Synopsis:Your husband forgets your second anniversary. But when Jungkook realizes his mistake, heâs willing to do anything to prove that his love has never wavered.
30 days without - @dailynnt
Synopsis: In sweltering Seoul, a you who has just moved in new neighborhood catches the eye of Jungkook, Everything changes with a ridiculous agreement: 30 days without sex, with you as his "supervisor."
Like sugar on my tongue - @shawtuzi
synopsis: out of impulse, jungkook gets his tongue pierced, but totally forgot the part that for the next two weeks heâs not allowed to kiss his adorable, oh so desirable gf.
Private practice - @seokbite
synopsis: When your boyfriend Soobin struggles to satisfy you in the bedroom, you both agree to see the cityâs most sought-after sex therapist: Jeon Jungkook.
Apologise first @cupidsbling
You and your boyfriend have a little argument, so he suggests something filthy and demented to decide who has to apologise first.
Eleanor - @aurorraaaa
Synopsis: Becoming Jungkook's third wife was never a plan , but the worst he carry the weight of a dead wife , people believe he killed her , but was it true?
Service fee @espressojoons
Synopsis: After a long, hellish week at work, the only thing youâre looking forward to doing is smoking a joint and winding down. But when you come up short on cash, your new dealer makes it clear he is as strict as he is dangerously hot. He only takes cash, and no, you canât pay him back next time. Unless⊠you can find another way.
Worst behaviour @luvismenu
everyone knows you as the good girl/nerd. except youâre so fucking tired of that image. so when you decide to be bold and finally go after hoseok â things donât really go as planned. instead, you end up tangled in a fake relationship with his best friend/campus favorite fuckboy: jeon jungkook.
Synopsis: There's a saying: anyone who enters a mental hospital eventually becomes a patient themselves. You're assigned to interview a patient who was said to have made a recovery. Instead, you meet Yoongi,the hospital's charming manager. As a storm traps you inside, one conversation turns into a one night stand that you'll never forget. But the morning cost your sanity.
Genre: Psychological Horror,Psychological Thriller, Dark Gothic Romance, Tragic Metafiction, Necromance
The moving boxes still lay unopened in your room. Your father's transfer had brought your family to a city that felt unfamiliar in every possible way. University began in two days, and your mother insisted you collect your semester books before the shops became crowded. So, just as evening settled over the city, you left the house with a bag slung over your shoulder.
The library stood at the end of a quiet lane, hidden behind ancient oaks whose branches nearly swallowed the building whole. It wasn't grand. It simply existed, as though it had always belonged there. The bell above the door chimed softly as you stepped inside.
The place was almost empty only the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock disturbed the silence.
"Good evening." The voice was gentle. You turned to find an elderly woman standing behind the front desk. Silver hair was neatly pinned beneath a dark green shawl, and a pleasant smile rested upon her lips. "I don't believe we've met before."
"No," you replied politely. "I moved here this morning."
"I thought as much." Her smile deepened. "Our little town rarely welcomes strangers."
You offered a small smile before unfolding the list of textbooks from your pocket. "I'm only here for these."
"Second aisle. History and Political Studies."
"Thank you." Your footsteps echoed faintly against the wooden floor as you wandered between towering shelves, searching for each title one by one. Every now and then you could feel the librarian watching not in an unsettling manner, but almost expectantly. Once you'd gathered nearly everything, you returned to the counter. The librarian glanced at the stack before looking at you again.
"If you enjoy reading," she said, "may I ask a small favour?"
You nodded. She disappeared between two shelves and returned carrying a hardbound novel unlike any you'd seen before. Across the front, embossed in elegant lettering, were only two words. Ward 17. No author's name, no publisher.
"It arrived this morning," the librarian said as she placed it atop your textbooks. "I haven't had the opportunity to read it myself. Would you be so kind as to tell me what you think once you've finished?"
You looked at the unfamiliar title before shrugging lightly. "I suppose one more book won't hurt." The librarian smiled. "I was rather hoping you'd say that." Something about the way she spoke lingered in your thoughts. Still, you dismissed it. After paying for your books, you glanced at the clock. There was still time before dinner so you settled at one of the reading desks beneath the tall windows, intending to read only the opening page before heading home.
As you lifted the cover, a single sentence appeared on the otherwise blank first page.
"To read is to witness. To turn the page is to surrender. Beyond these words, there is no returning until the story permits it." A strange warmth spread through your fingertips, the air around you grew unnaturally still. Then, almost like a whisper carried by the wind, unfamiliar words echoed through the silent libraryâ
"Verbum aperit mundum. Lector fit viator."
The pages began turning by themselves, the golden edges glowed softly, illuminating your face. Your vision blurred the letters refused to stay still, shifting across the page as though they were alive. You reached for the edge of the desk but the room tilted and darkness swallowed everything.
Ward 17
The iron gates stood before you, weathered by time and rust, their black bars stretching high enough to swallow the evening sky. Beyond them lay the psychiatric hospital old, silent, and burdened with the sort of history people only ever whispered about.
You tightened your grip on your satchel, the leather strap digging into your shoulder. Tucked neatly inside was your notebook, a fountain pen, and the assignment your editor had insisted was "the story of the year."
Interview a patient who had made a remarkable recovery, simple enough, or so you had thought. You had interviewed politicians, criminals, and grieving families before. Yet, for reasons you couldn't quite explain, standing before this place unsettled you more than any of them ever had.
Perhaps it was merely the silence or perhaps it was the old saying you had laughed off that very morning. No one walks into a psychiatric hospital and comes back the same, with a quiet breath, you stepped through the gates.
The security guard slid a register across the desk. "Name. Purpose of visit. Time of entry." You scribbled down the details while he silently watched, his eyes lingering a little longer than necessary. Just as you handed the register back, someone stepped beside you.
"Miss?" A man, dressed neatly in a black suit, stood with one hand tucked into his pocket. Sharp features, soft eyes, and a calm smile that somehow made the gloomy entrance feel warmer. For a second, you simply stared.
"Can I help you?" he asked politely. You cleared your throat. "I'm Y/N. I'm a journalist. I have an appointment to interview one of your recovered patients."
He offered a small smile. "I'm Min Yoongi." He extended his hand. "The manager here." You shook it, unable to ignore how strangely cold his hand felt.
"It's nice to meet you."
"The pleasure's mine."
Out of the corner of your eye, you glanced at the security guard. He was staring at you, not at both of you but at you. His expression was unreadable, almost disturbed. Before you could ask if something was wrong, Yoongi spoke.
"Come along."
Still feeling the guard's unsettling gaze on your back, you followed Yoongi deeper into the hospital, he guided you toward a narrow almost dark corridor. As you walked, you noticed the cells on either side. Inside them, the patients were acting completely strange. There were no screams or wild movements. Instead, the moment you passed by, every single patient froze like a stone statue. They pressed their faces against the heavy iron bars, their wide, unblinking eyes tracking your every step in absolute silence.
The atmosphere felt completely abnormal and suffocating. You slowed your pace, a knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. "Mr. Min," you whispered, glancing nervously at a woman who was staring at you without even blinking. "Why are they looking at me like that?"
Yoongi did not look back. He kept walking, his shoes clicking sharply against the stone floor. "Do not mind them," he replied smoothly, his deep voice echoing in the hallway. "They always react this way when they see someone new. New faces disturb their fragile worlds."
His explanation didn't completely ease your mind, but you had no choice but to follow him. At the very end of the corridor, he unlocked a heavy door and led you into his private manager's cabin.
The room was dimly lit by a few melting candles and a small fireplace that crackled softly. It felt cozy compared to the cold hallway, smelling faintly of old books, tobacco, and expensive cologne. Just as he closed the door behind you, a violent crack of thunder shook the entire building. Outside the evening sky turned black, and a heavy, furious rain began to lash against the glass, trapping you inside with him.
He walked over to a dark wooden cabinet and poured a rich, amber liquid into two crystal glasses. He turned around and held one out to you. "I don't drink," you said with an awkward smile. "It's safe," he replied softly, the corner of his lips lifting into a reassuring smile. "I wouldn't poison my guest." You let out a quiet laugh. "I wasn't thinking that."
"No?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Maybe I was." He chuckled, and somehow the tension dissolved. Taking the glass from his hand, you brought it to your lips. It tasted surprisingly comforting.
"So..." Yoongi settled onto the sofa beside you, close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed. "Journalist, huh?"
"Mhm."
"And what made you choose that?" You shrugged. "I like stories. I like knowing what people hide." His eyes lingered on you for a moment. "Sometimes," he murmured, "the truth is kinder when it stays hidden."
You tilted your head. "That's a strange thing to say."
"I work in a place full of strange things."
Outside, thunder cracked across the sky for a brief second, the lights flickered. When they came back, several patients standing in the hallway were staring silently through the glass door of the office , at you , not blinking.
You instinctively stiffened. "They've been doing that since I arrived," you whispered. Yoongi glanced toward the door before calmly getting up and drawing the blinds shut.
"They're just curious," he said with a small smile. "New faces always catch their attention."
You nodded, trying to convince yourself that was all it was. Minutes turned into hours. The interview recorder remained forgotten on the coffee table. Instead, the two of you talked about everything except work, favorite books, music, childhood memories, dreams, and the places you wanted to visit. Every time you remembered why you had come, Yoongi would effortlessly pull you into another conversation, and you found yourself laughing again.
Even though it was freezing and pouring rain outside, you suddenly felt incredibly hot. The air in the room felt warm and dizzying. Because you were sweating, you set your glass down, unbuttoned your coat, and took it off, throwing it to the side of the couch. Yoongi watched you the whole time. His eyes got dark as he looked at your body, and then he leaned in super close to you.
"You know, Y/N," he whispered, his deep voice right next to your ear. "This place is usually so ugly and depressing. But you are honestly the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Looking at you makes me forget everything else."
His direct compliment made your heart race. Your face turned completely red, and you blushed harder than you ever had in your life. You looked down, feeling super shy and breathless. Yoongi smiled gently. He reached out with his hand and used his fingers to gently lift your chin up, forcing you to look back into his eyes, but he pull away instantly.
You truly didn't understand what was happening to you. Your body felt so hot, like a fever was rushing through your veins. Needing some air, you stood up from the sofa and walked over to the large window, looking outside. It was completely dark, and the rain was pouring down badly, splashing heavily against the glass.
A second later, you felt a presence behind you. Yoongi walked up and stood right beside you, looking out at the storm. Without thinking, you reached out and put your hand over his cold one. He didn't pull away. Instead, he turned his head and gave you a slow, confident smirk.
"This place is so silent," you murmured, breaking the quietness of the room. "It feels like we are the only two people left in the world."
Yoongi looked out at the dark courtyard. "Silence is a luxury here. Usually, these walls are filled with screams and chaotic thoughts. But tonight, because of the storm, everything has stopped."
"Doesn't it get lonely?" you asked, turning your face to look at his sharp profile. "Living and working in a place surrounded by so much sadness?" Yoongi turned his body toward you, his eyes locking onto yours. "It used to be lonely. Extremely lonely. But right now, with your warm hand in mine, I don't feel that emptiness at all."
Your heart skipped a beat at his words. The contrast between his cold skin and your burning hot body was making you feel dizzy, and the way he was looking at you made it impossible to think about anything else. You shifted even closer to him, your shoulder brushing against his chest. The heat in your body was making you bold, and you looked up into his dark eyes with a playful smile.
"Are you married, Yoongi?" you asked softly, your voice a little breathless. He let out a low chuckle, his eyes dropping to your lips for a second before looking back up. "Why does that matter to you? We are right here, right now. The outside world doesn't exist."
"Please, just tell me," you purred, leaning into his touch, your voice soft and teasing. "No," he replied, his smirk widening a little. "I am not married."
You smiled, feeling a rush of excitement, but you weren't done questioning him yet. "Okay... then are you dating anyone? Is there someone special waiting for you outside this creepy asylum?"
He turned his hand so his fingers could intertwine with yours, his cold grip sending a pleasant shiver through your hot skin. "There is absolutely no one. My life has been completely empty and tied to this place for a very long time." He stepped a fraction closer, blocking out the rest of the room. "But what about you? A beautiful journalist like you must have people chasing her down in the city."
"No one that matters," you whispered, completely captivated by his deep voice. "No one who looks at me the way you do." His eyes darkened, and his smirk faded into a look of pure desire. "Good," he murmured, his face lowering until his breath fanned against your neck. "Because tonight, I don't want to share you with anyone else."
You couldn't take it anymore. The heat in your body made you bold, and you leaned your body right against his chest, looking up at him through your eyelashes. You let your fingers slowly trace the collar of his suit jacket, teasing him.
Yoongiâs breath hitched. He wrapped his cold hands tightly around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. His dark eyes were full of pure desire as he looked down at your lips. He was completely seduced by you, and he wasn't trying to hide it.
"You are driving me crazy, lovely lady," he murmured, his deep voice completely husky. Before you could even answer, he leaned down and captured your lips. The kiss was instant, deep, and passionate. Your hands immediately flew up to tangle in his soft dark hair, pulling him closer as the sound of the heavy rain outside faded into the background.
He did not let you go. He kept kissing you fiercely, his lips moving against yours with a desperate, wild passion that made your head spin completely. You were losing your breath, the intense heat in your body mixing with a sudden, nervous flutter in your stomach.
"Washroom," you gasped out against his mouth, trying to find a second to breathe. "I need to use the washroom."
Yoongi let out a low chuckle, his lips trailing down to bite gently on your neck. His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you even closer to his body. "Already wet," he whispered huskily against your skin. "You don't need to go anywhere."
"No, really, I wanna pee," you pleaded, your face flushing red as you tried to push against his chest a little, though your body was trembling from his touch.
Yoongi stopped for a split second and looked at you. A genuine, low giggle escaped his lips, a sound that was surprisingly warm and boyish compared to his usual deep, serious voice.
"No," he teased, with a commanding whisper as he locked his arms around you securely. "Hold it. I am not letting you leave this room tonight."
Before you could say another word, he captured your lips again, shutting down any more excuses as his hands began to slide under the hem of your shirt.
He moved his lips down to your neck, kissing your skin fiercely while his hands gripped your waist tightly, pulling you flat against him. His hands slowly slid up your body, cupping your breasts through your shirt, making your breath completely hitch. The contrast between your burning hot body and his touch was overwhelming.
You shivered, trying to think through the hazy pleasure."Yoongi," you gasped out, your hands gripping his shoulders. "Why are you so cold? Your skin feels like ice."
He paused for just a fraction of a second. His fingers tightened against your skin, and a strange, unreadable shadow passed over his dark eyes. But then, his confident smirk returned, and he leaned down to whisper right against your ear. "Don't worry about that, baby" he murmured, "Just focus on how warm you feel in my arms." Before you could say anything else or question him further, he shut you up by kissing you deeply again
He lifted you up easily and sat you down on his large desk, as his cold fingers moved down the front of your shirt, quickly unbuttoning it and throwing it across the floor. Next, he unbuttoned your pants and pulled them down, leaving you sitting there in just your lingerie. You leaned back slightly on your hands, looking up at him with a confident, teasing smile despite how fast your heart was beating.
"Do you like what you see?" you asked softly, his gaze swept slowly down your body, his eyes darkening with intense desire. He stepped closer, locking himself between your thighs and leaning over you."I love what I see. You are absolutely beautiful."
You reached out, wrapping your fingers firmly around the crisp collar of his white shirt. With a bold smile, you yanked him down closer to you, your eyes locking onto his. You didn't feel shy anymore, the heat in your body made you completely fearless. "If you like looking at me so much," you said, your voice dripping with teasing confidence as your fingers began undoing his buttons, "then it's only fair I get to look at you too. Stop hiding behind this fancy suit."
He let out a husky laugh that vibrated against your chest. He didn't stop you. Instead, he leaned over you, his hands resting on the desk on either side of your hips, trapping you completely. "Are you always this shameless, Miss Journalist?" he murmured, his dark eyes watching your fingers work. "I thought you came here for a professional interview."
"The interview is canceled for tonight," you whispered back, tearing open his shirt and pushing the fabric off his broad shoulders. Your hands pressed against his bare chest, and you shivered again at how icy cold he felt. "Besides, a good journalist knows when to pivot to a better story."
Yoongiâs smirk widened, his eyes darkening with pure desire as he watched you completely undress him. "Is that what I am to you? A story?"
"Right now, you're the only thing that matters," you said softly, leaning up to press your lips against his cold neck. He groaned softly at your touch, his grip tightening on your waist. "Good. Because I'm not letting you go back to your real world anytime soon."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down so you could press your lips against his icy skin. As you kissed a path from his jawline down to his throat, your hands slid down his bare chest to the waist of his trousers. "Take them off," you whispered shamelessly against his skin, your breath hot against his neck. "I want all of you, Yoongi."
His hands gripped your waist even tighter, lifting you slightly on the desk as he co operated, helping you rid him of the rest of his clothes until there was absolutely no distance left between you.
You knelt down infront of him , holding his thighs to stand on your knees, catching his cock with your tongue, with few strokes you put it inside your mouth slurping it, sucking it tightly, he grab your your hair tightly groaning. You kept doing your work looking at him , you thick saliva dropping down " I wanna taste your cum." He look at you for a brief moment saying "I won't cum this easily baby doll."
He lift you making you sit back on his table, rubbing your clit from your panties. "Good girl, Already so wet for me." He pull down your panties, his eyes glinting again when the thin white late is revealed to him.
"Fuckâhave you been waiting for this? Is that what it is?" He wantons and put his index and middle inside your cunt, his fingers moved again, slow and reverent, his touch suddenly less about taking and more about giving.
Your head fell back, your breath coming in sharp, uneven pants, every flick of his wrist sending another spark of pleasure shooting through your limbs. "Yoongi," you gasped, barely able to form his name, your thighs trembling wasn't exactly something you could keep quiet for.
"Your moans in my ear that I'm gonna keep just for myself."
Your cunt clenched around him and head dropped to his shoulder in an attempt to muffle the sound. "Mhm. Fuck." Your body arched into him, His pace quickened, his touch growing rougher, more desperate, as if he needed this just as badly as you did, as if he needed to become a devotee of the way you fell apart in his hands.
"Say it." He curled them just right,that bounced off your walls. "Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me." He said as he peppered kisses on the cheeks.
"You know I do." Your voice was wrecked, barely more than a whisper. "Not enough." He growled, fingers curling again, slow and deep and your grip on him was the only thing keeping you from floating away.
"I... yoonâI" You broke off, a cry catching in your throat as he pressed and flicked. And then he found that spot, the one that drove knuckles deep into your quivering cunt, curling and flicking, shattering you, your eyes rolling back, your breath catching in a sharp broken cry as teeth dug unconsciously into his shoulders, hips shifting, chasing his touch, needing more and he felt the urgent need to bury his cock into you the next second.
"Donât stop. Iâm, Iâm gonna cum. So close. So fucking close." his eyes stayed fixed on your face. The heat of your slick coated his fingers, the way your body clenched down around him driving a ragged curse from his throat.
Your orgasm hit with brutal force, leaving you boneless, trembling, and Jungkook caught you, his arm wrapping securely around your waist, his lips pressing into the side of your neck.
"Beautiful girl." He mummered. "So fucking perfect when you come for me." He praised and pulled his two digits drenched with your essence out of your pulsating pussy to slide them into his mouth. Eyes closing when the taste of you settled on his tongue.
You wrap yourself legs around his waist pulling his cock to meet your clit. He cursed under his breath, "Needy little thing." he growled, half in awe, half in torment. "Still aching for me?"
You blinked at him, all wide eyed innocence, but your hips shifted again, grinding up into him in a way that had his jaw clenching, his breath turning ragged.
He parted your legs guiding you against him, his tip poking at your entrance, making you let out a shuddering breath. He leaned in, his lips brushing over your cheek, feather light, a stark contrast to the way his hands gripped your thighs.
"Let me feel you," he hiss, more plea than demand, "Let me have you all of you, angel." And when you nodded , he entered lil more. He groaned against your ear as he pushed himself all the way to the hilt.
Your hands slipped up, cupping his face, tilting him toward you until your lips brushed. "Move," you whispered, voice barely there.
He nodded, rolling his hips into yours, his mouth catching every broken sound that left you, his hands never stopping their worship of your body.
He desperately started fucking you not caring about east or west. Your fingers found his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer, closer, closer. "Oh yeah! Fuck, just there!" You panted, hips snapping against his, encouraging him further as he outright pounded into you.
"Youâre... fuckâso tight," he rasped. "This pussy was made for me , only me." He squeeze to your boob, rolling your nipple between his digits. Your walls fluttered around him, still so tight, still taking all of him like you had been made to, eyes fluttering close when he gave it a pinch.
"Eyes on me Y/N." he murmured, his voice rough, strained. Your lashes lifted, glassy and unfocused, your lips parting around a soft gasp as he rolled his hips again, hitting deeper this time. He smiled, dipping his head, lips brushing over your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. "Thatâs it, baby. Let me see you."
You swallowed hard, fingers pulling into his hair. "Too much!" His grip on your waist tightened, "Shhh. I've got you," he whispered, voice shaking. "You donât have to do anything. Just take me."
With realising you came loosing your senses, he kiss your forehead and stooped thrusting.
"It's okay , i got you breath, breath for me, my baby" he scoop you taking you toward sofa , while giving soft kisses on your neck.
"Ypu didn't came " you said softly. "It's okay it doesn't matter right now , you're hurting " he replied. Making you lie flat on the sofa, cleaning your inner thigh with a tissue.
"I'm so sweaty," you murmured, your voice completely tired and raspy. Yoongi let out a chuckle. He tossed the used tissues into a small bin and immediately gathered your bare body into his arms lying beside you.
"Don't worry about it," he whispered. You snuggled straight into his chest, seeking his comfort. He pressed lazy kisses onto your temple, cuddling you tightly against him. The contrast between your burning hot, sweaty skin and his icy cold body felt incredibly strange, but you were too tired to care. You just closed your eyes, listening to the heavy rain outside.
"Yoongi?" you whispered, your fingers tracing a slow line down his arm."Hmm?" he murmured, he didn't open his eyes, but his arm tightened securely around your waist, pulling you a little closer.
"Your heart," you said softly, tilting your head up to look at his sharp chin. "It's beating so slowly. I can barely hear it."
Yoongiâs eyes opened slightly, he gave you a very soft, melancholic smile and leaned down to press his lips against your forehead, lingering there for a long time. "I'm controlling my breathing and holding it so you won't get disturbed" he replied. You didn't get satisfied with his answer but chose to ignore thinking he's just shy.
"But thereâs one thing Iâm not happy with, Yoongi," you whispered, tracking your fingers down his cold stomach. "You didn't... come inside me. Why did you pull away at the last second?" Your question made his entire body lock up.
"I wanted to protect you,darling, You are so young, and you have a big career ahead of you. An accidental pregnancy would completely ruin your journalism plans. I care about your future too much to be reckless on our very first night."
Your heart melted at how sweet and considerate he sounded, "You're so sweet," you cooed, blushing hard as you snuggled back into his freezing chest, wrapping your arms around him tightly. "I guess I can forgive you for being a gentleman." Yoongi didn't say another word. He just closed his eyes, holding you with a desperate, crushing grip as you slowly drifted off to sleep.
Next morning you woke up. The intense heat from last night was entirely gone. Your body felt absolutely freezing. You rolled over to hug him, but your hands hit empty air. Yoongi wasn't there. You sat up quickly, looking around the room, and your breath hitched.
The cozy cabin looked completely different. The sofa you were lying on was faded and torn. The dark wooden desk was covered in a thick layer of grey dust and cobwebs. Maybe the room was just old and I didn't notice it clearly in the dark last night, you thought to yourself, trying to calm your racing heart. But a knot of panic was already tightening in your stomach. With trembling hands, you quickly grabbed your clothes from the floor, shaking off the dust before pulling them on. You snatched your press bag, threw your coat over your shoulders, and stood up.
Suddenly, a loud noise hit your ears. The quietness of the asylum was completely gone. From outside the door, you could hear the heavy, chaotic sounds of footsteps, nurses shouting, and the irritated, metallic banging of psychiatric patients screaming in their cells. The volume was deafening, making you feel instantly annoyed and deeply uncomfortable. Needing to find Yoongi, you stepped out into the hallway.
Doctors and ward boys in white uniforms were rushing past with clipboards and medicine trays. You looked left and right, desperately searching for Yoongi, but all you could see were unfamiliar staff members.
"Hey! You there!" a voice barked. You flinched and turned around. A senior staff member in a white medical coat was staring at you with a deep frown. He walked up to you, looking at your messy hair, your wrinkled clothes, and your panicked expression with total suspicion."Who are you?" the staff member asked sharply "And why are you roaming around so early in the morning?"
"I'm a journalist," you said quickly, trying to smooth down your messy hair and straighten your wrinkled trench coat. "I came for the interview with the recovered patient." The staff memberâs suspicious look softened into realization. "Oh, yes. The director mentioned we got a call from your news agency. But the appointment isn't until midday. Why are you here so early?"
Your mind raced. Your face turned completely red as you thought about the intense, passionate night you had just spent with yoongi. You absolutely couldn't tell them about the one night stand, it would be incredibly awkward and completely ruin your professional reputation.
"I... I just wanted to get a head start and look around," you lied smoothly, You looked past his shoulder, desperately scanning the busy hallway. "Anyway, I was looking for the manager. Where is Yoongi?"
The staff member froze. The busy medical chart he was holding slipped slightly in his hands. He blinked through his glasses, his expression turning from confusion to utter disbelief. "Who did you say you were looking for?" he asked.
"Min Yoongi," you repeated, a little annoyed by his reaction. "The manager of this place. I was talking to him just a little while ago. Where is he?" The staff member didn't answer right away. He stared at you with wide, wide eyes, a look of pure, chilling horror creeping across his face as if you had just spoken a curse word.
"Miss... what kind of sick joke is this?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "Min Yoongi was the manager here, yes. But he died in a horrible accident few years ago."
You let out a nervous, breathless laugh, shaking your head. "No, you have it completely wrong," you said, your voice rising over the noise of the hallway. "That's impossible. I was literally just with him. We sat on the sofa, we drank, weâ"
"Listen to me!" the staff member interrupted, grabbing you firmly by the shoulders to stop you from talking. "Yoongi is dead! His old office has been locked up and abandoned. Nobody has stepped foot in there for a decade!"
As he kept explaining the details, how the fire happened, how they found him, your mind suddenly started to spin out of control. It felt like the ground beneath your feet was completely splitting open. Every single detail from last night flashed through your head in a second. His unnaturally cold skin. The way the patients froze like statues when you walked by them. The way he denied to cum inside you.
You had slept with a ghost. You had given your heart and your body to a dead man. The realization hit your brain like a physical blow. You completely lost your senses. The hallway blurred, and a loud, high pitched ringing filled your ears. Before you could even think, a blood curdling scream tore out of your throat.
You grabbed your hair, pulling at it wildly, screaming Yoongiâs name over and over again as tears streamed down your face. You were completely, entirely hysterical.
"Sheâs losing it! Hold her down!" the staff member shouted, panicking as you started to thrash around the hallway. Two burly ward boys rushed forward, pinning your arms behind your back. You kept screaming, your eyes wide with absolute madness, your brain completely broken by the truth. The head doctor walked out of a nearby room, looking at your wild behaviour.
He sighed and shook his head."She has completely lost her mind," the head doctor said calmly, signing a piece of paper.
"Take her Lock her in the room with the other girls in Ward 17. She is a permanent patient now."
[Back to present]
Your eyes snapped open with a violent gasp. The suffocating smell of the asylum vanished instantly. Instead, the familiar, comforting scent of old books and vanilla filled your nose. You were sitting back at the dark wooden desk in the old library. It was pitch black inside, and it was entirely empty.
Your hands were trembling so badly that you could barely feel your fingers. You looked down at the desk. The book Ward 17 lay tightly shut right in front of you. The horrific truth hit you all at once. It wasn't a dream. You could still feel the phantom sensation of Yoongiâs icy fingers on your skin, and the terrifying words of the doctor were still ringing loudly in your ears. Your mind was completely fractured between the reality of the library and the madness of the asylum.
A heavy, breathless sob tore out of your throat. Tears flooded your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as you started crying hysterically in the dark, silent room. The loneliness of the empty library felt just like the suffocating walls of the mental hospital. Panic took over your entire body. Desperate to escape the darkness, you grabbed your phone and switched on the flashlight. The bright beam of light sliced through the shadows, reflecting off the glass windows and the endless rows of bookshelves.
You scrambled out of the wooden chair, knocking it over in the process. Leaving the cursed book behind on the desk, you bolted toward the main exit. Your feet pounded loudly against the floorboards as you ran past the front counter, shoved the heavy front doors open, and burst out into the cool, dark night air of the city, sobbing uncontrollably.
The bright morning sun streamed through the windows of your new apartment, but the room felt completely cold and empty. You lay tangled in your blankets. You couldn't believe it. You didn't want to believe it.
But your body still remembered everything. Tears slipped down your cheeks as the weight of the libraryâs secrets pressed in on you. You reached out, gripping the empty space beside you in the bed, You found yourself whispering his name into the silence, a desperate plea for the world to make sense again."Yoongi... please."
You lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, feeling as though you were caught between two worlds, one where he was a ghost bound to ink and paper, and another where he was the only person who had ever truly seen you.
You cannot control yourself anymore you feet carried you back to the library. The brass bell chimed as you stepped inside. It looked exactly as it had yesterday. Only this time, the librarian was already looking at you. A knowing smile curved upon her lips.
"I had a feeling you'd return."
You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a casual tone. "I... forgot to take one of my semester books yesterday."
"A pity," she murmured. "Memory can be rather selective." Ignoring the odd remark, you turned away and wandered between the shelves, pretending to search for the missing textbook. Every few moments, your eyes drifted back towards the counter. The librarian hadn't moved she was watching you patiently. As though she knew exactly why you had really come.
You finally approached the desk. "I couldn't find it."
"Of course you couldn't." Without another word, the librarian reached beneath the counter and slid a book across the polished wood.
You frowned "That's not my university book."
"No," she replied softly. "It isn't." Your gaze fell upon the dark cover. Unlike Ward 17, this one was bound in deep crimson leather.Across the front, embossed in silver, was a single word.
Synopsis: There's a saying: anyone who enters a mental hospital eventually becomes a patient themselves. You're assigned to interview a patient who was said to have made a recovery. Instead, you meet Yoongi,the hospital's charming manager. As a storm traps you inside, one conversation turns into a one night stand that you'll never forget. But the morning cost your sanity.
Genre: Psychological Horror,Psychological Thriller, Dark Gothic Romance, Tragic Metafiction, Necromance
The moving boxes still lay unopened in your room. Your father's transfer had brought your family to a city that felt unfamiliar in every possible way. University began in two days, and your mother insisted you collect your semester books before the shops became crowded. So, just as evening settled over the city, you left the house with a bag slung over your shoulder.
The library stood at the end of a quiet lane, hidden behind ancient oaks whose branches nearly swallowed the building whole. It wasn't grand. It simply existed, as though it had always belonged there. The bell above the door chimed softly as you stepped inside.
The place was almost empty only the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock disturbed the silence.
"Good evening." The voice was gentle. You turned to find an elderly woman standing behind the front desk. Silver hair was neatly pinned beneath a dark green shawl, and a pleasant smile rested upon her lips. "I don't believe we've met before."
"No," you replied politely. "I moved here this morning."
"I thought as much." Her smile deepened. "Our little town rarely welcomes strangers."
You offered a small smile before unfolding the list of textbooks from your pocket. "I'm only here for these."
"Second aisle. History and Political Studies."
"Thank you." Your footsteps echoed faintly against the wooden floor as you wandered between towering shelves, searching for each title one by one. Every now and then you could feel the librarian watching not in an unsettling manner, but almost expectantly. Once you'd gathered nearly everything, you returned to the counter. The librarian glanced at the stack before looking at you again.
"If you enjoy reading," she said, "may I ask a small favour?"
You nodded. She disappeared between two shelves and returned carrying a hardbound novel unlike any you'd seen before. Across the front, embossed in elegant lettering, were only two words. Ward 17. No author's name, no publisher.
"It arrived this morning," the librarian said as she placed it atop your textbooks. "I haven't had the opportunity to read it myself. Would you be so kind as to tell me what you think once you've finished?"
You looked at the unfamiliar title before shrugging lightly. "I suppose one more book won't hurt." The librarian smiled. "I was rather hoping you'd say that." Something about the way she spoke lingered in your thoughts. Still, you dismissed it. After paying for your books, you glanced at the clock. There was still time before dinner so you settled at one of the reading desks beneath the tall windows, intending to read only the opening page before heading home.
As you lifted the cover, a single sentence appeared on the otherwise blank first page.
"To read is to witness. To turn the page is to surrender. Beyond these words, there is no returning until the story permits it." A strange warmth spread through your fingertips, the air around you grew unnaturally still. Then, almost like a whisper carried by the wind, unfamiliar words echoed through the silent libraryâ
"Verbum aperit mundum. Lector fit viator."
The pages began turning by themselves, the golden edges glowed softly, illuminating your face. Your vision blurred the letters refused to stay still, shifting across the page as though they were alive. You reached for the edge of the desk but the room tilted and darkness swallowed everything.
Ward 17
The iron gates stood before you, weathered by time and rust, their black bars stretching high enough to swallow the evening sky. Beyond them lay the psychiatric hospital old, silent, and burdened with the sort of history people only ever whispered about.
You tightened your grip on your satchel, the leather strap digging into your shoulder. Tucked neatly inside was your notebook, a fountain pen, and the assignment your editor had insisted was "the story of the year."
Interview a patient who had made a remarkable recovery, simple enough, or so you had thought. You had interviewed politicians, criminals, and grieving families before. Yet, for reasons you couldn't quite explain, standing before this place unsettled you more than any of them ever had.
Perhaps it was merely the silence or perhaps it was the old saying you had laughed off that very morning. No one walks into a psychiatric hospital and comes back the same, with a quiet breath, you stepped through the gates.
The security guard slid a register across the desk. "Name. Purpose of visit. Time of entry." You scribbled down the details while he silently watched, his eyes lingering a little longer than necessary. Just as you handed the register back, someone stepped beside you.
"Miss?" A man, dressed neatly in a black suit, stood with one hand tucked into his pocket. Sharp features, soft eyes, and a calm smile that somehow made the gloomy entrance feel warmer. For a second, you simply stared.
"Can I help you?" he asked politely. You cleared your throat. "I'm Y/N. I'm a journalist. I have an appointment to interview one of your recovered patients."
He offered a small smile. "I'm Min Yoongi." He extended his hand. "The manager here." You shook it, unable to ignore how strangely cold his hand felt.
"It's nice to meet you."
"The pleasure's mine."
Out of the corner of your eye, you glanced at the security guard. He was staring at you, not at both of you but at you. His expression was unreadable, almost disturbed. Before you could ask if something was wrong, Yoongi spoke.
"Come along."
Still feeling the guard's unsettling gaze on your back, you followed Yoongi deeper into the hospital, he guided you toward a narrow almost dark corridor. As you walked, you noticed the cells on either side. Inside them, the patients were acting completely strange. There were no screams or wild movements. Instead, the moment you passed by, every single patient froze like a stone statue. They pressed their faces against the heavy iron bars, their wide, unblinking eyes tracking your every step in absolute silence.
The atmosphere felt completely abnormal and suffocating. You slowed your pace, a knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. "Mr. Min," you whispered, glancing nervously at a woman who was staring at you without even blinking. "Why are they looking at me like that?"
Yoongi did not look back. He kept walking, his shoes clicking sharply against the stone floor. "Do not mind them," he replied smoothly, his deep voice echoing in the hallway. "They always react this way when they see someone new. New faces disturb their fragile worlds."
His explanation didn't completely ease your mind, but you had no choice but to follow him. At the very end of the corridor, he unlocked a heavy door and led you into his private manager's cabin.
The room was dimly lit by a few melting candles and a small fireplace that crackled softly. It felt cozy compared to the cold hallway, smelling faintly of old books, tobacco, and expensive cologne. Just as he closed the door behind you, a violent crack of thunder shook the entire building. Outside the evening sky turned black, and a heavy, furious rain began to lash against the glass, trapping you inside with him.
He walked over to a dark wooden cabinet and poured a rich, amber liquid into two crystal glasses. He turned around and held one out to you. "I don't drink," you said with an awkward smile. "It's safe," he replied softly, the corner of his lips lifting into a reassuring smile. "I wouldn't poison my guest." You let out a quiet laugh. "I wasn't thinking that."
"No?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Maybe I was." He chuckled, and somehow the tension dissolved. Taking the glass from his hand, you brought it to your lips. It tasted surprisingly comforting.
"So..." Yoongi settled onto the sofa beside you, close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed. "Journalist, huh?"
"Mhm."
"And what made you choose that?" You shrugged. "I like stories. I like knowing what people hide." His eyes lingered on you for a moment. "Sometimes," he murmured, "the truth is kinder when it stays hidden."
You tilted your head. "That's a strange thing to say."
"I work in a place full of strange things."
Outside, thunder cracked across the sky for a brief second, the lights flickered. When they came back, several patients standing in the hallway were staring silently through the glass door of the office , at you , not blinking.
You instinctively stiffened. "They've been doing that since I arrived," you whispered. Yoongi glanced toward the door before calmly getting up and drawing the blinds shut.
"They're just curious," he said with a small smile. "New faces always catch their attention."
You nodded, trying to convince yourself that was all it was. Minutes turned into hours. The interview recorder remained forgotten on the coffee table. Instead, the two of you talked about everything except work, favorite books, music, childhood memories, dreams, and the places you wanted to visit. Every time you remembered why you had come, Yoongi would effortlessly pull you into another conversation, and you found yourself laughing again.
Even though it was freezing and pouring rain outside, you suddenly felt incredibly hot. The air in the room felt warm and dizzying. Because you were sweating, you set your glass down, unbuttoned your coat, and took it off, throwing it to the side of the couch. Yoongi watched you the whole time. His eyes got dark as he looked at your body, and then he leaned in super close to you.
"You know, Y/N," he whispered, his deep voice right next to your ear. "This place is usually so ugly and depressing. But you are honestly the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Looking at you makes me forget everything else."
His direct compliment made your heart race. Your face turned completely red, and you blushed harder than you ever had in your life. You looked down, feeling super shy and breathless. Yoongi smiled gently. He reached out with his hand and used his fingers to gently lift your chin up, forcing you to look back into his eyes, but he pull away instantly.
You truly didn't understand what was happening to you. Your body felt so hot, like a fever was rushing through your veins. Needing some air, you stood up from the sofa and walked over to the large window, looking outside. It was completely dark, and the rain was pouring down badly, splashing heavily against the glass.
A second later, you felt a presence behind you. Yoongi walked up and stood right beside you, looking out at the storm. Without thinking, you reached out and put your hand over his cold one. He didn't pull away. Instead, he turned his head and gave you a slow, confident smirk.
"This place is so silent," you murmured, breaking the quietness of the room. "It feels like we are the only two people left in the world."
Yoongi looked out at the dark courtyard. "Silence is a luxury here. Usually, these walls are filled with screams and chaotic thoughts. But tonight, because of the storm, everything has stopped."
"Doesn't it get lonely?" you asked, turning your face to look at his sharp profile. "Living and working in a place surrounded by so much sadness?" Yoongi turned his body toward you, his eyes locking onto yours. "It used to be lonely. Extremely lonely. But right now, with your warm hand in mine, I don't feel that emptiness at all."
Your heart skipped a beat at his words. The contrast between his cold skin and your burning hot body was making you feel dizzy, and the way he was looking at you made it impossible to think about anything else. You shifted even closer to him, your shoulder brushing against his chest. The heat in your body was making you bold, and you looked up into his dark eyes with a playful smile.
"Are you married, Yoongi?" you asked softly, your voice a little breathless. He let out a low chuckle, his eyes dropping to your lips for a second before looking back up. "Why does that matter to you? We are right here, right now. The outside world doesn't exist."
"Please, just tell me," you purred, leaning into his touch, your voice soft and teasing. "No," he replied, his smirk widening a little. "I am not married."
You smiled, feeling a rush of excitement, but you weren't done questioning him yet. "Okay... then are you dating anyone? Is there someone special waiting for you outside this creepy asylum?"
He turned his hand so his fingers could intertwine with yours, his cold grip sending a pleasant shiver through your hot skin. "There is absolutely no one. My life has been completely empty and tied to this place for a very long time." He stepped a fraction closer, blocking out the rest of the room. "But what about you? A beautiful journalist like you must have people chasing her down in the city."
"No one that matters," you whispered, completely captivated by his deep voice. "No one who looks at me the way you do." His eyes darkened, and his smirk faded into a look of pure desire. "Good," he murmured, his face lowering until his breath fanned against your neck. "Because tonight, I don't want to share you with anyone else."
You couldn't take it anymore. The heat in your body made you bold, and you leaned your body right against his chest, looking up at him through your eyelashes. You let your fingers slowly trace the collar of his suit jacket, teasing him.
Yoongiâs breath hitched. He wrapped his cold hands tightly around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. His dark eyes were full of pure desire as he looked down at your lips. He was completely seduced by you, and he wasn't trying to hide it.
"You are driving me crazy, lovely lady," he murmured, his deep voice completely husky. Before you could even answer, he leaned down and captured your lips. The kiss was instant, deep, and passionate. Your hands immediately flew up to tangle in his soft dark hair, pulling him closer as the sound of the heavy rain outside faded into the background.
He did not let you go. He kept kissing you fiercely, his lips moving against yours with a desperate, wild passion that made your head spin completely. You were losing your breath, the intense heat in your body mixing with a sudden, nervous flutter in your stomach.
"Washroom," you gasped out against his mouth, trying to find a second to breathe. "I need to use the washroom."
Yoongi let out a low chuckle, his lips trailing down to bite gently on your neck. His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you even closer to his body. "Already wet," he whispered huskily against your skin. "You don't need to go anywhere."
"No, really, I wanna pee," you pleaded, your face flushing red as you tried to push against his chest a little, though your body was trembling from his touch.
Yoongi stopped for a split second and looked at you. A genuine, low giggle escaped his lips, a sound that was surprisingly warm and boyish compared to his usual deep, serious voice.
"No," he teased, with a commanding whisper as he locked his arms around you securely. "Hold it. I am not letting you leave this room tonight."
Before you could say another word, he captured your lips again, shutting down any more excuses as his hands began to slide under the hem of your shirt.
He moved his lips down to your neck, kissing your skin fiercely while his hands gripped your waist tightly, pulling you flat against him. His hands slowly slid up your body, cupping your breasts through your shirt, making your breath completely hitch. The contrast between your burning hot body and his touch was overwhelming.
You shivered, trying to think through the hazy pleasure."Yoongi," you gasped out, your hands gripping his shoulders. "Why are you so cold? Your skin feels like ice."
He paused for just a fraction of a second. His fingers tightened against your skin, and a strange, unreadable shadow passed over his dark eyes. But then, his confident smirk returned, and he leaned down to whisper right against your ear. "Don't worry about that, baby" he murmured, "Just focus on how warm you feel in my arms." Before you could say anything else or question him further, he shut you up by kissing you deeply again
He lifted you up easily and sat you down on his large desk, as his cold fingers moved down the front of your shirt, quickly unbuttoning it and throwing it across the floor. Next, he unbuttoned your pants and pulled them down, leaving you sitting there in just your lingerie. You leaned back slightly on your hands, looking up at him with a confident, teasing smile despite how fast your heart was beating.
"Do you like what you see?" you asked softly, his gaze swept slowly down your body, his eyes darkening with intense desire. He stepped closer, locking himself between your thighs and leaning over you."I love what I see. You are absolutely beautiful."
You reached out, wrapping your fingers firmly around the crisp collar of his white shirt. With a bold smile, you yanked him down closer to you, your eyes locking onto his. You didn't feel shy anymore, the heat in your body made you completely fearless. "If you like looking at me so much," you said, your voice dripping with teasing confidence as your fingers began undoing his buttons, "then it's only fair I get to look at you too. Stop hiding behind this fancy suit."
He let out a husky laugh that vibrated against your chest. He didn't stop you. Instead, he leaned over you, his hands resting on the desk on either side of your hips, trapping you completely. "Are you always this shameless, Miss Journalist?" he murmured, his dark eyes watching your fingers work. "I thought you came here for a professional interview."
"The interview is canceled for tonight," you whispered back, tearing open his shirt and pushing the fabric off his broad shoulders. Your hands pressed against his bare chest, and you shivered again at how icy cold he felt. "Besides, a good journalist knows when to pivot to a better story."
Yoongiâs smirk widened, his eyes darkening with pure desire as he watched you completely undress him. "Is that what I am to you? A story?"
"Right now, you're the only thing that matters," you said softly, leaning up to press your lips against his cold neck. He groaned softly at your touch, his grip tightening on your waist. "Good. Because I'm not letting you go back to your real world anytime soon."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down so you could press your lips against his icy skin. As you kissed a path from his jawline down to his throat, your hands slid down his bare chest to the waist of his trousers. "Take them off," you whispered shamelessly against his skin, your breath hot against his neck. "I want all of you, Yoongi."
His hands gripped your waist even tighter, lifting you slightly on the desk as he co operated, helping you rid him of the rest of his clothes until there was absolutely no distance left between you.
You knelt down infront of him , holding his thighs to stand on your knees, catching his cock with your tongue, with few strokes you put it inside your mouth slurping it, sucking it tightly, he grab your your hair tightly groaning. You kept doing your work looking at him , you thick saliva dropping down " I wanna taste your cum." He look at you for a brief moment saying "I won't cum this easily baby doll."
He lift you making you sit back on his table, rubbing your clit from your panties. "Good girl, Already so wet for me." He pull down your panties, his eyes glinting again when the thin white late is revealed to him.
"Fuckâhave you been waiting for this? Is that what it is?" He wantons and put his index and middle inside your cunt, his fingers moved again, slow and reverent, his touch suddenly less about taking and more about giving.
Your head fell back, your breath coming in sharp, uneven pants, every flick of his wrist sending another spark of pleasure shooting through your limbs. "Yoongi," you gasped, barely able to form his name, your thighs trembling wasn't exactly something you could keep quiet for.
"Your moans in my ear that I'm gonna keep just for myself."
Your cunt clenched around him and head dropped to his shoulder in an attempt to muffle the sound. "Mhm. Fuck." Your body arched into him, His pace quickened, his touch growing rougher, more desperate, as if he needed this just as badly as you did, as if he needed to become a devotee of the way you fell apart in his hands.
"Say it." He curled them just right,that bounced off your walls. "Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me." He said as he peppered kisses on the cheeks.
"You know I do." Your voice was wrecked, barely more than a whisper. "Not enough." He growled, fingers curling again, slow and deep and your grip on him was the only thing keeping you from floating away.
"I... yoonâI" You broke off, a cry catching in your throat as he pressed and flicked. And then he found that spot, the one that drove knuckles deep into your quivering cunt, curling and flicking, shattering you, your eyes rolling back, your breath catching in a sharp broken cry as teeth dug unconsciously into his shoulders, hips shifting, chasing his touch, needing more and he felt the urgent need to bury his cock into you the next second.
"Donât stop. Iâm, Iâm gonna cum. So close. So fucking close." his eyes stayed fixed on your face. The heat of your slick coated his fingers, the way your body clenched down around him driving a ragged curse from his throat.
Your orgasm hit with brutal force, leaving you boneless, trembling, and Jungkook caught you, his arm wrapping securely around your waist, his lips pressing into the side of your neck.
"Beautiful girl." He mummered. "So fucking perfect when you come for me." He praised and pulled his two digits drenched with your essence out of your pulsating pussy to slide them into his mouth. Eyes closing when the taste of you settled on his tongue.
You wrap yourself legs around his waist pulling his cock to meet your clit. He cursed under his breath, "Needy little thing." he growled, half in awe, half in torment. "Still aching for me?"
You blinked at him, all wide eyed innocence, but your hips shifted again, grinding up into him in a way that had his jaw clenching, his breath turning ragged.
He parted your legs guiding you against him, his tip poking at your entrance, making you let out a shuddering breath. He leaned in, his lips brushing over your cheek, feather light, a stark contrast to the way his hands gripped your thighs.
"Let me feel you," he hiss, more plea than demand, "Let me have you all of you, angel." And when you nodded , he entered lil more. He groaned against your ear as he pushed himself all the way to the hilt.
Your hands slipped up, cupping his face, tilting him toward you until your lips brushed. "Move," you whispered, voice barely there.
He nodded, rolling his hips into yours, his mouth catching every broken sound that left you, his hands never stopping their worship of your body.
He desperately started fucking you not caring about east or west. Your fingers found his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer, closer, closer. "Oh yeah! Fuck, just there!" You panted, hips snapping against his, encouraging him further as he outright pounded into you.
"Youâre... fuckâso tight," he rasped. "This pussy was made for me , only me." He squeeze to your boob, rolling your nipple between his digits. Your walls fluttered around him, still so tight, still taking all of him like you had been made to, eyes fluttering close when he gave it a pinch.
"Eyes on me Y/N." he murmured, his voice rough, strained. Your lashes lifted, glassy and unfocused, your lips parting around a soft gasp as he rolled his hips again, hitting deeper this time. He smiled, dipping his head, lips brushing over your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. "Thatâs it, baby. Let me see you."
You swallowed hard, fingers pulling into his hair. "Too much!" His grip on your waist tightened, "Shhh. I've got you," he whispered, voice shaking. "You donât have to do anything. Just take me."
With realising you came loosing your senses, he kiss your forehead and stooped thrusting.
"It's okay , i got you breath, breath for me, my baby" he scoop you taking you toward sofa , while giving soft kisses on your neck.
"Ypu didn't came " you said softly. "It's okay it doesn't matter right now , you're hurting " he replied. Making you lie flat on the sofa, cleaning your inner thigh with a tissue.
"I'm so sweaty," you murmured, your voice completely tired and raspy. Yoongi let out a chuckle. He tossed the used tissues into a small bin and immediately gathered your bare body into his arms lying beside you.
"Don't worry about it," he whispered. You snuggled straight into his chest, seeking his comfort. He pressed lazy kisses onto your temple, cuddling you tightly against him. The contrast between your burning hot, sweaty skin and his icy cold body felt incredibly strange, but you were too tired to care. You just closed your eyes, listening to the heavy rain outside.
"Yoongi?" you whispered, your fingers tracing a slow line down his arm."Hmm?" he murmured, he didn't open his eyes, but his arm tightened securely around your waist, pulling you a little closer.
"Your heart," you said softly, tilting your head up to look at his sharp chin. "It's beating so slowly. I can barely hear it."
Yoongiâs eyes opened slightly, he gave you a very soft, melancholic smile and leaned down to press his lips against your forehead, lingering there for a long time. "I'm controlling my breathing and holding it so you won't get disturbed" he replied. You didn't get satisfied with his answer but chose to ignore thinking he's just shy.
"But thereâs one thing Iâm not happy with, Yoongi," you whispered, tracking your fingers down his cold stomach. "You didn't... come inside me. Why did you pull away at the last second?" Your question made his entire body lock up.
"I wanted to protect you,darling, You are so young, and you have a big career ahead of you. An accidental pregnancy would completely ruin your journalism plans. I care about your future too much to be reckless on our very first night."
Your heart melted at how sweet and considerate he sounded, "You're so sweet," you cooed, blushing hard as you snuggled back into his freezing chest, wrapping your arms around him tightly. "I guess I can forgive you for being a gentleman." Yoongi didn't say another word. He just closed his eyes, holding you with a desperate, crushing grip as you slowly drifted off to sleep.
Next morning you woke up. The intense heat from last night was entirely gone. Your body felt absolutely freezing. You rolled over to hug him, but your hands hit empty air. Yoongi wasn't there. You sat up quickly, looking around the room, and your breath hitched.
The cozy cabin looked completely different. The sofa you were lying on was faded and torn. The dark wooden desk was covered in a thick layer of grey dust and cobwebs. Maybe the room was just old and I didn't notice it clearly in the dark last night, you thought to yourself, trying to calm your racing heart. But a knot of panic was already tightening in your stomach. With trembling hands, you quickly grabbed your clothes from the floor, shaking off the dust before pulling them on. You snatched your press bag, threw your coat over your shoulders, and stood up.
Suddenly, a loud noise hit your ears. The quietness of the asylum was completely gone. From outside the door, you could hear the heavy, chaotic sounds of footsteps, nurses shouting, and the irritated, metallic banging of psychiatric patients screaming in their cells. The volume was deafening, making you feel instantly annoyed and deeply uncomfortable. Needing to find Yoongi, you stepped out into the hallway.
Doctors and ward boys in white uniforms were rushing past with clipboards and medicine trays. You looked left and right, desperately searching for Yoongi, but all you could see were unfamiliar staff members.
"Hey! You there!" a voice barked. You flinched and turned around. A senior staff member in a white medical coat was staring at you with a deep frown. He walked up to you, looking at your messy hair, your wrinkled clothes, and your panicked expression with total suspicion."Who are you?" the staff member asked sharply "And why are you roaming around so early in the morning?"
"I'm a journalist," you said quickly, trying to smooth down your messy hair and straighten your wrinkled trench coat. "I came for the interview with the recovered patient." The staff memberâs suspicious look softened into realization. "Oh, yes. The director mentioned we got a call from your news agency. But the appointment isn't until midday. Why are you here so early?"
Your mind raced. Your face turned completely red as you thought about the intense, passionate night you had just spent with yoongi. You absolutely couldn't tell them about the one night stand, it would be incredibly awkward and completely ruin your professional reputation.
"I... I just wanted to get a head start and look around," you lied smoothly, You looked past his shoulder, desperately scanning the busy hallway. "Anyway, I was looking for the manager. Where is Yoongi?"
The staff member froze. The busy medical chart he was holding slipped slightly in his hands. He blinked through his glasses, his expression turning from confusion to utter disbelief. "Who did you say you were looking for?" he asked.
"Min Yoongi," you repeated, a little annoyed by his reaction. "The manager of this place. I was talking to him just a little while ago. Where is he?" The staff member didn't answer right away. He stared at you with wide, wide eyes, a look of pure, chilling horror creeping across his face as if you had just spoken a curse word.
"Miss... what kind of sick joke is this?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "Min Yoongi was the manager here, yes. But he died in a horrible accident few years ago."
You let out a nervous, breathless laugh, shaking your head. "No, you have it completely wrong," you said, your voice rising over the noise of the hallway. "That's impossible. I was literally just with him. We sat on the sofa, we drank, weâ"
"Listen to me!" the staff member interrupted, grabbing you firmly by the shoulders to stop you from talking. "Yoongi is dead! His old office has been locked up and abandoned. Nobody has stepped foot in there for a decade!"
As he kept explaining the details, how the fire happened, how they found him, your mind suddenly started to spin out of control. It felt like the ground beneath your feet was completely splitting open. Every single detail from last night flashed through your head in a second. His unnaturally cold skin. The way the patients froze like statues when you walked by them. The way he denied to cum inside you.
You had slept with a ghost. You had given your heart and your body to a dead man. The realization hit your brain like a physical blow. You completely lost your senses. The hallway blurred, and a loud, high pitched ringing filled your ears. Before you could even think, a blood curdling scream tore out of your throat.
You grabbed your hair, pulling at it wildly, screaming Yoongiâs name over and over again as tears streamed down your face. You were completely, entirely hysterical.
"Sheâs losing it! Hold her down!" the staff member shouted, panicking as you started to thrash around the hallway. Two burly ward boys rushed forward, pinning your arms behind your back. You kept screaming, your eyes wide with absolute madness, your brain completely broken by the truth. The head doctor walked out of a nearby room, looking at your wild behaviour.
He sighed and shook his head."She has completely lost her mind," the head doctor said calmly, signing a piece of paper.
"Take her Lock her in the room with the other girls in Ward 17. She is a permanent patient now."
[Back to present]
Your eyes snapped open with a violent gasp. The suffocating smell of the asylum vanished instantly. Instead, the familiar, comforting scent of old books and vanilla filled your nose. You were sitting back at the dark wooden desk in the old library. It was pitch black inside, and it was entirely empty.
Your hands were trembling so badly that you could barely feel your fingers. You looked down at the desk. The book Ward 17 lay tightly shut right in front of you. The horrific truth hit you all at once. It wasn't a dream. You could still feel the phantom sensation of Yoongiâs icy fingers on your skin, and the terrifying words of the doctor were still ringing loudly in your ears. Your mind was completely fractured between the reality of the library and the madness of the asylum.
A heavy, breathless sob tore out of your throat. Tears flooded your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as you started crying hysterically in the dark, silent room. The loneliness of the empty library felt just like the suffocating walls of the mental hospital. Panic took over your entire body. Desperate to escape the darkness, you grabbed your phone and switched on the flashlight. The bright beam of light sliced through the shadows, reflecting off the glass windows and the endless rows of bookshelves.
You scrambled out of the wooden chair, knocking it over in the process. Leaving the cursed book behind on the desk, you bolted toward the main exit. Your feet pounded loudly against the floorboards as you ran past the front counter, shoved the heavy front doors open, and burst out into the cool, dark night air of the city, sobbing uncontrollably.
The bright morning sun streamed through the windows of your new apartment, but the room felt completely cold and empty. You lay tangled in your blankets. You couldn't believe it. You didn't want to believe it.
But your body still remembered everything. Tears slipped down your cheeks as the weight of the libraryâs secrets pressed in on you. You reached out, gripping the empty space beside you in the bed, You found yourself whispering his name into the silence, a desperate plea for the world to make sense again."Yoongi... please."
You lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, feeling as though you were caught between two worlds, one where he was a ghost bound to ink and paper, and another where he was the only person who had ever truly seen you.
You cannot control yourself anymore you feet carried you back to the library. The brass bell chimed as you stepped inside. It looked exactly as it had yesterday. Only this time, the librarian was already looking at you. A knowing smile curved upon her lips.
"I had a feeling you'd return."
You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a casual tone. "I... forgot to take one of my semester books yesterday."
"A pity," she murmured. "Memory can be rather selective." Ignoring the odd remark, you turned away and wandered between the shelves, pretending to search for the missing textbook. Every few moments, your eyes drifted back towards the counter. The librarian hadn't moved she was watching you patiently. As though she knew exactly why you had really come.
You finally approached the desk. "I couldn't find it."
"Of course you couldn't." Without another word, the librarian reached beneath the counter and slid a book across the polished wood.
You frowned "That's not my university book."
"No," she replied softly. "It isn't." Your gaze fell upon the dark cover. Unlike Ward 17, this one was bound in deep crimson leather.Across the front, embossed in silver, was a single word.
Synopsis:Your husband forgets your second anniversary. But when Jungkook realizes his mistake, heâs willing to do anything to prove that his love has never wavered.
30 days without - @dailynnt
Synopsis: In sweltering Seoul, a you who has just moved in new neighborhood catches the eye of Jungkook, Everything changes with a ridiculous agreement: 30 days without sex, with you as his "supervisor."
Like sugar on my tongue - @shawtuzi
synopsis: out of impulse, jungkook gets his tongue pierced, but totally forgot the part that for the next two weeks heâs not allowed to kiss his adorable, oh so desirable gf.
Private practice - @seokbite
synopsis: When your boyfriend Soobin struggles to satisfy you in the bedroom, you both agree to see the cityâs most sought-after sex therapist: Jeon Jungkook.
Apologise first @cupidsbling
You and your boyfriend have a little argument, so he suggests something filthy and demented to decide who has to apologise first.
Eleanor - @aurorraaaa
Synopsis: Becoming Jungkook's third wife was never a plan , but the worst he carry the weight of a dead wife , people believe he killed her , but was it true?
Service fee @espressojoons
Synopsis: After a long, hellish week at work, the only thing youâre looking forward to doing is smoking a joint and winding down. But when you come up short on cash, your new dealer makes it clear he is as strict as he is dangerously hot. He only takes cash, and no, you canât pay him back next time. Unless⊠you can find another way.
Worst behaviour @luvismenu
everyone knows you as the good girl/nerd. except youâre so fucking tired of that image. so when you decide to be bold and finally go after hoseok â things donât really go as planned. instead, you end up tangled in a fake relationship with his best friend/campus favorite fuckboy: jeon jungkook.
Synopsis:Your husband forgets your second anniversary. But when Jungkook realizes his mistake, heâs willing to do anything to prove that his love has never wavered.
30 days without - @dailynnt
Synopsis: In sweltering Seoul, a you who has just moved in new neighborhood catches the eye of Jungkook, Everything changes with a ridiculous agreement: 30 days without sex, with you as his "supervisor."
Like sugar on my tongue - @shawtuzi
synopsis: out of impulse, jungkook gets his tongue pierced, but totally forgot the part that for the next two weeks heâs not allowed to kiss his adorable, oh so desirable gf.
Private practice - @seokbite
synopsis: When your boyfriend Soobin struggles to satisfy you in the bedroom, you both agree to see the cityâs most sought-after sex therapist: Jeon Jungkook.
Apologise first @cupidsbling
You and your boyfriend have a little argument, so he suggests something filthy and demented to decide who has to apologise first.
Eleanor - @aurorraaaa
Synopsis: Becoming Jungkook's third wife was never a plan , but the worst he carry the weight of a dead wife , people believe he killed her , but was it true?
Service fee @espressojoons
Synopsis: After a long, hellish week at work, the only thing youâre looking forward to doing is smoking a joint and winding down. But when you come up short on cash, your new dealer makes it clear he is as strict as he is dangerously hot. He only takes cash, and no, you canât pay him back next time. Unless⊠you can find another way.
Worst behaviour @luvismenu
everyone knows you as the good girl/nerd. except youâre so fucking tired of that image. so when you decide to be bold and finally go after hoseok â things donât really go as planned. instead, you end up tangled in a fake relationship with his best friend/campus favorite fuckboy: jeon jungkook.
Summary:- You risk everything to steal Eleanor's hidden diary, only to unlock a history but before you can run, the mask slips, and Margaret points a loaded gun directly at you. The mansion turns into a bloody battleground as Jungkook storms in with the police, Cecilia takes the bullet, drawing her final breath in Jungkook's arms. Behind prison bars, Margaret drops her confession.But the true terror hits when a dark, 20-year-old secret about Mrs. Whitmore gave you panic attack yet. As your car tears away into the midnight rain, you look back at the gates, knowing the ghosts of the estate will never truly let you go.
Genre:-Dark Romance , Mystery , Gothic Fiction, Arranged Marriage , Slow Burn , Drama, Smut , Strangers to lovers
Warning:- Threat, Fear of death, Major character death, grief,gun , crying, hurt, begging, haunt, mention of spirit , panick attacks
You dropped to your knees on the rug, clutching your hands tightly to your chest as you looked up at the ceiling. "Please, God," you whispered, your voice cracking with terror. " Just let me survive until the sirens get here." Rising to your feet, you slipped your bedroom door open and stepped out into the silent corridor. You peered over the grand lower floor. The house was unnaturally quiet, but a faint, rhythmic chopping sound echoed.
You peeked into the kitchen area Margaret was completely occupied, her back turned as she prepared breakfast, her painted fingers holding a large silver knife.This was your only chance. You sprinted silently across the master wing straight to Margaretâs bedroom. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you burst inside, darting directly to her wardrobe. Your hands shook violently as you slid the panel open, reached past the silk scarves, and snatched Eleanorâs personal diary.Clutching it desperately to your chest, you bolted back down the corridor, slipped into your own room, and slammed the deadbolt into place. Breathless and trembling, you collapsed onto the edge of your mattress and yanked the cover open, your eyes scanning the faded, elegant handwriting.
The early pages were filled with heartfelt, beautiful entries about Jungkook. She wrote about his deep, quiet warmth, how fiercely he protected her, and how much they loved each other. It made your chest ache with that familiar, stinging wave of jealousy, but you forced your eyes to keep reading.Next, she wrote about Margaret. Eleanor described how they had become incredibly close friends. She wrote about Margaretâs calm demeanor, her sweet smiles. There were even a few lines about Cecilia how loud, bitter, and difficult she was, but fundamentally harmless.
But as you flipped the pages toward the final week of Eleanor's life, the handwriting became erratic, shaky, and smudged with dried tears. The tone of the diary shifted into a living nightmare.
{October 14th. Margaret found out about the baby today. I thought she would be happy for us, but the look in her eyes made my blood run cold. She didn't shout. She just smiled, that horrifying, empty smile and touched my stomach. Later, I found my bedroom door locked from the outside. She is restricting my movements. She keeps telling me a broken womb cannot allow a whole one to thrive in this house. She thinks if I am gone, Jungkook will belong only to her forever. I tried to tell Kook, but he thinks Margaret is just being protective of my health. He doesn't see the venom behind her calm face. If anyone finds this diary, please know that if I don't survive the week, it was Margaret who shut the lights out.}
The book nearly slipped from your trembling fingers. You turned the page of the diary one last time. What you read blew your mind in sheer, unadulterated terror. Eleanor had written that Margaret wasn't acting alone she had a history of staging accidents in the house, and she had already prepared a quiet burial spot under the old oak tree in the garden.
Bam! Before the horror could even settle into your bones, your bedroom door was violently kicked open. Margaret lunged into the room like a feral animal With a terrifying shriek, she snatched the diary right out of your hands, and she delivered a brutal, stinging slap across your face that knocked you hard onto the floorboards.
"You meddling little bitch!" Margaret hissed, She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a heavy black gun. She click and aimed it directly between your eyes, her hand remarkably steady. "You think you're clever? I know all about it! I knew you saw the diary last day and just like Eleanor, you won't survive the week!"
Meanwhile, the iron gates of the Jeon mansion were violently rammed open. Jungkook had just landed back . Your final, desperate words over the telephoneââCome back when I'll die !ââhad completely broken him. He had abandoned his vital European negotiations, boarded the fastest private transit across the Channel, and rushed home. As his black motorcar screeched to a halt on the gravel driveway, he saw a police cars already parked outside, blue lights flashing against the grey brick. Armed officers were already running inside.
"Y/N!" Jungkook roared, throwing his car door open and sprinting past the guards into his own mansion, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
Upstairs in the bedroom, you were on your knees, tears streaming down your face as you looked up at the barrel of the gun. "Margaret, please! Don't do this, I beg of you!" you sobbed, raising your hands in terror.Margaretâs face was stone. "Goodbye, darling."
BANG! The deafening gunshot shattered the air. But you didn't feel the bullet. In a split second of pure, selfless bravery, Cecilia burst through the doorway, sprinting across she lunged directly in front of you, using her own body to block the path of the bullet. The heavy lead projectile tore directly into Ceciliaâs chest, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as her blood instantly stained her silk nightgown.
The police force flooded the room, their weapons drawn. Before Margaret could aim the gun a second time, three officers tackled her to the ground, pinning her arms behind her back and yanking the revolver from her. Ceciliaâs weak, bloodied body began to tilt, about to collapse heavily onto the hardwood floor. But before she could hit the ground, Jungkook lunged forward. His briefcase dropped, and he caught her securely in his large arms, pulling her tightly against his chest as he dropped to his knees.
"Cece! Cece, look at me!" Jungkook choked out, his chest heaving as his hands instantly became covered in her blood.Ceciliaâs eyelids fluttered open, her gaze glassy but locking onto his face with a sudden, heartbreaking warmth. A soft, breathless smile touched her lips.
"Handsome..." she whispered, "You're back. I love you, honey. I love you a lot."
"No, no, no," Jungkook sobbed, hot tears finally bursting from his dark eyes, spilling down his cheeks as he held her closer. He had never shown this much vulnerability to anyone since Eleanor, but seeing Cecilia bleeding out for his family completely broke him. "Don't talk like that. Nothing will happen to you, I promise you, Cece. Just stay with me!"
Cecilia shook her head slightly against his shoulder, her breathing turning shallow and ragged. She reached up with a trembling hand to his cheek one last time before looking over at you. "Take care of Y/N... and your child," she whispered, still completely believing the pregnancy lie. She looked back at Jungkook, her voice fading into a final, possessive purr.
"In the next life....I will again become your wife and only me, Koo. Not anyone else."Her hand slipped from his cheek, falling limply onto the carpet. "Cecilia! No!" Jungkook roared in pure agony.Refusing to let her go, he gathered her heavy, pliant body into his arms and lifted her up. He sprinted out of the bedroom, his long coat billowing behind him as he rushed down the grand corridor toward the stairs, entirely bypassing the police and the horrified staff.
You ran right behind him, your heart lodged in your throat. "Cece, wake up, darling!" Jungkook pleaded frantically as he rushed down the grand, sweeping staircase, his voice cracking with a desperate, heavy sorrow. "See, I brought everything you asked for! I have the emerald bracelet! I have the lists! Just don't leave me, please, Cece!"
But halfway down the grand stairs, the final, faint breath escaped Cecilia's lips. Her head lulled heavily against his shoulder, her body completely losing its remaining tension. The sharp, vibrant, and fiercely protective woman who had ruled this house for years was gone.Jungkook froze on the mid-stair landing, the crushing silence of the mansion settling over him his throat as he rocked her back and forth, clutching her body to his chest.
You rushed down the steps and threw yourself over him, wrapping your arms securely around his broad, shaking shoulders, holding him tightly as his tears soaked into your clothes. The mansion felt hollow, haunted by the sudden silence of the woman who had just died to keep you alive.
In the police station Margaret sat behind the iron bars of a dim holding cell. Jungkook stood outside the cell, his tall frame rigid and tense, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He refused to look her in the eyes, staring blankly at the stone floor as if looking at her would cause him to lose his mind entirely. You stood beside him, clutching your arms around your frame, staring at Margaret with an unexplainable expression ,a suffocating mix of horror, betrayal, and deep, aching sorrow.
"Why?" you finally broke the silence. "Why, Margaret? How could you do all of this?"
Margaret looked up, her expression melting into that same serene, terrifyingly gentle smile she had always given you. She gripped the cold iron bars, "I never faked anything, darling," Margaret murmured, "The love, the maternal care I gave you... it was completely real. I truly loved you, darling. But I love my husband more. I simply couldn't bear to see him with anyone else."
Jungkookâs hand balled into a tight fist at his side, but he still didn't look at her."Eleanor was so good to me," Margaret continued, "She was my dearest friend. Truly, my best friend. But things between her and Jungkook weren't really good back then. Yet, the moment she became pregnant, I knew everything would change. I thought Jungkook would only look after her forever, that I would be cast aside. So....I finished her. I took her out of the equation so he would belong only to me."
She tilted her head, her gaze shifting down to your stomach, her eyes widening. "And then the exact same thing happened with you. You said you were pregnant. The panic came back. I wanted to finish you too, just like I did to Eleanor, to protect my place with him."
Jungkook froze. The words finally pierced through his grief, a sudden, sharp realization slamming into his chest. His dark eyes snapped open as his head whipped around to look at you, his face completely pale.
"What?" Jungkook murmured, his voice dropping as he stared directly at you. "What did she just say? You....you're pregnant?"
Panic seized your throat, "I'll explain everything, Jungkook, I swear," you stammered breathlessly, your heart hammering. "Just not here."
"Are you pregnant, Y/N?" Jungkook demanded, his hands catching your shoulders, his grip tight and desperate as his protective worry flared back to life. He looked down at your flat stomach, his mind spinning with the terrifying parallel to Eleanor's murder. "Is it true?"
You couldn't breathe under his intense, heavy gaze you pulled back slightly, your eyes wide with a desperate plea."Can we go out from here, please?" you whispered, tears welling in your eyes as you tugged at his sleeve. "Please, Jungkook. Let's just leave this place."
The rain lashed violently against the windscreen of the motorcar as the doors slammed shut, sealing you and Jungkook inside a suffocating, freezing silence. The guards stood outside in the downpour, leaving the two of you entirely alone.Jungkook gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned a ghostly white, his chest heaving with a terrifying, raw fury. The air in the vehicle was thick with his explosive anger, a storm ready to break at any second.You couldn't carry the crushing weight of the lie for another moment.
You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands trembling violently in your lap. "I faked my pregnancy," you whispered.Jungkookâs head whipped around instantly, his dark eyes flashing with a cold rage that made your breath hitch.
"WHY?!" he shouted, "Why on earth would you play a sick, disgusting game like that?!"
Through frantic, choked sobs, you poured out everything. You explained the trap, how Eleanor had been murdered the exact week she fell pregnant, and how you had used Daphneâs forged report as live bait to force the killer into making a clumsy mistake. You told him how both wives wore the red nail polish, and how you had been desperate to smoke the monster out of the shadows.But your explanation only stoked the flames of his fury. Jungkook slammed his fist hard against the steering wheel, a broken, angry growl escaping his throat. You flinched.
"Why you did that?!" he roared. "Look at what your brilliant little game has cost us! Because of your reckless lies, I have just lost one more wife! Cecilia is dead because she threw herself in front of a bullet meant for a fake baby!" The mention of Ceciliaâs sacrifice pierced straight through your heart, a sharp wave of guilt crashing over you. Tears poured freely down your cheeks.
"I am guilty for Cecilia, Jungkook!" you wept openly, your voice trembling with your deep, profound love for him. "I will carry the weight of her death for the rest of my bloody life! But please...you have to look at what I was facing! Everyone in this county, every rumor in that house, said you were the one who murdered Eleanor! I was trapped in a house with a killer, and I was trying to find the truth to clear your name because I love you! If you were thinking your husband was a killer when it was actually Margaret all along...please, Jungkook, just keep yourself in my shoes!" The words hung heavily in the damp, freezing air of the car, the silence that followed stretching out like a tight wire as Jungkook stared at you, his rage suddenly colliding with the shocking realization of why you had risked your life in the first place.
The endless, suffocating night had finally passed. Jungkookgave divorce to Margaret, stripping her of the Jeon name forever Margaret confess each things she did. Earlier that morning, the bleak sky had wept a steady drizzle over Ceciliaâs funeral. Jungkook had stood like a statue as she was laid to rest, his jaw clenched, his dark eyes hollow with an unreadable grief.
Now, the heavy front doors of the mansion swung open. You walked into the cold, grand, flanked by your parents, who had rushed to the estate. Jungkook walk slightly ahead, his back completely rigid as he refused to look behind him. As you stepped onto the marble threshold, you paused and turned your head toward the garden . Mrs. Whitmore was standing there the old maid was dressed in her vintage uniform, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She was staring directly at you, her face completely pale, carrying that same knowing, ancient expression from the day she first told you about Jungkook and Eleanor's tragic past.
"Mrs. Whitmore..." you breathed you took a step towards her , but your motherâs hand snapped around your wrist, pulling you back with a firm, worried grip.
"Y/N, sweetie, where are you going?" your mother asked, her voice laced with deep concern as she looked at your pale face. "We need to get you inside."
"There," you whispered, pointing a trembling finger. "Look. It's Mrs. Whitmore. The old maid. I need to speak to her." Your mother turned her head, squinting through the grey, before turning back to you with a deeply unsettled expression.
"Sweetheart... what are you talking about? There is no one out there. The garden is completely empty." Panic seized your chest. You violently whipped your head back around to look at the tree.The lawn was entirely bare. There was no old woman, and no footsteps in the mud. Before you could scream or protest, your mother tightly pulled your freezing hand, guiding you inside.
In master bedroom Jungkook sat back against the headboard, He looked entirely hollowed out by the grief of losing Cecilia and the horrific betrayal of Margaret. You moved slowly across the mattress, sliding your thighs beside his hip, and gently reached out to take his hand. His skin was freezing. He didn't pull away, but he didn't squeeze back either. After a long, agonizing silence, his deep, raspy voice broke the quiet.
"Who told you about Eleanor, y/n ?"You leaned in closer, you raised your hands and gently cupped his cold face, your palms resting against his sharp jawline. "Mrs. Whitmore," you whispered softly, your eyes locking onto his with absolute honesty. "The old maid. Sheâs the one who found me in the house, Jungkook. She guided me through each step. She told me about how much you loved Eleanor, she told me about the master wing... she even told me where to look for the keys."
The moment the name left your lips, Jungkookâs entire body went completely rigid beneath your touch. He stared at you, his pupils dilating as the color completely drained from his cheeks. His breath hitched sharply, his hands coming up to grip your wrists, his fingers turning white with sheer panic.
"What did you just say?" Jungkook choked out, his voice a terrified, breathless whisper that made the hairs on your arms stand up. "Who did you say spoke to you?"
"Mrs. Whitmore..." you stammered, cold panic in your chest. "The old woman, the servant, Jungkook, what's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?" Jungkookâs hands shook violently against your wrists as he looked into your eyes, his chest heaving with a heavy, frantic rhythm.
"Mrs. Whitmore died twenty years ago," he whispered, a tear of pure horror spilling over his lashes. "She was the head housekeeper when I was a boy. She passed away long before I ever met Eleanor....long before I ever brought any of you into this house." The words slammed into your brain like a physical blow.The entire bedroom seemed to tilt wildly on its axis. Your vision blurred at the edges, and your lungs suddenly felt completely crushed, refusing to take in any air. Twenty years ago. The woman who had touched your shoulder, the woman who had whispered secrets to you, the woman you had just seen standing beneath the old treeâshe had been dead for two decades.
A sharp, suffocating gasp escaped your throat. Your hands tore away from his face, clutching frantically at your own chest as your breathing turned into rapid, shallow, erratic pants.
Jungkook immediately yanked you into his lap, wrapping his massive, powerful arms around your trembling frame and burying his face in your hair. He held you so tightly it felt as if he were physically trying to keep your soul from breaking apart.
"Breathe,Just breathe. Iâve got you," he commanded, his deep, raspy voice vibrating against your chest as he rocked you back and forth on the mattress. "Look at me. Focus on my voice. You are safe. I am right here. I am not letting anything touch you."
You clutched the heavy wool of his shirt, your fingernails digging into his chest as you sobbed."I don't want to live here!" you wailed, hot, desperate tears soaking straight into his collar as your chest heaved in gasps. "Please, Jungkook... please, can we leave this mansion? I can't breathe in this house anymore! Every corner is haunted, every shadow is a nightmare! Please, if you love me, just take me away from here!"
Jungkook closed his eyes, a heavy exhale escaping his lips as he tightened his grip around your waist. He looked past your shoulder toward the dark, empty corners of the master bedroom He leaned down, pressing a deep, lingering protective kiss against your temple, his hands smoothing down your back to anchor your shaking body.
"We are leaving," Jungkook whispered, "Tonight. I will have the guards pack a single car, and we are turning our backs on this place forever. I don't care about the estate, and I don't care about the family name. You are my only priority now. We are never coming back."
The midnight air was freezing as the final leather suitcases were loaded into the boot of the sleek black motorcar. The rain had completely stopped, leaving the grand Jeon mansion slick, wet, under the pale moonlight .
You stood by the open passenger door, your hand trembling slightly as you turned around to look back at the massive brick structure one last time. Nine months of your life were woven into those walls. The memories pooled in your chest all at onceâthe midnight seduction in your emerald satin robe, the terrifying layout of Eleanor's room, the explosive arguments with Cecilia, and the genuine, warm laughter you had shared with Margaret before the mask shattered. It was a beautiful.
As your eyes drifted upward, tracking the grand stone staircase visible through the massive glass windows of the foyer, your breath hitched.
Standing right at the top of the stairs was Mrs. Whitmore, dressed in her pristine housekeeper's uniform. But she wasn't alone anymore. Standing right beside her, bathed in a soft, ethereal silver glow, was a young, beautiful woman with dark, flowing hair and a gentle smile. It was Eleanor , the two women stood shoulder-to-shoulder, looking down at you with an overwhelming sense of peace. Slowly, gracefully, they lifted their hands and offered you a soft, lingering wave. They weren't there to haunt you. They were saying goodbye.
You didn't cry out in terror. The fear that had paralyzed you all evening suddenly melted into a quiet, profound understanding.Instead, you reached out and clutched Jungkookâs broad arm hard. Jungkook felt the sudden tension in your grip and looked down at you, his dark eyes fiercely protective as he wrapped his large hand over yours, grounding you completely. He didn't look back at the mansion. He only looked at you.
"Ready, sweetheart?" he murmured, his deep, raspy voice an absolute anchor in the dark. "Ready," you whispered softly.You stepped into the car, and Jungkook slid in right beside you, closing the heavy door and shutting out the chilling silence of the estate forever. As the motorcar roared to life and accelerated down the long, winding driveway, the grand iron gates groaned closed behind you. You leaned your head against Jungkook's shoulder, your fingers locked tightly with his he kiss your head, finally leaving the haunted mansion and its secrets buried deep in the past as you sped away into the quiet night.
Synopsis:Your husband forgets your second anniversary. But when Jungkook realizes his mistake, heâs willing to do anything to prove that his love has never wavered.
30 days without - @dailynnt
Synopsis: In sweltering Seoul, a you who has just moved in new neighborhood catches the eye of Jungkook, Everything changes with a ridiculous agreement: 30 days without sex, with you as his "supervisor."
Like sugar on my tongue - @shawtuzi
synopsis: out of impulse, jungkook gets his tongue pierced, but totally forgot the part that for the next two weeks heâs not allowed to kiss his adorable, oh so desirable gf.
Private practice - @seokbite
synopsis: When your boyfriend Soobin struggles to satisfy you in the bedroom, you both agree to see the cityâs most sought-after sex therapist: Jeon Jungkook.
Apologise first @cupidsbling
You and your boyfriend have a little argument, so he suggests something filthy and demented to decide who has to apologise first.
Eleanor - @aurorraaaa
Synopsis: Becoming Jungkook's third wife was never a plan , but the worst he carry the weight of a dead wife , people believe he killed her , but was it true?
Service fee @espressojoons
Synopsis: After a long, hellish week at work, the only thing youâre looking forward to doing is smoking a joint and winding down. But when you come up short on cash, your new dealer makes it clear he is as strict as he is dangerously hot. He only takes cash, and no, you canât pay him back next time. Unless⊠you can find another way.
Worst behaviour @luvismenu
everyone knows you as the good girl/nerd. except youâre so fucking tired of that image. so when you decide to be bold and finally go after hoseok â things donât really go as planned. instead, you end up tangled in a fake relationship with his best friend/campus favorite fuckboy: jeon jungkook.
IN WHICH, jeon jungkook knew he shouldnât keep coming over, and you knew better than to let him in. but rain has a way of softening bad decisions, and by the time his wifeâs name lights up your room, he's already too deep in the lie to pretend either of you are innocent.
pairings `married!jungkook x f!reader genre `affair au, angst, smut, taboo romance, toxicity, emotional infidelity warnings `MDNI, explicit content ahead, infidelity/adultery, cheating, jungkook is married, morally grey characters, toxic relationship dynamics, guilt, jealousy, swearing, making out, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, protected sex (WRAP IT UP), dirty talk wc 9.1k
a/n hi loves, bit of a longer fic today, debating if i should make this into a mini series... also quick reminder, I do not condone unfaithfulness in any capacity, nor do i romanticize it, this is purely fictional and for reader's entertainment. enjoy! ;)
â 119 â
First thing you learned about jeon jungkook was that he lied with his hands before he lied with his mouth. His mouth could get him out of almost anything.
By then, deception had became part of this routine. It told his wife he was working late, it told his friends he was exhausted, it even told himself he was only stopping by to see you just to say "hello".
But it seemed his hands failed to get the memo.
They trembled extravagantly when he was angry. They lingered when he should've let go. Every time he reached for your waist, there was that split second where his grip tightened first, like he'd forgotten himself.
You knew better than to think about that.
âYou shouldn't be here,â you say. It's a weak protest when you're already gripping the front of his coat and pulling him closer. Jungkook exhales through his nose. It almost sounds like a laugh, except neither of you found anything funny about this anymore.
â'Was just stopping byâŠâ
You roll your eyes. "You said that last time, jungkook.â
âYeah.â His gaze drops briefly to your mouth before finding your eyes again. âI know.â
Which was somehow worse. Before you can think of another argument, his lips were on yours. No apology, no overcompensating explanation, no asking if heâs allowed to come back into your life and put his hands on you like the last few months didnât happen.
Just his mouth against yours, soft and gentle at first, then unbearable, those long fingers firm beneath your chin like he could tilt the answer out of you.
You mean to bite him.
You almost do.
Then his knee nudges between your thighs, and the sound that leaves you is humiliatingly soft.
You hear his breath catch.
No, you feel it more than hear it, the hitch in his chest when your hands slips beneath his coat and find his waist through the thin fabric of his shirt. Thin enough that you could feel the rigid tension of him underneath when your fingers moved lightly over his abdomen.
Your nails dig in, and he groans as if you may have genuinely hurt him, and you know what, maybe you wanted to.
âFuck,â Jungkook mutters, mouth dragging from your lips to the corner of your jaw and back again, greedy and unsteady.
âI drove past your place twice before I came up."
His voice goes quieter.
â'Missed you.â
Damn him.
You hate how quickly it lands.
And you hate that some part of you has been waiting to hear it. It annoys you, how little time jungkook needed to undo you.
You had a whole speech prepared. Something about boundaries. About the way he keeps showing up soaked through like that was his excuse. About your floor and how youâre still the one wiping it up afterwards, asshole.
It made sense when you were alone with it, turning it over in your head.
Now heâs standing here, dripping onto your brand new ergonomic mat like nothing you said had ever really stuck to begin with, and the speech starts to feel a lot less important than the fact that youâre still letting him in.
You get as far as his last name.
âJeonââ
He presses his lips against yours in a slow, tantalizing peck before you could even finish. like he was desperately waiting for that sound, just so he could steal it from you.
And he did. For one pathetic second, you let yourself melt into it.
But then you remembered. You were upset.
You caught his lip between your teeth.
He exhales under his, a curse slipping through your lips in korean.
It landed closer than it should've.
His palm slapped against the wall beside your shoulder, and the sound made you flinch before you could pretend it didnât. Rain from last hour's heavy shower dripped from his hair and onto your cheek.
It was ridiculous. The kind of thing that would've made you laugh.
Instead, you were distracted by the weight of him standing so close. His coat drenched and cool against your hands, but his skin underneath proved to be the exact opposite. His fingers found bare skin under your sweater. The rough edge of a callus.
The cool press of his ring.
Every thought youâd had a second ago had vanished.
But it should've brought you back to yourself.
It should've been enough to make you shove him away and tell him to go home to the woman whose name lived in his phone with a heart beside it, while your name had settled for being â119â.
His thumb dragged lightly over your side before he tipped his forehead against yours.
âDonât,â you say softly.
A crease forms between his brows.
âDonât what?â His voice softening, âTalk to me.â
That was the problem with jungkook.
He always said things like that as if talking had ever saved either of you. As if words didnât make everything worse, didnât crawl into the quiet afterward and sit there with their knees pulled to their chests, staring at you until morning.
So you donât talk.
You put both hands on his chest and shoved him back.
Not hard enough to send him away. Hard enough to make him understand that if heâs going to stand in your hallway with rain in his hair, a ring on his finger, and another womanâs life clinging to him like cologne, he doesnât get to be tender about it.
His back hits the opposite wall with a dull thud. For one charged second, he just looks at you, chest rising beneath your palms, lips parted, eyes gone darker than the hallway should allow.
Then he smiles, barely.
It pisses you off.
âYou think this is funny?â
âNo,â he answers, and his hand closes around your wrist, not to stop you, only to feel you there. âI think you missed me too.â
Your jaw tightens.
Jungkook sees the answer before you give it to him. His smile fades first. Then his expression shifts into something hungrier, rougher around the edges, and you hate that he knows you well enough to read the shame before you can hide it.
âI hate when you do that,â you say.
âWhat?â
âAct like missing me gives you the right.â
He holds your gaze, his thumb moving once over the inside of your wrist. âIt doesnât.â
âBut you still use it.â
âYeah,â he says quietly. âI do.â
The honesty lands like a slap.
It should make you step back. Instead, it pulls something mean out of you. You reach for his left hand and lift it between you, turning it until the gold band catches the thin hallway light.
His fingers flex.
You feel the resistance travel through him. A small, private panic.
âTake it off.â
He clicks his tongue before his eyes flick to yours. âAish, don't start that.â
âI said take it off."
His mouth presses together, and for a moment the whole apartment seems to shrink around the two of you: the wet shoes by your door, the unopened mail on the console, the neighborâs television murmuring through the wall, the damp heat of him so close that every breath you take has him in it.
âYou think that changes anything?â he asks.
âNo.â You look at the ring, then at him. âI just donât want her touching me.â
The words go through him cleanly. You see it in the way his shoulders lose their shape, in the tiny twitch near his mouth, in the guilt that arrives exactly when itâs least useful.
He shouldnât look hurt. He has no right.
Still, his hand lowers.
The ring slides over his knuckle with a faint scrape, stubborn for half a second before it gives. He holds it in his palm like it weighs more than it should, then places it on the narrow table beside your keys.
The little sound it makes against the wood is obscene.
âë€ ë,â he says, voice low. Done.
You stare at the bare strip of skin on his finger.
Itâs worse, somehow. Without it, he looks almost available.
Jungkook reaches for you again, and this time you let him. His palms settle on your waist, warmer now, his thumbs pressing into the soft give of your sides under your sweater. He doesnât kiss you right away. He watches your face first, as if heâs waiting for the moment you decide to punish him or forgive him, as if he hasnât figured out by now that you usually do both.
âTell me to leave,â he murmurs.
Your laugh comes out thin. âIs that what you want?â
He shakes his head no before dragging out a soft, âìëì.â No.
âThen donât put this on me.â
His eyes close briefly.
Good.
Youâre glad he feels it. Youâre glad there are still places in him that bruise.
When he opens them again, whatever patience he had left is gone. He pulls you in by the waist and kisses you like the argument was only foreplay neither of you had the dignity to name. His mouth is hot, urgent, tasting faintly of mint and the rain. You wrap your arms around his nape, dragging him closer while he backs you out of the hallway and toward the bedroom by memory, like he belongs here, like he hasnât learned the geography of your apartment through betrayal.
The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed.
You sit down hard, and jungkook follows, bending over you, one hand cupping the side of your neck as his mouth moves down your jaw. He kisses the place beneath your ear that he learned too early. Your hands push his coat off his shoulders.
It lands heavily on the floor, wet fabric folding over itself.
âYouâre dripping everywhere,â you mutter.
His laugh is breathless against your skin. âIâll clean it.â
âYou never clean anything.â
âIâll buy you a new mat.â
âYou said that last time too.â
He lifts his head, eyes bright with something almost boyish, almost cruel in how familiar it is. âDidn't you force me to buy you a new one?"
âIt's the new one youâre ruining, genius.â
The corner of his mouth pulls up again, but the smile doesnât last. It never does anymore. Not when his gaze drops to your mouth. Not when your fingers skim the waistband of his trousers. Not when the space between you starts making demands neither of you can dress up as anything else.
He sinks to his knees.
Your breath catches before he even touches you.
The sight of him there should feel powerful. Sometimes it does. Tonight, it feels dangerous. Jungkook on his knees between yours, hair damp and falling into his eyes, hands resting on your thighs with that careful pressure he uses when heâs pretending heâs not already losing control.
He looks up at you.
âYouâre mad,â he says.
âBrilliant observation.â
His thumbs move slowly over your knees. âYou can be mad.â
âI wasnât waiting for permission?â
âRight.â His mouth brushes the inside of your thigh over the thin fabric of your shorts. âI mean it. Be mad.â
Your fingers tighten in the sheets. âDonât try to make this noble.â
âIâm not.â
âHere you go. making it sound like if weâre honest enough about being awful, it becomes something else.â
He stills for a second.
Then his lips press to your thigh again, softer this time. âDoes it?â
You look down at him, at the wet lashes, the mouth that has lied to everyone and still somehow makes you believe the worst truths.
âNo.â
The answer hangs there.
He looks up at you like heâs waiting for an order, but his hands are already sliding up your thighs, already greedy under the hem of your sweater.
âYouâre shaking,â he says.
âIâm cold.â
âLiar.â
You lean down and catch his jaw in your hand, squeezing just enough to make his eyes darken. âYou donât get to narrate me tonight either, okay?"
His tongue touches the inside of his cheek. âThen tell me what to do.â
The obedience in his voice is fake. The hunger isnât.
You lift your hips, and he hooks his fingers into your shorts, dragging them down your legs with none of the patience he usually uses to torture you. Your underwear goes with them, damp and sticky already, and you hate the way his gaze drops between your thighs and turns feverish.
âìì,â he says under his breath. Jesus.
You snap your knees wider, daring him to look away. âDonât pray now.â
A laugh breaks out of him, low and wrecked, and then his mouth was on your thigh again. He kisses high, open-mouthed and wet, teeth grazing skin as his hands shove your sweater up over your hips. His lips move closer to where youâre aching, slow enough to make you furious.
âJungkook.â
âMm?â
âIf you continue to tease me, Iâll make you regret coming tonight.â
He looks up from between your legs, mouth hovering too close, eyes too bright. âYou already do that every time.â
Then he licks you.
Your stomach jumps. A sound catches in your throat before you can kill it, and jungkook groans like your pussy hits him harder than anything you said in the hallway. He spreads you with his thumbs and drags his tongue through your slit again, slower, filthier, collecting the slick heat of you with a kind of shameless hunger that makes your hands fly to his hair.
âFuckââ You tug hard. âDonât look so pleased with yourself.â
He answers by closing his lips around your clit.
Your hips buck.
The room blurs at the edges as he sucks, soft at first, then harder when your thighs tense around his head. He eats you out like heâs starving and resentful about it, tongue flattening against you, then flicking quick, then dragging slow enough to make you let out a soft whine.
The wet sounds were obscene, slick and hot and intimate, his mouth working between your thighs while rain taps the glass like impatient fingers.
âUnhâ shit, kook.â
His hands clamp around your thighs, holding you open when you try to close them around his ears. He pulls back just enough for his breath to spill over your pussy, warm and uneven.
âMm, there you go,â he mutters. âLet me hear how much you fucking hate me.â
You yank his hair until his head tilts back. His lips shine. His chin is wet with you. The sight makes something ugly and needy twist in your chest.
His expression flickers.
He kisses your inner thigh once, almost gently, and slides two fingers into you.
Your grip on his hair tightens as your body takes him in, the stretch sudden and deep. He curls his fingers, searching, and finds exactly where youâre weak. You gasp so sharply it hurts.
âYeah, right there?" he asks, voice rough.
âShut the fuck up.â
He grins and does it again.
Your head falls back, a moan spilling out before you can stop it. âOhâ fuck, there.â
Jungkookâs mouth returns to your clit, then thereâs nothing polite left in the room. His fingers pump into you with a wet, steady rhythm, knuckles slick, palm grinding against your entrance while his tongue circles and sucks your clit until your thighs start trembling around his shoulders. He moans into your cunt, and the vibration rolls through you so hard your spine arches.
You try to hold on to anger.
He makes it difficult when his mouth is this dirty, when heâs licking you like he wants to crawl inside your skin and live under your pulse. He knows how to make you break in layers. Knows how to make you curse at him, then beg without using the word. Knows how to keep his fingers deep and his tongue ruthless until every nerve in your body is pulled tight.
âDonât come yet,â he says mouth full of you.
You laugh breathlessly, furious. âDonât tell me what to do.â
â'Want to be inside you when you do.â
The words send heat tearing through you.
He feels the way you clench around his fingers and looks up, smugness softened by raw need.
You hate him for that most of all.
You push at his shoulder, and he pulls away at once, fingers slipping out of you with a wet sound that makes your face burn. His mouth is a mess. Your arousal shines on his lips, his chin, the edges of that devastating smirk.
âTake your clothes off,â you tell him.
Jungkook rises like his knees donât work properly. He strips fast, shirt first, the damp fabric peeling away from his torso and landing on the floor. His tattoos shift over his arm as he fumbles with his belt. The buckle clinks. His trousers drop. His briefs follow, and then heâs standing there hard and flushed and breathing like heâs already been fucked half out of his mind.
Your eyes drag over him.
He notices.
âStill mad?â he asks.
You reach for the nightstand and grab a condom, tossing it at his chest. âStill married?â
His mouth snaps shut.
He rips the foil open with his teeth.
Thereâs something deeply satisfying about watching his hands shake as he rolls it on. He tries to hide it, but you see everything. The tightness in his jaw, the flex in his stomach, the way his cock twitches when your legs spread wider on the bed.
He crawls over you like he means to pin you down.
But you press your foot to his chest and stop him.
His eyes lift.
âAh ah,â you say. âLie back.â
A muscle jumps in his cheek.
For a second, you think he might argue. Then he swallows, nods once, and shifts onto the bed, sitting against the pillows with his back braced against the headboard. His cock stands hard against his stomach, condom slick in the low light, his thighs spread, his chest moving too fast.
You climb over him slowly.
His hands reach for your hips immediately.
You slap them away.
âNo.â
He freezes, eyes blown wide.
âYou donât get to touch,â you say, settling over his lap without taking him in yet. Your pussy brushes the length of him, and both of you suck in a breath. âYou touch when I say you can.â
Jungkookâs fingers curl against the sheets. âFuck, you're trying to kill me."
âYouâll live.â
âYeah?â
You lower yourself enough to drag your slick heat along the underside of his cock, slow and deliberate. His head tips back against the headboard with a dull thump, throat exposed, mouth falling open.
âMmh,â he groans. âDonât do that if you donât want me to come fast."
âI want you to.â You grind down again, coating him, feeling him twitch beneath you. âI want you stupid. I want you ruined. I want you walking out of here remembering exactly whose bed you were in.â
His eyes snap open, dark and dangerous. âI never forget.â
You throw his words back at him. âLiar.â
He reaches for you again on instinct, and you catch his wrist, pinning it beside his head.
The position changes something.
His breath catches. Your body hovers over his, your knees braced on either side of his hips, your wet pussy sliding over his cock without letting him inside. He looks up at you with naked frustration, lips parted, hair damp against his forehead.
He could overpower you easily. He doesnât. That restraint makes the moment dirtier than force ever could.
âAsk,â you whisper.
His brows draw together. âFor what?â
âFor permission.â
His laugh comes out strained. âYouâre enjoying this too much.â
You lean down until your mouth brushes his. âAsk, jungkook.â
The sound he makes is almost a growl, but his hips stay still under you. âCan I touch you?â
âWhere?â
His eyes drop to your chest, your waist, the place where youâre making a slick mess of him. âEverywhere.â
âToo vague.â
His jaw flexes, and the humiliation of wanting makes his voice rougher. âYour hips. Your thighs. âWant to hold you while you ride me.â
A pulse of pleasure goes through you so sharp you almost give in too quickly.
Almost.
âGood,â you murmur, and sink down on him.
The stretch steals the next breath from both of you.
You take him slowly, inch by thick inch, your hands braced on his shoulders, your knees pressing into the mattress. Jungkookâs face twists, eyes squeezing shut as you slide down until heâs buried all the way inside you. The fullness is brutal after his fingers and mouth, deep enough to make your thighs shake before you even move.
His hands hover at your sides, waiting.
The obedience nearly breaks you.
âTouch me,â you say.
He grabs your hips like the words snap a leash.
His fingers dig into your flesh, hard enough to leave marks, and his head drops back again as you lift yourself halfway and sink down. A ragged groan tears out of him. You do it again, slower, letting yourself feel every inch of him drag against your walls.
âOhâ fuck yes,â you breathe.
Jungkook stares up at you like youâre the last thing heâll ever see. âYou feel insane.â
You tighten around him on purpose.
His hips jerk. âShitâ donâtââ
âDonât what?â You roll your hips, grinding down until your clit catches against him. âDonât make you feel good? Isnât that why you came here?â
His fingers flex on your hips. âI came here because I couldn't stop thinking about you.â
âYou came here because youâre selfish.â
âMmhâ yes,â he says, and the bluntness knocks something loose between you. His voice drops, stripped bare and ugly. âI am. Iâm selfish, âwanted you, âthought about this all night until I couldnât breathe.â
Your rhythm falters for half a second.
He feels it.
His grip tightens, helping you move now, guiding you up and down on his cock as his eyes burn into yours. ââThought about your mouth. Your hands. Your pussy. âThought about how wet that pussy gets when youâre mad at me. âThought about you telling me Iâm a bastard while you come all over me.â
A moan slips out of you, broken and unwilling.
His mouth curves, but thereâs pain in it.
âLike that,â he says. âDo it again.â
You ride him harder to shut him up.
The bed begins to creak under the rhythm, deep and steady, your body lifting and dropping on him while his cock fills you over and over.
Jungkookâs hands drag over your thighs, your waist, up under your sweater to bare skin. He pushes the fabric higher, impatient, and you yank it over your head for him, tossing it aside.
His gaze drops to your perky breasts.
The hunger on his face is immediate.
He sits up suddenly, still inside you, making you gasp as the angle shifts. His arms wrap around your back while his mouth closes over one nipple, hot and wet, sucking hard enough to send pleasure straight between your legs.
You grab his hair, grinding down on him as he licks and bites at your breast like he canât decide where he wants his mouth most.
âMmm, kookââ
He groans against your skin. âSay my name like that again.â
âNo.â
He thrusts up into you.
The movement punches a cry from your throat, louder than you expected, and he does it again, using his grip on your hips to drag you down while he drives up. The clean control of your riding fractures into something rougher, wetter, more desperate. Youâre bouncing on his cock now, taking him deep with each downward roll, slick sounds filling the room every time your bodies meet.
âLook at you,â he rasps, mouth against your chest. ââAct like youâre punishing me, but your pussyâs squeezing me like you missed me.â
You slap him.
Not hard enough to hurt badly. Hard enough to turn his face slightly and leave the room stunned.
Jungkook goes still inside you.
Your palm tingles.
Slowly, he turns back.
His eyes are black with want.
âAgain,â he says.
Your cunt clenches around him before you can stop it. He feels it, and his smile is wrecked, filthy, triumphant in a way that makes you furious enough to ride him harder. You plant both hands on his chest and shove him back against the pillows, taking control of the pace again. His hands fly to your hips, and this time you let him hold on as you fuck yourself on him, using him for friction, for fullness, for the terrible satisfaction of watching him fall apart beneath you.
His phone lights up on the nightstand.
The glow cuts across the dark room like a blade.
You donât look at first.
Jungkook does.
His face changes before you see the screen, and that tells you enough.
The phone buzzes.
Bzzzt.
Your gaze shifts.
Sowon.
The name sits there with a tiny heart beside it, bright and domestic and nauseating.
Bzzzt.
Jungkookâs cock was still inside you. His hands still on your hips. Your cunt still wet around him.
You stop moving.
His breathing is ragged, chest rising beneath your palms.
âAnswer it,â you say.
His eyes snap to yours. âNo.â
âAnswer your wife.â
âDon't.â
You grind down once, slow and cruel, and he chokes on the sound that comes out of him.
Bzzzt.
âAnswer it,â you tell him. âTell her where you are.â
His fingers dig into you. âStop.â
âWhy?â You lean closer, your mouth near his ear, your body clamped around him so tightly his hips twitch. âAfraid sheâll hear how hard you are?â
A rough curse leaves him.
The phone keeps vibrating.
You reach for it.
Jungkook catches your wrist before your fingers touch the screen.
For one suspended second, neither of you breathes.
Then the call ends.
Sowon â€ïž
3 Missed calls now
The screen goes dark, and the room becomes yours again, except it isnât. It has her in it now. Her name, his ring in the hallway, the ghost of whatever bed he left to come here.
Something mean rises in you, hot and sharp.
You lift yourself almost off him, then slam back down.
Jungkookâs head hits the pillow, a broken groan tearing from his throat. âUnhââ
âAnd you donât get to look guilty while youâre still inside me.â
His hands seize your hips. âI am guilty.â
âThen act like it.â
His eyes sharpened.
You ride him harder.
The rhythm turns filthy fast, all slick friction and blunt impact, your thighs burning as you bounce on his cock, your nails raking down his chest while he stares up at you like heâs being punished and blessed at the same time. His hips thrust up to meet you, rough little snaps that shove him deeper and make your voice break into helpless sounds you canât dress up as anything else.
âAhâ fuck, jungkookââ
âMm, yeah? Right there?â he grits out, sweat and rain still shining at his temples. âUse me. Fucking use me if thatâs what you need.â
âYouâd like that too much.â
âI like anything that keeps you on me.â
The honesty was disgusting.
But it made you wetter.
You hate that he can feel it, hate the way his mouth opens on a silent groan when your body slicks around him, taking him easier, louder. He reaches between you, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that make your hips stutter. Pleasure sparks through you so suddenly your pace falters.
âNo,â he says, voice raw. âDonât stop.â
âYou donât get to tell meââ
âI know. I know, baby, I know.â
The word hits like a hand around your throat.
You freeze.
His face drains the instant he realizes.
The room fills with both of you breathing too hard.
âI told you,â you say, each word low and trembling, ânot to call me that.â
His hand leaves your clit, but his thumb remains slick against your skin. âIt slipped.
âI doubt that.â
His eyes hold yours, guilty and stubborn. âFine. I meant it.â
The confession lands with unbearable softness in the dirtiest possible place. You straddling him, full of him, your thighs spread over his hips while another womanâs missed call sits between you like a witness.
You should climb off.
You donât.
Instead, you lean down and bite his neck.
Jungkook groans, loud and ruined, his hands locking around your waist as his hips buck up into you. You bite harder, then soothe it with your tongue, and his whole body shudders beneath you.
âNo soft names,â you whisper against his skin. âNo playing a facade. No making this pretty because you canât stand what it is.â
His voice comes out uneven. âThen what do you want me to call you?â
You lift your head, holding his gaze as you start moving again, slow at first, grinding every inch of him into you.
âNothing,â you say. âI want you too fucked out to speak.â
His pupils blow wide.
Then you give him exactly that.
You ride him with both hands planted on his chest, hips rolling in deep, grinding circles before lifting and dropping again. He tries to talk at first, little fragments of curses and your name, but the harder you move, the less language he has. His mouth falls open. His brows pinch. His hands slide to your ass in a tight grip, helping you take him, pulling you down each time his hips thrust up.
The sound was obscene.
Wet skin. Creaking mattress. Your breath breaking. His low, strangled grunts. The slick slap of your body meeting his. Every noise tells the truth neither of you can survive saying cleanly.
You feel your orgasm building again, thicker this time, fed by anger and shame and the relentless pressure of him inside you. His thumb returns to your clit without permission, and youâre too far gone to stop him. The circles are messy now, desperate, but theyâre exactly right. Your thighs tremble around his hips.
Jungkook watches you start to fall apart.
âYeah, come on,â he rasps. âLet me feel it."
You shake your head, even as your body tightens. âYou donât even deserve it.â
âNo,â he agrees, breathless. âI donât.â
That should not be what does it.
It does.
Your orgasm hits hard, ripping through you with a force that makes your rhythm collapse. You cry out, hips jerking, cunt clamping down around him in pulsing waves while jungkook swears beneath you, hands squeezing your ass as he fucks up into the tightness.
âFuckâ fuck, youâre so tightââ
Your body shakes over his, pleasure turning your anger molten, spreading through every nerve until all you can do is take the rough upward thrusts he gives you. His control is shredded now. You can see it in his face, hear it in the low, broken sounds spilling out of him.
He sits up again, arms locking around you, burying his face against your throat as he drives into you from below.
âIâm so close,â he whines.
âThen come.â
His grip tightens. âSay my name.â
You laugh breathlessly, cruel even now. âNo.â
His hips stutter.
You pull back just enough to look at him, cupping his jaw in both hands. His eyes are glossy, desperate, fixed on you with a devotion that makes your chest hurt.
âLook at me while you do it,â you whisper. âLook at what you came here for.â
That ruins him.
Jungkook comes with a broken, guttural moan, hips slamming up one last time as his body locks beneath yours. His hands clutch you so hard it almost hurts, his face twisting with pleasure and guilt and something far more dangerous than either. You feel him pulse inside the condom, feel the tremors roll through him as he buries himself as deep as he can and shakes apart under you.
For several seconds, neither of you moves.
His forehead rests against your collarbone. Your fingers tangled in his damp hair. The room smelled like rain, sex, sweat, and the bitter aftermath of a choice made again.
Then his phone lights up once more.
A message this time.
The glow spills across the sheets.
Jungkook sees it over your shoulder.
His body still inside yours when his expression breaks.
You donât turn to read it.
You donât need to.
When you finally slip off of him, neither of you says anything.
It doesn't take jungkook long before he gets up to get dressed in his briefs and pants, then deals with the condom in your bathroom. You listen to the faucet run. You listen to him wash his hands like water can do anything for either of you. Your body still hums with aftershocks, damp and oversensitive, but the ache settling in your chest is sharper than anything between your legs.
When he comes back, he doesnât get back into bed.
He stands near the doorway, naked from the waist up, trousers low on his hips, looking around the room as if heâs only just realized where he is.
You pull the sheet over yourself.
âShe might call again,â you say.
His eyes drop to the nightstand.
âI know.â
âYou should answer next time.â
He looks at you then. âStop.â
The plea in his voice irritates you. âYou don't get to sound wounded.â
âIâm not trying to.â
âYou are. You always do. You look at me like Iâm hurting you by pointing at the knife in your hand.â
His face goes pale in the low light.
For once, he has nothing to say.
Good.
Let there be a silence he canât kiss his way through.
Jungkook turns away first. He finds his shirt on the floor and pulls it on, the fabric sticking slightly to his damp skin. You watch him dress because not watching feels too much like mercy. He buckles his belt. Checks his phone. The blue glow hollows out his face.
There it is.
That shift.
The man who had just fallen apart inside you disappears behind the man who knows what to type.
His thumbs move quickly.
âWhat are you saying?â you ask.
He keeps looking at the screen, the blue light catching the tired slope of his mouth. â'Missed her call because I went out for air.â
You stare at him.
The lie sounds so ordinary that it takes a second for the ugliness to catch up.
âDo you ever get tired?â You tilt your head.
Jungkookâs thumbs pause over the keyboard, eyebrow raised. âOf what?â
âSplitting yourself in half.â
His face doesnât change much, but something in his eyes does. A small shift. A shutter pulled down too late.
He locks the phone and lets it hang at his side.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
The room still smells like him. Rain, sweat, the faint trace of his cologne clinging stubbornly to the sheets. Your skin cooling now, and the cold reaches you in places his hands had been warm minutes ago. You pull the sheet higher over your chest, more out of reflex than modesty.
Jungkook watches the movement.
The silence stretches long enough to make the air feel crowded.
Then he exhales and looks toward the hallway. âI should go before she calls again.â
Of course.
There it is, the inevitable shape of the night. The part where he turns from body back into husband. The part where you sit in your own bed and watch him collect himself piece by piece like he didnât just leave parts of himself inside the room.
You donât answer.
Jungkook checks his phone again. His jaw tenses, not enough for anyone else to notice, but you notice everything now. You have become fluent in the smallest failures of him.
âGo, then,â you say.
It comes out flatter than you expect.
He looks over.
You donât meet his eyes. You trace a wrinkle in the sheet with your thumb, smoothing it down, then watching it rise again. Useless. Like everything else.
He says your name softly.
You hate that he can still make it sound careful.
âIâm not doing the doorway thing tonight,â you say.
âThe doorway thing?â
âYou standing there looking guilty until I say something that makes you feel less awful.â
His mouth parts slightly, then closes. He looks tired in a way sleep will not fix.
âThatâs fair,â he says after a moment.
You laugh under your breath, almost soundless. âGreat. Glad we landed on fair.â
He flinches at that, but doesnât argue.
He leaves the bedroom to find the rest of his things. You hear him in the hallway, hear the wet drag of his coat being lifted from where it had fallen near the entrance, hear him step around the small puddle he left on your floor. The apartment settles around his movements with humiliating familiarity. He knows where his shoes are. He knows which hook snags his sleeve. He knows that the floorboard near the console creaks if he puts his weight on it.
He knows too much about a place he has no right to know.
On the narrow table by the door, his wedding ring sits beside your keys.
He had taken it off earlier with that grim little look on his face, as if the act cost him something noble. Youâd watched him place it there. Youâd watched the band catch the hallway light.
Now you wait for the sound of him picking it up.
It doesnât come.
Instead, he comes back into the bedroom doorway with his coat on and his phone in his hand, his hair half-dry, his lips still faintly swollen from your mouth. His left hand hangs loosely at his side.
Bare.
The strip of paler skin around his finger is visible even in the dim room.
You notice immediately.
He doesnât.
For some reason, that makes your throat tighten.
Itâs ridiculous. Itâs just a ring. A circle of metal. A promise he has already dragged through enough mud to bury it. Still, the sight of his empty hand hits you harder than expected. Without the ring, he looks less anchored to the life he is about to return to. More like the man who kissed you in your hallway. More like the man who had buried his face against your neck after coming and held on too tight.
You wish you hadnât seen it.
Jungkook steps into the room, but not far. âIâll text when I get back.â
You nod once.
He waits.
You can feel him trying to read you, trying to decide whether your quiet is anger, exhaustion, or the kind of hurt he should be afraid of. He has always been better with your anger. Anger gives him edges to hold. This quiet has no handle.
âHey,â he says, softer now.
You keep your gaze on the sheet. âWhat?â
âWhat's wrong?"
That almost makes you smile, but it misses. âNothing, jungkook."
âStill lying?â
You hate that he knew.
A few seconds pass before the mattress dips beside you. You look up despite yourself. Jungkook came back to the bed, one knee pressing into the sheets, his coat still on like he meant to leave and lost the thread halfway through.
His eyes move over your face, searching, and the concern there lands in the worst possible place.
âDonât do that,â you say, but thereâs no bite in it.
âDo what?â
âLook at me like Iâm something you can fix before you go home.â
He swallows. His hand lifts, hesitates, then settles carefully against your cheek.
You should turn away.
You donât.
His palm is warm. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, not wiping anything away because you arenât crying. That somehow makes the gesture worse. Tenderness without evidence. Comfort offered to a wound neither of you will name.
âIâm not trying to fix anything,â he says. âI just donât like leaving you like this."
Your laugh comes out thin. âYou leave me like this all the time.â
âI leave you pissed off,â he says quietly. âThis is different.â
That shuts you up.
Heâs right, and you resent him for it.
When youâre angry, you can throw words at him until he bleeds enough to satisfy you. When youâre angry, he can take it, nod through it, let your cruelty balance the scale for a few minutes. Tonight, the anger has burned down to something quieter and heavier. You feel hollowed out, scraped clean by pleasure and shame and the sound of his wifeâs name lighting up your room.
Jungkook sits fully on the edge of the bed.
His coat rustles. Rainwater darkens the fabric at his shoulders. He looks absurdly out of place and painfully familiar.
âCome here,â he says.
You stare at him. âSeriously?â
âYes.â
âYouâre literally about to go.â
âI havenât left yet.â
âThatâs not romantic, jungkook.â
â'Wasn't aiming for romantic.â
âThen what?â
He looks at you for a long second, and when he answers, his voice is low enough that it feels pulled from somewhere private. âI wanted to hold you for a minute without pretending itâs nothing.â
The sentence lands with no decoration, which makes it harder to dismiss.
You look away first.
âThatâs selfish.â
âProbably.â
âAt least youâre branching out from excuses.â
His mouth curves faintly, but the expression doesnât last. âYeah. Iâm trying new ways to be terrible.â
It should not make warmth flicker in your chest.
You let out a breath, annoyed with him, annoyed with yourself, and then you shift closer before you can think better of it.
Jungkookâs arms come around you immediately.
Not rushed. Not hungry. Just firm.
He pulls you against his chest, coat and all, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other settles between your shoulder blades. For a second, you stay stiff in his arms, sheet gathered awkwardly between your bodies, your cheek pressed to the damp collar of his coat. He smells like outside air and skin and the rain he brought in with him.
Then your body betrays you in a new way.
You relax.
It happens slowly, then all at once. Your forehead drops against his shoulder. Your fingers curl loosely into the front of his shirt beneath the open coat. He exhales above you, and you feel it move through his ribs.
Neither of you speaks.
This affection is worse than the sex in some ways. Sex can be made ugly enough to survive. Sex can be blamed on impulse, loneliness, the bodyâs talent for ruining common sense. This is harder to excuse. His hand smoothing over your hair. His mouth pressing once to your temple. The way he holds you like he has done it in dreams and is trying to memorize the real weight.
âYou should go,â you murmur, though you make no effort to move.
âI will.â
âSoon.â
âYeah.â
âYouâre still holding me.â
âI noticed.â
You close your eyes. âAsshole.â
His chest moves with a quiet laugh. âA little.â
âA lot.â
"I deserved that."
His fingers slide slowly through your hair, separating strands with a gentleness that makes something under your ribs ache. He kisses your temple again, then the side of your head, his lips lingering longer the second time.
âYou always this quiet after?â he asks.
You think about lying.
âNo.â
His hand stills for half a second.
Then he resumes the slow stroke over your hair. âIs it because of the call?â
âItâs because of all of it.â
He nods against you, a small movement.
You feel his throat shift as he swallows. âI hate that Iâm the reason you feel like that.â
You pull back just enough to see him. âThen stop being the reason.â
He doesnât answer.
There is the truth, sitting between you without needing to be dressed up. He can feel bad. He can hold you. He can kiss your forehead in your dark bedroom with his coat still wet from the rain. None of that means he will make the choice that would cost him the life waiting elsewhere.
Your gaze drops to his hand on the sheet.
Bare.
The sight punches through the moment again.
He follows your eyes, but before he can look properly, his phone vibrates in his coat pocket.
Both of you freeze.
The buzz is short and sharp against his chest, trapped between you. Jungkookâs arms loosen around you, and the spell breaks so quickly it is almost embarrassing.
He takes the phone out and glances at it.
His face changes.
Not dramatically. Just enough.
You already know.
âWhat's she saying?â you ask.
He looks torn for a second, then sighs. âSheâs asking where I am.â
You move out of his arms.
This time he lets you.
The room cools instantly.
Jungkook types with one hand, slower now, as if every letter weighs something. You sit beside him wrapped in the sheet and watch the pale indentation on his ring finger while he lies to his wife.
The absurdity almost makes you laugh.
When he finishes, he pockets the phone and stands.
âI have to go.â
You nod.
Ultimately, there was nothing else to do.
He leans down as if to kiss your mouth, then stops himself.
You notice that too.
Something bitter sparks in you. âYou can fuck me, but goodbye is where you find religion?â
His eyes sharpen with hurt, then soften into something ashamed. âThatâs not what this is.â
âThen what is it?â
He looks at your mouth.
For one second, he seems like he might give in. Instead, he bends and presses a kiss to your forehead. It is warm, brief, and devastatingly careful.
âI donât kiss you goodbye because if I do, I wonât leave when Iâm supposed to,â he says against your skin.
Your breath catches despite every effort to stop it.
He straightens before you can respond.
Coward.
Maybe both of you.
You follow him to the front door, still wrapped in the sheet. The apartment is dim, the hallway light casting everything in weak gold. His wet footprints have dulled on the floor. Your ergonomic mat is bent at one corner from where he kicked it earlier.
The ring sits on the narrow table beside your keys.
You see it.
He doesnât.
Jungkook shoves one foot into his shoe, then the other, distracted by another buzz from his phone. He checks the screen, tension pulling through his shoulders.
âë„,â he mutters. Shit.
You lean against the wall. âTrouble?â
âSheâs asking if I took the car.â
âDid you?â
He looks up at you. âObviously.â
âHm, you're not very good at this.â
âIâm better when youâre not staring at me.â
âThat was almost sweet.â
âIt really wasnât meant to be.â
Despite yourself, your mouth twitches.
He sees it, and for a second the expression on his face changes so quickly it hurts. Relief. Affection. Want. All of it there and gone before he can protect either of you from it.
He steps closer.
You think he might touch you again. He doesnât, at first. He only looks at you, really looks, as if the quiet from earlier still bothers him.
Then he reaches out and tucks the sheet more securely around your shoulder where it had slipped.
The gesture is small.
Too domestic.
Your heart reacts like an idiot.
âYouâre cold,â he says.
âIâll live.â
âI know you will.â His thumb brushes the edge of the sheet near your collarbone. âDoesnât mean I like it.â
You stare at him, thrown by the plainness of it.
He seems thrown too.
For a second, there is no affair in the room. No wife. No emergency contact name. No wet floor, no missed call, no ring in plain sight. Just Jungkook looking at you like leaving is taking effort.
Then his phone buzzes again.
Reality returns with terrible timing.
He closes his eyes for half a second. âGotta go.â
âFourth time, goodbye jungkook.â
He chuckles under his breath before he opens the door, cold hallway air slipping in around him.
Before he steps out, he turns back. âThursday?â
The question is quieter than usual.
You could still say no. You could point to the table and say take your ring, take your guilt, take whatever you think this is, and donât come back. The words are all there, lined up and ready.
Instead, your gaze flicks to his bare hand.
He notices the movement this time, but he misunderstands it. His fingers flex, and he looks down briefly, distracted, not long enough to register whatâs missing. Then his attention returns to you.
You say, âDonât come if youâre only going to feel bad about it afterwards.â
His mouth tightens. âThat rules out most nights.â
âThen maybe sit with that.â
A quiet, pained laugh leaves him. âYouâre mean when youâre sad.â
âImagine how charming Iâll be when Iâm happy.â
His eyes soften.
He reaches out, touches your cheek once, and this time you let the tenderness happen without pretending it doesnât matter. His thumb moves along your skin, slow and careful.
âIâll see you thursday,â he says, but it sounds less like confidence and more like a confession of weakness.
You donât answer.
He leaves.
The door closes with a soft click.
You stand there for several seconds, listening to his footsteps move down the hall. The elevator dings. The doors open. Close. The building swallows him the way it always does.
Only then do you turn toward the table.
His wedding ring gleams beside your keys.
Forgotten.
For a while, you just simply stare at it.
It looks wrong in your apartment. Too bright. Too official. A little circle of proof sitting among your ordinary things. Keys, lip balm, a receipt from the convenience store, the tiny ceramic dish where you keep loose coins. It should be on his hand, catching light when he grips the steering wheel on the way back to her. It should be in his house, beside her toothbrush, beneath the roof where his lies have somewhere to land.
Instead, it's here.
With you.
Your stomach twists.
You pick it up.
The band is heavier than you expect, warm from the room or from memory. You turn it between your fingers, studying the smooth gold, the faint scratches along the outside. Marriage leaves marks even on metal.
Your phone lights up in the bedroom.
For a second, you donât move.
Then you carry the ring with you, crossing the cold floor back into the wreck of your room. The screen glows against the twisted sheets.
Jungcuck
just got to the car
Another message comes through before the screen dims.
Jungcuck
hope you don't hate me
You stare at it, the ring pressed into your palm. Then another.
Jungcuck
don't like leaving you like this
Your throat tightens.
The affection at the end should make it easier. It doesnât. If anything, it makes the whole thing more unbearable. Cruelty has clean edges. Tenderness seeps.
You sit on the edge of the bed.
The ring rests in your open palm, innocent and damning.
You type slowly.
You
you forgot something
The reply doesnât come right away.
You imagine him in the driverâs seat, phone in one hand, rain streaking the windshield, his other hand maybe reaching automatically for the gear shift. Maybe he glances down then. Maybe his thumb brushes the bare place on his finger.
When his message appears, it is only one word.
Jungcuck
fuck
Jungcuck
my ring?
You look at the gold band in your hand.
You
yeah
A pause.
Long enough for him to swear out loud, maybe. Long enough for him to understand that the thing he uses to return to his life is sitting in your bedroom after he held you too sweetly and left too fast.
Jungcuck
Iâll come back
You breathe out a laugh with no humor in it.
You
sheâs awake jungkook
Jungcuck
Iâll figure it out
You stare at that.
That was jungkook in four words. Not a plan. Not a promise. Just impulse dressed as certainty.
Your thumb hovers over the screen.
You could tell him no. You could tell him to explain the missing ring. You could keep it until Thursday. You could drop it into the little ceramic dish by the door and let it sit there among coins and spare keys like any other misplaced thing.
Instead, you set the ring on your nightstand.
Exactly where his phone had lit up earlier. It sits there beneath the lamp, bright and silent.
You type back.
You
not tonight
The typing bubbles appear almost immediately.
Disappear.
Appear again.
Jungcuck
please don't do this rn
Your chest aches at the word âpleaseâ.
You
Iâm not doing anything. You left it.
Jungcuck
I was distracted
You
clearly
A longer pause follows.
Jungcuck
were you going to tell me?
You look toward the hallway, toward the table where it had been sitting in plain view while he touched your cheek and asked about Thursday. You think of his bare hand. His tired eyes. The way he noticed your quiet but not the missing weight on his finger.
You answer honestly.
You
I have to remind a married man he's married?
The message sends.
Rain taps gently at the window. The apartment feels too still now, as if it is waiting to see what kind of person you become with his marriage on your nightstand.
Jungkook doesnât respond for almost a full minute.
You hate it because it gives you nowhere to put the anger. No argument to throw yourself against. No denial to tear apart.
Another message follows.
Jungcuck
Iâll get it thursday if youâll keep it safe for me
The phrase makes something bitter rise in your throat.
"Keep it safe."
As if safety is a thing either of you knows how to offer.
You look at the ring.
Then at the message.
You
fine
His reply comes fast.
Jungcuck
thank you
You donât answer but he does a few seconds later.
Jungcuck
and for what itâs worth, I meant what I said before I left
You donât ask which part.
You already knew.
That he didnât like leaving you quiet. That he wanted to hold you without pretending it was nothing. That if he kissed you goodbye, he might not leave.
All of it. None of it enough.
You put the phone face down.
The room is quiet except for the rain and the slow settling of your own breath. Your sheets are a mess. Your skin still carries him. Your hallway floor is marked by the water he tracked in and the absence he left behind.
On the nightstand, his wedding ring catches the lamplight.
Summary - For years, they existed in the space between friendship and love, too close to be platonic, yet never enough to be real. He treated her like she was his in private, only to pull away the moment things became too serious.
The night she finally chose to walk away from the man who once consumed her entire world, she carried something else with her too.
Two years later, a little girl, or fate perhapsâbring them back to each other.
Genre : second chance romance, unrequited love (at first), slow burn, accidental pregnancy, Friends â strangers â lovers, angst, fluff
Themes : emotionally unavailable! Jungkook , unlabeled relationship, friends with benefits(kind of), fear of commitment, one-sided devotion, accidental pregnancy, absent father (he doesnât know), girl dad! Jungkook, second chances, yearning, found family, angst with happy ending
‷ series masterlist ËËË
The Life She Built
Y/N settled into her new life quickly. She worked as a teacher at the kindergarten that had opened a few months ago, just down the road from her parentsâ house.
Her parents didn't think the job was necessary, but she insisted. She told them it was because one day she'd have to take care of a child of her own and though she hated to admit it, she took it partly because she didn't want to think about him, she needed to keep her mind busy, her hands full, her heart distracted.
But somehow, after a few weeks of keeping herself occupied whenever she could, she found herself thinking about him anyway. About Jungkook. Not in the quiet moments, but in the crowded ones. Surrounded by people she enjoyed, buried in work, laughing at something a kid said, he'd slip in between the cracks, sharper and more often than in silence.
Jungkook would love this kid.
If Jungkook were here, he'd have laughed his ass off.
Jungkook would call this his new favourite dish.
The nights were worse. Alone in bed, Y/N would gently rub her belly and whisper to her child about little things, big things, everything. Her childhood, her day, how she almost threw up at the word âfartâ, just the word itself. Pregnancy was terrifying, and spending every day around children didn't help. When the kids first noticed she was pregnant, one little girl stood up proudly, reciting with absolute "Mama told me babies are made out of love." Y/N smiled at the time. She cried when she got home, souldn't stop and cried herself to sleep. Once, during lunch, the sound of children chewing sent her running to the bathroom.
She whispered to her baby about Jungkook too. "Jungkook is your dad, but nobody has to know. We don't want an asshole like him in our lives." And then, quieter "Do you think he would've loved me differently if he knew about you? Do you think there was ever a moment, even a small one, when he actually loved me?"
_____
Jiho and Y/N talked every day. Jiho came over every weekend.
"How is everyone else doing?" Y/N asked one evening, making an americano for herself and Jiho. Jiho had been a lifeline. She took care of Y/N, looked after her, even bought her an espresso machine just so she didn't have to survive on instant coffee.
"They're okay. Same as always. We miss you so much. Mingyu suggested a surprise visit and I had to come up with so many lame excuses I've lost count." Jiho's voice carried a weight she couldn't hide. "I don't think we can keep this quiet much longer."
She felt guilty, keeping something this big from their friends, lying by omission every single day. But it was for Y/N. There were close calls, like that one time she'd mentioned Y/N's cravings and someone asked what cravings, and she'd covered it up with a quick "period cravings." The lie sat sour in her stomach every time.
Y/N felt it too. Eunwoo and Mingyu checked on her constantly, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the boys found out. She could only hope they'd understand. "I know," Y/N said, her voice quiet, threadbare. "I feel awful too. But you know I have to do this."
Jiho nodded. She knew Y/N's decision was the only one that made sense right now. Still, every time she saw Jungkook, she had to fight the urge to kick him square in the balls. And sometimes, when the weight of it all pressed down on her chest , she wanted to cry. Because her best friend was carrying his child and they were hiding it from him.
________
Jungkook had asked Jiho about Y/N once. Just once. She'd given him nothing, a shrug, a vague she's fine and he hadn't had the courage to ask again. But he felt the emptiness more than he'd expected to. He missed her. Her presence. Her jokes that weren't even funny. Her laugh. Her scent. He started dating again, hoping someone new could fill the space she'd left. It didn't last.
One night, in the middle of it all, while his girlfriend was on top of him, breath heavy, moving, he moaned a name that wasn't hers.
Y/N.
Her hips stopped. His eyes shot open. She slapped him so hard his jaw throbbed until the next morning. Without a word, she got up, pulled her clothes on, and walked out. The door slammed so hard the windows rattled. Jungkook fell back onto the bed, both hands covering his face. "I need therapy," he whispered to the ceiling.
That was the last time he tried. No more girlfriends. No more hookups. No more pretending someone else could be her.
________
It was late â the kind of late where the city dims and the only sounds are the hum of streetlamps and the distant bark of a dog. Jiho had been home, already in her sleep clothes, when her phone buzzed with Mingyu's name on the screen. He needed help packing the delivery orders. She sighed, changed, and went. The shop was warm when she stepped inside, the overhead lights casting a tired yellow glow over scattered piles of folded clothes. Boxes sat half open on the floor, a roll of tape had rolled under the table. It was normal Messy. Chaotic. The kind of chaos she'd grown used to being around.
Jiho grabbed the list and began checking items one by one, crossing off names with a pen she found tucked behind her ear. Jungkook worked beside her, folding, matching, stacking in silence. Mingyu and Jaehyun had been out delivering since evening, their van cutting through streets Jiho knew by heart. Eunwoo sat in the corner, phone pressed to his ear, handling calls and messages in a low, tired voice. The air was thick with routine. And then Jungkook spoke, "Are you visiting Y/N soon?"
Jiho's hand froze mid check. The pen hovered over the paper. It caught her off guard, not because the question was strange, but because it was him asking it. Jungkook hadn't said Y/N's name since she left. Not once. He carried her absence like a bruise he never touched, never acknowledged, never let anyone see. And now, standing among folded shirts and half taped boxes, he'd finally broken the silence. Jiho forced her voice steady. "Mmhm. I'm actually visiting her tomorrow."
Jungkook nodded. A small stiff motion. His hands kept folding a pair of jeans, then a sweater, but his fingers moved slower now, like his mind was elsewhere, swimming through waters he'd been avoiding.
"Tell her I said Hi."
The words came out quiet. Casual. Almost throwaway but beneath them, buried in the space between his syllables, there was a whole universe of things he didn't say.
He wanted to tell Jiho to tell Y/N that he was sorry. That he woke up some mornings reaching for a side of the bed that was cold. That her laugh played on a loop in his head at night when he couldn't sleep. That he saw her face in crowds, in the reflection of shop windows, in the pause before he fell asleep. That he missed her, not the idea of her, but her. The weight of her. The warmth. The way she'd scrunch her nose when she laughed at her own bad jokes.
He wanted to tell her that he loved her. That he'd always loved her. That the reason he pushed her away, let her go, didn't fight for her was because he was terrified. Not of her, but of what she made him feel. Of how deeply she'd carved herself into him. Of the kind of love that asks you to be vulnerable, to be seen, to trust that someone won't leave even when they know every broken piece of you. He wanted to say all of it.
But he didn't.
Because deep down, even if he couldnt fully accept it, even if it sat like a stone in his chest every single day he knew. Y/N was better off without him. She was happier. Or at least, she was learning to be. And he had no right to disturb that peace, no matter how much his own world felt like it was crumbling without her.
So he just folded another shirt and said nothing more.
_________
If you asked Jungkook what love was, he wouldn't be able to tell you. Not in words. Not in definitions or poetry or songs. He'd fumble, shake his head, change the subject.
But he knew it through Y/N.
He knew it in the way she kissed him, slow and deliberate, he knew it when she chose him over and over again. He knew from the way she pulled him close while their bodies are pressed together, swallowing each otherâs words and moans, their souls intertwined.
_______
Y/N's pregnancy went better than anyone had expected. Her body adjusted in ways she hadn't dared to hope for, the morning sickness faded after the first trimester, the exhaustion settled into something manageable, and the wild swings of emotion became quieter, like waves that had learned to recede instead of crash. Her life, strangely, began to piece itself together.
She woke up in the mornings without that familiar weight pressing down on her chest. She went to work, came home, cooked meals she actually ate, slept through the night more often than not. There was a rhythm to it. A soft, gentle hum that hadn't existed when he was still in her life.
Sometimes, when Jungkook wandered into her mind uninvited, in the middle of grading a child's drawing or while stirring soup on the stove, she would curse him. Call him a stain on her timeline, a curse she had to break. Because look at her now. Look at how everything had fallen into place the moment she walked away. Her life felt safer. Calmer. Like she could finally breathe without splinters in her lungs.
See? she'd tell herself. It was him. He was the problem.
But she never believed it. Not really.
Because beneath the bitterness, beneath the anger she clung to like armor, Y/N had never stopped loving Jungkook. She didn't know when it would end. Didn't know if it would end. It was stubborn, rooted deep in places she couldn't reach to pull it out.
And how could she forget him, when she carried a part of him with her everywhere she went? When she felt his heartbeat under her own ribs? When she talked to her belly at night and heard echoes of his voice in hers?
She didn't know how to stop loving someone who had become a part of her blood.
Maybe she never would.
________
Everything went well. Better than well, like the universe had decided to give her this one thing without a fight.
Her water didn't break on the way to the hospital. There were no complications, no sudden panic, no moment where the world tilted off its axis. The pregnancy hadn't been as bad as she'd feared, she'd handled it, somehow, handled it well. And when the time came, her body knew what to do. Ten hours. That was all it took. Ten hours of labor, with Jiho's hand in hers the entire time, never letting go.
When Y/N first heard her baby cry, everything around her went mute. The machines, the voices, the distant bustle of the hospital, all of it disappeared, swallowed by a single sound. That cry. Raw and new and so impossibly alive. Tears spilled from her eyes before she could stop them, streaming silently down her temples as she lay there, breathless.The nurse lifted the baby, wiped her clean, and placed her on Y/N's chest with a warm smile.
"It's a girl."
The world stopped.
Y/N looked down at the tiny body resting against her, skin to skin, warm and damp and trembling with each small breath. She was so small, so impossibly small. Her fingers curled into fists no bigger than the tip of Y/N's thumb. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt like the most important sound in the universe.
My babygirl.
She didn't realize she'd whispered it until she heard her own voice, soft, cracked, full of something she couldn't name.
The nurse draped a cloth over the baby's back, drying her gently while she lay on Y/N's chest, then covered them both with a warm blanket. The baby nuzzled instinctively, searching for warmth she already knew, and within minutes, she was asleep. Peaceful. Curled up like she'd never left the safety of Y/N's belly.
The doctor stepped out to update her parents that the mother and baby were healthy. No complications, a perfect delivery.
But Y/N barely heard any of it. She couldn't take her eyes off the baby. "She's so tiny," she whispered, over and over, like a prayer she couldn't stop saying. She studied every inch of her. Her skin, still flushed red, softening into pink. Her tiny hands, faintly blue at the fingertips. The way she slept with her face turned slightly toward Y/N's heartbeat, as if she still recognized it. As if she knew she was home. Y/N lay there, her arms wrapped around her daughter, and let the silence settle around them like a second blanket.
She didn't think about Jungkook. Not yet. For now, there was only this, her babygirl, warm and safe sleeping on her chest like she'd always belonged there.
Jiho started staying over more often after the birth, showing up with groceries, taking over night feeds so Y/N could sleep, holding Jiyeon while Y/N showered. Y/N's mother took leave from work until she was fully recovered, and her father made sure they never wanted for anything. He showed up with bags of food, medicine, vitamins and a few weeks after they got home from the hospital, he started bringing toys too. A plush bunny. A rattle shaped like a star. A tiny dress that Y/N cried over before Jiyeon even grew into it.
There wasn't a single moment when Y/N felt like she needed Jungkook by her side. Not one. She was happy. Safe and loved. Surrounded by people who showed up without being asked, who held her when she cried, who celebrated every small milestone like it was their own.
Her mother had suggested the name. Jiyeon. She'll grow up to be a beautiful woman, she'd said, full of wisdom and grace. Just like her mother.
Y/N had smiled, cheeks wet, and agreed. She felt it all, the happiness, the excitement, the overwhelming swell of emotion every time she thought about raising a daughter.
A mini her
But she was oh so wrong.
Time passed quickly, the way it always does when you're too busy living to notice. Jiyeon grew up faster than Y/N had ever prepared herself for.
The first time she stood up on her own, Y/N was in the kitchen making a cup of tea. She turned around and there she was, tiny hands gripping the edge of the coffee table, legs wobbling, face scrunched in concentration. And then she let go. One second. Two. Standing on her own two feet like she'd been doing it her whole life. Y/N burst into tears. Right there, mug in hand, crying like a child herself. Because it felt like just yesterday she'd held her for the first time, that warm, tiny weight against her chest, still pink, still learning how to breathe. And now she was standing. Leaving the newborn days behind whether Y/N was ready or not. It all felt like a dream. A beautiful, blurry, heartbreaking dream.
And the fact that Jiyeon looked exactly like Jungkook didn't help.
It was uncanny, really. The same eyes, dark, deep, and huge. The kind that crinkled at the corners when she laughed. The same nose, the same lips, the same smile that could light up an entire room and break your heart in the same breath. She was his replica. A tiny, walking, breathing copy of the man Y/N had spent years trying to forget.
Y/N sometimes hated it. Hated that her daughter took so little from her. She'd search Jiyeon's face for something that was undeniably hers, and all she could find was her hair. The same shade, the same texture. Everything else, the curve of her jaw, the shape of her ears, the way she tilted her head when she was curious, all Jungkook.
As Jiyeon grew, her personality followed the same path. She was stubborn in a way that felt familiar. Loud when she wanted attention, quiet when she was observing. She loved certain foods and hated others with a passion that made no sense for a child her age. She tapped her fingers on tables when she was bored. She bit her lip when she was thinking. She laughed with her whole body, throwing her head back like the world was the funniest place to be with her bunny teeth showing.
All of it. Every single habit. Every like, every dislike, every little quirk.
Him.
"At least her first word wasn't 'Dada,'" Y/N would mutter to herself on the hard days, when Jiyeon looked at her with those eyes and she felt her chest crack open. She said it like a prayer, like a small victory she could hold onto. A tiny comfort. She said 'Mama' first. That's mine. That one thing is mine.
And yet, Y/N looked at her daughter, sleeping peacefully, her face a perfect copy of a man she once loved, maybe still loved and she felt it. That fullness in her chest. That warmth that spread through her like sunlight.
Everything in her life was complete. Everything she had dreamed of, everything she had ever wished for, was right here in front of her.
Even if it came wrapped in a face that reminded her, every single day, of what she'd left behind.
_________
Two years passed within a blink.
Just like that. Two whole years, gone like smoke through open fingers.
Within those two years, Y/N learned more than she had in the decade before. She learned how to survive on three hours of sleep and still function. She learned that love doesn't always look like what the movies show, sometimes it looks like vomit on your favorite shirt at 2 a.m., like rocking a screaming baby for hours until your arms go numb, like crying in the bathroom because you're so tired you can't remember the last time you felt like yourself.
She learned that you can leave someone you thought you couldn't live without. That the world doesn't stop turning. That your heart keeps beating, even when you're sure it's broken beyond repair and she learned that sometimes, when you lose one kind of love, the universe blesses you with another.
Two years passed so quickly, with so much happening, that Y/N sometimes couldn't tell the difference between her dreams and actual moments that happened. Was that a real memory, Jiyeon's first laugh, bubbling up from her tiny chest like honey or had she imagined it so many times that it felt real? She didn't know anymore. The days blurred together, soft and warm and exhausting, and she let them.
She never spoke of Jungkook anymore. Not to Jiho, not to her mother, not to anyone. His name sat in her throat like a stone she'd learned to swallow. But that didn't mean she thought about him less.
If anything, she thought about him more.
He was there in every little moment from the moment she held Jiyeon in her arms alone for the first time. In every big one. The day Jiyeon laughed for the first time. The day Jiyeon took her first steps, wobbling, determined, arms outstretched, Y/N watched and thought of him. The day she said her first word. Mama. Y/N cried and laughed and held her close, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard his voice. When Jiyeon started feeding herself, smearing food across her face like war paint, Y/N laughed until her stomach hurt. And then she thought of him.
He was everywhere. In the curve of Jiyeon's smile, in the stubborn set of her jaw, in the way she hummed when she was focused on a toy. He was in the air she breathed, in the silence before sleep, in the spaces between heartbeats.
Y/N had stopped speaking his name. But she had never stopped carrying him with her. She had just learned how to live with the weight.
_______
Jungkook knew the feeling of losing a loved one well. He had learned it young, learned it deeply, learned it in ways that carved themselves into his bones and never quite healed.
And he knew, better than most, that death wasn't the only thing that could come between people.
The first time he felt it, he was just a boy.
His parents sold his dog, his best friend, his shadow, the only living thing that greeted him with pure, uninhibited joy at the end of every school day. He came home one afternoon and the house was quieter. No barking. No scratching at the door. Too much trouble, they said. Distracting you from your studies. He didn't cry in front of them. He waited until he was in his room, face buried in his pillow, and let the tears soak through until there was nothing left. He never asked for another dog. He never asked for anything again.
The second time was when they moved to Seoul, leaving his grandmother behind in Busan.
She had been his everything. She was the one who cleaned the scratches on his knees when he fell off his bike, humming an old tune as she dabbed alcohol on the wound. She was the one who tucked him in at night, smoothing the blanket over his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his forehead like he was the most precious thing in the world. She was the one who held him when he cried, who never told him to stop, who let him fall apart in her arms and put him back together with nothing but her presence.
She was the only person who ever made him feel like his existence mattered.
And then they took her away from him. Not through death, through distance. Through a move he had no say in. Through weekend phone calls that grew shorter and fewer until they stopped altogether. He visited her sometimes, but it was never the same. The warmth was still there, but the miles between them had stretched it thin, like elastic that had lost its snap.
The third time happened when he was in high school.
By then, Jungkook had already learned to keep most of himself hidden. He didn't ask for things anymore. Didn't expect much from the people around him. He had learned, early on, that wanting things only led to disappointment, so he stopped wanting. Or at least, he stopped showing it.
But music and artâthose found him anyway. It started small. A melody he couldn't get out of his head, scribbled on the margin of a textbook. A drawing of the view from his window, done in ballpoint pen because he didn't have proper pencils. Slowly, it became the only thing that made sense. When the world felt too loud, too heavy, too suffocating, he picked up his guitar. He let his fingers move across the strings until the noise in his head quieted down. He drew until his hand cramped, filling page after page with shapes and shadows that didn't need words.
It was his escape. His way of breathing. His way of saying everything he couldn't say out loud. His father never understood it. To his father, music was a distraction. Art was a waste of time. Everything that didn't lead to a stable job, a stable future, a stable life, it was useless. And Jungkook, who had never been good at explaining himself, who had never been given the space to try let the distance grow between them like cracks in dry soil.
Until one night. The night that broke whatever was left. He couldn't remember what started the fight. Maybe it was about his grades. Maybe it was about the hours he spent locked in his room. Maybe it was about nothing at all, just two people who had never learned how to talk to each other, finally reaching the end of a very short rope.
But he remembered the end. He remembered his father's hand wrapping around the neck of his guitar. The one he had saved up months of allowance to buy. The one he had stayed up late practicing on, fingers raw and blistered, because it was the only thing that made him feel alive. He remembered the way his father's arm swung up, the guitar suspended in the air for a split second and then the sickening crack as it came down against the floor. The wood splintered. The strings snapped, curling in on themselves like wounded things, pieces of the body scattered across the floor, and Jungkook just stood there, staring at the wreckage of the only thing that had ever felt like his.
He didn't scream. Didn't cry. Didn't say a word. He simply turned around and walked out.
Jungkook didn't remember driving to her place that night. He remembered walking out of his house, the front door slamming behind him, the cold air hitting his face, the splintered remains of his guitar still scattered across the living room floor. He remembered getting into his car, his hands were shaking, his chest felt like it was caving in. He didn't know where he was going until he was already there.
Her house.
The only place his heart had ever learned to point itself toward.
He knocked. Then he knocked again. And when she opened the door, sleepy, confused, hair messy. He didnât say a word and stepped forward immediately. His face buried into her shoulder. His arms wrapped around her waist, tight, desperate, like she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. Y/N didn't question him. Didn't push him away. She just held him tighter, her arms circling his back, one hand running up and down his spine in long, soothing strokes.
She didn't ask what happened. She didn't need to. She just held him, let him shake, let him breathe, let him fall apart in the safety of her arms. Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Time felt meaningless. Then her voice came, soft and warm, spoken into his hair like a secret. "Jungkook, let's go to my room, okay? My aunt's home tonight."
He pulled away slowly. His eyes were red, glassy, still holding back a flood he hadn't let himself release yet. He looked at her and nodded. "Okay."
She took his hand and led him inside.
That night, Jungkook cried in front of someone for the first time since he was fourteen years old. Since his grandmother's funeral, where he had sat in the corner of a crowded room, silent and hollow, tears streaming down his face while no one noticed.
Y/N had slipped past his walls before he even realized they were down.
He cried the whole night. Great, heaving sobs that tore through his chest like something had been clawing to get out for years. He cried for his dog, for his grandmother, for the guitar his father destroyed. For every moment he had been made to feel like he wasn't enough. For every time he had swallowed his pain and smiled through it. And through all of it, Y/N held him. She didn't tell him to stop. Didn't tell him it was okay when it clearly wasn't. She just wrapped herself around him and whispered, soft, gentle and grounding into his ear. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe.
For the first time in a very long time, Jungkook felt loved. Genuinely, completely, unconditionally loved.
And then he lost her too.
But this time, he had no one to blame except himself.
_________
Two years. Twenty four months. Seven hundred and thirty days.
Jungkook hadn't been the same since.
He lost interest in everything that used to fill his time. Women came and went, but he didn't notice them anymore, he didn't care to notice them. They blurred into the background of a life that had lost its color. His motivation dried up like a river in drought. He went through the motions, worked, ate, slept, repeated but there was no spark behind it. Just the hollow echo of a person going through the mechanics of living without actually being alive.
Outside, he looked perfectly still. Like the same old Jungkook. Same face. Same walk. But his friends noticed.
He didn't speak much anymore. The easy chatter that used to spill out of him was gone, replaced by long silences and one word answers. His smug personality, that playful, cocky grin that used to annoy and charm everyone in equal measure had completely disappeared. He didn't attend parties. Didn't go out unless he had to. Jaehyun watched him sometimes from across the room. And though a small part of him felt a pang of pity for the state Jungkook was in, there was another part, a deeper, quieter part that felt something else. Something close to satisfaction. the part that whispered. Let him feel a fraction of what he put her through.
Mingyu tried his best to keep Jungkook composed. He'd clap him on the shoulder, drag him out for coffee, force conversations that went nowhere. He didn't know the full story, none of them did, not really, but he knew enough. He knew Jungkook had broken something precious. And he knew some things couldn't be fixed by coffee and good intentions.
And then there was Eunwoo. Jungkook's unofficial therapist. The one person who didn't tiptoe around him, didn't sugarcoat, didn't cover up the truth to spare his feelings. Eunwoo said things exactly as they were, exactly as he saw them. No filters. No pity. Just blunt, honest words that cut through the fog.
"You're wasting away. Is this what she'd want?"
"You let her go. That was your choice. Now live with it."
Harsh. But true. And Jungkook needed that, needed someone to tell him the things he was too afraid to admit to himself.
Jiho felt something different around Jungkook now. Strange. Awkward. And underneath it all, a creeping sense of guilt that she couldn't shake no matter how hard she tried. She would catch herself staring at him sometimes, lost in deep thought. She'd watch his hands as he worked, the curve of his jaw when he was focused, the way his eyes dimmed when he thought no one was looking. And she'd wonder. What would he do if he found out?
What would he do if he knew he had a two year old daughter? A little girl with his eyes, his nose, his smile, a perfect replica of him running around, laughing, growing up without ever knowing his name.
Would he crumble? Would he run, like he always did when things got too real? Would he step up, finally become the man Y/N deserved, the father that little girl deserved? Or would the weight of it all crush whatever was left of him?
She didn't know. And that uncertainty sat in her chest like a stone, heavy and cold.
What if things had been different? she'd think, staring at him across the room. What if he had known from the start? Would he have changed? Would he have been better? Or would he have just hurt her all over again?
Jiho never found the answers. She wasn't sure she wanted to.
__________
Mingyu wasn't expecting anything interesting that day.
It was supposed to be simple. A quick trip to Suwon to meet up with a work friend, discuss a potential collaboration, maybe grab lunch, then head back.
But his car was in the shop. Again.
Because fucking Jeon Jungkook had crashed it.
Mingyu had been stupid enough to let him borrow it a few weeks back. Jungkook said he needed to clear his head, said he'd be careful, said he just needed to drive for a while. And Mingyu, trusting, hopeful, always giving people the benefit of the doubt had handed over the keys.
Big mistake.
Jungkook had shown up at the shop at 2 a.m., drunk out of his mind, the front bumper hanging off, the passenger side door dented beyond repair. He'd swerved off the road and into a guardrail. Lucky he didn't kill himself. Lucky he didn't kill someone else. Mingyu had to take a deep breath before he said anything that night, had to remind himself that Jungkook was hurting, that he wasn't himself, that pushing him away would only make things worse.
But damn it.
He blamed himself a little. He should have known better. Should have seen it coming. Jungkook had been spiraling for two years, and Mingyu had handed him a car and a full tank of gas like it was a solution. Stupid, he thought. So stupid.
So now he had to take the train.
Mingyu came across the place by chance.
He was walking through a quiet street in Suwon, phone in hand, checking the time until his train, when a warm glow caught his eye. Yellow light spilled through wide windows, soft and inviting. He slowed down, then stopped altogether.
Shelves of books lined the walls inside. Cozy armchairs. A counter with a coffee machine. And a small wooden sign hanging above the door that read:
The space wasn't big, but it wasn't cramped either. A few tables and chairs were scattered thoughtfully around. Bookshelves lined every wall, packed with novels, poetry collections, and old hardcovers that looked like they'd been loved for years. It felt warm. Intentional. Like someone had poured their heart into every corner.
And then his eyes landed on her.
Y/N.
She was standing on a small wooden ladder, reaching up to arrange books on a high shelf. Her hair was longer now, tied loosely at the nape of her neck, a few strands falling free. She wore a simple cream sweater, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing her forearms as she carefully slid a book into place. She looked calm. Different. In all the right ways.
For a moment, Mingyu just stood there, frozen, like he was seeing a ghost.
Mingyu nodded. For a moment, it felt almost like old times. Like none of the pain had ever happened.
And then something small bumped into Y/N's leg.
Mingyu looked down.
A tiny girl, maybe two, maybe three, stood there, wobbling slightly on unsteady legs. She clutched Y/N's sweater with both hands and hid behind her, peeking out with wide, curious eyes. Mingyu said nothing. He just stared.
Y/N bent down immediately and scooped her up. "What is it, baby?" she asked softly. The little girl pointed toward the counter. âsweet."
Her voice was soft, barely understandable, that sweet, slurred baby talk that made everything sound a hundred times more precious.
Y/N smiled and carried her to the counter, reaching into a small jar and pulling out a cookie. "Only one," she said gently. The little girl took it with both hands and giggled, shoving it into her mouth with uncoordinated glee.
Mingyu's brain had stopped working. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Finally, he managed to ask, "âŠYours?"
Y/N nodded casually, like it was the most normal question in the world. "Yeah."
Mingyu's mouth opened slightly. A thousand questions swirled in his head. Whose? When? How? He bit his lip, forcing himself not to say anything stupid. "What's her name?" he asked after a long pause.
Y/N looked down at the little girl in her arms, her expression softening. She kissed the top of her head. "Jiyeon."
Mingyu whispered the name under his breath. "Jiyeon." He looked at the child, at her dark hair, her big eyes, her tiny nose. Something in his chest tightened. "That's a beautiful name."
He reached out gently and patted the top of her head. Jiyeon stared at him with wide, curious eyes, clutching her cookie like a treasure. Mingyu studied her face carefully, the shape of her eyes, the curve of her lips, the way her little brow furrowed when she was trying to figure him out.
He suddenly felt like he couldnt breathe. "Well⊠uhâŠI..umâŠ" His voice came out awkward, stilted. "I'll see you around."
Y/N nodded, a small smile on her face. "Yeah. Come by again."
Jiho was sitting lazily, leaning back in her chair, phone in hand, scrolling through Instagram without really paying attention. It had been a slow day at the shop, the kind of slow that made time feel sticky and endless. Jaehyun was behind the counter, wiping down already clean glass shelves just to have something to do.
Until the door slammed open.
Jiho jolted so hard she nearly dropped her phone. The bell above the door rattled violently, swinging on its hinge like it had been attacked. And there, in the doorway, stood Mingyu, chest heaving, face pale, eyes wide like he had seen something he couldn't quite believe. âYouâ I need to talk to you.â He say breathless pointing at Jiho. âOkayâŠâ Jiho trailed off exchanging goances with Jaehyun who was sitting behind the counter.
Mingyu walked inside the storage room, Jiho following close behind. The moment the door clicked shut, he spun around to face her, his voice already spilling out in a small, panicky rush. "I went to Suwon."
"I saw Y/N." He paused, swallowing hard. "She had a little girl. Her name is Jiyeon. The baby looked at me." Each word came out like it was haunting him, dragging itself out of his chest with visible effort. Jiho sighed, a heavy, knowing sound. She had always known this day was coming. She had just hoped it would be later. Or never.
"Mingyuâ"
"No, I'm not done." He held up a hand, his breathing uneven. "The baby looked at me. I looked back at her. And I saw herâno." He shook his head, correcting himself. "I saw him. I saw Jungkook in her. She looks exactly like fucking Jeon Jungkook. What the fuck!"
He grabbed at his hair, pacing in a tight circle, taking huge, ragged breaths like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. "I came running home. I didn't even buy my damn coffee." He let out a hysterical laugh. "My coffee, Jiho. I left without my coffee."
Jiho gave him a moment. Let him pace. Let him breathe. Let the information settle into his bones, even if it made him rattle. Then Mingyu suddenly let out a gasp, freezing mid step. He whipped around and pointed an accusing finger at her. "Damn it. You knew everything." His voice dropped, but the weight of it doubled. "You told me nothing. You said nothing."
He looked haunted now. Shocked. Betrayed. All of it flickering across his face like a storm passing through. Jiho met his gaze steadily, keeping her voice calm and soothing. "Mingyu, let me explain everything. But first, you need to calm down." She took a small step closer. "Take a breath. Let's go out, and we'll talk about it, okay? I promise I'll tell you everything."
Mingyu stared at her for a long moment, chest still heaving. Then slowly, reluctantly, he nodded. "...Okay."
Jiho, Mingyu, and Jaehyun sat in the middle if the shop. Jiho's voice was steady as she finally told them everything.
The two guys listened without speaking a word. Jaehyun leaned forward, elbows on his knees, jaw tight. Mingyu stared at the floor, running his hands over his thighs like he needed something to ground him.
When Jiho finished, she let out a slow breath. "Any questions?"
Mingyu's hand shot up almost immediately. "Soâ you knew she was pregnant before she left?" Jiho blinked. She had literally said that three times already. "Mingyu, I justâ" But before she could finish, a voice cut through the air from the front of the shop, sharp and curious.
"Who's pregnant?"
All three heads snapped toward the entrance. Standing at the door, keys still in hand, was Eunwoo. And right beside him, hands buried in his jacket pockets, expression unreadable, stood Jungkook.
Jiho's heart dropped into her stomach.
"My friendâ" Jiho started.
"Y/N," Mingyu finished at the same time.
Jaehyun's head whipped toward Mingyu so fast his neck cracked. He stared at him in pure, undisguised disbelief, but Mingyu completely oblivious, kept talking. "But she already had the baby, so she's not pregnant right now. But she was."
A sharp kick landed on his shin under the table. Mingyu yelped, clutching his leg, wincing in pain as he rubbed his foot. Jiho's death glare bore into the side of his head, but the damage was already done.
Silence settled over the room like a heavy fog. Nobody spoke. Jiho, Eunwoo, and Jaehyun exchanged frantic glances, telepathically begging each other to say something, anything to fill the void, to redirect, to undo what had just been said.
Jungkook beat them to it.
"Good for her."
His voice was low. Casual. Almost unconcerned. Like someone commenting on the weather, or a sports score they barely cared about. But every single person in that room knew it was far from that. The words hung in the air, deceptively light, carrying a weight none of them dared to touch. Jungkook didn't move. Didn't react. Just stood there, hands still in his pockets, face carefully blank. And for a long, painful moment, no one said a word.
After the shop closed, Jungkook drove Eunwoo home.
It was a quiet drive. The kind of quiet that felt heavy, pressing down on both of them from the inside of the car. Streetlights flickered past in golden streaks, illuminating Jungkook's face in brief, fragmented flashes. His expression was unreadable, but his knuckles were white against the steering wheel.
Eunwoo watched him for a long moment before finally breaking the silence. "Kook. You okay?"
Jungkook's answer came too fast, too flat. "Why wouldn't I be?"
But his grip on the steering wheel tightened. His eyes were fixed on the road, but he wasn't really seeing it. His mind was somewhere else entirely spinning, spiraling, stuck on a name he hadn't heard in two years.
Eunwoo let out a short, annoyed breath. "Man, stop pretending for once." He turned in his seat, fixing Jungkook with a stare. "You know you can be real with me. For fuck's sake, you cried on my shoulder last week because you smelled her perfume on some random woman at the convenience store."
Jungkook's jaw tightened. "Stop bringing that up. Also, I was drunk."
"Right." Eunwoo snorted, a dry, humorless laugh. "Drunk. Sure."
Silence filled the car again. The hum of the engine. The soft thrum of tires against asphalt. Eunwoo thought that was the end of it, that Jungkook would retreat back into his shell and they'd finish the drive in silence.
But then Jungkook spoke again. His voice came out quieter this time, almost fragile. "Do you think she's married?" Eunwoo blinked.
"Or maybe engaged at least," Jungkook continued, words tumbling out faster now. "I mean, she's gotta have a man to have a baby, right? Will we get invited to her wedding? Do you think she'll invite me? What would sheâ"
"Jungkook." Eunwoo reached over and grabbed his shoulder, squeezing firmly. "Speed down. One question at a time, please."
Jungkook let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging. "Okay⊠okay."
"We'll talk when we reach my house, alright?" Eunwoo's voice softened. "Don't think about that right now. Just focus on driving."
Jungkook didn't answer. But he nodded, slowly, forcing his shoulders to relax, forcing his eyes back on the road ahead. The car carried on into the night, quiet once more but this time, it felt less like silence and more like a held breath, waiting to be released.
Jungkook couldn't sleep.
He had been lying in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, his mind running in endless, exhausting circles. He couldn't eat either, the thought of food made his stomach turn. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face. And then he saw the little girl. Y/N's daughter. Her baby.
A kid. Y/N has a kid.
He let out a laugh, short, hollow, utterly devoid of humor. It wasn't funny. Nothing about this was funny. But the sound escaped him anyway, like his body didn't know how else to process the information. It felt like a dagger right through the heart. Cold and sharp, leaving a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.
His hand moved on its own, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. He unlocked it. Opened his contacts. And there it was, her name. Still saved. Still unchanged after all this time. He had never been able to delete it. His thumb hovered over the screen, trembling slightly.
He needed to hear it from her. Needed to hear her voice, needed confirmation that it was real, that he hadn't imagined Mingyu's panicked words. Or better, he needed to see it. Needed to see her. Needed to see the baby. Needed to know if she was happy, if she was okay, if she had found someone better than him.
But he couldn't do it.
His thumb wouldn't move. His throat closed up. His chest tightened until he could barely breathe.
"Fuck," he cursed under his breath, voice cracking.
His vision blurred. His breathing turned ragged, uneven, each inhale a battle. And then, before he knew what he was doing, he hurled his phone across the room. It hit the wall with a sharp crack and clattered to the floor, screen shattered. "FUCK!" The scream tore out of him, raw and broken.
He fell back onto his bed, both hands dragging down his face before tangling into his hair, pulling at the roots like the physical pain might distract him from whatever was tearing through his chest.
He didn't know what this feeling was.
Fear? Anger? Sadness? Guilt? Regret?
Maybe all of it. Maybe none of it. Maybe something that didn't even have a name, something that only existed because of her. Because of what he did. Because of what he lost.
All he knew was that it was crushing him. And for the first time in two years, he had no idea how to survive it.
Jiho had already informed Y/N that the boys needed extra help at the shop, so she wouldn't be able to visit or text as often. Y/N understood.
Y/N had known this day would come the moment she decided to stay in Suwon, close enough to be found but far enough to build a life of her own. She had always known that someone would eventually figure it out. Mingyu was sharp, and Jiho carried guilt like a second skin. It was only a matter of time before the pieces fell into place. She was prepared for it. She had prepared for it a thousand times over in her head, what she would say, how she would explain, how she would protect her daughter from the fallout.
But there was one thing she couldn't stop thinking about.
Will they tell Jungkook?
And if they did, what would he think?
Would he be angry? Indifferent? Would he feel relieved that she had moved on? Would he feel nothing at all? Would he want to see Jiyeon? Would he run, like he always did when things got too real?
Y/N didn't have the answers. And that uncertainty sat in her chest like a stone she couldn't swallow.
She looked down at the bed, where Jiyeon was fast asleep. Her tiny chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Her lips were slightly parted, one chubby hand curled loosely around the edge of her blanket. She looked so peaceful. So innocent. So completely unaware of the storm that was brewing somewhere out there, threatening to find its way to her.
Y/N reached out and gently caressed her cheek, her fingers brushing over the soft, warm skin. A smile immediately formed on her lips. It didn't matter what Jungkook thought. It didn't matter what anyone thought. She had her daughter. She had this little life that depended on her, trusted her, loved her unconditionally. Jiyeon was her world now, her anchor, her reason, her everything.
No matter what happened next, as long as she had her baby beside her, she was happy.
And that was all that mattered.
Y/N leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Jiyeon's forehead, lingering for just a moment.
"Sleep well, my love," she whispered. "Mommy's got you."
Then she turned off the lamp, curled up beside her daughter, and let the quiet hum of the night wrap around them both.
_________
Jungkook locked himself in his house.
Three days. Three days of staring at the same walls, the same ceiling, the same cracks in the plaster that he had memorized months ago. He didn't answer his phone. Didn't open the curtains. Didn't eat anything that could be called a proper meal. He just existed, sprawled on his couch, cigarette burning between his fingers, watching smoke curl toward the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
Nobody called. Nobody knocked. It was like they all knew, knew that he needed to sit with it himself, to wrestle with it alone until he either made peace with it or let it destroy him. They knew better than to bother him.
On the third day, he heard loud pounding in his door. Jungkook didn't move. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, staring blankly at the door.
BAM. BAM. BAM.
Louder this time. More insistent. Then the door burst open. The lock gave way with a splintering crack, and a figure stormed inside like a force of nature.
Mingyu.
Jungkook said nothing. Didn't even spare him a glance. He stayed exactly where he was, half sprawled on the couch, smoke drifting lazily from his lips.
Mingyu crossed the room in three furious strides. He snatched the cigarette from Jungkook's fingers and stubbed it out in the ashtray with more force than necessary. Then he grabbed Jungkook by the arm, hauled him upright, and forced him to sit properly. Mingyu dropped onto the couch beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
"I hate seeing you like this."
Silence.
"You're going to find out one way or another, so I thought I better tell you everything now." Mingyu's voice wavered slightly. "So you'll feel better. Or maybe worse. I don't know anymore."
Jungkook finally turned his head, staring at his friend with confusion flickering behind his exhausted eyes. But no words left his mouth. He just waited.
Mingyu leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. He stared at the floor like it held the answers to questions he was too afraid to ask. "Yes, it's true. Y/N was pregnant. Well, is pregnant. I mean, she was. She has a kid now." He let out a frustrated breath. "A girl. Her name is Jiyeon. And she's cute as fuck, but that's not the point." He looked up at Jungkook, his eyes searching. "The baby, Kook. The kid. Her eyes, they were exactly like yours. Her nose, her lips, her cheeks. Everything." He paused. "Well, except her hair."
He waited for a reaction. For a breakdown. For screaming, crying, throwing something, anything. But Jungkook just sat there, staring at him with an expression that Mingyu couldn't read. "Don't you get it?" Mingyu asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Jungkook opened his mouth. His lips moved. But no sound came out. And for the first time in three days, something flickered behind his eyes. Dawning realization.
Mingyu let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. "Y/N's kid, her baby, it's yours. She was pregnant with your baby. She knew she was pregnant, and that's why she moved to her parents' house in Suwon. That's why she left."
The words hung in the air like a grenade.
Jungkook let out a laugh. A scoff, really. Short. Bitter. Disbelieving. Mingyu stared at him, confusion bleeding into disbelief. "What?"
"I don't believe you."
Mingyu's mouth fell open. "What are youâ"
"She would've told me." Jungkook's voice turned cold, his expression snapping into something sharp and serious. "If whatever you just said was true, she would've told me. I refuse to believe it. It's not true. Not possible." His hand came down hard on the coffee table, a loud SLAM that made Mingyu jump. Jungkook stood up abruptly, walked to his bedroom, and slammed the door shut behind him with a force that rattled the walls.
Mingyu sat alone in the living room, staring at the closed door, unsure if he should follow or leave.
Inside the bedroom, Jungkook pressed his back against the door and slid down to the floor.
His chest heaved. His hands trembled.
Deep down, he knew.
He knew she wouldn't have told him. He knew she had every reason to keep it from him. He knew he had given her no reason to trust him, no reason to believe he would stay.
And deep down, so deep it hurt to admit he wished it was true. He wished he could turn back time. He wished he had been better. He wished he had been the man she deserved instead of the man who drove her away.
Jungkook finally understood what had been clawing at his chest for the past three days.
Y/N turned, a soft smile already forming on her lips. "Yes, baby?"
"Story?"
Y/N's heart melted, as it did every single time. She dried her hands on a towel and walked over, scooping Jiyeon up into her arms. The little girl's small hands immediately found their way to Y/N's neck, hugging her tight.
Y/N tucked Jiyeon into bed, pulling the soft pink blanket up to her chin. She picked up the worn storybook from the nightstand, the one with the dog eared pages and the creased spine and began to read in a soft, gentle voice. By the time she reached the last page, Jiyeon's breathing had slowed. Her eyes fluttered closed, her tiny chest rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of sleep.
Y/N set the book aside and gently brushed her daughter's hair away from her forehead, fingers lingering on the soft strands and Y/N whispered into the silence, so softly it was almost a secret. "You'll never have to wonder if someone will ever choose you."
She pressed a kiss to Jiyeon's forehead.
Because Y/N knew exactly what that felt like. She had spent years wondering, hoping, waiting, aching for someone to choose her. To stay. To prove that she was worth holding onto.
And she had learned, the hard way, that some people just wouldn't.
But Jiyeon would never know that pain. Not if Y/N could help it. She would grow up knowing she was loved, wanted, chosen every single day.
Jungkook let out a long, heavy sigh. "You don't understand."
"Oh, I understand perfectly." Mingyu's voice softened, just a little. "You're scared she'll say yes. That it's true. That you have a kid you weren't there for."
He paused.
"And you're even more scared she'll say no."
Jungkook's jaw tightened. His hands, still buried in his pockets, curled into fists.
"That it's not yours. That she moved on. That you really meant nothing."
The words landed like a punch to the gut.
Jungkook swallowed hard because Mingyu was right. That was exactly it. He was terrified of both possibilities. Terrified of the truth, no matter which direction it leaned.
_________
Jungkook finally stepped inside one evening.
He told himself he was just walking past. Just taking an evening stroll to clear his head. His feet just happened to carry him here. It meant nothing.
The moment he pushed the door open, the smell of roasted coffee beans hit him, warm, rich, inviting. He looked around, taking in the space. The soft yellow lighting, the shelves lined with books, the cozy armchairs scattered around. It felt warm. Comfortable.
Like Y/N.
His eyes scanned the room almost involuntarily, searching for something he wasn't sure he was ready to find. And then they stopped.
Jungkook didn't move closer. He didn't look away. And then the little girl looked up.
Their eyes met.
Jungkook's breath hitched. His heart started beating so fast, so loud in his ears, that for a moment he thought it had stopped altogether. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but stare into those eyes, eyes that looked exactly like his own.
After a few minutes or maybe an hour, he couldn't tell, he managed to pick himself up and stumbled to the nearest bench. He sat there as the evening turned to night, the streetlights flickering on one by one. Time slipped away from him. Minutes felt like seconds. Hours felt like nothing.
Finally, he pulled out his phone and called Mingyu. Mingyu answered on the first ring.
"I saw her." Jungkook's voice tumbled out, raw and shaky. "She stared at me. She looked at me with her eyes â her eyes that looked â she lookedâ"
"Jungkook." Mingyu's voice was firm but gentle. "I know. We know. Relax, okay? Where are you? I'll come to you."
Jungkook barely managed an okay. He tried to tell Mingyu where he was, only to realize he didn't really know. He had been walking in a haze, not paying attention to street names or landmarks.
When Mingyu finally found him, Jungkook tried to speak, tried to say more, tried to thank him for coming but his words caught in his throat. His eyes burned. Tears threatened to fall, and he couldn't stop them.
âLetâs go home first,â Mingyu said softly.
Jungkook nodded silently and walked toward the car.
Seeing Jungkook lose himself was rare. Seeing him cry was even rarer. But seeing him completely break down, that was something that had never happened before. Jungkook kept telling himself this was his fault. The consequences of his own actions. The price he had to pay for the choices he made two years ago.
But the aching in his chest never lessened.
It was raw. Brutal. And so, so empty.
Taglist is closed! Im sorry:((
A/N : I just want to say that I am so happy that I have people who appreciate my work. When i posted my first fanfic I mentioned that my works are pre written, I would read the stories I write to my friend and she recommended me to turn them into fanfictions and post them, and yea here am I. I edit my stories to match the characters of my fanfiction and add more details according to the characters I use. I have been writing stories and poems ever since I was a kid and it has always been a dream to share them with other people. I would suddenly get ideas and inspirations when I am listening to songs, or go to a particular place or even when Iâm just laying in my bed.Iâm still learning and I know I make mistakes a lot and itâs not perfect, but I write my stories with love and passion and I hope you all can respect my work and not call it ai generated. My friend actually found it very funny when I told her someone asked me to delete my work because itâs âai generatedâ because iâve always been that friend who encourages others to stop using ai lol.
If you actually read my work I always try my best to explain and let the readers feel every moment, and I always want them to be able to picture every scene. If you donât like my work please block me or ignore my posts and not threaten me or tell me to delete it because I put my heart into every sentence and every word.
I appreciate everyone who read my work and I never imagine reaching this far, itâs like a dream come true for me. All your support, your likes, comments and requests got me giggling and kicking my feet in the air. I love you allđ€đ«
My favourite chapter ever. It was originally 7.8k words but i added a few more lines haha. I almost went crazy.
