed directly under his command. Let everyone see me as his shadow. His right hand. Lieutenant General”
The minister’s lips twitched upward, amused. “You want to secure your position through him?”
Jungkook’s expression didn’t change. “No. I want to make sure he earns the power you’re handing him. If he’s to command men, I’ll make him worthy of it. And if he fails…” His voice trailed off, but the silence said what his words didn’t.
The minister’s smile faltered for just a breath, before returning smoother than before. “You have a sharp tongue, Jungkook.”
“And you have a sharper ambition,” Jungkook replied evenly. “That’s why this will work.”
The minister exhaled through his nose, studying him once more, as if trying to read the spaces between his words. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Very well. You’ll have your position. When my son General Do-hyun takes the post, I’ll see to it that you’re assigned to directly beneath him.”
Jungkook stood, fixing his cloak with slow precision, the fabric whispering against the floor. “Then we have an understanding.”
Minister Hwan offered a thin smile. “We do. But remember, Jungkook once you’re in, you’re bound to my house.”
Jungkook paused at the door.
Then the door shut behind him with a muted click, leaving the minister staring at the flame on his desk watching it flicker and twist like a warning he couldn’t quite name.
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The sun was still high when Jungkook finally stepped out of the palace gates. The courtyard behind him was restless messengers darting back and forth, officials murmuring with tight expressions, the faint ring of armor in the distance. But his part was done. He’d given his statement to the Investigation Division, said only what was necessary, no more, no less.
The rest the lies, the performances, the neatly arranged evidence belonged now to the minister and his companions.
He walked the path home in silence, his boots stirring dust along the worn stones. By the time the small cluster of houses came into view the ones built for captains and their families he could already hear soft laughter, the murmur of women’s voices carried by the evening wind.
Y/N stood near the gate, her shawl draped over her shoulders, talking to two other women wives of fellow captains. They were smiling, trading small gossip, their words light despite the shadow that hung over the palace. But when she saw Jungkook approaching, her laughter faded, replaced by a gentle, knowing smile.
“You should go,” she told the women softly. “My husband’s back early today.”
They giggled, whispering something teasing as they left, their footsteps echoing faintly down the narrow path.
Y/N waited by the doorway as Jungkook stepped inside. The faint scent of oil and smoke still clung to his jacket as she helped him slip it off.
“You’re early,” she said, glancing up at him. “That doesn’t happen often.”
Jungkook hummed, his tone quiet. “Work ended sooner than expected.”
“That’s surprising,” she said, folding his jacket neatly. “After what happened… I thought the palace would be in chaos.”
“It is,” he replied simply.
She turned to face him fully now, eyes studying his expression. “They say the general was killed in his office. And that you were the last person to speak with him before his death.”
Jungkook’s jaw flexed slightly, but his face remained calm. “That’s what they’re saying.”
Her brows knit. “And? What did you tell them?”
He leaned against the wooden table; eyes fixed on the pale light at the window. When he spoke, his voice was flat, the words worn by the memory.
“I went to the General’s office to discuss the western watch post, but the Minister of Defense came instead. He handed me a script and told me what to say to make his son the new General.” Jungkook said. “He told me exactly what to say.” He paused, and the room shrank around the weight of it. “ ‘You’ll tell them you overheard him. That he was speaking with someone he shouldn’t a foreign agent, a courier, a man with no right to our maps and our patrol lists. You’ll say you heard talk of payments, routes, and names. You’ll say you caught it by accident, standing just outside the door. Make it sound accidental. Make it sound impossible to doubt.’ ”
Jungkook’s jaw tightened as if the words had scraped him. “Then he smiled and told me the bargain. The court will have its traitor and your name will not be stained. Say the words, and when the dust settles, I’ll see that you are made lieutenant a cleaner title, closer to command.’”
He let out a short, humorless breath. “He made it an offer and a warning in the same sentence. Protection for the lie, and a ladder if I climbed it just so. He said the rest would be handled.”
Y/N blinked, lowering her voice. “Handled?”
He nodded once. “They’ll find what they want to find.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy, alive. She searched his face the calmness, the restraint that had settled there since last night. There was something in his eyes she couldn’t quite name.
Finally, she asked quietly, “And are you… involved in this?”
Her tone wasn’t accusing. It was soft, almost fearful. A whisper meant only for the space between them.
Jungkook looked at her then, really looked his gaze unreadable, steady as a blade balanced on its edge. He didn’t speak. Didn’t confirm, didn’t deny.
Instead, he reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek, his thumb lingering for a breath too long. “It’s over now,” he said finally, his voice low. “You don’t have to think about it.”
She stared at him, unsure if that was comfort or warning.
He stepped past her, untying the leather bracer from his wrist, his movements deliberate, slow. Then, as though cutting through the weight of the silence, he said softly, “Get dressed.”
She blinked. “For what?”
He looked over his shoulder, and for the first time that day, a faint smile ghosted his lips. “Let’s go out. Just us. The town’s quieter in the evenings no guards, no whispers. We haven’t had a walk together.”
Y/N hesitated. “Now? With everything happening?”
“Especially now,” he said. His tone was calm, but there was something in it a need, a quiet urgency she couldn’t quite name. “I just want a few hours with you. No palace. No noise. Just us.”
Her eyes softened. “Alright,” she murmured. “I’ll get ready.”
As she disappeared into the other room, Jungkook exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. For a moment, the ghost of a smile touching his lips again, colder this time.
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The evening air was soft, the kind that carried a trace of warmth even after the sun had dipped behind the hills. The path from the palace led to the open meadows untouched, calm, kissed by the faint glow of fireflies that danced along the tall grass.
He brought Y/N far from the palace gates, past the outer farming villages, until they reached a high ridge they hadn't visited since before their loss.
The spot overlooked the place, but up here, the sound of the wind through the pines drowned out the distant clamor of the bells.
Y/N sighed, leaning against Jungkook as they sat together, watching the late afternoon sun cast long shadows.
"It's quiet," she whispered, the word sounding fragile on her lips. "Truly quiet."
Jungkook turned, pulling her into his lap and resting his chin on the crown of her head. He inhaled the scent of her hair, closing his eyes for a moment, letting the simple fact of her presence wash away the memory of blood and steel.
"I know," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "The palace is a metal cage full of screaming birds. We needed this."
Y/N shifted, looking up at him, her eyes searching. "You look tired, Kook. Even now. Are you safe? After... after all that chaos this morning?"
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her ear. "I'm safer now than I was two nights ago," he reassured her, choosing his words with care. "I told you, I’m playing a game. I just secured an extremely powerful new ally. The palace is busy chasing phantoms. They won't look at a blacksmith-turned-Captain who is openly cooperating with the investigation."
"And the price?" she asked, her voice tight with familiar worry.
Jungkook smiled, a genuine, soft curve of his lips reserved only for her. "He demanded exactly what I expected: my silence, and my competence. He wants to use my skill, Y/N. That's all. He thinks he owns me. Let him believe it. I own my hands, I own my mind, and I own my heart. And as long as I do, no one owns you."
He gently tilted her head back and kissed her, a deep, slow kiss that was meant to convey everything he couldn't speak the terror of the past night, the unwavering commitment of his love, and the sacred promise that she was the ultimate reason for every single risk he took.
When they parted, her cheeks were flushed.
"I don't need the grand titles or the political games, Jungkook," she said softly, resting her hand on his chest, right over the steady thump of his heart. "I just need you to come home. That is the only victory that matters to me."
"Then you will have it," he promised, his fingers tracing the lines of her hand. "Always. The games I play are only to ensure that 'coming home' remains a simple truth, not a stolen moment."
He then stood up, extending his hand to her. "Come before the sun fully dips."
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On the way back through the narrow village street, warm lamplight spilling from the small shops, Y/N caught sight of a display a deep blue dress, silk that shimmered faintly even under the weak lantern glow. She paused, fingertips brushing the glass unconsciously, mesmerized.
Jungkook noticed the small hitch in her breath. “You like it?” he asked, voice low, teasing.
She blinked, flustered. “It’s… beautiful. But… it looks expensive.”
“Then it’s perfect,” he said, smirking just a little.
“Jungkook—no, you don’t have to—”
He turned to her, his eyes gleaming with quiet mischief. “I want to.”
“But it’s just a dress,” she whispered, cheeks warming. “We should save money.”
“Save it?” he echoed, mock outrage lacing his tone. “And miss a chance to see you in silk that rivals the moonlight? Never.”
Her lips curved into a reluctant smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you love it,” he said, leaning closer, lowering his voice. “Admit it.”
She nudged him playfully with her shoulder. “Maybe I do… a little.”
“Just a little?” he teased, “I think you mean a lot.”
Before she could argue further, he pushed open the shop door. The bell jingled softly, the owner bowing quickly. Jungkook moved with calm precision, pointing to the dress with a decisive nod. The owner quickly wrapped it.
When he stepped back onto the street, he held the package out for her. “Here,” he said softly, almost conspiratorially.
“Jungkook…” she breathed, shaking her head.
“Don’t,” he interrupted, voice gentle but firm. “It’s not about cost. It’s about… this moment.”
Her eyes met his, full of warmth, wonder, and a flicker of amusement. “This moment?” she echoed, letting the corner of her lips twitch in a smile.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice until only she could hear, playful glint in his dark eyes. “Yes. This moment. You and me, under lanterns, silk between your fingers.”
She laughed softly, the sound like wind chimes in the cool night. “You really make this feel dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” he asked, mock offense in his tone. “For trying to spoil you?”
She poked him in the chest. “Exactly.”
Jungkook’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile as his thumb traced a lazy path over her wrist. “Then I suppose I must plead guilty,” he murmured, voice low, deliberate.
Her gaze softened, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “You always know how to make me feel… everything at once.”
He smiled, that small, quiet curve of lips that always reached his eyes. “Good. Because you deserve that.”
Her throat tightened, heart fluttering as he stepped just a little closer, the night wrapping them in a cocoon of soft lamplight and warmth. “You make it all bearable,” she murmured.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, letting his fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary. “Then wear the dress. Just for me,” he whispered into her ear, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a flutter rising in her chest at his words. She gave a small, exasperated laugh and lightly pushed his chest. “Stop it, Jungkook,” she murmured, pretending annoyance as she stepped forward, trying to escape his teasing gaze.
But Jungkook only grinned wider, the mischievous glint in his eyes matching her own racing heart. He caught her wrist gently, stopping her mid-step. “I’m not letting you go that easily,” he teased, voice low and playful. “You promised.”
She tugged her hand back, laughing softly. “I didn’t promise anything!”
“You did,” he countered, still holding her gaze, his thumb brushing her wrist again. “Just now. For me.”
Her laughter turned into a soft sigh, a mixture of shyness and amusement. With a small, reluctant nod, she let him guide her, their hands brushing and fingers intertwining as they walked together toward home, the air between them charged with warmth and quiet excitement.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The walk home was slow, punctuated by their easy laughter and the soft, comfortable weight of their joined hands. The lantern light faded as they reached the familiar, darkened lane leading to their small house.
Jungkook opened the door, letting the package of blue silk fall gently onto the small table. He turned, leaning against the doorframe, watching Y/N remove her shawl. The mischievous grin he’d worn in the marketplace was back, now softer, infused with pure, consuming anticipation.
"The night is still young, and the house is quiet," he murmured, his gaze warm and fixed on her. "It would be a pity to leave that beautiful silk sitting wrapped up until morning."
Y/N felt her cheeks flush again. She knew exactly what he was asking. "Jungkook, it's just a dress," she said, her voice a little breathless, her fingers nervously smoothing the fabric of her simple tunic. "It feels... grand. And I feel strange wearing something so fine, alone, just for you."
"That's exactly why," he whispered, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register that vibrated with deep possession. "Because it is beautiful. And because you should never feel anything less than magnificent in my presence."
He reached out slowly, his fingertips brushing the collar of her tunic, tracing the delicate curve of her neck. His eyes dropped to the thin fabric covering her chest. "I bought it so you would feel cherished. But I want to see it on you because it will be the only thing separating me from you tonight."
He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "I want to strip it off of you," he confessed, the words rough and hot against her skin. "But I want to see you wear it first. Just for a moment. To see you shine."
His honesty stole her breath. With that single, potent admission, the room felt impossibly small.
She couldn't deny him. Not when his eyes held that much sincere devotion, laced with a dominant need. With a shy, quick breath, she picked up the package. "Don't stare," she warned, a soft laugh escaping her as she turned and slipped into their bedroom.
Y/N stood in the shadows of the living space; the package of silk clutched in her hand. The bedroom doorway was covered by a fine linen hanging, a screen against the cold and a common feature in homes that lacked solid inner doors. The material was delicate and thin, made translucent by the single oil lamp flickering softly on the table nearby.
Jungkook was still leaning against the doorframe, his gaze hot and fixed. She could feel the weight of his anticipation, the unspoken need that filled the quiet room.
She didn't move directly into the bedroom. Instead, she paused precisely in front of the linen hanging, allowing the soft, warm glow of the lantern to silhouette her figure against the thin fabric.
With a deep breath, she dropped the silk package onto the floor and reached for the laces of her simple, homespun tunic. Her movements were slow, deliberate no longer nervous, but filled with a bold, teasing confidence she rarely displayed.
"You promised not to stare," she murmured, her voice low and husky, directed at the motionless shadow she knew was Jungkook.
"I lied," he confessed instantly, his voice a strained, low gravel, the sound thick with desire.
A small, triumphant smile touched Y/N's lips. She pulled the laces free, the tunic falling open. She let the simple garment drop to the floor, stepping out of it slowly.
Now, only the thin chemise remained. The delicate linen was no match for the lantern light. Through the hanging, Jungkook could see the curves of her body, the gentle outline of her waist and hips, rendered soft and mesmerizing by the light.
She reached behind her neck for the tie of the chemise. She took her time, letting her fingers fumble slightly, drawing out the moment.
"You should come in here and help me," she teased, knowing full well he couldn't move.
"If I move," Jungkook whispered, the sound tight, "I won't stop at helping you with a dress, Y/N."
"Is that a threat, Captain?" she challenged softly, her body language inviting and bold.
She finally pulled the string free. The chemise slid down her arms, pooling at her feet. She stood naked against the light, the soft linen hanging creating a breathtaking, intimate portrait of her form. Her hands went up, covering herself in a gesture that was more suggestion than modesty.
She didn't rush to grab the silk. Instead, she let herself be seen, let the full weight of her beauty and desire settle upon him.
Then, with one final, slow, graceful movement, Y/N bent to retrieve the gown. She picked up the deep blue silk, its iridescent fabric catching the light, and began to slide it up her legs. The silk shimmered as it enveloped her, covering her body slowly, agonizingly, until she was finally dressed in the magnificent, shimmering dress he had bought her.
She smoothed the silk over her hips and finally stepped into the room's true shadow, turning her back to the hanging.
"Now," she whispered, her voice husky, "you may come in."
Jungkook did not hesitate. The sound of his approach was quick and absolute.He tore the linen hanging aside, his eyes locking onto Y/N where she stood in the dim light of the bedroom, enveloped in the iridescent blue silk.
He was starstruck.
The dress was a masterpiece of elegance, but it was the woman inside it that rendered him speechless. The deep blue shimmered like captured starlight, clinging to the curves of her body, turning her into a vision of untouchable beauty and profound desire. For a long, silent moment, he couldn't move, only allowing his gaze to feast on her.
"Y/N," he breathed, the sound torn from his chest, her name a profound confession. He crossed the threshold in two long strides, his hands reaching up slowly, reverently, to cup her face. "You are... magnificent. Absolutely breathtaking."
He leaned in, his voice thick with devotion. "The palace can have its jewels and its crowns. They have never seen a beauty like this. This is the only treasure I will ever claim."
He kissed her then, not with the brutal urgency of the night before, but with a lingering, worshipful tenderness. His mouth moved over hers, conveying silent praise for her courage, her love, and her stunning, defiant beauty.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark and heavy, burning with intent.
He found the delicate silver fastenings of the gown, his fingers working with slow, meticulous care. He was savouring the destruction of the clothing, making the removal an act of heightened intimacy. He pushed the silk off her shoulders.
Jungkook did not rush. He took his time, allowing the silk to slide slowly down her body, inch by agonizing inch, revealing the smooth skin beneath. He captured her lips in a deep, consuming kiss.
He broke the kiss only to travel his mouth along the sharp line of her jaw, down the sensitive column of her neck, tasting her skin, drawing a shiver from her that had nothing to do with the cool air. The dress fell away entirely, leaving her magnificent and exposed in the faint light.
With a low, possessive sound, he lifted her into his arms, carrying her the few steps to their bed and placing her gently onto the cool linen sheets. He remained above her, bracing himself with one hand, his gaze sweeping over her body with an intensity that felt like a tangible touch.
He took his time, visually tracing every curve, every shadow, from the slope of her shoulders to the delicate arch of her foot. His eyes were dark, reverent, and heavy with devotion. He wasn't just looking at her; he was absorbing the sight of her, committing it to memory the precious, undeniable truth that no one in the palace could ever claim.
Y/N felt the heat of his gaze, the thoroughness of his silent worship. It was too much; too vulnerable, too exposed, yet thrillingly intimate.
"Kook," she murmured, her voice husky, a plea mixed with rising desire. "Stop doing that."
He didn't move his eyes, only smiled a slow, tender curve of his lips. "I can't," he confessed, his voice rough. "You're too beautiful. Let me look. Just a little longer."
"No," she insisted, her hands shooting up to grip the back of his neck, pulling him down, closing the small, agonizing distance between their faces. "Don't look anymore. Kiss me."
He needed no further command. He crushed his mouth to hers, all reverence dissolving into raw, potent desire. The urgency returned, magnified by the intimacy of his gaze.
The fierce press of their kiss broke, their breaths mingling, ragged and hot.
Between heavy breaths, Y/N murmured against his lips, "Your turn" Her hands moved immediately to the edges of his tunic, pulling at the rough fabric. "Get rid of these. All of them."
Jungkook gave a low, rumbling chuckle, pulling back just enough to obey. He ripped off his tunic and boots with impatient speed, shedding the last vestiges of the palace. He stood before her, raw and powerfully built, his body etched with the hard lines of the forge.
Y/N didn't immediately move to touch him. She simply stared, her eyes wide with open, appreciative desire, drinking in the sight of her man.
"Well now," Jungkook teased, a playful smirk touching his lips as he saw her unwavering gaze. "Who's staring now?"
Y/N rolled her eyes, but the movement was slow, lazy, weighted by lust. "You’re too beautiful for your own good," she retorted, her voice husky. Her hands clenched on the sheets. "Hurry up, Kook. I don't have all night."
"Impatient, aren't we?" he challenged softly, but the question was pure delight. He didn't wait for her reply, diving down to the soft, sensitive skin of her neck.
He claimed a long, hot strip of her throat, his tongue trailing down her skin with deliberate, agonizing slowness. Y/N gasped, her head falling back into the pillows, the small, vulnerable sound urging him on. He followed the line of her collarbone, his kisses becoming rougher, more demanding, until he reached her breast.
With a low groan, he settled over her. One large hand cupped the full weight of her breast, his thumb circling the peak while his mouth claimed the other, sucking and teasing with intense focus. Y/N cried out, a sound that was pure, unrestricted pleasure. Her fingers immediately shot up, gripping the back of his dark hair, urging him deeper, closer, demanding that he take everything she offered. The rhythm they found was deep and consuming, a physical devotion that left no room for shadows.
He didn't lift his head, letting his lips and tongue travel a path of fire down her torso. He kissed the flat plane of her stomach, his breath hot, tracing circles around her naval. His hand followed the trail, sliding down her side to cup her waist, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of her hip.
Then, with a low groan that was swallowed by the intimacy of the bedroom, he moved lower. He placed a final, lingering kiss just below her belly, on the soft skin where her thighs met. He parted her with his hand, his touch firm and possessive, and lowered his head fully, claiming the most intimate part of her.
Y/N gasped, the sound a raw, surprised delight. She clenched her hands in the sheets, her back arching instinctively off the bed. His tongue was insistent, warm, and utterly skilled, dedicating himself entirely to her pleasure.
“Jungkook!!” She cried out his name, a desperate, loving sound of surrender as he drove her toward a new, staggering height of sensation.
He stayed there, devoted entirely to her pleasure, refusing to move, letting the current build, pull, and break over her again and again. Y/N's hands moved from the sheets to his shoulders, gripping him, her fingers flexing against his warm skin. She was lost in the sensation, a mixture of intense vulnerability and absolute command, her throat open with soft, loving cries that were the only sound in the small, silent room.
Finally, with a soft, shuddering cry, she reached her peak again a wave that left her breathless, exquisitely tender, and desperate for him.
Jungkook raised his head, his eyes dark with satisfaction and thick desire. He moved up her body, his gaze sweeping over her flushed skin. He paused only long enough to press a fierce, proprietary kiss to her lips, drawing a last, ragged moan of pleasure from her.
He then shifted, moving between her legs, positioning his body. He braced himself above her, his eyes locked on hers, a final, wordless question passing between them a question of intent, of safety, of love.
Y/N answered with a vigorous pull, wrapping her legs around his waist, guiding him home.
He entered her slowly, smoothly. He paused once joined, allowing their bodies to settle into the deep, familiar comfort of absolute connection.
Then he began to move, his rhythm deep and commanding, a powerful, steady tempo that drove them both to the very edge. Each thrust was a physical vow, a defiant declaration that she belonged to him, untouchable and wholly cherished.
Y/N met his intensity, wrapping her arms around his back, demanding more, absorbing all the fear and pressure he carried and dissolving it in the heat of their shared love. She cried out his name a sound filled with both passion and relief.
The final climax hit them simultaneously a profound, staggering wave of ecstasy and emotional clarity. Jungkook pressed a final kiss to her lips as he shuddered above her, his body heavy and secure, their world contracting to the simple, perfect truth of their intertwined bodies.
He held her tightly, unwilling to let go, his breathing slow and rough against her neck. "You are my world," he whispered, the exhaustion finally pulling at him. "I love you."
He pulled the blanket up over them, wrapping them into a single, secure unit. He was home.
